In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (18 page)

He looked down where she touched him, the frown still firmly set on his face.

“You’re very liberal with your touches, Sarah.”

She ripped her hand free. This wasn’t the first time she’d touched him without his consent. She’d kissed his cheek, all but ran into his arms after her nightmare and now again. Considering how much he loathed her father, she didn’t imagine having his daughter so near was a pleasant experience for him. Indeed, it must be a horrible reminder. “Begging your pardon. It won’t happen again.”

He grabbed her arm before she could move away. “I never said I minded.”

While his frown had vanished, he did not appear any less serious. His eyes held firm to hers and she wished, oh, how she wished, she knew what he was thinking when he looked at her in such a manner. But then his gaze drifted down to her mouth, lingered. Sarah’s belly quivered. Was it possible he was drawn to her as well? That he wanted her kiss as much as she yearned for his? Then he looked at her again and Sarah thought yes, yes he just might.

He gave a quick tug and pulled her into his arms. Her hands pressed against his chest; his were on her face. He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, reminding Sarah how disheveled she was. She had a moment to wish she could be fresh from a bath, dressed in her finest gown, with her hair coiffed. His breath fluttered over her cheeks.

“Why couldn’t you be more like your father?” he whispered before sliding his hands into her hair and lowering his mouth to hers.

Sarah forgot to breathe.

His lips were warm, gentle and they covered hers, moved over hers until her head spun. Her fingers dug into his chest, clenched his shirt as though her life depended on him staying exactly where he was. Her heart thumped against her breast, beat in her ears. Underneath his hands, her scalp tingled and she shivered.

Slowly, he ended the kiss, lifted his head.

“Breathe,” he murmured.

Sarah gulped in air. Her eyes felt heavy when she opened them. Her mind didn’t appear to be working as she couldn’t seem to formulate a sensible thought.

“I’m so glad I’m nothing like my father,” she managed.

Aidan sputtered, then laughed. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then tucked her head underneath his chin and held her close. Sarah breathed in his scent, luxuriated in the feeling of being in a man’s arms. Now she understood Sophia’s clandestine meetings with Jacob, why she’d risk so much to be with him. Why she’d had that dreamy look in her eye when she’d spoke of him. At the time, Sarah had been jealous but she’d also been doubtful. It had sounded too magical to be attainable.

Now she knew Sophia spoke the truth.

Far too soon, Aidan lowered his hands and stepped back. “I should resume my post. I told Chunk I wouldn’t be long.”

“Of course,” she said, feeling terribly inexperienced.

Was there a proper way to conclude such a moment? Surely, it wouldn’t be appropriate to speak of their kiss nor, she imagined, would it be seemly to ask if he would do it again. However, it didn’t feel right not to speak of it either. When something mattered, Sarah believed, it shouldn’t be disregarded. However, she was certain Aidan had much more experience in these matters and she already felt she paled in comparison.

“You can finish here, Sarah, but then come up. I’ll not have you overdoing it.”

Overdoing it? Was that all he was thinking of? Had the kiss not meant a thing to him?

Hoping he wouldn’t see her disappointment Sarah nodded. “Of course. I’ll—” She caught movement at the corner of her eye and spun to look.

“What is it?” Aidan asked.

She couldn’t be sure; all she’d seen was a shadow and it was gone by the time she looked over. It could have been nothing, even been her imagination. Yet she felt a sudden draught of cold air and shuddered.

“I thought I may have seen something, but clearly nothing is there.” She forced a smile. “You can resume your duties, Aidan. I’ll be fine.”

He gave her a lingering look before leaving her to her work. Sarah knelt on the floor, clutched her rag and kept an eye on the corridor that led to the galley and beyond. Aidan hadn’t acknowledged anyone when he’d strolled away; therefore, nobody had been there. But despite reassuring him otherwise, she knew someone had been watching. Just as she knew that someone was Peter.

Had he seen the kiss? What would he do if he had? Surely, witnessing such a moment between her and Aidan wouldn’t sit well with him. She hated thinking of Peter skulking about, watching her movements.

Something weighty suddenly crashed on the decking above her head. Sarah cringed, threw her arms up over her head and crouched low. From above came the sound of laughter, followed by the thud of boots. Apparently whatever had fallen or had dropped hadn’t been serious. She blew out a tremulous breath, lowered her arms.

She was allowing Peter to get to her. Not every noise or movement would be him spying on her or trying to get to her. Besides, Aidan wouldn’t let him harm her, of that she was sure.

Although Aidan was above deck and she was alone and—

“That’s enough,” she scolded herself and she deliberately loosened the vise of a grip she had on the rag.

Dunking the cloth into the water, Sarah sloshed it about then plopped it onto the planks. Putting her back into it, Sarah scoured the decking. She’d do her duty, and she’d do it well because it was as she’d told Aidan, here was something that mattered.

Just as the kiss had mattered. Remembering the way Aidan had looked at her, how his lips had pressed and moved against hers, how she’d felt in his arms… She felt an unfamiliar but exciting tightening low in her belly. Thrilled at the sensation, Sarah closed her eyes, relived the moment his mouth met hers. The tightening happened again and Sarah drew the sensation close to her heart. This, she marveled, must be desire.

With the newfound emotion glowing within her, Sarah finished her chore. When it was done she rose, cast a critical eye over her work and grinned. She was certain clean decking would matter little to most, but to Sarah it marked a new beginning. Here, she wasn’t the lady of the house to be waited on, to be cast on a pedestal like one of her father’s statues. She wasn’t fool enough to consider herself one of the crew, though the thought appealed to her, but she could at least contribute and be useful.

Sarah grasped the bucket just as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Her belly tightened for an entirely different reason. There wasn’t anyplace to hide and she was unarmed. She recognized Peter. Gripping the bucket, she held it before her. As a weapon it wasn’t much but if she threw it at him it may give her enough time to run past him to the stairs. Even as she was envisioning what she’d do, she saw Slim directly behind him.

Her stomach settled but she kept her grip firm on the bucket.

“Blimey, miss, I didn’t know the planks could look so clean,” Slim praised.

Despite Peter’s scowl, Sarah felt the warmth of pride. “Thank you. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to help you prepare the evening meal.”

Slim’s face beamed. “Why would I be fool enough to mind gettin’ me some help?” He turned to Peter, slapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, yer easier on the eyes than these lads.”

Sarah ducked her head. She didn’t think Peter would appreciate her smile.

“I’ll be ready for ye around sunset,” Slim said before slipping into the galley.

With Slim’s departure Sarah felt a chill seep into the air. She was acutely aware how vulnerable a position she was in. She tried to leave but Peter blocked her way.

“You may have more than the captain fooled, but I’ll not be so easily swayed. I know what you are.”

Sarah didn’t know how he possibly could as she was only discovering that for herself. She wouldn’t waste her time or energy telling him, however. When she tried to go around his other side he stepped before her again. Would he dare hurt her now with Slim nearby? He leered down at her and she feared that yes, he just might.

She changed her grip on the bucket. If he wanted to hurt her she would not make it easy. “You’re in my way,” she said.

His lips curled. “So I am.”

It was the sneer that got to her. Already today, he’d frightened and spat at her. Now he was being deliberately aggravating and looking at her as though she was nothing more than the filthy water swishing in her bucket.

Sarah put some steel in both her spine and her voice. “I’m Roche’s daughter, as you keep reminding me. Are you not afraid to get close to me? After all, I could kill you where you stand.”

His eyes narrowed. “If there’s to be any killing, I’ll be the one left breathing,” he ground.

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Sarah responded. She shoved the bucket into his chest, wishing she could have tossed its contents into his face instead. Instinct had him grabbing it and before he realized her intent, she elbowed past him.

Feeling rather good about her ability to stand for herself, Sarah waved at Slim as she passed the galley. “I’ll be back at sunset,” she called. Then, despite Peter’s hatred clawing at her back, Sarah climbed the stairs to the deck.

The sun bathed her face with warmth and she drank deep of the salted air, a refreshing change after the confines below. The sails snapped like clothes on a line and the breeze whistled past her ears. Neither the men handling the rigging nor the ones polishing weapons paid her any mind. The lingering uneasiness of Peter’s confrontations melted in the heat that shimmered off the planks of the deck.

She was in no danger here.

And if she truly felt she was, she would tell Aidan. There was no doubt in her mind he would protect her if the need arose.

Thinking of him, her gaze travelled up the stairs to the quarterdeck and the man standing behind the wheel. Wind played through his golden hair and fluttered in his shirt, teasing her with glimpses of his naked chest. Steering the ship suited him. He looked calm, serene. Capable and strong. Breathtakingly handsome.

She knew then she would never be satisfied with one kiss. She wanted to see him look at her with passion in his eyes, yearned to feel his hands on her skin, and needed to once again have his lips on hers, awakening her body in a way it’d never been before.

Yet she hadn’t forgotten what else she wanted from him and, judging this to be as opportune a time as any, Sarah made her way to the quarterdeck.

W
ith his attention
on the undulating seas beyond the bowsprit, Aidan was nonetheless aware the moment Sarah stepped onto the deck and into the sunshine. The air seemed to change when she was near, similar to before a thunderstorm when everything felt more alive, as though the very air had a heartbeat.

It all became more complicated when he actually looked at her.

Because now, when he looked at her, no matter how much he reminded himself she was Roche’s daughter, she was simply Sarah. Sarah who’d willingly sat in a brig. Sarah who’d argued to finish scrubbing a deck. Sarah whose skin he could still feel and whose kiss he couldn’t stop thinking of.

Desire thickened his blood, pooled in his loins. Aidan shifted and, when Sarah headed his way, stepped closer to the wheel. Her disheveled look—hair falling from its pins, soiled trousers—should have taken away from her beauty and yet it did the complete opposite. It made her look both strong and vulnerable and hell if it didn’t make him want her even more.

“You’ve finished, then?” he asked. He hardly recognized the gruff voice as his own.

Her smile was bright enough to rival the sun. “I did, yes.” She poked her fingers through the bars of Carracks’ cage, scratched his neck. “While I’m sure it isn’t natural to be so pleased over such a thing, I cannot deny it is exactly how I feel.”

It was also how she looked. Even the smudge of dirt smeared across her cheek could not diminish the joy shining in her eyes. “I’m sure the pleasure would wane if you were called upon to do it every day.”

“A small price to pay for freedom.”

As someone who’d once been a slave, he certainly could not dispute her logic or the truth in it.

“It is indeed.”

Her smile widened, drawing Aidan’s attention to her mouth. It was a mouth made for kissing. Pretty and pink, full and lush. He’d kept their kiss chaste, mostly because it hadn’t been the place to do more but now he couldn’t help but imagine taking it deeper. He was certain she’d taste as sweet and pure as she smelled, a welcome change from the women who frequented the taverns in port.

And unlike those women, Sarah’s responses would be honest and true. He recalled how she’d shivered when his lips touched hers, how her body leaned into his. What would she do when he coaxed her lips open with his tongue and truly ravaged her mouth?

“If you have the time,” she was saying.

He blinked away the fantasy. “Time for what?”

She clasped her hands together. “I was hoping to speak with you a moment, below if we can.”

Instead of answering, he leaned over the wheel and shouted, “Lucky! Can you take the helm?”

“Aye, Captain.” Lucky set down the musket he’d been polishing and levered himself to his feet. He took the wheel without a word but Aidan caught the misgiving in his eye.

Slim may have thought he’d delivered a good speech but apparently doubt lingered among his crew. Aidan clamped his jaw. He’d spoken to his men, put Sarah in the brig, and let her work most of the afternoon. He wasn’t sure what more he could do to show he remained intent on his quest for Roche.

“I won’t be long,” he said.

Aidan held the hatch open for her and determinedly ignored the stares and resentment he felt burning his back. Glaring at his men would serve no purpose. Neither would reminding them he’d done the same gesture for several of them since leaving Santo Domingo.

He poured himself a cup of rum—and offered her one—before he took a seat at the table. Brooding, he took a long, slow sip. He was as intent on killing Roche as he’d always been. His treatment of Sarah had nothing to do with his feelings with Roche. Why couldn’t his men see that?

That they already doubted him, so soon into their journey didn’t bode well for Aidan. When he’d dreamed of taking over the
Revenge
and becoming Steele he certainly hadn’t envisioned his crew questioning his methods or his goals. He needed to do something to prove himself but save for killing Roche—who wasn’t handy at the moment—he didn’t know what else he could do. Besides, with this lot, he was beginning to think even that wouldn’t satisfy them. He had a nasty feeling they also wanted Sarah dead. He finished his drink, slammed the cup onto the table.