“Then get out of it,” he advised her. “Now.”
The last was said so softly that she barely heard the command.
“I swear you are no gentleman!” Yet having said that, she gaped, fascinated by his sleek grace as he proceeded to unbutton his shirt cuffs.
Though his features were now hidden deep in shadow, she could have sworn he smiled at that insult, his teeth flashing white. Taking a nervous sip of her wine, she swallowed it with a tortured, strangled gasp, and continued to sit, hopelessly entranced, watching shamelessly as he then started upon the buttons at his throat. She was utterly helpless to tear her gaze away from his ritual performance.
Belatedly recalling her own gaping dress, she clasped it together, holding it fast, cutting off her breath as her flesh burned under his scrutiny. But Lord help her, she really couldn’t care that she couldn’t breathe just now, could only be thankful for the darkness of the cabin to conceal her brazenness.
And her desire.
He stood then, his body little more than a dark silhouette before her, and she was spurred into life finally, clinking her goblet down quickly upon the small table by the bedside.
“I believe I’ve given you fair enough warning,” he said low, unbuttoning his breeches and shrugging out of them. Her heart leapt as they slithered to the floor and he stepped out of them, magnificently naked.
Like Adam.
She froze, again staring as though transfixed, her gaze leaving him only to revert to the window, to the silhouette of Adam glowing faintly there by the light of the moon, before returning to Christian, but Christian stood too deeply in shadow and she could see nothing of him.
20
“I’ll not ask you again,” he swore, and then his shadow descended upon her.
Jessie leapt from the bed, scurrying away. She listened intently to the rustling of the sheets as he snuggled between them, nude, she knew, and the thought made her shiver, though she could see absolutely nothing as his body slipped into the crisp coolness of the sheets. She knew they were cool, even as she knew his body was hot—as was her own. She burned as though with fever.
Once he was settled, he tossed her a blanket. It fell at her bare feet. She stooped to retrieve it, holding it close to her as she stared into the darkness of the curtained bed.
“Where will I sleep?” Her voice trembled slightly. Lord, she loathed herself for that weakness.
He grunted, as though annoyed by her question, and said, “Wherever you wish... in the bed, if you please.” And then he added, “If you dare...”
It was a challenge, a gauntlet cast at her feet, but one Jessie had no intention of accepting, or even acknowledging. She didn’t dare, for she’d be lost if she did.
“I-I shall sleep on the floor, then.”
“As you wish.”
“Oh! I do so wish!” she assured him, her voice laced with bitterness. What manner of man was he to allow her, a gentle-born woman, to sleep on the floor—on the deck of a ship, no less, to roll with the ocean’s waves! God, how could she have ever thought him a gentleman? And again, she had the despairing thought that she was the worst kind of fool, for she was a fool in love.
And he was a devil and a knave, the lowest of low!
Resigning herself to a night of discomfort, she settled upon the floor, drawing the blanket to her chin to keep away the chill of the night. To her chagrin, she found the one blanket was not proof against the cold. And then again, perhaps the chill came from within? And then, too, it was dark... and she could hear him breathing, smoothly, evenly, peacefully.
And then slower still—the cad! How dare he sleep!
In that miserable moment, Jessie despised him immensely. Cursing him, she shifted, trying in vain to find comfort on the hard, cold floor.
He snored.
“Famous!” she muttered to herself.
He made some curious sound, and then it seemed his entire body jerked, as though to catapult him into blissful slumber.
Jessie couldn’t bear it—that he could sleep so peacefully when she was so very miserable.
“Christian?” she whispered. There was no reply. Louder this time, she hissed, “Hawk?”
Still no response.
