He wrapped one hand around her ankle, gently rotated her foot to work the joint loose, and began to stroke up her calf. He looked to confirm she was on board with what he was doing, the liberty he was taking.
She was sound asleep.
Her hands had fallen to the mattress, limp at her sides. Her chest rose and fell with steady, deep breaths.
His hands on her shins, Nick slumped in his chair.
He stared at her. At her slightly parted lips.
He could wake her with a kiss on that delectable mouth.
Then he considered the day she’d had. The hard physical labor she’d performed.
He’d given a foot massage to an exhausted woman, and rather than falling into his arms, she’d fallen asleep. Should he be surprised?
When it came to seduction, he truly was inept.
With a groan of frustration, he gently gathered her legs in his arms and maneuvered her until she was fully stretched out on the bunk. He leaned over to grab the blanket to cover her, and froze with his arms braced on either side of her as the ship suddenly seemed to pitch and roll wildly. He closed his eyes against the dizzy spell.
The world kept spinning and wobbling. As he tried to rise, a wave of nausea slammed into him. His arms trembling, he lowered himself to the bunk beside her to avoid crushing her if he collapsed.
Just a minute. Or two. He’d get off the bunk as soon as his cabin stopped spinning.
* * *
The next morning, Harriet was belaying a line after adjusting the fore mains’l when Nick first appeared on deck to check their position. As he retrieved the sextant from the maphouse, he gave her a sweet, small smile that was almost bashful. He had fallen asleep in the bunk beside her, after she had fallen asleep with her legs on his lap. Part and parcel for their unusual relationship, she thought. They’d been sharing a cabin for weeks and twice now they’d shared a bed without sharing their bodies. Other than for warmth. If he’d been trying to seduce her, he would have taken off his coat and shoes before getting into bed with her, right? Perhaps he’d been overcome by one of the dizzy spells he tried to conceal. As a sop to his ego, she’d avoided mentioning them. Her pirate undoubtedly saw them as a sign of weakness.
While Nick checked their position, she felt her cheeks heat anew at the memory of falling asleep last night and waking up in his arms—again. She had to leave before she gave in to the temptation to kiss his mouth so close to hers. He’d briefly tightened his grip on her when she slid out from beneath his arm, then rolled over onto his stomach, to the warm spot she’d just vacated, and sighed when she slipped off his shoes and covered him with her Portuguese blanket because he was lying on top of his red and black plaid blanket.
The rest of the crew on deck had now entered the stay-busy phase of their watch, cleaning and finding odd chores to do until a sail needed adjusting or they were called to some other task. The goats were sunning themselves on the forward hatch cover.
Jonesy waved her up to the quarterdeck while Nick was using the spyglass to check the horizon.
The breeze cooled her flaming cheeks as she moved past Nick to the tiller.
“Take a turn,” Jonesy said. “Me arm needs a rest.”
She took the tiller, knowing that his arm was fine, happy for the excuse. She hadn’t had a turn as helmsman since before they’d arrived in Porto. It didn’t take long to notice the difference in the way the ship handled, how more effort was required to keep the ship on its heading.
“We’re heavier now,” she exclaimed, thinking aloud.
Jonesy tapped the tip of his nose.
Nick lowered the spyglass and patted his flat stomach. “Speak for yourself.”
Harriet chuckled. “I knew we were riding a little lower in the water, but I didn’t think about how that would affect steering.” She stared up at Nick. “Just how much wine did you buy?”
He grinned and resumed his scan through the spyglass.
While Nick was scanning off the stern, she saw Zach poke his head out of the aft hatch and wave her over, one finger held to his lips. Jonesy silently took back the tiller and gestured with a tilt of his head for her to go.
Harriet followed Zach below. He didn’t stop until they were in the center hold. With no mares to fight over, Button and Tesoro had become roommates with little fuss. They stood quietly in their stalls, shifting a bit with each roll of the ship, watching every movement of the newcomers, alert for any hint of a threat or treat.
Zach gave each horse a pat before he turned to her. “Yesterday you demonstrated that you know how to fight like a woman defending her virtue. So I’ve been thinking—yes, Nick would say that’s a dangerous thing—as you’re dressing like a man, perhaps you’d like to learn how to fight like a man defending his honor?” He cocked his head, as though maybe he shouldn’t have made the offer.
Harriet felt her mouth fall open in surprise. She quickly closed it and impetuously hugged him. “Yes, please! I picked up a few tricks watching my brother and his friends wrestling and engaging in horseplay, but I never had much of a chance to practice them.”
Zach grinned. “Then by all means, let us continue your education.” He gestured at the net full of straw he’d lowered, with a length of canvas pinned to it. He’d drawn a crude outline of a man in charcoal on the ragged canvas. “It’s not Gentleman Jackson’s Salon, but here’s a target. Now, show me how you make a fist.”
