“Where are you taking me?” She trotted to keep up.
He caught the break in her voice. Good. Maybe she realized now he controlled her very life. Which he would make unpleasant if she didn’t obey him. “Back to the cabin.”
She dug in her heels.
He tugged, and she stumbled toward him.
“I won’t stay there.”
“Oh yes, you will.” He slowed as they descended the ladder. As soon as the dimness encompassed them, he continued his stalking gait.
Throwing open the door to his cabin, he pushed her inside, entered, and slammed it shut. He remembered doing this once already today. He hoped this time would be the last. Morgan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door.
She stood defiantly before him as her perfect, seductive chest rose and fell in a swift rhythm. From the quick trip down here, fear, or anger, he couldn’t tell. She acted the opposite of every female he had ever encountered.
“Now, let’s get a few things straight.
I
run this ship.
I
am the captain.
I
am king on the
Sea Dragon
. You obey
my
rules. And the first one is, you go where I tell you and stay there until I command otherwise.” A paper from the top of his desk floated to the floor, reminding him of her other infraction and possible spying. “And you never, ever, touch my belongings.” He swung his arm in a wide arc. “This is not how I left my cabin. Return it to its previous condition.”
“But—”
“Quiet!” he roared. “I am not finished. You will remove those clothes and dress as a female should.” He stalked toward her.
She instinctively stepped back.
He snatched the cap off her head, and sunshine spilled out. Ensnared by her golden beauty, he stilled and pictured her hair unbound, enveloping her curves, enveloping him. He shook himself. Her allure would not save her. He was immune to feminine charms. Morgan shoved the wool cap at her, and she caught it in her hands. “Women do not wear these.”
“Are you finished?” She stood straight and tall. All five feet of her.
He nodded.
“I’m sorry I made a mess of your cabin, but you left me no choice. I needed to find a way out.”
“Why? I explicitly stated you were to remain. I even locked you in.” His gaze searched the cabin. “How did you escape?”
“I used the key.”
“How did you get it?” A sudden thought struck. “From Mark? Is he the one who let you out?” Morgan spun toward the door to summon the boy. She grabbed his arm to stop him, and a shocking sizzle shot through him.
An indrawn breath escaped her. She immediately released him and clasped her hands together in front of her, the knuckles white, her arms tense. “He had nothing to do with me leaving the cabin. It was all my idea.” The words tumbled from her mouth.
Morgan strove to ignore the tingling sensation running up and down his arm and to summon back the anger that had seeped from him. He held out his hand palm up. “Give me the key.”
She brushed blonde wisps of hair from her face. “I don’t have it.”
“Where is it?”
She hesitated. “At the bottom of the ocean.”
He strained to catch her whispered reply. Did he hear correctly? “Where did you say it was?”
His stowaway cleared her throat. “At the bottom of the ocean.”
“How did it end up there?” His tone rose with each syllable.
She crossed her arms in front of her—probably as a defensive gesture against him killing her—and grimaced before she spoke. “I threw it in.”
Morgan fought to contain the anger she ignited. He really did. “Of all the—”
“It is your fault.”
His eyes widened. “My fault?”
“For locking me in this cabin.”
“For your own good. In case you haven’t noticed, you are a woman, and this ship is filled with men.” He raised his arms to encompass the whole ship. As an afterthought, he added, “It is dangerous climbing to the maintop platform.”
“Not for me.” Pride rang in her voice.
She had scaled the ratlines like a monkey, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of praising her ability. “Why are you different?” He circled his desk, and she turned with him, her wary gaze appraising his every move. Aware his new position left her an open path to the door, he warned, “Don’t even think of stepping one foot outside this cabin, or you will be sorry.”
He dropped into the upholstered chair and frowned as he took in the scattered papers across the top of the desk. Were any missing?
She continued on as if she hadn’t heard. “I’ve been climbing the rigging all my life.”
His attention glided from the papers to her. “Why is that?”
“My papa owns a shipping company, and I often sailed with him as a child. So you see, I know what I am doing on a ship and am able to take care of myself.”
A shipping company?
“I wanted to prove to you I am capable and useful. That is why I couldn’t stay in your cabin.” She stepped toward the desk. “I swabbed the deck and helped an old seaman mend sails.”
“His name is Grimes.”
“He is a dear man, but he is old and really needs help. His hands are crippled from age, and they pain him. He didn’t complain, but I could see it on his face.”
Her animated features fascinated Morgan, and when she showed sympathy and kindness to his good friend, he found it hard to remain angry. Grimes was like a father to him, replacing the one who had left his family destitute when Morgan was fourteen. “I have offered him a different life, but he refuses to accept it. He loves the sea and sailing.”
“Now I think he is ready for a change. I could replace him.”
As her eagerness washed over him, a lead ball dropped into his gut. He had thought compassion lay in her inner core, but she was like every greedy female, thinking only of herself. He would treat her with the same respect she showered on everyone else. Very little. His voice dripped with disgust. “I will never replace him. I think it is time for you to straighten this room, starting with my books.”
“But we haven’t settled anything.”
“We have. Apparently, you haven’t been listening, little stowaway.” He pointed at the bookcase.
“Not to my satisfaction. And my name is Arianna.”
“Well, Arianna, you are to clean my room, dress as a female, and if you want duties, I can think of a few urges you can take care of.”
****
She spun away, refusing to press further. Especially when she knew what those duties he spoke of entailed. It was the only thing men ever desired from a woman. She snatched up the books one by one and shoved them in the bookcase.
“They are to be arranged alphabetically, according to the author’s last name. You can read, can’t you?
“Yes,” she bit out.
He was infuriating. She longed to throw one of the books at his head. She yanked them off the shelf and slammed them on the table. The resounding thud filled her with satisfaction.
“Easy with them. They may mean nothing to you, but they are precious to me.”
More precious than humans, since he handled them with more care. She glared at him, and as she did so, she again noticed even though he complained about her disregard of his novels, he didn’t sit and read all day. When he had gripped her arms and slapped her buttocks, she experienced the strength in his hands, and when he carried her over his shoulder, she felt the power in his muscles as they bunched and roiled. Fire filled her face. She fought to subdue it before he spied her distress.
His was a fit body much larger than hers that could be used to crush or harm or kill. When he confronted her on the upper deck, rage radiated from him, and fear filled her. With no friends, relatives, or alliances on this ship, she was vulnerable to his whims. Although more capable than most women, she was just that, a woman with few defenses against a strong, menacing male. But though he could have injured her in a number of ways, he had not laid a brutal hand on her, except to drag her down to his cabin. He had yelled, demanded, and scolded, but not beaten her.
Concentrating on the documents strewn across his desk, he didn’t realize she watched him as he examined a paper with a frown and then placed it on one of three piles. She really was sorry she had made such a mess, but he had forced her to do it.
That wasn’t true. She could have been more careful, but she had never been a neat person. Her poor maid always grumbled about the disarray she left behind her.
He suddenly looked up, and she swung her eyes away, but her flesh rippled as his gaze bored into her back. Had he sensed her studying him?
“If your father owns a shipping company, why did you stowaway on the
Sea Dragon
? Were you sent to get information? Is he the one attacking my ships? Is he sabotaging my operation, so he can steal customers from me?”
“No.” She whirled to face him. “My papa would never do that or ask it of me. He is a man of integrity.” Even if he was a tad superior and refused to listen to reason. Similar to Captain Danvers.
Those suspicious, inquisitive eyes framed by long lashes that had been heating her back now caught her eyes and attempted to burrow deep within her soul to seek out lies or secrets. She glanced away, refusing to allow him or any man access to her inner being and thoughts.
“He would not allow me to sail once I turned twelve, no matter how much I pleaded. Staying at home was unbearable, so I finally made a plan to hide in an empty hogshead to be loaded on my brother’s ship. Somehow it landed on yours.”
“So you are as disrespectful to your father as you are to everyone else.”
“That’s not fair, he…” Why did she bother? A man could never understand what it felt like to be stifled and encapsulated within the small, narrow world of a woman. Confined to the home, never allowed to go anywhere on her own, her thoughts considered ridiculous and useless, her life’s work to bear and raise children and please her husband.
She turned back to the books, and they worked in silence, but her anxiety rose with each crinkle of paper and exasperated breath. What was he planning when she finished? He was in control at the moment. Her hand trembled as her mind imagined a thousand possibilities. None of them appealing. She could stand it no longer. “What are you going to do with me?”
He stared at the columns of paper. “I don’t know, yet. Your presence on my ship does present a problem.”
As usual, she was a problem to be dealt with. “If you sail to the nearest port, I will gladly disembark.”
“I told you that isn’t possible.” He vaulted from his seat. “Are you finished yet?”
She shoved the last two books into their proper places and swung to face him. “Yes.”
“Good. Then take off your clothes.”
Her eyes widened, and her stomach clenched into a tight ball of dread. Had he been serious when he announced one of her duties would be to warm his bed? She raised her chin and fisted her hands, ready to defend herself. “I will not.”
“You are a lady, and you will dress as one.”
A breeze of relief sifted through her. “I cannot work in a dress. I will injure myself. It is—”
“You are not working on this ship.” Although his face betrayed no emotion, his rigid arms and stiff body shouted his anger.
“I can’t sit in this cabin day after day with nothing to do. I will go mad.”
“You should have thought of that before you decided to stowaway on the
Sea Dragon
.” He picked up one of the neat stacks of paper and placed it in a drawer.
The man was insufferable. She slapped her hands on the flat surface of the desk and leaned toward him. “Your men made a mistake and put part of my brother’s cargo in your hold.”
“Did you ever think you may have been the one to make the error?”
She had. “I didn’t. And Thomas wouldn’t have been so pig-headed about allowing me to work on
his
ship.”
He glared at her for a moment that lasted an eternity. His hard, chocolate-brown eyes glittered with an unreadable emotion. Arianna’s blood swept through her veins at an incredible pace, and her heart skittered around the inside of her chest.
Captain Danvers jerked his gaze from hers and stuffed the last of the papers in his desk, then stalked to the drawer beneath his berth where the arms of shirts and legs of pants still hung out at every angle. Snatching something wrapped in brown paper from underneath his clothes, he threw it to her. “It was to be a present for my sister. She is about your size.” He crossed to the door. “When I return, I expect to see you clothed in it, and my room back to its original condition.”
Chapter Three
His body hummed with desire for the virago in his cabin, and he couldn’t fathom why. He adjusted pants that had grown too tight while in her presence. She was a shapely package of frustration that fired his anger to a degree he had never experienced. He had tried to forget her as he rearranged the documents on his desk, focusing his mind on the letters and numbers written in ink, but he felt her essence, heard the sound of her movements and the soft swish of her breathing, and smelled her scent. When she leaned over his desk, her breasts pressed against her shirt, molded by the cloth… No woman had ever affected him in such a way, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.