Christine Dorsey - [Sea 01] (34 page)

Taking a deep breath, Miranda made her way past the hatch, pausing only a second before climbing the ladder to the quarterdeck. Jack was standing at the wheel, his expression solemn. He didn’t notice her at first, and Miranda took a moment to study him, appreciating anew how pleasing he was to the eye, before she stepped forward.

When he looked over at her, his eyes hardened. “Is there something you need?”

“Yes.” Miranda floundered, then rushed ahead. “A chance to explain why I—”

“I think you did that last evening.” Jack settled his feet more firmly against the roll of the ship.

“But I didn’t explain all of it.”

“You aren’t going to try to unravel the mysteries of gravity for me, are you?”

“No.” Miranda couldn’t help a small smile, and she thought the corners of her husband’s mouth twitched ever so slightly as well. “I thought I might give you my views on marriage.”

That got Jack’s attention. His head whipped around. “Whose marriage?”

“Our marriage... and my parents’.” Miranda looked up at him. “I don’t know what my father told you about my mother or me, probably noth—”

 “He spoke of you often. Frankly, he used to bore me with stories of his daughter in England.”

Miranda’s smile was broader this time. “Did he ever speak of why we didn’t come to the New World with him?”

Jack shrugged. “He didn’t feel it was safe. He went to Barbados first, then later to the Carolinas.”

“Yes, and he was going to come back for us when he thought the time was right.” Crossing her arms, Miranda paced to the rail. “But the time never was right.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I wasn’t very old, but I can still remember my mother’s despair at being without him She was so sick at heart.”

Miranda turned back to Jack. “She died, you know. And I think one reason she couldn’t fight the fever was their separation. No, it’s true,” Miranda continued when she saw his dubious expression. “My father tried to keep her safe, and instead... she died.”

Jack held her gaze a long moment. “ ‘Tis not the same thing, you know. This—” he waved his hand to encompass the ship— “or our marriage.”

“Perhaps,” Miranda said with a sigh.

“God’s blood, neither of us wanted this marriage,” Jack said softly. “And being on a pirate ship is a hell of a lot more dangerous than emigrating to the New World.”

“I agree. And I won’t repeat my contention that I can help you with de Segovia.”

“ ‘Tis a good thing.”

“I just thought you should know why I stowed away on the
Sea Hawk
. And... that I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.” Before he could say anything, Miranda scurried down the ladder. She climbed down the hatch and hurried to the captain’s cabin.

She’d told him too much. She felt exposed. Whenever she shut her eyes, Miranda could see his face as he said that neither of them had wanted their marriage.

It was true. She knew it was true. But still it hurt to hear it.

When Nat brought her meal, a mix of meat and potatoes called lopscouse, she ate little. Someone, Phin she assumed, had brought her books, microscope and the few clothes she’d brought to the cabin. Miranda tried to read, but couldn’t keep her mind from wandering.

Why had she come? Why hadn’t she thought it through and realized that the captain didn’t want her... didn’t even need her?

By the time the sea and sky melded into dark indigo, Miranda was so tired of thinking that she peeled off her gown and tumbled onto the cot. But sleep wouldn’t come. She lay awake listening to the creaking of the timbers, the soft lapping of the sea. The sounds were so hypnotic that at first she didn’t hear the footfalls in the passageway.

It wasn’t till they paused outside her door that she took notice.

Miranda elbowed herself up as the door swung open. Moonlight spilled in the transom windows, throwing silver highlights over Jack’s golden hair. His shirt shone white across his broad chest as he stood motionless, dwarfing the entryway. Miranda could not see his expression for the shadows, but she knew he watched her. Her breath ceased, and blood rushed to her head, pounding in her ears when he carefully closed the door behind him.

“I couldn’t stay away,” was all he said, before crossing the room.

At the side of the box bunk he hesitated, as if unsure of his reception. Miranda marveled that he thought she didn’t want him. Oh, the rational side of her preached prudence. But Miranda was quickly learning that where the pirate was concerned reason rarely prevailed. Her emotions involving him were too strong to ignore. Too passionate to explain away using any kind of logic.

Miranda lifted her hand toward him. He grabbed it, enfolding her warm fingers in his as he sat on the edge of the mattress.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he murmured as he touched her palm to his lips.

Then a veil of memory seemed to cross his features, hardening the handsome mouth. He scowled down at her, his breath feathering her fingers. “Hell, you shouldn’t be here.”

“But, how could I not come when I knew you needed—” Miranda’s words were cut off when his mouth settled over hers. The kiss was slow, and thorough, a prelude of things to come, and Miranda felt herself sinking.

When he finally pulled away, she felt his smile against her lips. “No questions tonight. Please, no questions.”

Giving her no time to reply, even if she could indeed come up with one, Jack pushed her down on the ticking, following with his own body. He moaned as she twined her fingers through his hair, guiding his mouth back to hers.

Kissing her was all he remembered it to be. He had paced the deck tonight, chastising himself for even considering going below to his wife. And he’d almost convinced himself that he’d exaggerated in his mind the way it felt to touch her. Even that hadn’t kept him away. But now Jack realized his memory didn’t come close to the sensations that flooded him when they kissed.

It was the damnedest thing, and one day he was going to ponder it.

But not now.

Now he couldn’t keep his hands off her. They followed the ridges of ribs, feeling her warmth through the cotton chemise she wore. Her body seemed to flow toward his, ignite his, till desire overwhelmed him.

Her response was as open and trusting as it had been before. She drew him in, softened for him. Jack broke off the kiss and buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder. Her hair smelled so good... she smelled so good. Her scent had haunted him as surely as the feel of her smooth skin, the taste of her mouth.

“Stand up a moment.” Jack stood and pulled her with him. He gathered the chemise in his hands, slipping it over her head, and just stared.

“So pretty,’ he murmured, tracing his fingertip down the gentle curve of her moonlight-limned breasts. Bending forward, he touched a rucked tip with his tongue, smiling at the way she moaned and arched into him

“Oh, Jack.” Miranda’s hand skimmed across his cheek, then tangled in the neck opening of his shirt.

Answering her silent demand, Jack yanked the white cotton off. He twisted, shifting reluctantly away from her to sit on the edge of the bed. After tugging at a boot, it thudded to the floor.

Miranda stepped closer, her leg brushing his bent knee. Jack sucked in his breath.

When the second boot hit the deck, Miranda leaned forward, brushing her lips against the silky hair on his bowed head. Jack’s hands whipped out, clutching her hips and jerking her toward him. His open mouth ground against the smooth flesh of her stomach, slid over to nip at her hip bone, then dragged down toward the delta of tight, raven curls.

Miranda could barely breathe. His long fingers slid round to cup her buttocks, and his voice was a mere rasp vibrating through her body as he begged her to open for him.

Her legs spread, and his whisker-rough chin grazed down her inner thigh, moments before Jack lost himself in her moist heat. He pressed his mouth to her in a deep kiss that made Miranda cry out. She clutched Jack’s shoulders to keep from falling, then as the hot touch of his tongue sent her soaring, tangled her hands in his hair, pressing him ever closer.

Jack’s breathing was shallow and ragged as she slumped into his arms. He lowered her to the bed, following her down when she clung to him, kissing her, touching her. But the pressure of his thick, pulsing shaft against the binding breeches was painful. Jack fumbled with his waistband, freeing himself and plunging into her with one motion.

“Miranda?” he said, because she went very still, and he feared he’d been too rough in his hurry to possess her.

Her lashes fluttered open and she smiled at him, and Jack could do naught but smile back. But the heat of her, the tight way she surrounded him, made the interlude short. He moved, cautiously at first, and then as her legs wrapped around his, more firmly.

She lifted her hips, pressing him to fill her completely, and Jack felt the wild stirrings of release strum through his body. He plunged, taking her mouth in a carnal kiss at the same moment, and she clutched at him, arching her back and crying out.

Her body shuddered and convulsed, milking him with the tiny tremors that squeezed and excited every inch of him. It seemed to last forever, this pleasure too perfect for words. He rode the wave, crested, then finally, slid softly to shore... exhausted.

Jack flopped down on the bunk and pulled her warm body into his arms. She was sleek with sweat, as was he, and he barely had the energy to reach for the sheet and pull it up around them. She snuggled closer to him when he did.

Jack shut his eyes, content, only to jerk them open again. “This doesn’t change the way I feel, Miranda. You should never have come with us.”

“Mmmm.”

Tucking his chin down, Jack tried to look at his wife, but all he could see was a tangled cloud of midnight black hair and the tip of her nose. “Do you understand me, Miranda? I may not be able to take you back to Charles Town right away, but— Her hand flopped across his stomach, and Jack sucked in his breath.

“Are you awake?”

Again she made a noise, part sigh, part snuffled “yes.”

“Good, because I want you to understand that you are not going to set one foot ashore at St. Augustine.” There, he’d said it and he was glad. That was until he felt her wriggle away from him. The air chilled his chest as she sat up, pulling the sheet with her.

“Why not?”

Jack tugged gently on her arm, but she refused to budge. “Miranda.”

“Why aren’t you going to allow me ashore at St. Augustine?”

Jack shut his eyes. Why wasn’t he content to simply go to sleep after making love to her? Why did he have to open the door for her questions. It would have been much better if he’d simply waited until they reached the Spanish stronghold to tell her.

He reached, up again, this time letting his hand skim over her breasts. “Let’s not speak of it tonight”

“But, Jack, I really can be of assistance, if you’d just let —” She quieted, sucking in her breath when his fingers circled her pouting nipple. “Jack?”

“Mmmm”

After that Miranda was much too busy to worry about St. Augustine.

Jack woke at eight bells of the midnight watch and rolled from the bunk. Not even the barest hint of dawn lit the cabin, and the moon had waned; but he managed to gather his clothes by groping about on the deck. Striking flint to steel and lighting the lantern would have simplified the task, yet Jack hesitated to wake Miranda, who lay cuddled on her side.

Instead, he muffled the sound of his movements as best he could. He made his way topside by instinct and touch, taking a deep breath of heavy sea air as he emerged through the hatch. His chest expanded as the westerly breeze whipped through his hair, and his mouth relaxed into a smile.

He felt good. Despite all that had happened so far on this voyage, he felt good. “No secret as to why,” he mumbled to himself after making his way to the rail. He’d always been a lusty sort—he was a pirate, wasn’t he? And he’d never pretended not to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. Since his wife had the most delectable flesh he’d ever encountered, it made sense that he find himself taken with her.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Now that he could explain away this attraction he felt for her, he might as well take advantage of it. Granted she had some annoying habits. Her bookishness for one. Her inability to follow a simple order for another. Jack’s ire began to rise, and he purposely tapped it down.