Christine Dorsey - [Sea 01] (22 page)

“I would,” Scar countered. “Don’t know what we’d a done without her taking care a the wounded, ‘specially after Doc died.”

Jack caught Scar’s eye. “Just how long was she up on deck?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know for sure.” Scar rubbed his chin. “I seen her over by the forecastle soon as that Spaniard started shellin’ us.”

“You did, did you?” From the very beginning of the battle. She’d disobeyed him and put herself in danger from the very beginning of the damn battle. Jack’s jaw clamped shut, and his hands fisted.

“Where ye off ta, Cap’n?”

Jack didn’t stop walking. “To have a talk with Mistress Chadwick,” he said, before crawling down through the hatch.

“Oh!” Miranda whirled around, clutching her blood-stained gown to her breast as the cabin door slammed open. Only one man on this ship dispensed with the nicety of knocking. She wasn’t surprised to see the pirate captain standing in the doorway.

But by the expression on his handsome face he was surprised. “I apologize for...” Jack felt heat surge up his neck, and that embarrassed him more than walking in on her while she was undressing. He cleared his throat. “I’ve something to discuss with you.”

“Perhaps we could wait until later?” Miranda could feel his eyes on her, and everywhere they touched, her skin seemed to burn. The rumpled gown hid little of her linen shift from his view, and the linen shift hid little of her body.

“I think we should talk now.”

“But I’m changing my gown.” Miranda couldn’t believe she had to state the obvious. But even that didn’t faze the pirate. “The door to the passageway is open.” Surely he could see how inappropriate his actions were.

Jack turned and shut the door, remaining inside the cabin.

When he looked back, Miranda’s mouth was hanging open.

“I need to finish dressing.”

“This won’t take long.” Jack was determined to prove to himself that he had some self-control where Miranda Chadwick was concerned. He’d say what he had to say and then he’d leave. He cleared his throat again, wondering why his voice sounded so hoarse. “Now, if you’ll recall I gave you a specific order to stay below during the—”

“That’s what this is about?” Miranda let out a sigh of relief, unconsciously relaxing her hold on the gown. Jack tried not to notice the swell of her breasts above the ruffled drawstring neckline of her shift.

“Aye, it’s about your disobedience. What did you think?”

“Well, the way you came in here.” The gown dropped lower. “I feared ... well, I thought perhaps Phin had... had...”

She was on the verge of tears—Jack could see them shimmering in her midnight blue eyes thinking about an old salt of a pirate dying. Jack stepped forward. “He’s doing fine. Awake the last I checked and hollering for something to eat.”

“I’m so glad. Not that he’s hollering, of course, but that he’s going to be all right.”

“Aye. Well, we all are.” The damn dress was hanging by her side now. She didn’t seem to notice that it no longer shielded her. Jack could clearly see the outline of her firm breasts, the dusky nipples that tasted like honey, and the delta of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Blood rushed to his groin, thickening and hardening his manhood. He nearly groaned before turning on his heel and heading for the line of transom windows. So much for proving himself immune to her.

Jack kept his back to her. “I think perhaps you should dress yourself.” He could tell the exact moment Miranda realized her state of undress. She gasped, then grabbed up another gown.

He could hear the sensual sound of silk skimming over flesh as she pulled on the dress. Closing his eyes, Jack tried to control the desire shooting through him. After a moment, when he decided perhaps he could think again, he opened them. But the night had made a looking glass of the window panes, as good as any mirror. He could see her reflected against the churning sea, her slender arms held high, her body taut as it waited for the gown to slide over it.

He did groan this time. Then coughed to cover the sound. Hands clenched in fists Jack turned abruptly. “You cannot continue to simply do as you please on this vessel.” His words were sharp edged, and he saw Miranda’s eyes widen as she clutched at the gaping bodice of her gown. “And for God’s sake cover yourself.”

Had he ever sounded more unreasonable in his entire life? Jack doubted it. He watched her fumble with the back lacings, then with a sigh moved around behind her. “Let me do it,” he said when she tried to pull away from him.

His knuckles brushed against the warm, soft skin of her back, and Jack felt it down to his boots. She shivered, and his mouth went dry. “Now, about your not listening to me,” he began. “During battle, the ship’s captain has absolute authority.”

“You don’t all the time?” Miranda twisted her head, and dark curls brushed across Jack’s hand.

“Not entirely. A pirate ship isn’t like most... The men are very independent. ‘Tis more like a brotherhood. But during battle—”

“The other pirates seem to bow to your will most all the time.”

“Aye, they do.” Jack absently followed the slope of her shoulder with his thumb. “But they listen to me by mutual consent. They do as I ask because for the most part ‘tis what they’d do anyway... or at least what they know should be done.”

“I see.” Actually, Miranda “saw” very little. The feel of his work-roughened fingers across her flesh was doing strange things to her ability to reason.

“The
Sea Hawk
‘tis no elitist vessel with a tyrant for a captain and sniveling tars afraid to open their mouths lest they get whipped within an inch of their lives.” Jack tried to concentrate on fastening Miranda’s gown, but his fingers seemed unable to accomplish the simple task.

Hell, he’d dressed and undressed his share of women before but never with this much difficulty.

“But during battle it’s different? You do have complete authority then?” Was that breathless voice hers?

‘What...? Oh, aye.” She had the softest, sweetest skin he’d ever touched. “Complete authority.” Jack gave up all pretense of hooking Miranda’s gown. His hands curved over her shoulders, then down her smooth arms to cross under her breasts. At the same time he surrendered to the urge to taste her as his lips pressed the hollow beneath her ear.

“Oh.” The word escaped her on a breath of air. Miranda let loose of her gown, and the bodice gaped open. She leaned back, her head resting against his hard chest, tilted to the side so that he could have access to the whole of her neck. His lips nibbled, his tongue dampened and his teeth sent tiny shivers of excitement down her spine.

Miranda barely noticed when his thumbs hooked on the laced fabric of her neckline, gently tugging it below her breasts. The shift followed, catching briefly upon her distended nipples before the linen was replaced by the firm heat of the pirate’s large hands.

Her knees buckled, but somehow she remained standing, pressed against the pirate, supported by the strength of his sturdy arms. His wet tongue traced the swirl of her ear, and Miranda moaned long and deep. Her breasts ached, and she arched, thrusting them more fully into his palms.

He squeezed. He lifted and weighed and swirled his fingers in an ever-tightening circle toward the tips. He tempted and teased, and Miranda shifted, pressing back toward the rock-hard length that rode high on her buttock. When his fingers, light as a bird’s wing, traced over her nipples, Miranda sucked in her breath, and groaned again, a sound that seemed to spur him on to even more delicious forms of torture.

With one hand Jack shoved the gown, over her hips. It fluttered to the deck on a whisper of silk as he found the moist heat at the juncture of her long legs. He ground the heel of his hand against her, feeling dampness through the linen shift.

Miranda’s breath came on a sob. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. Her lashes fluttered open as she saw a reflection in the wavery window glass. It was a man and woman. The pirate, oh, she would recognize him anywhere. He was tall and muscled, golden and wild against the backdrop of the churning sea.

But the woman. How could that be her? Yet, Miranda knew the dark-haired creature, writhing erotically against the pirate, must be her. Because she could feel everything the pirate did to her, every time he touched her. His fingers skimmed along her thighs, pushing aside the shift, and Miranda’s eyes drifted shut.

Bright colors swirled before her eyelids. It was happening again—that strange, wonderful trip through the heavens. Reality slipped farther away as Miranda clutched at the hand that held her. He moved faster, sliding over her till her legs opened and she cried out.

Jack held her tightly as her slim body tensed, then trembled. For a moment he rested his chin atop the crown of her raven hair, enjoying the sensation of having her sensual body pressed to his. But the pain of his arousal was too great to ignore for long. He wanted inside her. He wanted the same breath-shattering relief he’d given her.

With one hand still cupping her feminine mound, Jack fumbled with his breeches. She made a small, whimpering sound as he pulled back; but he breathed soft, soothing words in her ear, and she relaxed. What he said Jack didn’t know. He barely knew anything but an overpowering desire to be one with her.

He yanked down his breeches, and his sex sprang forward, large and hot and straining. Blood pounded in his ears as he leaned forward, grabbing her hips. Pounded loud and insistent.

Jack stopped, jerking around as the sound of someone knocking on the cabin door filtered through to his brain.

God’s blood, what was he doing? One moment he was fastening Miranda’s gown, telling her why she needed to obey him, and the next she was nearly nude and he was a hairsbreadth from making love to her—again.

“Who is it?” Jack strove to make his voice calm but knew he failed.

“It’s me, Cap’n, Scar. Bringin’ her ladyship somethin’ to eat.”

“Oh, God,” Jack moaned into Miranda’s hair. He stepped back, trying to pull up his breeches. He also tried to keep his eyes on Miranda’s face as she turned toward him. She yanked up her shift and dragged her dress up over her hips, sticking her arms into the sleeves. And all the while she stared at him with a dazed expression in her blue eyes.

“This tray is gettin’ damn heavy, Cap’n, and the last I looked I ain’t no lady’s maid.”

“I’m going to eat with the rest of the crew.” Miranda pulled away when Jack grabbed for her arm. He was shaking his head no, but she ignored him and cracked open the door. “I’m sorry you had to bring that down here. I must have forgotten to tell Simon in the galley.”

“Well sure, your ladyship, it ain’t nothin’. I’m glad you’ll be takin’ your meals with us.”

Miranda smiled. She closed the door, then leaned against it and shut her eyes. Her moment of relief was short-lived.

“What in the hell are you saying? You can’t eat with the men.”

Taking a deep breath, Miranda pushed away from the wood. “Why not?”

“They’re pirates, for God’s sake.”

“So are you.” Miranda reached behind her back, trying to fasten her gown.

“My point exactly.” Jack moved to help her, but she jerked away. He couldn’t blame her for that. “We’re all pirates, scourges of the seven seas. You don’t belong with any of us.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you kidnapped me!’ The pirate captain said nothing—what could he say? “I hope we are returning to Charles Town so that—”

“We are,” Jack assured her.

“Good. I think it would be best if we stayed away from each other until then.”

Jack couldn’t agree more... or quickly enough. He couldn’t explain what happened between them, and this time he didn’t even try. He simply turned and left the cabin.

If she wanted to eat with the crew, that was her business. They seemed to like her, and for some reason he couldn’t begin to fathom, she liked them. Not that his crew wasn’t a decent sort... for pirates. But they weren’t likely companions for ladies.

But then Miranda wasn’t the usual sort of lady.

She was the kind that could easily drive him crazy.

Jack told himself he’d eat his meals in his cabin, or on deck or sitting on coiled hemp, or any damn place Miranda Chadwick wasn’t.

Except, when the time came, he decided he better go to the galley... just to keep an eye on his captive.

She was sitting at the rough-planked table between Scar and King, drinking from a pewter mug and talking about gravity. Jack sat at the end of the plank and watched the lantern light shine blue in the deep waves of her hair. He was thinking about the way making love with him made her feel like she was defying gravity. Heat seeped through his body and settled in his groin.

He couldn’t get her back to Charles Town fast enough.