Chapter 1 #2
He breathed easier once he was past the pungent smell of the burly mate.
Of course, that pungent smell was replaced by a myriad of other aromas that always accompanied a ship: algae, salt, fish, sweat, damp lumber, mildewed sails, and the general scent of staleness.
As he passed by various members of the crew (more onions, some garlic, and definitely more ale) who were busy preparing to pull anchor, he felt the weight of their curious gazes on him.
Raine grimaced, trying not to think about how he still wore that wide-brimmed hat.
And that it was becoming increasingly warm beneath the greatcoat.
But as they rounded the base of the mizzenmast, some dark instinct caused him to stop in his tracks and turn slowly to look. No one was there—at least anymore. But the hair at the back of his neck was still prickling.
“Are you bloody coming or are you going to wait till the sun fully fries you?”
“I’m right on your heels, captain.”
She led him around to the stern of the ship and up onto the quarterdeck, to a chamber that was clearly the captain’s quarters—for not only was it comfortably furnished, it was permeated by her scent. He drew in a subtle breath of it.
Inside, there were four windows: two in the front, and one each on either side of the walls flanking it.
The rear of the chamber was, fortunately, untouched by sunlight, partly because it was shielded from the rest of the space by a curtain that hung from the ceiling—presumably to give its occupant some privacy from the windows that faced her crew.
The shielded area also contained a bed, a cabinet, a washing stand, and—what surprised him the most—a large metal tub.
Immediately, he had an image of her smooth white body, sprawled in the tub, all wet and sleek and warm, smelling of spice and sex and woman.
It was an image he chose not to dismiss immediately, but to relish for a moment. His gums tightened pleasantly around his fangs.
All of the furnishings were bolted to the floor, as were the large table in the front of the room and the desk where, presumably, she would complete the ship’s log and any other writing or documentation necessary.
The large table was covered with maps, a bottle of ink and several quills, and a stack of books.
There were also a number of navigational tools strewn about: compasses, sextants, and an H4 chronometer.
“I already know why you’re here,” she said, folding her arms across her middle as Raine took refuge in the shaded part of the chamber.
With relief, he pulled off the hat and used his fingers to muss up his hair from where it had become plastered to his head by the hat and the perspiration gathering beneath it. Already he felt better, but he also divested himself of his greatcoat, tossing both onto a nearby chair.
“Do make yourself comfortable,” she said wryly as she glanced down at one of the maps, then, seemingly unconcerned by his presence, frowned and began to measure something with a sextant.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he replied, suddenly feeling much more like himself. And much more in control.
He looked around the chamber, eyed the size of the bed—definitely large enough for two, even one of his height—and realized the windows had curtains on them.
He was also very aware of the constant tease of her scent, and the perfect outline of her sweet, round arse as she bent over the large table. He’d never considered the benefits of a woman wearing trousers before, but this was certainly one of them.
His blood was simmering again, and the gums around his fangs were swelling, ready to push them out. He felt unaccountably warm, and—
“Don’t even think about it, St. Albans,” she said without looking up. “You’re a guest here—at my pleasure. I’m not going to be your afternoon tea.”
“What about my bedtime snack,” he murmured, suddenly very much sold on the idea. When she looked up sharply, he added, “You did mention something about pleasure.”
“If you keep that up, I’ll banish you to the crow’s nest,” she replied tartly. “At noon.”
He laughed, and it felt good. When was the last time he’d laughed? Certainly it had been months. Years. Perhaps even decades. And that was part of the reason he was here.
Raine collected his thoughts. “So you know who I am, and why I’m here. Corvindale, I presume?”
She gave a nod, made another brief measurement with the sextant, then noted it on a page in a book filled with writing. “He saw fit to advise me of your imminent arrival.”
Raine was tempted to ask how she knew Corvindale, and more importantly, how she was so familiar with the Dracule and their various afflictions—down to the fact that a sharp stake pointed toward the heart was a show-stopper—but he chose not to.
Instead, he noticed for the first time, as she was writing, that her rolled-up sleeve revealed a tattoo on the inside of her left arm. He couldn’t quite make out what it was, but…A woman with a tattoo. He found it fascinating, and more than a little arousing.