So she had won this round, after all. Against whom? a little voice niggled. She raised her goblet in silent acclaim clinking it gently to the silver mirror—against herself, it would seem, for if she could be honest... it was not Christian she feared at all... but her own wicked yearnings.
Standing before him there upon the foredeck, she had found herself wishing he would silence her raving with his soul-weakening kisses—that he would take her into his arms and tell her he loved her, beg her forgiveness. God help her, she had baited him, wanting only that he would lift her up into his armsand sweep her back to his cabin—she shuddered—in truth, back to that day beneath the elm tree...
How long could he possibly be kept at bay?
She glanced back at the door...
It was not made of iron, after all. If he truly wished to come after her... She shook her head, for then again... he was quite obviously not trying overly hard. Perhaps he would leave her be, after all.
With a very unladylike snort, she lifted her goblet and quaffed down the rest of her wine, then set the crystal gently down upon a small table beside the looking glass. With a sigh, she unbuttoned the topmost button of her gown, and then the next, and the next.
She stared at her image, trying to see herself as he might, and then irritably turned from the mirror. She wandered to the drapery-covered window with the intent of drawing it open to the fading daylight, and then it dawned on her suddenly that she’d forgotten to procure flints with which to light the lanterns tonight. She sincerely hoped she could find some within the cabin itself, for she had no desire to remain in total darkness. Shuddering at the thought, she tugged open the blasphemously dark window coverings, and gasped aloud at what lay beneath.
The most beautiful stained-glass window she had ever beheld stood in all its grandeur before her—three full-length panels! The left and right were wholly painted in colorful biblical scenes, but it was the double-wide center pane that caught her attention and held it fast.
There in the middle of the depiction stood a grand apple tree, its limbs outstretched, forming a beautiful green shelter. Beneath it lay the figure of Eve, her dark hair unbound and spread gloriously beneath her like a carpet of black silk. In her proffered hand, she held a shining ruby apple, offering it up to... Adam?
The resemblance between the figure of Adam in the depiction and Christian was striking—and good Lord, he was nude as the day he was born! So was Eve for that matter, beckoning to Adam with the apple like some seductress straight from a preacher’s fire- and-brimstone sermon. Her green eyes were brilliant, haunting in their intensity.
Her gaze was drawn upward. The sky of the depiction was clear glass, a masterpiece, utilizing the blue of the true sky as its color—if it was dark outside, the painting would be as somber as midnight; if it was bright and sunny, Adam and Eve’s world would be as blue as sapphires; and if the weather was foul, then it would draw them both into the stormy tempest. This moment, it was faded a blue-gray, with orange and pink hues streaking as far as the eye could behold. The sun in the horizon was rapidly sinking from view, plummeting into the murky darkness of the sea.
Jessie’s gaze reverted to the nude form of Adam, and she swallowed convulsively as her eyes settled upon that very male part of his anatomy. Such an odd, odd member... and so very, very... erect! She scrunched her nose. And then suddenly, her eyes widened as she recalled a certain something she’d said to Christian.
It boggles the mind to consider why men were not born with horns or other weapons on their person. Do you not agree, my lord?Her heart leapt at the recollection.
Are you quite certain of that fact?he’d asked her.
She couldn’t have known. Her eyes narrowed in outrage and her lips trembled with misery. The cad, he’d been mocking her, even then... How he must have laughed at her naïveté—how he must have rejoiced in her stupidity!
She was a fool.
She was still a fool.
Unable to keep herself from it, she reached out for him, her breath becoming labored and her body stirring wickedly, heating with the Madeira... and something else; as she smoothed her fingers over Adam’s full body. She stopped abruptly at his groin—couldn’t help herself, brazen as it was—feeling with wonder the almost indiscernible raised lines where one color met another. She was awestruck by the artfulness of the glass, by the beauty of the man depicted. Shuddering with the desire that burst to life within her, she caressed the cold glass before her... her heart thundering...
Her eyes closed, and her head fell back, remembering...
Christian’s heart began to hammer.
From his precarious perch just outside the window, he felt the bold caress as though it were on his own body. Heat surged through his veins, its potency just short of heart-stopping.
Christ, how he wanted her, ached and burned for her. His body shuddered at the sight she presented, head back and her face flushed with desire, her bodice undone and exposing her throat. Making certain his feet were secure within the toehold he’d fashioned within the rope, he shifted so the knot he was perched upon wouldn’t cut quite so sharply into his groin.
How many times had he dreamed of that caress? So soft and innocent, and yet lustful too.
Whatever else she was, the woman was passionate—that much he had to give her. The wistful look on her face made him burn all the more fiercely. He tried to ignore her. While she was otherwise occupied with Adam, he used it to his advantage, peering in at the door through the distorted glass. Damnation, but he couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d barred it with.
He muttered an oath when his eyes finally focused upon the objects before the door. There were what appeared to be five trunks stacked before it, not one, not two, but five. His own two, which were by far the largest, were doubled at the bottom,and three of hers, one large, two small, sat directly above them, braced against the door. How the devil had she managed it?
He knew the very instant she spotted him, for she suddenly leapt away from the glass, shrieking. She fell back upon the floor. Now that she was aware of his presence, he swung into plain view. He peered through the clear glass into the cabin, knocked on the window and smiled.
Jessie seemed to recover quickly enough, scrambling to her feet at once. She stood staring, that hideous gown of hers gaping at the neckline, and he had the sudden urge to shatter his precious stained-glass window—to hell with the cost of it—throw her upon the bed and climb atop her, lift up her skirts without preamble and rut like a blood-maddened bull. He was that badly in need. That provoked. He willed her to open the door, so that he could have McCarney and Tibbs haul him up—so he could go to her and slake his insane need for her, and only her. In all the many months he’d been away from her, he’d not touched a woman. None of them had been Jessie.
“God,” he croaked, his voice hoarse with restraint, and something more as he recalled her cozy familiarity with her damnable cousin. “Jessie... open the door...”
Spurred to life by his request, Jessie suddenly tugged the drapery closed. “Really!” she shouted. “Sleep there upon your bloody rope, for all I care! Or loop it about your neck,” she added flippantly. “I care not which!”
“Jessie! Open the goddamned door!” Now that he knew what was before it, he could quite possibly open it himself, for he’d noted that a few of the trunks were already tilting precariously, but Jessie had placed them there and Jessie would remove them, he vowed.
