His Wicked Kiss Part 12

It was clear the captain wasn't budging; she might as well have argued with the rock of Gibraltar. Her heart was pounding fiercely as she cursed him in her mind. She bit her lip, turning toward the waiting bathtub. If only it did not look so wonderfully inviting. She eyed it longingly.

Truly, she might have found the strength to make a stand against the barbarian, but she yearned to wash and was too practical to refuse the creature comforts of which she was in such dire need.

A fact the scoundrel knew full well, she thought, abruptly recalling the many times she had gone swimming au naturel in the jungle with her sweet friends among the Waroa maidens.

The young Indian girls had known all the hidden places where it was safe to play in the crystal waters. Many a day she had gone with them to escape the heat, splashing about and collecting the gorgeous blooms of water lilies, softening their skin with mud and clay mixtures, and adorning themselves with pearls that they harvested from the oysters that grew in the river.

Nudity had never bothered her then any more than it had bothered the native girls. Yes, she must think of it like that. She'd just pretend he wasn't even there.

Sending him one final look of reproach, Eden turned away, fingering the hem of her long white shirt.

"Ahem."

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

He swirled the feathery plume in a little circle in the air, instructing her to turn around again. "Don't try to hide, my sweet. I've paid for this, remember?"

Eden looked at him in loathing.

Lord Jack smiled.

Fine. If he wanted to be so abominably rude, she'd do her best to shock him right back without letting one iota of modesty get in her way.

Gathering up the remains of her still-defiant courage, she pulled off her boots and stockings and kicked them aside, sending him a withering glance as she did so, then untied the length of cord holding up her breeches.

Veiling her gaze behind lowered lashes, she took them off. Lastly, she lifted her damp, tattered shirt off over her head.

She quickly bent and scooped up the whole pile of her clothes, leaving behind only her boots.

Naked as the day she was born, she walked past him, shooting him a go-to-h.e.l.l smile as she proceeded out onto the stern gallery, where she dropped all her dirty and allegedly disease-ridden clothing over the rail.

She watched them fall into the waves far below and for a moment let the wind ripple through her hair and enjoyed the warm kiss of the sun on her bare skin. This, at least, was a good deal better than the cargo hold. The sun, like the very source of her strength, restored her to feeling some small semblance of control over this frightening situation. Taking a deep breath, Eden pivoted away from the railing and strolled back languidly inside.

Lord Jack's turquoise eyes had glazed over as she walked toward him. His stare traveled down every inch of her body, consuming her with unnerving intensity.

Frank, open l.u.s.t.

It rather terrified her, but she was too angry to let her fear show. She didn't grovel to anyone and certainly not to a blackguard like him.

She stepped into the bath with an expression of cool pride and lowered herself into the water. When she sat, she drew her knees up against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, finally hiding herself from him as best she could.

With a ragged inhalation, it seemed Lord Jack remembered then to breathe.

He looked away for a moment as though to collect himself, his hand obscuring his mouth.

"Are you entertained n-now, my lord?" Eden asked resentfully, her teeth chattering a bit, though the day was warm.

He did not answer at first. He looked at her again, dragged his gaze up from her body and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. It seemed as though there was something he wanted to say, but no words came.

He locked his fingers loosely before him and just looked at her.

"Stop staring at me," she said with a plaintive note in her voice.

"Forgive me, Eden." His voice was husky. "Your body is sublime."

Truly, she wanted to die of mortification. "Could you at least pa.s.s the soap?"

Amus.e.m.e.nt registered in his eyes at her request, chasing off some of that intimidating, dark intensity. He rose and went to get it for her. When he returned, he handed her an oval of fine, transparent amber soap wrapped in waxed paper.

Eden cautiously took the soap, then dunked herself under the water, holding her nose. Her hair floated around her, but she refused to resurface until she was confident she could simply ignore him. She must try harder to pretend he wasn't there.

How horrid he was, tormenting her like this.

Coming up again from beneath the water, she rested her head back against the tub's rim, determined to relax and enjoy her long-needed bath. The tepid, silky water soothed her agitated skin and aching muscles. At length, she began washing with the expensive soap, doing her dead-level best to ignore the hulking, six-foot, muscle-bound pirate sitting less than two feet away, devouring her with his gaze.

"I need to wash my hair," she announced after several moments. "Do you have any shampoo?"

With a grunt of a.s.sent, he got up again, went back into the side closet, and returned to present her with a small bottle containing a luxurious concoction of French shampooing.

Eden accepted it while he stood by the tub; he picked up the barrel and lifted it, nodding at her to indicate he would help her wet her hair. She tilted her head back and waited for the water to descend on her, a man-powered waterfall.

At least there was one good use for all those muscles.

"So," he said slowly after a time as he poured some water gently on her hair, "you thought you'd stow away. Ignore everything I said."

"I can explain-"

"Don't talk to me. I don't want to hear your excuses." He doused her, dumping an extra half gallon of water on her head.

She sputtered and glared at him the moment she had wiped the water out of her eyes.

But her thick hair was well soaked through now, so she took a large dollop of the shampoo and began working it into a lather, muttering, "You don't have to drown a person."

"You'll live. Close your eyes before you get soap in 'em."

"My lord, I know you're angry-"

"You know nothing. Stop talking," he grumbled. "I'm trying to think."

Eden sealed her lips in simmering obedience and looked away while Jack went and sat down again, his expression unreadable.

"Ah, what am I to do with you, girl? Feed you to the fishes? Put you in a lifeboat and let you row the thousand miles back to your father?"

She shot him a worried glance. Suddenly it seemed like a bad idea to irk him in any way. Eden gave up trying to reason with him, at least for the moment. There was no telling what new scheme might be percolating in his inscrutable brain, but arguing would only provoke him and would probably make things worse.

Shrugging off his displeasure with a low huff of indignation, she turned her attention willfully to the pleasanter task of washing her hair.

When a knock sounded on the cabin door, her captor went to answer it. He opened the door only narrowly and returned with a tray of food, which he set on the table. Then he went into the adjoining chamber and came back out with one of his own large white shirts, neatly folded. He set it over the nearby chair back for her to wear when her bath was through.

Seeing that she was done washing her hair, he returned without a word and lifted the barrel again to help her rinse the suds away. He made no attempt to dunk her this time, but carefully doled out more of the water, letting it wash in a steady stream over her hair.

"You were going to England anyway," she tried again in a calmer tone a few minutes later. "Your refusal was ungallant and completely arbitrary-"

"That's not true. I offered to take you and the others to Trinidad. Not total obedience to your wishes, but better than nothing." He set the empty barrel aside. "At least it would've gotten you out of there. It was your father who refused."

"I know." When she looked up at him, she was suddenly struck by the way the golden sunlight slanting in from the stern windows played along the rugged line of his iron jaw, softening all the harsh planes and angles of his tanned face. She held his stare for a moment, then let out a sigh and leaned back, resting her head against the rim of the tub. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," he replied, startling her with his frank tone. "You got what you wanted. I think you know exactly what you're doing. Fortunately," he added as he picked up the soap and began to wash her arm with the utmost care, "so do I."

She pulled away with a belated flash of angry shock. "Don't touch me!"

"Easy," he whispered.

"Stop it!" she cried as his large, deft hand smoothed the oval of soap across her damp chest.

"Relax, Eden-"

"Leave me alone!" She splashed him in her effort to escape his beguiling hands, getting water all over his shirt.

The cloth darkened in big wet spots across his chest and flat belly and on one shoulder. He glanced down at himself, and her fear escalated when he looked at her again with a feverish gleam in his eyes. "You want to play rough, eh?"

Her voice vanished as he lifted his shirt off over his head. The scandalized protest died on her lips as her gaze trailed over his stone-carved body. Oh, G.o.d, she thought with a large gulp. For one moment, simply from shock, she allowed herself to look at him-really look at Jack Knight.

His pink, narrow lips were pliant and sensitive in contrast to the dark scruff on his chin-in need, again, of a shave. Her stare descended below the hard, square angle of his jaw to the forward jut of his Adam's apple, and down his thick neck, to the manly architecture of his collarbones. How solidly he was made, she thought.

How beautifully.

All of a sudden, she wanted to touch him-to trace those strong bones. To stroke the broad, muscled swells of his chest.

His flat, tiny nipples were a brownish pink in color, and a sprinkling of dark hair lightly furred the valley between his chest muscles; this beguiling region narrowed to a sleek groove that continued down the center of his sculpted abdomen.

No, she thought with a shiver of thrill, she dared not touch him or do anything to provoke him. Staring like this was dangerous enough. He was too formidable in size, his ma.s.sive chest and shoulders forming a veritable wall of muscle before her. His herculean arms were veined like the sleek, glossy hide of a racehorse, and his smooth, bronzed skin bore an array of battle scars.

Once more, he picked up the soap and came after her again, staring into her eyes in sensuous challenge sharpened by a trace of insolence, as though he would prove to her now who was in charge. She held stock-still, keenly recalling the desperate longing that had kept her awake for so many nights, alone in the jungle.

Instinct, deeper than reason, told her to wait.

This time when he touched her, she jumped a bit, but by choice did not fight him. She was not sure it was wise, in any case, to argue with all that muscle: she was intimidated by it, amazed by it, and ever so slightly... aroused.

Closing her eyes, she waited pa.s.sively, allowing him, just for a moment, to explore her-but ready to battle him again if she felt in any way threatened.

"There," he breathed, his slow, steady hands warm and gentle as he smoothed small circles across her chest and up over her shoulders. "That's better, isn't it?"

She swallowed hard.

Her heart was slamming about so hard behind her ribs that she was sure he must have felt its wild rhythm, his fingertips gliding over her skin.

After a moment, Lord Jack eased behind her and washed her back, drawing the soap between his fingertips in a sensuous line down her spine. His big hands ma.s.saged the lather across her shoulder blades and, slick with soap, molded the curves of her waist. Eden was breathless as he bathed her.

He washed her arms, all the way down to her fingertips, slippery soap between each of her fingers. She could hear his deepened breathing by her ear. He stroked her underarms as though there was no part of her he could not enjoy, and she drew in her breath as his roaming hands brushed the outer curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Reaching around her, he lathered up her midriff in slow, languid circles until she was shaking. This is madness. But what could she do? There was nowhere on this ship to hide from him; now that she had been discovered, she was completely in his power.

"What are you going to do to me, Jack?" she breathed after a moment, a catch in her voice.

He touched her cheek, his gaze following his hand. "Exactly what I said I'd do, lovely. I'm going to collect."

"Collect?" Her mouth went dry as she remembered how he'd warned her she'd have to pay with her body if she came aboard his ship. "You would force yourself on me?"

"No, sweet. Never that," he whispered, quite near her ear. "You'll be willing when I take you."

She shuddered. "So, you will seduce me."

"Mm."

"I am a virgin, Jack."

"I know, my love."

"I-I'm saving myself for my husband."

"Excellent," he said hoa.r.s.ely and then he touched her face again, drawing her head back gently as he sought her lips. "That is excellent news."

She yielded helplessly.

Having dreamed of his mouth on hers from that day in the jungle, it was beyond her power to deny them both another taste of this reeling heaven.

The memory of his kiss had preoccupied her since she had first tasted it. He claimed her lips now, again, in hungry greed, while his soapy fingertips glided over her hairline and down her cheek.

His light touch eased her head back until it rested on the broad muscle of his arm. She tensed as his other hand slid slowly up her belly and cupped her breast. He let her pause but did not release her from his kiss; he squeezed her nipple between his thumb and finger, rolling it with the most beguiling pressure, both firm and tender. She quivered and let out a restless moan.

He licked her parted lips in time with the rhythm of his fingertip flicking back and forth over her nipple, and her body reacted of its own accord, her back arching, thrusting her breast more fully into his large, warm palm.

His kiss deepened while he rinsed her body with trickling handfuls of water; as he moved smoothly to the side of her, his mouth only left her lips to travel down her chin, her neck, and down into the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, until he claimed her nipple in a kiss as deep as the one he'd drunk from her lips.

Overwhelmed by his pa.s.sion, she lay back against the tub's edge and ran her fingers through his dark hair as he suckled her.

The taste of her plump, swollen nipple in his mouth-the feel of her fingers in his hair-had him rock-hard, his blood pumping. He wanted nothing so much as to lay her down atop his nearby desk and take her. He could feel her willingness as she melted under him, but the whole thing was getting out of control.

Jack could hardly believe the ferocity of his desire for her. He knew this had to stop. It was too intense, escalating too swiftly. The girl was a virgin. She was at his mercy, and although she had trusted him enough to let him touch her, she really did not know what she was doing.

He was by no means settled upon marrying her, and if she let him have his way without that vital promise, it meant nothing for her but permanent and total ruin, and maybe a b.a.s.t.a.r.d son who would only grow up suffering the cruel slings and arrows of the world's scorn. He thought of her loneliness back in the jungle, her yearning for any human contact; and, terror of the seas or not, her vulnerability got to him. For all his threats to make her pay her way, he refused to take advantage of this naive, exquisite creature. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to protect her.

Even from himself.

Through the haze of l.u.s.t, he released her pert breast from his savoring kiss and trailed his lips back up her throat, grazing her mouth. He was panting.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and caressed his mouth slowly, so sensually with her own. She wanted more, and Jack did, too, agonized by her ardent response.