She tasted of sunshine and jasmine tea. Delicate. Subtle. Shy, even. He wanted to teach her. Her talent was raw, unjaded, and gaining in enthusiasm.
Enthusiastic. Yes, he was all for eagerness. So nice. He was going to wrap her in his arms and never let go, hold her close, coax all her passion, all her attention, onto him.
Close.
His men were close.
Jonesy called to Flynn, just steps away, and Nick came to his senses.
He broke off the kiss. He was several inches away before Miss Chase opened her eyes, and they suddenly widened. Color suffused her cheeks, but she kept her gaze locked with his, a look of wonder on her face, her lips still slightly parted.
“I’m glad you’re all right.” Nick’s voice was gravelly by the time it emerged past the emotion clogging his throat. “No serious injury.”
“No,” she said slowly, her voice barely audible. “Nothing serious.”
Abruptly she stepped away and returned to helping Flynn.
Nick slapped himself on the forehead.
He walked aft, stopped just short of the quarterdeck steps, and leaned over the rail. The waves were small and uniform this close to shore, so calm compared to his racing thoughts and inconvenient raging desire.
Just the thing. He kicked off his shoes, shucked off his coat, unbuckled his cutlass, and jumped into the bay.
Submerging in cold water finished bringing Nick to his senses. He pushed off from the sandy bottom, came up for a breath, then dove under to swim along the Wind Dancer, inspecting her hull.
Damn Ruford for hurting his ship.
Damn Miss Chase for being such a delightful kisser.
* * *
The fire on the beach was roaring, built up again after burning down to coals to roast a wild boar earlier. Harriet sat on a log drawn up to the fire pit, between Jack and Flynn, finishing her plate of boar. The meat was delicious, a succulent cross between beef and pork, and she realized she was focusing on the mundane subject of a dish she’d never eaten before rather than the fact that just hours ago she’d brazenly kissed a man. On his mouth. For the first time, ever. Her first kiss.
And the man she’d kissed was not her intended husband.
Fortunately, the sun had set long ago. In the dodgy light from the lanterns and the fire, no one noticed the way color flooded her cheeks at random moments.
Moments like when she recalled Sheffield’s caress to her cheek and neck, and how much she enjoyed it. Wanted him to do it again.
Or when she thought about his mouth, his lips. On hers. Unexpectedly soft lips for a man who spent so much time at sea out in the weather, not chapped at all. Inviting. That wonderfully mobile, expressive mouth, at turns aggravating and humorous, that could make her knees weak.
How the kiss felt even better than she had imagined it would. Her imagination was a poor substitute for reality.
And it could never happen again. She was going to marry Percy.
Kissing another man once was good. It gave her a reference point.
When Percy finally kissed her and took her in his arms, she’d have something to compare it to, to know she was making the right decision. She’d know what she was giving up and what she was getting.
And she was absolutely done blushing over the matter.
Plus, she was sure the kiss meant nothing to Sheffield. She’d seen the way he looked at the senorita who had flirted with him at the cantina earlier today. If they’d had more time, she was certain he’d have availed himself of more than a cerveza.
Like so many things on this journey, the kiss was a valuable experience to have had, knowledge gained.
And like the battle they’d fought this afternoon, no need to ever do it again.
Smitty persuaded her she wouldn’t like the sand fleas if she slept on the beach near the fire, as some of the crew were doing, so she reluctantly headed to Sheffield’s cabin. She’d caught only glimpses of him since their kiss, with him busy overseeing the repairs. He’d barely taken the time to grab a plate of food before climbing back aboard the tilted ship.
