He didn’t take it. “Not quite, lad. My lower back.”
Her eyes dropped to that area, streaked with suds that had dribbled down. But she couldn’t actually remember if she’d washed there or not. She attacked it swiftly, relieved that enough suds floated in the water now that she could no longer see through it. She even plunged the cloth the few inches below the water to the very base of his spine, giving him no excuse to say she hadn’t done a thorough job. But she had to bend way down to reach it, bringing her closer to him, so close she could smell his hair. She could smell his clean body, too. And she had no trouble hearing his groan.
She jerked back so fast, she hit the wall behind her. He jerked around just as fast to stare up at her. The heat in his eyes impaled her where she was.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear I didn’t.”
“Be easy, Georgie.” He turned back around, dropping his head onto his raised knees. “It’s just a minor…stiffness. Nothing you could have known about. Go on, I can finish easily enough now.”
She bit her lip. The man sounded as if he were in pain. She ought to be glad, but for some reason she wasn’t. For some reason she had an urge to…to what? Soothe his hurt? Had she gone absolutely mad? She got out of there as fast as she could.
Chapter Seventeen
James was on his second glass of brandy by the time Georgie returned to the cabin. He had himself in hand again but was still smarting over how easily the girl’s innocent touch had aroused him. Talk about well-laid plans gone down the bloody drain. He’d meant to have her rinse him, to hand him his towel, to help him into his robe. He meant to see those pretty cheeks blush with color. Instead, he would have been the one with the hot cheeks if he’d stood up at that point. He’d never in his life suffered an embarrassment over an honest reaction of his body, and he wouldn’t have this time, except that to her mind, his reaction would have been caused by a boy.
Damnation, what a coil, when the game was to have been so simple. The advantage was to be his, while she was between wind and water as they say, which was a vulnerable position. He’d envisioned seducing her with his manly form, until she would be so overcome with lust that she would toss off her cap and implore him to take her. A splendid fantasy, where he would play the innocent, unsuspecting male attacked by his wanton cabin boy. He would protest. She would beg sweetly for his body. He would then do the gentlemanly thing and give in.
But how was any of that to come about if the old John Henry raised his head every time she got near? And if she happened to notice, the darling chit would think he had a fondness for boys, andthatwouldn’t inspire anything in her but disgust. Bloody hell, he’d have her confessing who she was just so hewouldn’tget any ideas.
His eyes followed her as she crossed over to the corner he’d assigned her. She carried a canvas bag tucked under her arm, a hammock slung over her shoulder. The bag was fat enough to contain more than a few articles of boy’s attire. There was likely a dress or two inside, and maybe something that would shed some light on the mystery surrounding her.
He’d picked up a few more pieces of the puzzle tonight. Connie had pointed out the very natural way she’d said “fo’c’sle” instead of “forecastle.” Only someone familiar with ships would use the abbreviated term, yet she’d claimed an ignorance of all things nautical.
And she called her brother Mac. Now there was a telling little tidbit, leading him to believe the Scot was no relation to her at all. Friends and acquaintances might call MacDonell Mac, but family would use his given name or some other nickname, not one that each family member could equally claim for himself, all being MacDonells. Yet she did have a brother or two. She’d mentioned them without having to think about it. So who was the Scot to her? Friend, lover…husband? By God, she’d better not have a lover. She could have all the bloody husbands she liked, dozens for all he cared, but a lover was serious business, what he intended to be himself.
Georgina could feel his eyes on her as she hooked her hammock to the wall. She’d located him sitting behind his desk when she came in, but as he hadn’t said anything to her, she didn’t speak either; nor had she looked his way again. But that one glance…
He was wearing that emerald robe. She’d never realized what a splendid color emerald could be on the right person. On him it darkened the green of his eyes, highlighted the fairness of his blond locks, mellowed the deep bronze of his skin. And so much skin was visible. The closing V of the robe was so wide and deep, it barely covered his chest. A mat of golden hair sheened in the lamplight, from nipple to nipple, from above his chest to…below.
Georgina pulled the high neckline of her shirt away from her skin. This blasted cabin seemed awfully hot this evening. Her clothes felt more weighty, her bindings more uncomfortable. But the most she dared remove for sleeping was her boots. She did that now, sitting on the floor to pull them off and set them neatly up against the wall.
And she could still feel James Malory’s eyes, watching her every movement.
Of course, she had to be imagining it. What reason would he have to watch her, unless…She glanced at her hammock and grinned. The captain was probably waiting to see her climb into her swinging bed and fall flat on her arse. He probably even had some droll comment ready to toss at her about clumsiness or inexperience, something really nasty and guaranteed to embarrass her. Well, not this time. She’d been in and out of hammocks since she could walk, had played in them as a child, napped in them when she was older and spent whole days on whatever Skylark ship was in port. There was less likelihood of her falling out of one than out of a normal bed. The captain would just have to swallow his ridicule this time, and she hoped he’d choke doing it.
She settled into her swinging bunk with the ease of an old salt, then glanced quickly toward the desk in the opposite corner of the room, hoping to catch the captain’s surprise. Hewaslooking her way, but to her chagrin, his expression gave nothing away.
“You’re not actually going to sleep in those clothes, are you, youngun?”
“Actually, Captain, I am.”
She must have scored with that, for he was frowning now. “I didn’t mean to give the impression you’d be in and out of bed all night long, you know. Did you assume so?”
“I didn’t.” She did, but everything he knew about her was a lie anyway, so what was one more? “I always sleep with my clothes on. I can’t remember why I started doing so, it’s been so long, but it’s a habit now.” And for good measure, just in case he had the audacity to suggest she change her habits, she added, “I doubt I could get to sleep without being fully clothed.”
“Suit yourself. I have my sleeping habits, too, though I daresay they’re quite the opposite of yours.”
What was that supposed to mean? Georgina wondered, but didn’t have long to find out. The man stood up, came around his desk heading for his bed, and stripped out of his robe on the way.
Oh, God, oh, God, this isn’t happening to me. He’s not strutting across the room naked and giving me a full frontal view of him doing it.
But he was, and her female sensibilities were outraged. Yet she didn’t squeeze her eyes shut, not immediately anyway. After all, this was not something she saw every day, not something she would likely have ever seen, for he was truly a splendid specimen of manhood right down to his toes. She couldn’t deny it, no matter how much she wished he had some fleshy sides, or a pot belly, or a tiny…
Don’t blush, you ninny. No one heard you think it but yourself, and you didn’t even complete the thought. So he’s extra fine-looking in every respect. It’s nothing to you.
Her eyes closed tight finally, but she’d already seen more than was good for her. His naked image was not something she was likely to forget anytime soon. Devil take him, the man simply had no shame. No, that wasn’t fair. She was supposed to be a boy. What was a little nakedness between males? An eye-popping experience for her, that’s what.
“Would you put out the lamps, Georgie?”
