Betina Krahn (14 page)

T
ITUS SAT FOR
a minute, blinking at the place where she had stood an instant before. She was gone.

Overboard—she’d gone
overboard!
Abandoned ship!

Abandoned? He’d been abandoned?

“
Aghhhh!
” He scrambled up onto his knees, grabbed the side, and peered over it at the endless expanse of swaying water. “Miss Ashton?” he called, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Miss Ash—Celeste! Where are you? Don’t be absurd—you can’t just plunge into the ocean!”

But she had indeed taken that plunge, and now wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He swallowed hard and turned his head enough to see that she wasn’t visible on that side. She had probably gone to the other side. Yes, that was it—she swam around the boat! It took Herculean effort for him to peel his cold fingers from the edge and make his way to the other side, where he wrapped his hands over the edge and pulled himself up.

No mermaid.

“Miss Ashton,” he roared, “this is
not
amusing!”

His heart was hammering so loudly, he wasn’t sure he would hear her if she did answer. After a moment, anxiety and frustration got the better of him.

“Dammit, Celeste—get back here and get back in the boat!”

The only response was the gentle, laughterlike lapping of the water on the sides of the boat. His anxiety bloomed to true panic.

He wrenched about, craning his neck, trying to determine his location. Blood drained from his head at the sight of the distant shore. Thousands of yards. A mile. Maybe two.

He looked up at the bare mast and then at the tiller, realizing just how little he knew about sailing. He glanced back at the shore. What did it matter how far? He’d never get there. He had sworn, long ago, to never ever set foot in a boat again. And here he was, at the mercy of a merciless sea once again.

Wild thoughts began to streak through his mind. He could drift out to sea and never be seen or heard from again. She was probably swimming for shore, leaving him to fend for himself in that leaking wreck … figuring that if he was lost at sea, her problem was solved. Who else would dare to challenge her work, if her first investigator met an untimely end? Wait—another boat—there had to be fishing in the area—somebody would see him—eventually—

He edged toward the bow and searched the water between the boat and shore for sign of her. Nothing. With waves and reflection, he couldn’t be certain of anything more than a few yards away.

C
ELESTE SURFACED FOR
the third time, resting and drinking air gratefully into her starved lungs. She had stayed down as long as she dared, searching, checking every glimmer she saw, but she had nothing to show for it. She swam the few yards to the boat. As she reached the side, she halted, treading water. She had a problem.

She removed her goggles, hung them on her arm and looked down at her wet combinations, seeing altogether too much of herself through the now-translucent knit. In her pride-driven determination to demonstrate her diving prowess and continue her search for her dolphins, she hadn’t reckoned
with having to climb back into the boat with him, dry off, and then sail all the way back to—

Suddenly, she thought of the blankets sopping up water in the bottom of the boat and she groaned. The boat rocked and dipped and Titus Thorne’s widened eyes appeared over the side.

“It’s
you!
” He sounded relieved. For a moment. “Where the bloody hell have you been? How dare you just plunge off into the bloody perilous ocean and leave me here in this rotten death trap of a boat—without a single word of warning or a plan for getting back into shore if—if something should happen? Dammit, anything could happen! There are huge fish … sharks … rampaging squid strangulating people out here! In case you hadn’t noticed—this is the bloody treacherous
ocean
you’re poking around in!”

If it hadn’t been for his thunderous volume, she would have sworn he was hysterical.

“I was searching for Prospero and the others,” she replied calmly. “I dive all the time, Professor, in the bloody treacherous ocean.” She took hold of the side of the boat. It dipped under her weight, and he flung himself backward to offset the force.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled. “You’ll swamp us!”

“It takes a good bit more than me climbing aboard to swamp this boat,” she said, feeling her chin starting to quiver. “Professor—I have a problem.”

“On that, we most assuredly
agree,”
he declared, seeming a bit more in control. “But now is hardly the time to discuss your mental competence. Climb in the damned boat!”

“Well, that
is
the problem, actually. I’m used to diving alone and when I’m all wet … well … Could you close your eyes, while I climb in? I’m starting to get cold.”

When he poked his head over the side to stare down at her, his eyes widened in comprehension, and he quickly retreated. There was a pause, and a bit of muttering that sounded faintly profane.

“All right. Climb aboard,” he called out.

She grabbed the side, hoisted herself up, levered herself onto her chest, then swung a leg up and over the side, as she had done a thousand times before. In a moment, she was standing in the stern, dripping wet, trying to brush water from her skin and wring it from her braid and the abbreviated legs of her combination. She grabbed her smock and thrust her arms into it. Fortunately it was made of heavy, absorbent cotton. Unfortunately, it was soon soaking wet. And the evening wind was rising.

“All right,” she said, finishing her buttons and rubbing her sleeves vigorously over her arms. When he opened his eyes, she had settled on the stern seat and was trying to rub some circulation back into her lower legs and feet.

“That is positively the most idiotic thing I have ever seen a human do in my entire life,” he declared with quiet fury. “Jump out of a perfectly safe, perfectly dry boat—”

“I d-do it all the time,” she said, beginning to shiver. “It’s my research m-method … remember? And it’s not iddiotic, it’s perfectly safe when d-done properly.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “The b-biggest danger is staying down too long and blacking out … or perhaps losing too much b-body heat.” She smiled ruefully. “That’s why I don’t usually s-stay down as long as I am capable of. I c-come up regularly to breathe and warm up. Only, this time I was so busy searching …”

Her face felt cold, her lips felt clumsy, and her shivering was getting steadily worse. She really had overdone it this time.

“So … if something doesn’t eat you, crush you, or rip you to shreds down there, you’re just as likely to snuff it from drowning or exposure,” he said, summing up the hazards of her work. “Forgive me, Miss Ashton, but you’re either the most heroic human being I’ve ever met, or you’re a complete and utter lunatic. And right now I’d put my money on
lunatic”

“I’m not a m-madwoman. I’m always v-very careful. I
always use a diving line and make c-certain I have something hot to drink and plenty of blankets to w-warm up in.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t seem to have thought ahead this time.”

“Yes, I d-did,” she said, hugging herself tighter. “But my blankets are …”

His eyes followed her gaze to his soggy pallet on the bottom of the boat. His expression changed to one of chagrin.

She shivered massively and began to rub her arms and legs briskly again. “Strange … I don’t usually have this m-much trouble w-warming up.”

Titus looked up at her pale face and blue-tinged lips and felt a fresh surge of anxiety. She was quaking so much she could scarcely rub her feet and legs. He closed his eyes against that disarming sight, and up came the image of her standing there, dripping wet, with that flimsy garment clinging to her like a second skin. He groaned privately. It wasn’t his fault, he told himself. The woman wasn’t rational.

But it was his fault the blankets were wet. And it would bloody well be his fault if she succumbed to some grisly form of consumption and died as a result of this little episode. He’d be infamous throughout England as the wretch who
drowned
the Lady Mermaid.

“The hell I will,” he muttered, struggling up onto his knees and ripping his coat from his shoulders. “Here, put this on,” he ordered, wrapping the garment around her. Then he settled on the bottom beside her and pulled a bare foot onto his lap.

“R-really, Prof-fessor …” She tried to draw it back, but he glared up at her and she relented. “I’ll be fine soon, r-really.”

But several minutes of briskly rubbing her feet and lower legs had little effect. When she shivered again, he pulled her off the seat, onto the driest part of the bottom of the boat, and into his arms.

“R-really, Professor, this is hardly nec-ces-s-s—” She couldn’t quite get it out for the chattering of her teeth. He
took advantage of her arms being trapped inside his voluminous coat and pulled her bodily onto his lap.

“Make no mistake, Miss Ashton, this is prompted by nothing less than desperation. If you swoon or wilt or whatever it is females do when they’re totally out of kilter, I shall be stuck out here for the rest of my life.” She didn’t look convinced, so he added: “If there were any other sort of heat available, do you honestly think I’d be offering you
mine
?”

It was probably a comment on her estimate of his character that she accepted that argument and stilled on his lap. He wrapped her chilled curves in his arms and tried to think warm thoughts … which wasn’t especially difficult with her sitting smack in the middle of his lap. All he had to do was close his eyes and allow the feel of her against him to conjure up the image of her as she climbed into the boat … more naked than nakedness itself. Her full, rounded breasts with their darker rings and erotic bumps at the tips … her curvy waist and rounded hips and long, sleek legs … which he now knew from experience to be surprisingly muscular. Then there was that tantalizing little vee at the top of her legs.

Damn him for peeking. Now he was going to have to live with that sight every night for … He popped his eyes open.

Her head lay against his shoulder and, as he turned to her, she raised it and opened her eyes. Huge blue pools of feminine mystery that could do terrifying things to his insides. Her color seemed to be returning. Her shivers were abating. But her breathing remained irregular and her lips still seemed a shade darker than usual. Luscious lips, he thought, and was utterly undone by his intimate knowledge of how they would taste.

He closed his eyes, knowing he was in trouble, and lowered his head. His breath stopped as his lips touched hers. It was like plunging into a steaming bath on a frosty winter night. Heat surged through his face and slid down his throat, collecting there. He shifted, pulled her closer, and poured
every bit of hunger in him into one long, blistering kiss that pulled an unexpected intensity from her.

She opened to him, yielding him her softness at first, then gradually asserting her own demands, exploring his mouth with increasing eagerness and mastery. She stroked his lips as he had hers, toyed with his tongue, and tilted her head to fit her mouth to his in ever-changing combinations.

There was just room on the dry part of the bottom for him to slide her bottom from his lap and lie back, tucking her against him, half covering her with his body. When that stunning kiss ended, he had more ready and carried them lower, along her throat and shoulder, then back up to her ear. She was soft and tasted salty and cool against his burning lips. Drifting downward, across her chest, he nudged fabric aside and dispatched buttons. He dropped kisses over every inch of skin he could reach, and every bit of her he claimed made him want more. He was suddenly driven to consume her, to absorb her through his very skin … to bury himself deep inside her …

She arched and wriggled beneath him, making soft mewing noises and gasps of delight. Every part of her was aching for his touch, for the same attention he was showering on her lips and face and breast. With subtle movements she directed the flow of his kisses to untouched areas, and then she stilled to drink in the new sensations.

Pleasure. It was pure, undiluted pleasure. How strange, she thought, her thoughts now heated and fuzzy, that he seemed to want to touch her as much as she wanted to be touched. “What a lovely arrangement,” she marveled, unaware that she had spoken aloud until he raised his head.

“Arrangement?” he echoed.

She looked into his glowing sea-green eyes. “That you seem to enjoy doing this as much as I enjoy having you do it.” She smiled. “Nature certainly is clever to have set things up like this.”

A soft rumble came from deep in his throat as he slid a hand beneath his coat and swept a caress up her side, from
hip to breast. “Clever Nature. Clever indeed.” He watched her shudder of response with a banked heat in his expression. He kissed her gently, almost playfully on the lips, and then pushed up onto his elbow above her.

“Are you warm enough now?” He shot a glance down her disheveled, half-open smock, letting it linger briefly on the damp cotton clinging to her breasts. Curiously, she felt not the slightest urge to cover herself.

“Warm-
er
,” she said, watching his gaze fasten on the tip of her breast and feeling a strange tingling, drawing sensation in it. “The air is getting cooler.”

“So I see,” he murmured, watching her nipple contract against the chill of her damp garment. Then he rubbed that brazen little bump with the back of one finger and stopped the breath in her throat. Her reaction must have registered in her face, for he smiled … a wry and deliciously dissolute expression of intent. Then he turned his hand over and fitted it possessively over the entire mound of her breast, causing a shudder of pleasure through her.

“Better?”

“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes to trap those elusive sensations in her head long enough to commit them to memory. “Much better.”

A moment later his lips closed over hers once more. This time her arms slipped around his neck and shoulders and pulled him closer. And before long, she was learning a corollary to her earlier discovery: it was as pleasant to touch him as it was for him to be touched.