It was a fine ship, though—sturdy, well maintained. The creaking of its planks was minimal. Even the sharp dipping and careening didn’t get out of hand, at least not right away. It was inevitable, though. And so was Gabrielle’s nervous reaction, made ten times worse by the fact that she was locked in a cabin. If the ship did go down, she wouldn’t even have a chance to find a dinghy, piece of wreckage, or any other sort of raft where she could then hope for rescue. No, she’d be going straight down to Davy Jones’s locker.
She sat there huddled in her blankets for the longest time, watching the few things in the room that weren’t nailed down roll back and forth across the floor and, at one point, halfway up the wall. That had been a terrifying moment, when the ship dipped almost horizontally as it rode down that one particularly huge wave.
Even the lantern went flying off its post in that moment of gut-wrenching fear. The glass in it shattered as it rolled across the floor and smashed against the wall, leaving a trail of spilled oil in its wake.
She stared at it with a mixture of horror and relief. The fire probably would have been instant if the lantern had been lit. While she’d actually thought about it, if she were going to start a fire to try to make her escape, this absolutely wasn’t the time to do it, when Drew and his crew were fighting the elements to keep them afloat and wouldn’t notice a fire until it was too late. But at least she’d had the wits to extinguish it when the storm began, leaving only the lamp that was secured solidly to Drew’s desk still burning.
She wished she could sleep through the storm. That would be an ideal way to put her worry aside, to just wake up when it was all over. But it was impossible to even try in her position on the floor, where she was holding tight to her chain to keep from being tossed about just as much as everything else was that wasn’t nailed down. She could probably find better purchase in Drew’s bed, at least a softer cushion for all the sliding she was doing. But that was one place she wasn’t getting anywhere near, now that it was his again.
She didn’t expect to see him again until the storm was over. Night had arrived, though it was hard to tell with that solid sheet of rain outside the windows and nothing but black clouds beyond it. Several more hours passed, but the storm still gave no sign of abating.
And then a cold blast of wind and rain entered along with Drew. He had to shove the door to get it to close. He didn’t bother to lock it again. He turned and leaned back against it as his eyes located her. He didn’t look the least bit worn out or downtrodden after spending hours out in that downpour. He looked exhilarated, full of vim and vigor, as if he could take on anything without batting an eye.
He tossed off the rain slicker he’d been wearing, though it hadn’t kept him from getting soaked. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Her nerves shot, she said, “No, I’m frightened, I’m cold, I’m hungry, and my arse is bruised from all this tossing about. I’m bloody well not all right.”
She expected him to laugh and call her a ninny. Instead he amazed her by making his way to her, kneeling down beside her, and drawing her into his arms. She didn’t have a single urge to resist the closeness he offered, even though he drenched her with his wet clothes.
He made himself comfortable against the wall, then pulled her halfway across his chest. He took a napkin out of his pocket, opened it to reveal a handful of cold sausages cut in little chunks. He put one in her mouth.
“Leftovers from breakfast,” he said. “The galley is closed for the duration, so there won’t be a full meal, probably not until tomorrow. You should know that’s standard procedure.”
“Yes, I know,” she replied as he fed her a few more chunks that took the edge off her hunger.
“Are you really bruised?” he asked.
The question made them both think of the last time he’d asked about her bruises, when she’d accused him of leaving her with some after their first meeting on the docks. The thought made them grin at each other.
“No, just a bit sore,” she admitted. “I doubt I’ll feel it tomorrow. Be careful crossing the floor, though. We haven’t been steady enough for me to try to pick up that glass that broke from your lantern yet.”
“I should have thought to remove that lantern when the storm started.”
“You weren’t here to do that. I was, but all I thought to do was turn it off.”
She realized too late that she’d just admitted that she could move about the cabin just fine, that the shackle was no restraint for her at all. But he gave no indication that he caught that slip, merely fed her a few more sausages before he ate some himself.
She shouldn’t be sitting like this with him, pretty much cradled in his arms, but she couldn’t bring herself to move yet, she was so comfortable. His wet clothes had been cold to start, but where her body was pressed to them was now warm from her own heat. In fact, steam could have risen between them, it was getting so warm.
There was simply no way she could ignore the body she was leaning against, or not think of what it had done to her the other night. The kind of pleasure he’d introduced her to had been beyond her comprehension before then, but now…she simply couldn’t get it out of her mind. He’d said it himself, she’d had a taste, she’d want more, and damned if he hadn’t been right.
The way he was holding her now brought back so clearly the memory of how his hands had felt moving so sensually over her bare skin, she nearly drew in her breath. And his mouth, God, the feel of it, the heady taste of it. He’d made her tremble, he’d made her skin tingle deliciously, he’d made her throw caution to the wind and accept everything that he offered.
She shivered, remembering just how sweet her surrender had been. He felt it.
She’d only vaguely heard the clap of thunder that had just occurred, but he guessed that was the reason. “You’re afraid of the storm?”
“I never used to be, but we had such a bad one a few years back, they called it a hurricane. People died. Whole buildings were ripped to shreds. I’d never seen anything like it and hope to never see anything like it again.”
“This was in the Caribbean?”
“Yes, after I’d been living with my father for a while. It tore through those warm waters with a vengeance. St. Kitts wasn’t the only island it hit. It left a wide path of destruction behind it.”
He pulled her a little closer to him. “I think I remember that one. I only just missed it myself, had sailed back to America a few days before. But I heard about it on my next trip and witnessed some of the damage. Some areas still haven’t recovered.”
She nodded. “One of the smaller villages on our island was like that. With every single house demolished in it, the survivors simply packed up and moved elsewhere. But even in our major town, it took months and months for us to get rid of all the debris and rebuild. I forgot what it was like to sleep back then.”
He glanced down at her in surprise. “You actually pitched in to help?”
