Christine Dorsey - [Sea 01] (14 page)

Jack shook his head. He wasn’t going to hang. He did everything he could to keep from getting caught. Hell, hadn’t he proven just how far he was willing to go to avoid the gibbet when he kidnapped Miranda Chadwick?

A scowl darkened his handsome features. Tomorrow morning they’d dock in the creek. A few days after that they’d head back to Charles Town, and he could be rid of her.

Jack decided he’d unload his cargo as quickly as possible; take on supplies and fresh water and head for St. Augustine. Someone had to know where his sister was, and this time he wasn’t returning until he found her.

Running his fingers through his hair, Jack righted the chair and stood. He gave one last longing look at his bunk and shook his head about the picture he noticed on his desk—the picture of a man with lines and ripples all over his skin. With a shrug he left the cabin.

Miranda Chadwick certainly did find strange things to do with her time. There was no doubt about that. When he first noticed the sketch under his log, he thought she was drawing someone’s portrait. But a closer inspection showed that the face was only a blur of lines. It was the body she’d drawn in detail—but not too much detail. Mistress Chadwick obviously didn’t know everything, Jack thought with a chuckle. Because she sure didn’t know what a man looked like under his breeches.

Jack climbed through the hatch and glanced around, wondering where everybody was. A bucket of salt water and a holystone lay on the deck by his feet. Granted, none of the crew were wild about scrubbing the deck, but they’d all agreed it was a chore that needed done.

Hearing noises behind him, Jack turned around. To a man, his crew was, standing in a semicircle around the mast.

“What the hell is going on?” Guilty faces turned at the sound. As Jack strode toward them they parted, allowing him inside the circle of men. Phin met his stare with an expression on his wizened face that Jack could only describe as sheepish.

“What are you doing?” Jack repeated. “Who in the hell is steering the ship?”

“Er, Cap’n, sir... uh...”

“I want an answer and I want it now!” A thought sprang into Jack’s head. He glanced around nervously. “Where’s Mistress Chadwick?”

The slight lifting of Phin’s eyes was subtle, but Jack caught it. He raised his gaze and felt his heart leap in his chest. God’s blood!” he bellowed. “What’s she doing up there?” Jack didn’t wait for an answer but repeated the same question for the benefit of his errant captive. “What the hell are you doing up there?”

Miranda Chadwick was at least thirty feet above the deck, clinging to the rigging. Her hair was whipping in the breeze, and her skirts were tucked up through her legs showing an indecent amount of bare skin.

Jack thought she yelled something down about gravity and Galileo, but he didn’t stand around to listen. Grabbing hold of the hemp, he swung himself into the rigging. “Don’t move! Just don’t move!”

Years of practice made Jack’s assent up the ratlines quick and smooth. With each swaying motion of the ship he glanced above to see how Miranda was faring. And with each foothold he noticed the distance down to the solid oak deck.

He’d never worried about the height before, but now that there was a chance of Miranda Chadwick falling, he couldn’t think of anything else—except how he was going to skin every member of his crew for letting her do such a fool thing. And how he was going to throttle her.

When she was safe on deck, of course.

Miranda couldn’t believe how quickly the captain covered the space from the deck to her. She also couldn’t believe how angry he looked. She had the strongest desire to climb higher still. But she could only go so far, and she had no doubt he could climb faster... and well, there was no sense making him more enraged than he already was.

So she stayed where she was, clutching the rigging with one hand. In the other she held two pouches. One contained sea biscuits. The heavier one was full of small iron balls called grapeshot. She had planned to drop them both at the same time to prove Galileo’s theory. Instead she watched the sun turn the captain’s hair a brilliant gold as he came toward her.

“I can explain, Captain Blackstone. You see—” The rest of her words were lost as he grabbed her around the waist with one of his steel-band arms.

“Hold on to my neck,” he ordered in a tone that left no room for argument.

She clung as he reached across for the tar-covered backstay. Wind whipped about them, and his smell enveloped her as readily as his body. The sensations were overwhelming. Then he wrapped his powerful legs around the rope, and they slid, nearly flying, toward the deck. The rush was exhilarating, but it ended abruptly when the captain’s feet hit the deck.

Without a word he bent and tossed her over his shoulder. Blood coursed to Miranda’s head, but she didn’t dare fight him. He yelled a hasty command to his crew that had them scurrying. Then still holding the back of her thighs, he headed for the hatch.

“Oh, you brute! You cretin!” Miranda landed on her feet inside the captain’s cabin one moment; the next she flung back her ebony hair and lunged toward him. She had never been so humiliated in her life. As a matter of fact, she didn’t think she’d
ever
been humiliated—that is, until she met this pirate.

Captain Blackstone grabbed her hands, effectively thwarting her blows. In frustration she jackknifed her leg and kicked him, forgetting until her toes slammed into his leather boots that she’d removed her shoes before climbing the rigging.

“Ouch! Oh... Oh, look what you’ve done.” Miranda danced around on her other foot—but only as far away as his shackling hold would allow.

“What I’ve done! What
I’ve
done?” Jack had the strongest urge to take her creamy smooth neck between his fingers and squeeze. Instead he flung his hands down and paced to the transom window. The placid sea kept his attention for only a minute before he turned on her. “What about what
you’ve
done?”

Miranda stopped hopping around on one foot long enough to face him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t—” Jack dug ten fingers through his hair in frustration and paced across the room. “What do you call climbing the rigging?”

Miranda crossed her arms, ignoring the pain in her toes. The ribbon had come loose from her hair when the captain threw her over his shoulder. With a flip of her head she shook a lock off her cheek. “I was demonstrating the law of falling bodies.”

“Did you have to use your own?”

“I had no intention of falling from the rigging.” She wished the captain would calm down. He stalked the small cabin like a tiger in a cage. “I intended to drop these pouches.” Miranda unfolded her arms and showed him the leather bags she still clutched in her hands. “There are sea biscuits in one, and in the other, I have balls.”

Stopping in his tracks, Jack stared at her through narrowed eyes. “You certainly do.”

Ignoring his comment, which she didn’t understand anyway, Miranda continued her explanation. “It was a simple experiment. No harm would have come from it.”

Jack leaned toward her till their noses nearly touched. “No harm? Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if you’d fallen?” Jack could still feel the panic that had engulfed him when he’d looked up to see her clinging to the rigging.

“But I had no intention of falling,” she repeated. When the captain snorted and walked away, Miranda followed. “I’m a very good climber. Back in England I often scaled trees to gather specimens for my grandfather’s experiments.”

Jack’s head whipped around, and his stormy gaze met hers. “Well, on my ship you’re my responsibility and you scale nothing. Is that understood?”

Miranda lifted her chin. “I was in far more danger when you threw me over your shoulder than when I climbed the ropes.”

“Is that understood?” he repeated.

She wanted to argue the point further, but the captain seemed in no mood. He stood, his booted feet spread, his muscled arms crossed, looking every bit the ruthless pirate, and waited for her reply. Reluctantly Miranda nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” His granite chin clenched. “And from now on you are to have no discourse with my crew.”

“What?” Miranda dropped the pouches. She didn’t bother to notice if they hit the floor at the same time or not. “But that’s not fair!”

“I warned you that—”

“You said that I was to refrain from speaking of maggots and animalcules. Which I have.”

“Aye, but you seem unable to stay out of trouble when you’re around them.”

“For the last time, I wasn’t in trouble.” Miranda’s shoulders drooped. “And they have such an interest in science.”

“More likely, their interest extends to your anatomy.”

His gaze slid downward, and Miranda felt a trail of warmth follow. A flash of passion lit his eyes, and Miranda glanced down to see her skirts tucked up to show her legs from the knees down. Hastily she yanked the garment down.

“You’re disgusting,” she said, looking away.

“True enough. But at least I don’t pretend this great curiosity about Jupiter’s moons so I can sit around and gaze into your big blue eyes.”

Miranda’s big blue eyes widened in shock. “They don’t do that.”

God’s blood, maybe they didn’t. Maybe
he
was the only one who couldn’t get enough of looking at her. But hell, she’d been up on those ropes, her long, slender legs there for all his crew to see.

“They don’t,” Miranda insisted again. “Phin is interested in things like the speed of light. And so is Scar and King and No Thumb.” Miranda’s chin notched defiantly. “They all are.”

“All right, maybe they are.” Damn, she could be prickly. “Unfortunately, they’re going to have to forgo any more knowledge for the rest of your captivity. I’m responsible for you and that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“But I think—”

Jack’s mouth covered hers in a kiss that effectively cut off her argument... whatever it was going to be. He hadn’t planned to use that technique to quiet her. One minute he was just standing there, and the next he was crushing her against him, burying his hands in her luxurious hair.

She felt wonderful, so soft and sweet, and the tightly coiled frustration he’d known since looking up and seeing her in the shrouds dissipated. He—a pirate—had been scared to death when he saw her so far above the deck. It took wrapping her in his arms to assure himself she was safe.

Miranda knew she should stop him, but when she raised her hands to push him away they clutched the front of his shirt instead. He was so hard and strong, and the sheer size of him overwhelmed her in such a delightful way. Surely she should let the kiss continue—if only as an experiment.

But when his tongue nudged her lips apart and she opened to him, Miranda lost all thoughts of scientific research. She moaned and stretched up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck.

His lips left hers and rained kisses across her cheeks and nose and over her fluttering eyelids. His tongue trailed down her neck, and Miranda had the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her head fell back, and she tried to catch her breath as he nipped at her ear.

Miranda’s knees felt weak; she thought she might fall but for the hands that skimmed down her body. Then suddenly he was lifting her. Not in the infuriating way of before, but against his hard chest.

His lips found hers again, urgently, hungrily. Jack laid her on the bunk, following her down with his body. She clung to him, drove him wild with her innocent movements and the soft, sweet noises she made.

He cupped her breast through the silk of her gown and sighed when the nipple hardened beneath his hand. He teased it with his thumb, and she arched off the mattress toward him. Jack groaned, rubbing his manhood against her, nearly losing himself when she squirmed beneath him.

God, he shouldn’t do this. The thought came out of nowhere, and Jack tried to push it aside. He nibbled at her lips, gently teasing, pleased when she opened for him. Jack’s tongue met hers in a rhythmic motion that drove him wild.

He ached. He wanted. He couldn’t drive away the nagging regret that he shouldn’t do this.
He couldn’t do this
.

With a groan Jack pushed himself up, and turned to sit on the edge of the bunk. His breathing was shallow and gasping, and he dropped his head into his hands, trying to regain some control.

She made a small noise, and Jack twisted his head to look at her—and almost forgot his resolve. Her inky black hair spilled across his pillow in abandon. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and dark from passion, questioned him. But unlike the verbal queries she constantly made, this one didn’t annoy him. She deserved an answer to this one.

Unfortunately, he had no answers. He couldn’t tell her why he had started kissing her. And he sure as hell couldn’t tell her why he had stopped.

Closing his eyes, he sought a deep breath. “I apologize.” Jack lifted his hands, then let them drop between his knees.

“I...” Miranda pushed up on her elbow. “I don’t know what to say.” This was all so new to her. Miranda knew how animals— how humans reproduced. Grandfather had explained the entire process to her once when they were discussing Nehemiah Grew’s discoveries about plant sexuality.