“Come now, Ashley, insult me. Show me how much you hate me. Prove it to me or I’m going to show you just how much you want me.”
“Lying, ignorant, numskull, jackanapes, rakehell—”
“You said that one already.” The ship roiled again, causing them to stumble, and he loosed one hand to steady himself against the wall of the cabin. Ashley bumped into it, and he had her right where he wanted her. If he had been a rakehell.
But he wasn’t a rake. He was her husband, and she didn’t hate him. Not enough, at any rate, to stop him from kissing her. He tilted her head up with the hand still cupping her cheek and lowered his lips to hers. He meant to kiss her lightly, but either the roll of the ship or some action on her part brought them violently together. Her mouth collided with his, reminding him how sweet her lips tasted and how soft her body felt pressed against his.
It occurred to Nick, in the back of his mind, that he should return to the main deck. The storm seemed to be worsening, and though Chante was a capable man, this was Nick’s ship. His presence beside the men would rally and encourage them until the threat was well and truly past.
Yet he could not pull away from Ashley. She wanted him. He had been correct about that. He hadn’t forced her to press her lips to his, hadn’t forced her to tangle her hands in his shirt. But it was a hollow victory because all the feel of her against him proved was that he wanted her too.
Still.
Always.
Desperately.
He pushed her back against the wall and took her mouth with his, claiming it with his lips and his tongue. Their tongues tangled and mated, and he relished the taste of her. She was sweet but with the tang of a still ripening strawberry. And underneath that taste was the salt and the flavor of the sea on her lips. The waves rolled up and down, bringing their bodies into contact and then separating them again. Nick yanked her firmly against him, pressing himself hard into her softness, sliding his hands over the velvet of her cheeks. He burned, hotter than the flames in the corridor a moment before. To touch her, to hold her, was a luxury he never thought he’d be given again. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—squander this chance.
He deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth and her body as he slid a knee between her legs and against her warmth. She might have moaned. The storm was too loud for him to be certain, but he felt her take a shuddering breath.
Where the devil was the berth? Why were there so many clothes between them? And the one intruding thought he could not banish: why was he not on deck?
With a curse, he pulled back from her, catching a glimpse of her pink cheeks and her red lips. Her eyes were closed, her neck arched, her breaths coming fast and hard. Nick did not think he had the will to resist her. Fortunately, he heard the knock.
He whipped about, discomfited to see he hadn’t even closed the cabin door. His bos’n, Red, stood in the opening, his eyes cast downward. “Sorry to interrupt, Captain.”
“What is it, Red?”
“Mr. Chante sent me to give you a report, Captain. Should I wait?”
“No.” Nick moved away from Ashley, the pain of separating from her like the slow plunge of a knife in his gut. “Go ahead.”
“Yes, Captain. The ship sustained significant casualties, but the men and the storm washed the deck clean of blood. The problem is, Captain, that we got men in the infirmary and more manning the bilge pumps, and there aren’t enough to see to the rigging.”
Nick nodded. So the storm might sink them yet. From the rocking of the boat, Nick could tell the squall was worse than he’d expected, but it did help put out the fires. That was good as long as the high waves and the rain didn’t sink the ship when they poured into the large hole at the waterline from one of the Formidable’s cannons during the battle.
“Mr. Chante could use you, Captain.”
“That will be all, Red.” Nick looked back at Ashley, but no words came to his lips. She was looking away and would not meet his gaze. “Just go. Get out before...”
He wondered what she would say. Before she hit him? Kissed him again? He could never tell with her. He moved toward the cabin door but before he reached it, she said, “What’s so special about it? The Isla de la...” She waved a hand to indicate the rest of the Spanish name.
“Isla de las Riquezas. It’s Spanish for the Island of the Riches.” He did not want to discuss this now. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened, how he might have prevented it. If anything had happened to Rissa, he would never forgive himself. Even the thought of her, so beautiful, so trusting, made his heart clench in fear.
“Why are we rushing to reach it? Is it treasure you seek?”
“In a manner of speaking. The island is where the crew’s women live. An old nemesis”—he could not even speak the pirate’s name—“has attacked. We go to see who or what is left.”
Ashley’s eyes widened, and she gaped at him for a long moment. “I...I don’t know what to say.”
“A prayer wouldn’t go amiss.” He started for the companionway then turned back. “Both for this ship and the island.”
WHEN HE WAS GONE, ASHLEY sank to her knees. She felt as though she had been battered and broken and pulled in four directions by strong horses. With quick efficiency, she checked her legs and her gown then the corridor outside the great cabin. The fire was well and truly contained, and she was safe. Her hands were dirty with ash and soot as were her legs and feet, but she hadn’t been burned.
She returned to the great cabin, closed the door, and sank down beside the berth. No point in dirtying the few bed clothes remaining. She had a feeling it would be up to her to fetch water for washing and laundering the bed clothes. The men would be too busy repairing the ship—that was, if they escaped the British navy.
An hour ago, Ashley would not have wanted to escape the navy. She wanted to go home and listen to her father bluster about her poor choices and feel her mother’s arms come around her. She wanted to tease her brother Devlin and hear all the news from Thomas and Charles. And she wanted to hug William and George, even though fifteen-year-old George would pretend the affection made him ill.
