Island Flame (21 page)

“My leg’s bleeding pretty badly,” he groaned cunningly, knowing that he would have to get her close enough so that he could grab her again before she would listen to anything he had to say.

“Serves you right!” she answered, sniffling a little as she approached the bunk, as warily as a young doe. As she got closer she could see the bloodstains on the white nightshirt, and her guard dropped somewhat.

“Does it hurt?” she asked with the faintest hint of sympathy, gathering up linen and water before coming to perch on the edge of the bunk. Jon gauged the distance carefully, then sighed inwardly. The wily little cat was clever enough to stay just out of his reach.

“Like the devil,” he lied, watching closely for his opportunity to grab her.

“Good!” she sniffed, remembering her anger. Jon eyed her frustratedly as she pushed his nightshirt up to expose the hard brown expanse of his bandaged thigh. He still wasn’t quite sure of reaching her. He would only have one chance, he knew. If he missed she would fly from him like a frightened bird.

Cathy was looking worriedly at the bright crimson stains that were soaking through the linen wrappings. She began to unwind the cloth from about his leg. When at last the jagged wound was laid bare, she sucked in her breath sharply at the sight of the dark red ooze that had broken through the thin scabbing. Even Jon managed to wince without too much trouble. Thank God it looked much worse than it felt!

She maintained a stony silence as she washed the blood from his leg, her hands cool and steady against his torn flesh. Jon was devoutly thankful for the protective covering of the nightshirt over his lap. If she could see the effect she was having on him, he doubted that she would be sitting there quite so calmly!

Jon winced again in earnest as she sprinkled some of that devilish powder over the open sore. It burned like the fires of hell! He gave a crafty groan and was rewarded by the feel of her soft little hand patting his leg consolingly. God, it was too much! If his need of her was frustrated much longer he was afraid he might burst!

When the wound was finally dressed to her satisfaction, Cathy set the bowl of water and the powder aside, then began to gather up the bloodstained bandages. Her movements brought her within reach at last, and as swiftly
as a tiger Jon pounced. His hand closed around her wrist and he jerked her across him so that she was lying half on him, half on the bunk. An ache throbbed through him at the sudden movement, but he ignored it. What he had to say was more important than any pain. He turned so that he could look at her, and found her red-rimmed eyes glaring up at him angrily.

“It was a trick, wasn’t it?” she asked quite calmly. “You bullied Petersham into making me think you were seriously hurt. He didn’t even try to stop your leg from bleeding, did he?”

“I wanted to apologize,” Jon murmured, painfully aware of how her nearness tightened his muscles.

“Do you think an apology can wipe out what you said?” she challenged, her eyes beginning to fill up with tears again. “Or its truth? You’re right. I am your mistress, even though it happened against my will. Do you have any idea how filthy that makes me feel?”

“Oh, Cathy, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said remorsefully. “You’re my lover, my woman. Mistress was an unfortunate choice of words.”

“But it’s true,” she whispered in a tiny voice. Jon felt his heart contract at the shame in her face. It was shame that he had caused, not only by his words but by his actions. She looked so small and helpless lying there on her back, her tear-filled eyes defiant and her red-gold hair cascading wildly over his chest and the pillows. Her soft pink mouth was quivering uncontrollably. Jon suddenly knew that he had to stop that shaking before it tore him apart.

Cathy’s eyes widened as he bent over her, but before she could resist in any way his mouth was on hers, hot
and sweet and almost unbearably gentle. She wanted to scream, to hit him, to bite down on his encroaching tongue as hard as she could, but she didn’t. Deep inside she knew that she needed his kiss like flowers need rain. It was balm to her sore heart, and unguent to her pride. Her mouth fluttered like a trapped butterfly beneath his, and then she opened it to him helplessly. Her hands came up to caress his black head, her fingers stroking through the thick strands, tugging at them. He gave a muffled groan of satisfaction as she began to kiss him back.

When at last he lifted his head it was only to bury his lips in the warm curve of her neck. Cathy’s hands, which should have been bruising him, instead stroked his bristly cheek.

“I’m crazy for you,” Jon muttered at last, raising himself so that he could look down into her face. What he saw there made his muscles stiffen longingly. Her sapphire eyes, their radiance enhanced by the sparkling drops that filled them and clung to her lashes, glowed up at him lovingly. Her small mouth had the deep redness of the lushest rose. As she smiled at him tremulously, he caught his breath as at a physical blow.

“I didn’t mean what I said, sweet. Please forgive me.”

His voice was humble as Cathy had never heard it before, and the hard core of shamed anger inside her melted away, like butter under a hot sun. I love this man, she thought, amazed, and the thought so bemused her that she could only stare at him wonderingly. After a moment her hand came up to caress his unshaven jaw, delighting in the feel of its roughness against her palm.

“Forgive me?” he asked again, his voice low, and his eyes plaintive.

“Does it mean so much to you, to have me forgive you?” she asked softly, hopefully. Jon’s eyes glinted down at her, and his mouth curved in a self-mocking smile.

“Well, you see, my cat,” he confided in her ear. “I want you so badly that I ache with it. And I have this minute resolved never to make love to you without your full consent again. So I need your cooperation if I’m not to spend the rest of my life stooped like some poor hunchback.”

Cathy laughed with a little catch in her voice at this audacious speech. It was just like him to make lewd suggestions while trying to win her forgiveness for his earlier lewd suggestions! His eyes gleamed with corresponding laughter as he lowered his head.

The soft peak of her breast was his target. His lips burned moistly through the fabric of her dress, but Cathy made no attempt to push him away. She gave an involuntary moan of pleasure as a spreading warmth began to pulse inside her. Her nipple hardened under his searing caress.

“Your body forgives me,” he murmured. Cathy’s hands fluttered to his shoulders, knowing they should be pushing him away but unable to gather sufficient strength.

“All right, I forgive you,” she gasped desperately, hoping that her capitulation would cause him to stop before she disgraced herself completely.

“That’s my girl.” The words were said against her lips as his mouth moved up to claim hers. Cathy responded to his kiss hesitantly at first, and then with growing passion. Her arms twined around his neck and she moved against him instinctively, forgetting his injuries in her ever-increasing need of him.

“Ahh, Cathy,” he groaned, his hand coming up beneath
her dress to press intimately against her lace-covered buttocks, molding her tightly against him. Cathy writhed against his hardness, suddenly craving the feel of him inside her, like a starving man craves food. It had been so long—and now she loved him. Maybe she always had. Her hand came up rather shyly to caress his thigh, then drew back as her fingers encountered the linen bandage.

“Jon, Jon, wait!” She tried to draw away. “Darling, you can’t! You might start to bleed again!”

“Do you think I give a damn?” he muttered fiercely, pressing hot kisses over her neck and the exposed part of her bosom. “What did you call me?”

Cathy could feel herself flushing, but there was no help for it.

“I— Darling,” she answered simply, and he drew back a little to look at her. His gray eyes, cloudy with passion, were intent on her pink-hued face.

“That’s what I thought you said,” he said with satisfaction, his hand leaving its distracting occupation to move to the hooks at the back of her dress.

“Jon, really, no!” Cathy was breathing hard, but she was perfectly serious. “You’re not well enough yet.”

His hand freed the last of the hooks, tugging her dress down over her shoulders. Cathy caught at it before he could move it past her swelling bosom. He looked at her.

“I am—if you’ll help me. I want you so badly. Please.” His gray eyes pleaded with her like a small boy’s begging for a sweet.

Cathy sighed, letting him pull the dress from her. She wore just one petticoat beneath it for coolness sake, and she had left off her stays for the same reason. Jon didn’t even give her time to take it off. His hand slid up the back
of her thigh to tug down her pantalets, tearing the fine lace a little in his haste. As she obediently kicked free of them he pulled her on top of him, shoving the skirt of her petticoat up around her waist.

Cathy caught her breath at the feel of his fiery hardness burning against her soft belly. Instinctively she rubbed against him until they were both gasping.

“Cathy—love me. Cathy—love me,” he moaned. Cathy stared down at him, willing to do whatever he wanted, by now knowing quite what that was. His eyes, glazed with passion, flickered open. Seeing her obvious confusion, they darkened even more.

“Ride me,” he directed softly. Cathy felt bright scarlet embarrassment stain her cheeks as she caught his meaning at last. Jon showed her what to do and she did it, both of them barely breathing as he slid deep inside her. Her movements were untaught, and rather shy, but they were enough to send both of them spinning with an intensity that neither had ever dreamed was possible.

Eight

C
athy was more than a little appalled at what had happened to her. It seemed impossible that she could have actually fallen in love with a man who had abducted her and subsequently forced her to perform the most intimate acts with him. A man, moreover, who was a thief and a murderer and made no bones about it. A man without lineage or money, whose only possession in the wide world so far as she knew was a ship!

He didn’t even treat her that well, she mused, eyes beginning to cloud moodily. Since her outburst of two days ago he had been gentle and almost tender with her, but Cathy knew him well enough by now to be sure that his mellow mood would not last. Sooner or later she would do something to put him in a temper, and he would flare at her with all his usual fury. Well, at least she was no longer afraid of him. He wouldn’t hurt her physically, she knew, and verbally, she could return what she got!

He was handsome, Cathy allowed, as she tried to discover what it was about him that made her heart go pit-a-pat. He was so tall and strong and worldly that, beside him, she sometimes felt like the child he mockingly called her. Just thinking about the wicked glint in those gray eyes when he looked at her, about the mocking curve of his mouth and the slash in his cheek when he smiled, warmed her. The memory of his lovemaking was enough to stop
her breath. She grimaced, pushing the hair out of her eyes with an impatient hand. For whatever reason, she might as well admit it. She was in love with the dratted man.

That settled, the question now was, what to do about it? The only satisfactory solution would be for him to fall equally in love with her. She sometimes thought that he was not far from it. Whenever she was near, his eyes followed her hungrily, and if she came within reach of his hands she could be sure of a lusty pat or pinch. She knew that he wanted her body with an insatiability that never failed to amaze her. And she could move him—yes, in bed she could move him to the heights. But even in his most passionate moments he had never hinted at love or affection, or, indeed, anything but an intense desire to possess her physically. Which reduced her to the honorable status of his whore, she thought savagely. With a decided toss of her head she resolved to change that mighty quick! She would make him fall in love with her if it killed her—or him.

Jon had progressed to the point where he could lever himself out of the bunk and hop to a chair near the window. He was anxious to be out on deck again, but Cathy was afraid for him to venture too much, too soon. She knew that the only reason he acceded to her wishes was because he didn’t like to display the full extent of his disability to his men. As he had once told her, a pirate crew was much like a wolf pack: they respected strength above all. For a leader to exhibit weakness was to invite trouble. His crew had been with him for years and he was convinced of their loyalty, but one lesson Jon had learned in his life was that no person was entirely trustworthy. He set one of the men to fashioning him a crutch, and in the meantime stayed
grudgingly out of the way. He would return to the quarterdeck when he could get there without being carried like a baby. There was no point in taking chances.

Cathy sighed. Harry’s devotion had become obvious to all, and Petersham had even gone so far as to warn her, with a meaningful look, that the captain was a jealous man. Once Jon resumed command of the ship, he was bound to become aware of the situation. She had tried everything she could think of to discourage Harry’s attentions, but nothing had worked. Hopefully, Jon would see the younger man’s devotion as the natural interest of a male in the only female within miles, and let it go at that. Or better yet, maybe Jon’s presence on the quarterdeck would quell Harry sufficiently so that Jon need never know anything about it.