The Captain's Caress (9 page)

Summer didn’t own a single dress that she hadn’t already worn so many times she was ashamed to put it on again, so she turned hopefully to the dazzling wardrobe that the earl had sent as a wedding gift, but the weather was much too hot for silks and satins, quilted brocades or fine wools. She picked up a soft chemise and held it next to her. It was certainly thin enough, but even the petticoats were made of layer upon layer of stiff material. She would have to be content with one of her old gowns. She barely had time to put on her dress and tie up her hair before a knock sounded at the door.

“May we come in, milady?” an unfamiliar voice called. “We have the captain’s bath.” Summer was startled out of her composure. Where were they going to put a bath? It was unthinkable that they would bring it into her cabin. But before she could protest, two young boys, straining under the weight of a large copper tub, staggered into the room and deposited their burden in the middle of the floor.

“I hope we didn’t wake you, milady,” said the youth with sandy hair and freckles.

“No, you didn’t wake me,” Summer replied numbly.

“The captain likes to get started powerful early,” the boy said, staring at Summer with open admiration, “but it doesn’t suit everybody to be up and about at such hours.”

“Th-th-that’s all right,” she stammered, wondering how to escape before Brent came back. In her agitation she failed to hear approaching footsteps, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when Brent’s voice roared from the open doorway.

“The captain particularly likes his crew to go about their business without useless chatter. That water won’t jump into the copper by itself, so you’d better give it some help.”

Brent’s displeasure reduced the youths to quaking incoherence, and they hurried from the room. “I begin to wonder if either of those lads will ever amount to anything,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the retreating boys. “Show them a pretty face and everything goes out of their heads.” He waited expectantly for Summer to respond, but when she said nothing he moved impatiently about the cabin collecting what he needed for a bath. “They were supposed to have the tub filled by eight o’clock, but the fools were afraid to come in with you in here.”

“Do you have a bath every morning?” Summer couldn’t believe she had just asked such an improper question.

“Yes, but not always here. Sometimes I swim in the ocean, and at other times we rig up a shower on deck. But the sea is cold, even in summer, and I look forward to an occasional warm bath in front of a fire.”

“How do you build a fire on a ship?” she asked, curiosity battling her shame.

“We use small oil burners with reflectors. They’re not as good as a log fire, but they serve the purpose.”

The boys returned, straining under their load of hot water.

“Don’t slop it on the floor,” Brent barked. “I don’t want to slip and break my head because you don’t know how to pour water out of a bucket.”

The boys hurried away, to return again and again until the huge copper was filled with steaming water.

“That’s enough for now,” Brent said, finally. “Remember to have it ready on time tomorrow.”

“Yes, Captain,” was all they dared say before effacing themselves and escaping as quickly as they could.

“I’m forgetting my manners,” Brent said, as he placed a chair and towel within reach of the tub. “Would you like a bath?” Summer shook her head vigorously. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble to have more water brought in.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want a bath,” she insisted.

“Suit yourself.” He stripped quickly and stepped into the tub. Summer was no longer shocked that he would undress in front of her, but she still hid her eyes. This time, however, she used her hands instead of a pillow.

With an appreciative sigh, Brent settled down into the water until it was right under his chin. “Will you hand me the soap?”

“What?”

“The soap. I can’t reach it.”

“Where is it?” she asked, being careful to keep her eyes averted. The knowledge that he was naked beneath all that water made her feel weak.

“Next to the basin.” The force of her attraction to him was pulling at her, but she was determined to overcome it.

“Here,” she said, handing him the soap, her eyes directed at the ceiling.

“I forgot my sponge, too.”

She dropped the sponge into the water.

“Thanks,” he said, and she retreated to a chair in the far corner. She meant to keep her eyes in her lap, but they kept straying back to his head of luxuriant, short-cropped hair. Brent washed his feet, raising one after another out of the water. She was so mesmerized by the power of those muscular limbs that she was caught off guard when he stood up unexpectedly. She blushed again and hid her face in her hands.

“Do you have a headache?” he asked turning around to look at her as he covered his whole body with thick lather.

“No.” Her voice was no more than a faint whisper. “I feel fine.”

“Good, then you can wash my back.” He sat down and splashed water all over himself to rinse off the soap. “I can’t reach it.”

“No,” she said softly.

“What did you say?” he asked, still splashing. “You’ll have to speak up.”

“I said I wouldn’t wash your back,” Summer answered, louder this time.

“Then I’ll wash yours,” Brent replied, smiling at her the way a cat smiled at a cornered mouse. “I’d enjoy that even more.”

“You won’t do any such thing,” she said, a trifle shrilly, a look of frightened disbelief spreading over her face. “I don’t want a bath.”

“You have a choice,” he said, still smiling. “One or the other. Which will it be?” He watched her steadily and his strong white teeth seemed to glisten in the light as she shivered with shame. “Make up your mind. The water’s getting cold.”

Summer dragged herself from the corner, not daring to raise her eyes. Every movement seemed to make her humiliation deeper.

“If you don’t look where you’re going, you’ll end up in the tub after all.” Brent laughed as she nearly stumbled over the chair. “I’d love to have you join me, but not head first.”

Summer froze, embarrassed. She felt degraded.

Brent held out the sponge, but she made no effort to take it from him. “I’ll guide your hand to my back,” he teased, putting the sponge in her palm. “Then you won’t have to look at me.”

“No, thank you.” Summer trembled from his touch. “I can do it myself.”

Summer’s scrubbing was so tentative that Brent could hardly feel it. “Put your back into it,” he ordered.

Summer felt that she was going to die, but she scrubbed harder, covering first one shoulder and then the other. She rinsed them both and then scrubbed his lower back.

“Mmmm, that feels wonderful,” Brent purred. “Are you sure you won’t scrub the rest of me?”

Summer dropped the sponge as if it were a burning coal. “I’ve finished,” she said, drying her hands.

“Hand me that towel before you go.”

Before Summer could move, there was a great swishing of water and Brent stood up in the tub, dripping wet, but as proud and magnificent as a Michelangelo statue. With an audible gasp, Summer dropped the towel into the water and clamped her hands over her eyes, but not before she had a picture of his overwhelmingly masculine body etched into her brain.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Brent protested. “You’ll have to get me another towel from the cupboard.”

“I can’t,” she groaned, keeping her hands over her eyes, unable to move from the spot.

“I’ll drip water all over the floor if I go.”

“I
can’t!”
she said miserably. “I really can’t.”

“Oh, all right.” He sounded only mildly put out. Summer heard water slosh about as he got out of the tub. Then his feet padded softly on the floor. A cupboard was roughly thrown open, and the barely audible sound of clothing being thrown about came to her ears. “You’re lucky I have some extras, or you’d have to go ask Smith for more.” Summer felt that her torment would never end. “You can open your eyes now,” he said. “I’ll stay covered long enough for you to run back to your corner.” Fearful that if she delayed he might not cover himself at all, Summer dropped her hands and ran quickly to the chair at the foot of the bed. She sat, her eyes fastened on her lap, but she was prepared to shut them on a second’s notice.

“You shouldn’t be so squeamish,” Brent said, as he dried himself off. “I’m not hard to look at, at least so I’ve been told.” He tossed the wet towel to the floor, and Summer’s eyes snapped shut. “You might as well get used to me. I’m going to be around until we reach Havana, and I don’t plan to keep my clothes on all that time.”

Summer shuddered.

Brent slipped into a luxurious ruby red robe that reached his ankles. He walked to the door and shouted down the hall. “More water!” He turned to Summer, leaving the door open. “Now it’s your turn.”

Summer’s head jerked up at his words. Her heart beat wildly, and her eyes were so unfocused by terror that she could hardly see her tormentor though he stood less than ten feet from her. “I don’t want a bath.”

“The water’s warm and relaxing,” he said. “You’ll feel much better afterward.” Before she could recover the use of her tongue, the boys were trooping in with more cans of hot water. In a remarkably short time they had finished, and she was once more alone with Brent.

“Come on, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he assured her. “I’ll even help you undress.”

“No!” she nearly shrieked. “I can’t take a bath in front of you.”

“But I insist,” he said, and she knew by the hard glint in his eyes that there would be no turning him from his purpose. He took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet, then almost dragged her toward the tub that stood so ominously in the middle of the room. “Let me help you with your ties.”

“Don’t touch me,” she whimpered. Her hands flew to her waist and feverishly covered the knotted sash, but Brent firmly removed them and undid the sash with one quick movement.

“Stand still,” he commanded. “I can’t undo these buttons with you squirming like a captured pig.”

Summer tried to remain rigid, but the feel of his fingers moving down and over her bosom as he meticulously undid each button nearly drove her into a frenzy. When he slipped the dress over her shoulders and dropped it to the floor at her feet, she thought she couldn’t stand any more. He quickly undid her light petticoat, and she stood revealed in her shift. She was covered with embarrassment, and could only hope that she would die and never have to look anyone in the face again. But worse was yet to come.

Abruptly Brent was quiet. The mocking tone left his voice, the insouciant lightness vanished from his movements. His mind and body were heated by rising desire. His touch became heavy, his fingers clumsy; and he fumbled with the strings. As he slipped the straps of the shift over her shoulders, letting his hands linger on the satin-smoothness of her skin, the warm scent of her body gave him a heady feeling of intoxication. He tugged gently and the shift slid over the curves of her body to fall noiselessly into a circle at her feet.

Like a man in a trance, he drank in every breathtaking detail of her body, from the luxuriant fall of burnished-copper hair to toes wriggling in a sign of her inner torment. He wondered again how Gowan had had the luck to chance upon this supremely lovely creature. His hand reached out to touch her, but she shrank involuntarily from his touch.

“You’d better get into the tub before you catch cold,” he said. A constriction in his throat made it difficult for him to speak. “Let me give you a hand. You might fall.”

“I can do it myself,” she said, weak with shame. She drew her hand behind her, but he reached out and took it.

“Don’t be a fool. It’s not worth cracking your skull against the tub.”

“I don’t want your help. I don’t want you to touch me at all,” she said tersely.

“Try to accept my help graciously for once.”

She did not answer him, but she did let him assist her into the tub. She immediately sank so low in the water Brent wondered if she meant to cover her head.

“You don’t have to drown yourself just to get away from me,” he said acidly. “I’ll leave you alone if it’s that painful.” He stalked over to the chair in the corner and dropped onto it, muttering curses and swearing to blind himself rather than succumb to her allure.

But his eyes would no more leave her than his mind would refuse to think about her, and the heat of his anger quickly ebbed to the warmth of desire. His gaze feasted on the loveliness of her curving lips, her dainty nose, the alabaster creaminess of her complexion, and on tresses of molten copper that cascaded over the edge of the tub. He felt hypnotized.

Desire tormented him as she moved slowly and quietly in the water. She was turned slightly away from him, and the early morning sun cast her silhouette into well-honed relief, sharply outlining her every movement. With fluid motions she washed her limbs one at a time, and he felt mesmerized, incapable of breaking the spell that held him lightly yet so securely. With a tremendous effort of will he wrenched himself away from the siren call of her overwhelming femininity.

“I’ll wash your back for you,” he said, starting up from the chair like a stag erupting from the forest. He took the sponge, mindless of her protests, and roughly scrubbed her back, too caught up in her to know what he was doing.