Savannah Heat (22 page)

“It was a foolish thing to do, Miss Jones,” he said with gruff authority, “but I can certainly understand your fears … a woman alone and unprotected. You may rest assured that you will be safe on board the
Savannah.
”

“Thank you, Colonel.” Silver glanced at Morgan, who looked torn between amusement and exasperation. When Buckland reached over and patted her hand, Morgan’s expression changed once more.

“Why don’t we take a turn about the deck, my dear?” Buckland suggested.

“Well, I’m not sure—”

His chair scraped back, and he urged her to her feet. “You have no need to worry. I’ll be right beside you. The men will know better than to give offense.”

“That isn’t exactly what I meant.” Over her protests, Buckland escorted her up on deck. She didn’t see Morgan for several hours, and when she did, he seemed guarded and strangely silent.

That night at supper, Silver wore a fashionable rust silk gown and the men wore their uniforms, in deference to the colonel, she was sure. Throughout the meal of chipped beef, hardtack, and molasses—far simpler fare than they’d shared before—Morgan remained cordial but not overly friendly. Hamilton Riley was also present, bestowing upon her his usual warm greeting, for which he got a stern look from Buckland. Jacques took his meal with the crew.

When supper ended, the men enjoyed brandy and cigars, Silver insisting she liked the aromatic smell. The conversation mellowed, and Silver turned to Morgan, hoping he might walk with her up on deck. It was Buckland who offered.

“A walk after supper is often just the thing,” he said.

“I’d love to, Colonel, really I would, but—” Silver glanced at Morgan, hoping he would intercede, but he only excused himself and walked away.

Buckland took her arm and helped her climb the ladder to the deck. The night was warm and tropical, the seas rolling with a light swell. Moonlight bathed the water, and a cool breeze freshened the air. Buckland smiled at her warmly and settled a hand at her waist to guide her along. As the ranking officer he seemed to feel she was his responsibility, assuming the role of escort and protector whenever she was near.

“Shall we, my dear?” Buckland inclined his head toward the bow of the ship.

Silver wanted to say no, that it was Morgan’s company she wanted, but Buckland was Morgan’s superior. She wasn’t sure what power he might wield.

As they strolled along, the men the ship transported moved discreetly out of their way. All except the mercenaries, who eyed her boldly, though Buckland cast them each a glare of warning. He was handsome, she decided, but a bit too mature for her tastes. Still, he was intelligent and an interesting conversationalist. She discovered they both enjoyed playing chess and agreed to a match the following day.

“You’re very good, my dear,” the colonel said that afternoon, though he had beaten her two games out of three.

Silver laughed softly. “You’ve thrashed me soundly. I hardly think I deserve the compliment.”

Buckland covered her hand with his and leaned over to whisper something in her ear.

That was the moment Morgan chose to emerge from his cabin. He stood in the doorway, his feet braced apart, and Silver recognized the hard glint of his anger. Though what had transpired with Buckland had been perfectly innocent, Silver flushed.

“Enjoying the voyage, Colonel?” Morgan said to Buckland, propping one wide shoulder against the cabin wall.

“Lady Salena has made it memorable already.”

“Please, Colonel,” she said without thinking, “I had hoped you would call me Silver.” When Morgan’s dark expression turned even darker, Silver cursed her wayward tongue.

“Oblige the lady, Colonel. You never know what other requests she might have in store.”

The mocking tone of Morgan’s voice said he was recalling the last request she had made:
Right now I just want you to kiss me
.

Silver’s cheeks grew warmer still.

The colonel smiled in her direction. “I’d be delighted to call you Silver, my dear, if you would agree to call me Connie.”

Silver could have kicked herself. “Of course … Connie.”

Morgan turned and stalked from the room.

For several more days Connie Buckland paid homage, filling her hours and keeping her occupied. Wherever they went, Morgan seemed to appear. When they went up on deck, he stood at the rail; while they played cards in the salon, Morgan worked in his cabin. Yet whenever he glanced in her direction, it was as if she weren’t there.

Damn, if only she could think of a way to dodge the colonel’s attentions, but short of telling him that it was Morgan who held her interest, she couldn’t think of a way. She thanked God the man was sleeping in the mate’s cabin, up in the foc’s’le with the crew.

At least she got to see Morgan for a moment or two each night before bed. He was always polite—exceedingly so—but otherwise cold and distant. She wished she could think of a way to break through the shell he had erected.

“It’s awfully late, Colonel. Shouldn’t we be going below?” Most of the soldiers were already asleep, some on deck, some in hammocks strung belowdecks. Only the larboard watch, who had the night’s duty, remained up and about, and the helmsman in the aft wheelhouse, who worked the huge teak wheel.

“It’s such a lovely night,” Buckland said. “It seems a shame for it to end so soon.”

“But—”

Dressed as always in his immaculate blue uniform, Buckland took her arm and started toward the bow. There was usually no one sleeping at that end of the ship, so there were several dark places she needed to avoid.

Silver pulled him to a halt. “I really must be going, Connie. I appreciate your company, really I do, but—”

“Nonsense, my dear. You can sleep a little later in the morning.”

Silver didn’t miss the way his eyes slid down to the curve of her breast. Though the gown she wore was a simple light green batiste, the bodice dipped low,
emphasizing the high, round swells, and the matching wide green sash made her waist look incredibly narrow. Buckland’s hand moved possessively in that direction, and he firmly urged her forward. Silver hedged. So far the colonel’s advances had been subtle, but he was getting bolder every day.

Her mind was working feverishly to find another objection when Jacques Bouillard, wearing duck pants and a wide-striped shirt, appeared from belowdecks. Silver could have kissed him.

“Ah, Colonel Buckland,” he said, pronouncing the middle
l
in the colonel’s title, “finally I have found you. The men ’ave made a wager about whether or not your Republic of Texas will be admitted to the United States. They are in need of your expert judgment to settle the matter.”

Buckland smiled. Silver decided he succumbed to flattery more easily than any man she had ever met.

“You go ahead,” Jacques told him. “I will see Mademoiselle Jones safely below.”

Buckland released his hold on her waist. “I’m afraid duty calls, my dear.” Lifting her slender hand to his lips, his mouth a little too moist, he kissed her fingers. When he was gone, Silver sighed with relief.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do about that man.”

“You had better figure it out and soon,” Jacques warned, “before the
capitaine
figures it out for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you cannot see it,
chérie
, how am I to explain?”

“But I—”

“Come. It is time you went to bed.”

Silver let Jacques lead her down to the salon. While he stood near the ladder, she knocked quietly on the door to the captain’s cabin and waited while Morgan pulled it open.

“I’m sorry to be so late, but the colonel—” Before she could finish, Morgan dragged her into the room and closed the door. That he was angry, she had no doubt.

“You and Buckland out for another midnight stroll?” He made it sound so lewd Silver bristled.

“What do you care? You haven’t given me the time of day since I arrived.”

“How could I? You’ve spent every waking hour with Buckland!”

Silver’s eyes fixed on Morgan’s body. He stood naked to the waist, his breeches slung low on his hard-muscled hips. She tried not to notice the lamplight glistening on his curly blond chest hair, the way it arrowed across his flat stomach, then disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

“He thinks he’s protecting me.”

“Protecting you? That’s a laugh. Connie Buckland’s no different from any other man on board this ship. He’s squiring you around because he thinks there’s a chance you’ll warm his bed.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Am I? How many times have you kissed him?” He stood with his feet braced apart, glaring down at her, the scar on his cheek white and drawn. Surely he couldn’t be jealous.

“I’ve never kissed him—if it’s any of your business—and I don’t intend to. I told you once before, Major, I’m not a woman of easy virtue. I don’t give my affections lightly.”

“No?” he mocked, surprising her. “Why don’t we find out?” Morgan moved closer, his arm snaking out, circling her waist, then hauling her into his arms. Before she could protest, his mouth came down hard over hers. Morgan pressed her back against the wall, used his body to pin her, ground his
hips into hers. But even as his tongue thrust violently between her teeth, Silver felt the stirring, the longing she had known before.

Morgan’s hand slid down her body, gripped her bottom, and forced her against him. She could feel his arousal, hot and heavy, feel the buttons closing up his fly, and soft heat slid through her body. He tasted faintly of brandy, a lock of hair fell over his forehead, and hard muscle rippled across his chest. Unconsciously Silver’s fingers pressed into his hot, damp skin, the roughness of his curly blond chest hair. Feeling the slick, moist warmth of his tongue, the demanding pressure of his lips, Silver moaned, and Morgan’s movements stilled.

He pulled away to look at her. She should have been angry, she realized; it was anger he expected. Instead her eyes were filled with longing; the blush of passion stained her lips. She should have been fighting, scratching and clawing, demanding that he stop. Instead she looked up at him, let him see exactly what she was thinking. Let him know his fiery thoughts mirrored her own.

With a groan of defeat, Morgan cupped her face with his hands and kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Silver slid, her arms around his neck. Morgan kissed her gently, his tongue teasing now, coaxing, almost begging her to give him what he wanted. One hand pulled the pins from her hair, and the heavy silver mass cascaded past her shoulders.

He laced his fingers through it, tilted her head back, and deepened the kiss. His hand moved over her breast, stroking the rounded flesh through the barrier of her clothes, then sliding inside her bodice, cupping the fullness, his fingers stroking the rosy peak to hardness. Each of his touches inflamed her.
Silver’s nipples puckered and tightened, and waves of heat washed over her.

“Morgan,” she whispered, the word almost a plea.

He kissed the curve of her neck, nibbled her ear, trailed a path of fire to the hollow of her throat. Sliding her gown off one shoulder, he lowered his head to the soft white flesh that filled his hand. Silver’s knees felt weak, her body aflame. Morgan suckled at her breast, and the sensuous little tugs sent a bolt of white-hot lightning careening through her body. When she trembled and arched against him, Morgan pulled away.

“Please.” Silver pleaded, knowing this was what she wanted—the ultimate reason she had hidden on board his ship.

Morgan seemed uncertain. “You spoke of affection, Silver. It’s more than affection that I’m asking from you now. Are you certain you’re ready to give it?”

Silver looked up at him. The passion that blazed in his eyes left no doubt about what he meant. “Yes,” she whispered softly.

With a groan low in his throat, Morgan bent his head and kissed her. One hand slid beneath her knees, and he lifted her into his arms. Silver wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against him. He carried her over to the bed, set her down gently, and began to strip off her clothes. She was trembling now, but with anticipation, not fear. She wanted Morgan Trask, wanted to feel his hard frame next to her, wanted to explore the strange and wondrous sensations he stirred in her body.

Morgan worked the buttons down her back, pulled her gown away, and kissed her shoulders. His lips felt hot against her skin, his touch almost reverent.
He cupped her breasts, his strong hands kneading, stroking, sending shivers of heat through her limbs.

In minutes he had removed her petticoats and corset, leaving her in pantalets, garters, and chemise. Propping each leg on his thigh, Morgan rolled down her stockings. He kissed her calf, the dimple in her knee, then moved higher, until she squirmed.

“Hurry,” Silver whispered, but Morgan only smiled.

“I’ve waited too long for this, vixen. I don’t intend to hurry now.” With a thoroughness she didn’t expect, Morgan kissed her, then covered her with his long, hard body and pressed her back on the bed. While his mouth and tongue worked their magic, his hand stroked her nipple, and a fresh surge of heat rolled over her.