“You!” she hissed, scooting away from him as though he were a slug in her bed. She drew herself up, glaring fiercely at him. “I should have known! God, I should have known! You’re a despicable liar, Mister Haukinge!”
Mister, was it?
He’d fallen that far from grace, had he?
Again she scooted backward, and stood, rocking the boat with her hysterics. Her cloak slid away, revealing the dark tips of her breasts through the pristine white nightrail she wore. His jaw tautened. He glanced over his shoulder, scowling. “Turn around, McCarney!” Turning again to Jessie, he apprised her, “Be still, or you’ll topple the boat.”
“You’re a liar!” she shrieked. “Where is Ben? God, he’s not even hurt, is he? What a paperskull I am! God—oh, God, where are you taking me?”
Christian frowned. Why wasn’t there more ruching, or lacing, or bows—or some other goddamned thing on the bodice of her nightrail to conceal her from view?
A memory besieged him; the day he’d pulled her from the fence... how he’d wanted to taste her then. He shuddered, thrusting the sultry image away. “Cover yourself, Jess.”
She didn’t seem to have heard him. “Where are you taking me!”
“Goddamn it, Jess!”
“Where are you taking me?”
He reached for the cloak that lay pooled at her feet. “Cover?—”
Thinking he meant to grab her, she recoiled, shrieking her hands flailing as she lost her balance. The boat tipped precariously. Christian reached for her, snatching her downbefore she could tumble overboard. He brought her safely to her knees. She fought him, shoving wildly, and when that didn’t work, pounded his shoulder with the butt of her hand.
“Be still, damn it—you’ll topple the goddamned boat!”
Her eyes burned with green ire. “I can swim, Mister Haukinge—can you?”
A faint smile quirked at Christian’s lips. Impertinent wench! She ceased her struggles at last and glared at him as though she could will him to burst into flames—the irony of it all was that she could. He burned for her even now. “Aye,” he told her, “I can, though I’d prefer not to.”
“I don’t much care for what you prefer! I demand you return me to my home this very instant!”
Christian shook his head regretfully. “I cannot, I’m afraid.” He smiled slightly as he suggested, “Though you might always hitch a ride with the gators, if you like.”
“Gators!”
As Christian intended, she went perfectly still within his embrace. He nodded. “Out there.” He nodded toward the darkness.
She immediately searched the shadows. “You lie! I see no gators!”
“Ah,” he said, “but are you willing to chance it?”
He released her then, to prove his point.
For a moment she peered hard into the blackness, into the moon’s reflection upon the water, as though to discern whether or not he spoke the truth. There was an ominous splash in the distance, a swish of water, but nothing was discernible through the darkness. Assuming Jessie had heard it as well, he was unprepared for what she did next. He caught her once again as she lunged toward the water, forcing her flat upon her back. He had to lie full upon her in order to still her completely.
Anger clouding her judgment, Jessie fought him, pummeling him with her fists and shoving with all her strength. He seemed as heavy as a mountain—indestructible as one, as well—and the only thing she seemed to accomplish was to rock the boat. Feeling utterly helpless, she boxed his left ear with an open palm.
“Ayyee! Devil hang you, woman!”
Christian caught her wrists, pinning them ruthlessly to the planks.
“Damn you! Didn’t you hear me? There are gators in these waters! Do you really loathe me so much that you’d prefer their company to mine?”
“Yes!” she spat. “At least with them, I know what to expect! You, Mister Haukinge, are an impostor of the worst sort!”
17
She didn’t know the half of it.
