* * *
Melina sat on the floor, head back against the wood, eyes closed, propped against a bundle of bedding. He clicked the door shut behind him just as lightning flashed at the window. She jumped, blinked twice and struggled to find words. ‘The sea is rough,’ she said, voice unsteady.
‘We’ll take your mind from it.’ He leaned towards her, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Just the touch of her made every bucket worth it. He slipped his arms around her and buried his face against the soft skin of her neck. He smiled when a hint of sweet spice reached his nose. She smelled like something of a holiday. Of gaiety. Mulled wine. Exotic treats.
Her clothing bunched under his hands and he covered her back with his touch. He needed nothing more than her in his arms. She soothed him—something he’d not expected. Feeling the softness of her earlobe with his face, he savoured her. But she remained still, letting him caress and giving no response.
Warrington stood back from her and took off his coat, putting it on the peg. After wishing the ship’s movement hadn’t hit her so hard, he remembered the rough days when he’d first set out. No one should feel so unsettled.
Warrington took her chin, lifted it and brushed a kiss across her lips. His body flamed from just the merest touch of her. He whispered against her skin, ‘You’ll have to imagine all the fine things that should surround someone as lovely as you.’
He understood her reluctance. She didn’t know how they’d find the room, probably expecting nothing more than the sort of encounter a rushed man gave a woman who had to be on to her next business. The two of them simply could not fit on the bed. Not only could they not lie side by side, but the cabinets overhead prevented other arrangements. He’d spent some time thinking of the best way to accomplish a blissful encounter. Even as he released her, the ship kept rocking in such a way they could hardly keep from stumbling into each other.
Warrington reached for the bedding bundle, which rolled about, knocking into his legs, and with a few tugs and a quick flick spread the bedding on the floor. The chair and table were gone. She stepped back, flattening herself against the wall.
Pulling the mattress and coverings from his berth, he put it against the ones on the floor, adding softness. He fell to his knees to finish making the pallet. He’d never, ever knelt in front of a woman—but no matter. Running a hand over the bedding, he smoothed edges together.
He stood, examining her in the lantern light.
Brown eyes—lovely, enticing—stared back at him. She didn’t look pleased to see the covers on the floor, but he couldn’t fault her.
‘I assure you, if we were in London, I’d find a bed for us so soft you’d think of clouds.’ He wanted her to understand—he took this seriously.
The pallor in her face slowed his movements. She had to know the bed wasn’t his choice.
‘There’s no bigger cabin, except Ben’s,’ he told her, ‘and he is captain, so it’s rather hard to shove him out through the door.’
‘I’m... This is fine.’ She dropped to her knees, pulling the top covers in place and brushing her hand across them. She lowered her chin. ‘You know I’m not... The ship is moving more and...’ She touched her stomach.
He knelt, reaching out for her shoulder, feeling the roughness of the sleeve. ‘Melina—if you’ve any compassion at all, try to keep from being ill for a bit longer. I can... But with the storm coming and...’
She pulled back. ‘This is not the storm?’
He’d said the wrong thing. ‘A few raindrops. Ben thinks we’ll sail through without a bobble.’
The ship heaved and she moved backwards, sliding with the makeshift bed. He shifted with the momentum, putting his arm around her and arranging so his back was to the wall and he held her at his side. He felt stronger than any wave—but she didn’t.
A blast of anger hit him. The fates—he knew them well, they were his bedfellows—they were conspiring again. They thrust another wave against the ship and he held her tight, seeing the press of her lips.
He was not some rutting beast—and she would still be here tomorrow—assuming they didn’t die in the storm.
Warrington stood, extinguished the wick and looked to the window. He had no time to get a hammer and nail a covering over the opening so the flashes of lightning wouldn’t illuminate and accentuate the discordance outside.
He’d been graced with this woman whose ancestors could have been from Thessaly, where mythology began, and he would not be allowed to touch her. Lightning wove gold threads into her hair, but illuminated the pallor of her skin and reminded him she didn’t feel well.
At least on deck he would be forced into thinking of staying alive. He reached to the door, but her voice stopped him.
‘Please,’ she said, and touched the bed beside her. ‘The ship shakes so. I don’t want to be alone. I feel better with you near. Here.’
Lightning kept flashing through the glass—giving her a mythical glow, freezing the unmoving image of her into his mind, painting her like a statue, a work of art.
The intensity of her gaze caused him to stare—her eyes clear as a harvest moon, surrounded by lashes dipped in the flashing light. He dropped to his knees, landing beside her, entranced by the flickers of lightning on her skin. He swept his finger over her bottom lip. Now he knew what magic felt like. His skin tingled with anticipation.
More thunder crashed. He heard a crack of lightning. With the sounds, and the sight of her, sensual energy surged in him, heating him until an internal maelstrom engulfed him. The memories he made tonight would some day take on larger-than-life images in his mind. Melina, different from all he’d seen before, and all he’d see again, would remain in his thoughts—like a precious gem hidden away in a safe. A secret only for himself to have.
A wave tilted the ship and she wrenched her body around, clasping the front of his shirt. She buried her head against him and he held her.
‘Have you ever been in seas this rough?’ she asked.
Lightning crackled much too close. The very air could not be still, as if it had an awareness of their moments, and told them to hurry, hurry, hurry, and grasp every second of sensation.
He ran his fingertips across her back, and the lightest touch of his hand against her took his breath. The fierce waters faded from his mind.
When he could speak, he said, ‘Once is too many times. I didn’t tell you before. Suspected you’d worry if you realised how brutal the waves can be when the sun heats the water in the day and the storms take us at night.’
He pulled his coat front aside, sliding into a sitting position, and then tucked the garment around her back, hugging her inside with him. ‘This ship was built to handle such weather and the men are the best sailors in the world. Nothing will happen.’ Assuming the repairs held and the storm did not get too violent.
‘Shut your eyes, and think of... Think of this,’ he said.
His mouth closed over hers and the kiss was nothing more than a simple touch, almost the same as he might give a tavern maid who’d plopped down on his lap, before he scooted her away to get to his ale or talk with his companions. But the pulses stirring in him ignited.
When he pulled back, she reached out, running her hand along the side of his jaw, seeing him with her fingertips.
‘I have wanted to touch your face since I first saw you,’ she said. ‘You’re so foreign from the men I have known all my life. And the other sailors. I think you even look at me differently.’
He rested his forehead against the side of hers. ‘I wanted...since I saw you...so much more.’ His lips explored her skin and he cupped her breast, letting the fullness feed the sensations in his fingertips. The fabric didn’t prevent the yielding flesh from rolling beneath his