“If we were unscrupulous we would have the problem of capital solved.”
Rhys knew precisely to what she was referring. “Could you live with yourself if we involved our ships in the slave trade or opium smuggling?”
“You know I couldn’t. And neither could you.”
“Are you certain about me?”
She knew Rhys was teasing. If she had felt more confident of his feelings for her she would have told him then that she loved him, and loving him made it quite impossible for her to believe he could engage in any illegal or immoral trade. “I’m certain,” she said simply, but with complete conviction.
“Good.” He lifted a handful of hair at her neck and kissed the damp, baby soft skin.
“I’ve been thinking of alternatives,” she said, unable to hide the frisson of pleasure that ran down her spine.
Sighing, Rhys sat back on his heels and began scrubbing again. This time the cloth covered her slender back in long even strokes, dipping below the water to touch the curve of her buttocks. “So? What weighty thoughts have occupied your mind?”
“Fresh fruit and coffee.”
“Again, please?”
“Fresh fruit. I miss it dreadfully. So must New Englanders in winter time. Oranges. Lemons and limes. Bananas from South America. All manner of fruit from the West Indies. And coffee. Judging by the Americans I’ve met, they cannot seem to get enough of the bitter stuff. Who are we to change their tastes? Canning ships will bring it to ports in the north in record time.”
Rhys stopped scrubbing a moment. “May I be skeptical?”
“Of course.”
“Well then, aside from the fact that a taste for coffee is not peculiar to Americans and that Lloyds of London had its beginnings in an establishment that served the bitter stuff by the gallon—”
“I concede your point.”
“How do you propose we transport our cargo? According to Johnson we have but one ship with a hold of any credible size, and we’re sailing on it. The others were lost in the war when they attempted to carry on trade in the face of English guns.”
“But we have the ones that carried the privateers. The light, swift schooners that could elude British frigates and capture prize ships.”
“Would that they had captured more. We wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
“It’s unimportant,” Kenna said airily. “These ships could be our beginning. The captain says they are like quicksilver gliding over the water. And from the plans he showed us, their holds are more than adequate to carry a goodly supply of coffee and fruit. More importantly they can carry it quickly, over an established route, and bring it north before the cargo spoils. With the profits we will build ships equal to this one, for the longer routes, say to China and India.”
“China? India? You have no small dreams, Kenna.” He began washing her arms though his movements were haphazard, thoughtful. “Not that I expected less. It would be possible, I think.”
“Iknowit would be.” She took the cloth from his hand, lathered it, and began soaping her neck, shoulders and breasts.
Rhys moved to the side of the tub and watched her. He wondered how guileless her gentle motions really were. There was nothing innocent about the sideways glance she gave him beneath her thick lashes. His heart began to hammer. He cleared his throat. “It’s an excellent idea.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“You do realize that when we arrive in Boston, winter will be more than seven months away? Fresh fruit from the Indies may not be in great demand.”
“I think there is always a demand for fruit. Granted, the winter months would be more profitable, but we can earn enough for a good beginning. I think coffee will not present the same problem.” Kenna leaned back in the tub, raised one leg, and began to wash it with languid strokes.
“There may be other lines with the same idea.”
She nodded. “I already thought of that. Canning will simply be the best.”
“I believe you.” He reached over the tub and placed his hand on hers, stopping her movement. He took the cloth away from her. “Let me finish.”
Kenna closed her eyes in acquiescence as Rhys began washing her leg. At his hands bathing became a highly erotic experience and Kenna cheerfully gave herself up to the delicious sensations he created. He lifted her calf higher to wash the back of her knee and paid particular attention to her toes. Once he tugged on them with his teeth and she shivered in spite of the warm water that lapped at her skin. In turn he washed the other leg, though Kenna found his actions more of a caress and less of a good scrubbing. At some point he abandoned the cloth and continued with only the soap in his palm, dipping his hand below the water and lathering her thighs and belly until her lips parted on a near purring sound born of excitement and contentment.
Her tongue peeped out to moisten her lips then retreated when she felt the warmth of his face very close to hers. She waited, anticipating the moment when his mouth would seek hers. When seconds went by and he did not fulfill the promise of his nearness, Kenna cautiously opened her eyes.
