It was not a place for a lady.…
He scowled suddenly and leaped down from the bow peak. He waved to Rutger Gunnan at the wheel and nodded out his satisfaction at their course. They would cast anchor soon. “Tell Robert we will set to shore within the hour!” he called.
Rutger nodded his assent. “Aye, Captain!”
The Hawk turned and approached the door to his cabin. To his great annoyance he paused before sliding the bolt and entering his own realm. He’d been a fool to ever bring her here. She’d been such a challenge with her lightning speed with a sword that it had seemed necessary to cast the very fear of demons into her soul.
He had not suspected that they resided there already, nor that it would be he who would suffer the torment of the damned rather than she.
Impatiently he shoved the doors open and entered his cabin.
She was perched upon the window seat. The drapes were back and daylight streamed in. Her legs curled beneath her; she wore a soft white muslin with a brocade bodice, which was fashionably low cut to display the rising curves of her breasts. The skirt spilled out over a volume of petticoats in a soft burst of snow white and soft pastel. She worked on some piece of mending for him, which brought another scowl to his lips. Her hair was free.
The color of a sunset.
Cascading and waving over her shoulders and breast like a web of radiant silk.
He itched to run his fingers through it. Actually, he itched to do much, much more. When she looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips, her aquamarine eyes shimmering like the most glorious Caribbean sea, he wanted to stride right to her and wrench her into his arms. He wanted to play the pirate in the most heinous fashion, rip her beautiful gown to shreds, and leave her with no doubt as to his rapacious desires and determination.
She looked so damned comfortable! And assured. Even domestic.
He clenched down hard upon his jaw and swallowed the force of his emotion, watching her as he walked around to take his seat behind his desk. He cast his booted feet upon the desk and laced his fingers behind his head. She held his shirt, he saw. The full-sleeved shirt he had worn the evening of their first encounter. She mended a tear near the throat. Her fingers, long and elegant, lay still over the material.
Just as they lay by night, long and elegant, over his bare chest.
“You will make a wonderful wife,” he found himself snapping out at her with a startling hostility.
She arched a brow. A flicker of amusement curled her lip.
“Why, Mr. Silver Hawk,” she taunted, “I strive to be the very best of hostages, and still I do not please you! I no longer toss about jam and coffee cups, but spend my endless time pursuing the best interests of your wardrobe!”
He wagged a finger at her. “Beware, lady, you do play with fire.”
She lowered her head, smiling. Damn her! She trusted him. Six days and nights with him now and she thought that she had discovered his true measure. Something made a snapping sound. He looked down to see that he had picked up a quill, and crushed it between his fingers.
He dropped the pieces and walked around to her. She barely skipped a beat with her task. She did not look up, nor did her fingers cease to move.
He reached down to her, cupping her chin with his fingers, raising her eyes to meet his. She was, indeed, a startling beauty. No artist could ever capture the blues and greens that mingled within her eyes, nor find the glorious reds and golds of her hair among oils or paints. The greatest sculptors of the Renaissance could not have duplicated the fine and delicate structure of her face, the regal position of her cheekbones, the determined set of her jaw. No man could mold what God had created of her form, an Eve cast upon him from the sins of Eden, slender in the waist, long-limbed, with delicate ankles and lush firm breasts, ripe and provocative beyond measure. To touch her was to stroke silk.
And she smiled…in complete comfort in his presence.
She needed to fear him somewhat. It was essential.
He plucked the mending from her hands, casting it aside. A look of startled alarm came into her eyes, and she struggled against him as he drew her inexorably to her feet.
“We come to the island,” she said breathlessly.
“So I see,” he told her, but he saw nothing at all at that moment, nothing but her eyes.
“Shouldn’t you be—”
“Do you know, my lady, that you are one of the most beautiful creatures ever to walk this earth? Perhaps you do know. You are not a woman who lacks confidence.”
Her breath came quickly. Her lips were dry and she moistened them. She strained against his firm hold upon her upper arms, but he did not release her. Her gaze wavered, then returned to his. “What do you want?” she cried.
He smiled slowly, assessing her. “I’m not quite sure as yet. I think I’ve decided that I could tame you. Perhaps I shall not ransom you at all. Perhaps I shall take you with me and have you reside with me forever.”
“Don’t tease me!” she pleaded, her eyes very wide upon his as she sought some truth from him.
