Christie (15 page)

"Oh, Lula! I'm so ashamed! I can't talk about it."

"Nonsense, chile. 'Sides, ah guess ah knows already." She eyed the sheet on the bunk, still bearing traces of Christie's virginal blood on it. "De 'po'tant pahts, anyways."

So, as she helped her young charge through the rest of the bath, Lula got Christie to part with the details of how she came to be there. The black woman listened while she worked, giving appropriate grunts of disapproval at certain spots
in
the tale.

" 'Peahs whut you need raos' 'bout now is a friend, chile," she said finally. She was toweling dry the long, wheat-colored hair while Christie lay, face
down, on the freshly sheeted bunk, wrapped only in a large towel. "An' ah 'spec' ah'll do bettafT'n mos'. Don' you worry, baby, we gonna figgah a way home fo' you."

Then, giving Christie a final pat on her back, she moved toward the door. "If you need me, jus' sen' word. Jasper's on watch outsahd dis do'. Hell come 'n fetch me."

"You're not leaving?" Christie sounded frightened.

" 'Fraid ah gotta. Cap'n's o'dahs. Dey's a lotah
kin
do to make it easiah fo' you, chile, but it don' include flauntin' o'dahs from de man dat pay mah wages. Ah'll be back in de mo'nin'. G'naht."

She left and seconds later, Garrett entered. He looked the part of a captain of a seagoing vessel. He wore a dark coat of deep blue wool over tight-fitting seaman's breeches of a lighter hue. His head was bare, the hair tousled and windblown, and there was a fine coating of sea spray on it. Removing the coat, he hung it on a peg near the door and moved to warm his hands at the small iron stove which glowed warmly at one end of the room.

"I see you've had your bath." As he spoke, he turned toward her, and Christie noticed the dark mat of hair on his chest as it was revealed by a full-sleeved white shirt which lay open in front. "Now, I hope you'll excuse me while I take mine."

She opened her mouth to reply when the door pushed open and Jasper came in carrying two more large buckets of hot water.

"Sorry ah couldn' knock, boss—Cap'n. Mah hands is full."

"It's all right, Jasper." He handed him an empty

bucket as Jasper set the other two down. "Two more ought to do it."

"Dey's raht heah, outsahd de do', Cap'n." He worked to fill the brass tub with the fresh water while Garrett poured himself a brandy from a heavy crystal decanter. When the boy had left, Garrett set the brandy down on a small table near the tub and began to undress.

Christie groaned and turned her face to the wall, causing Garrett to chuckle.

"Privacy has always been at a premium aboard ship," he explained, and with a splash, he descended into the warm water.

The angle of the tub caused his back to be turned to her, and Christie, hearing him enter the water, took the opportunity to shed her towel and don the robe that was left for her. But Lula had left the sash behind, on the table where Garrett's brandy sat, and as she went to retrieve it, he reached for his glass and his fingers brushed her arm. The touch was unexpected for both of them, and
in
her anxious state of mind, it shot a fiery spark through Christie's body, and she jumped.

"What's the matter, kitten? I don't bite, you know."

There was an amused grin on his face as he ran his eyes over her slender form, evident even under the ridiculously huge folds of his robe.

Her hair, nearly dry now, hung loosely down her back, curling softly in tendrils about her face and around her shoulders. Her face, still flushed slightly from the bath, had taken on a soft glow, accentuated by the candlelight which lit the room. Once again he
was struck by the arresting by-play of the two sides of this creature before him—half wide-eyed child, half sensually alluring woman. He continued to study her thus for another long moment, and then, holding up a sponge, he said, "Wash my back, Christie, please."

She gave him a stuporous look. "Wash your—? Oh, Garrett, please don't—how can you be so—so cruel?"

"It's not cruelty I intend, Christie. In the long run, it's your own comfort I'm about."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"We two are going to be quartered together on this ship under rather intimate circumstances for a fair length of time. By breaking down your fear of me— understandable in the light of this afternoon's unfortunate—episode—I can
make it easier for you to accept the forced physical closeness we must endure. Scrubbing my back is step one."

He handed her the sponge.

With a small, trembling sigh, she accepted it. Hesitating only briefly, she grabbed the piece of soap he also now offered and began to lather his broad, well-muscled back. As she worked, she was not unaware of the strong, masculine power implied by his rugged expanse of sun-browned muscles. They rippled as he flexed under her movements, and she shivered as she heard him groan with the pleasure of it.

Finished at last, she handed back the sponge, and, setting the soap in the dish provided for it on the little table, she took a step backward while eying him apprehensively.

"Thanks, little one."

He had begun to lather his head with another piece of soap, which, she noticed, had a slightly fragrant, clean, masculine scent to it. "Now, grab that bucket of hot water over there and rinse my hair for me, please."

Again, a sigh, but she did as she was told, watching the water cascade down over his head, and then over his shoulders and chest in little rivulets.

"Hey! I didn't say to drown me!" He laughed. Then, suddenly, he was standing erect in the tub, causing huge sloshings of water to overflow the rim and puddle the floor.

Christie jumped backward, partly to avoid being soaked and partly—mostly—in the face of her embarrassment at suddenly being faced with his nakedness. Blushing, she turned and made for the bunk, and, once there, climbed quickly in and covered herself with the blanket. Garrett's soft laughter followed her as he began to towel himself dry.

"Lesson one, accomplished," he pronounced. "Now for the second lesson. One not so easy, and far more important."

He had wrapped the towel around his hips and now stood near the bunk where she lay quietly watching him.

"It shouldn't have been like it was, you know," he began. "The first time is difficult enough for any woman, without the problems you so unwittingly caused."

He stepped forward and moved to sit on the edge of the bunk. Immediately Christie backed away, forcing herself against the wall it adjoined.

"Don't—" she whispered, running her tongue
over lips suddenly gone dry. "Don't touch me. Don't come near me. Don't hurt me again—please . . . don't." The last word was barely audible in the still chamber.

He sat on the bunk and slowly drew her to him. "I have no intention of hurting you, little one," he said. He sat there for a long moment, doing nothing more than holding her. "That is exactly what I started to tell you." He was talking softly against her hair, breathing in the clean, heady fragrance of it. "You and I got started off all wrong. So far, all you know of what can happen between a man and a woman is pain—and fear. Neither of those should be part of it. Now I think it's time to teach you about pleasure."

Slowly, he began to kiss her hair, murmuring soft, nameless phrases against it as he did so. Then he was at her ear, kissing, nibbling, whispering to her— "Christie, lovely Christie—little one." When he reached her eyes, he saw they were bright with unshed tears, and he kissed them, softly, tenderly, his lips light as a whisper. Slowly, he felt her relax against him. "That's better," he murmured. "Is there anything so terrible about this?"

Hypnotized by the languorous warmth of his nearness, Christie honestly felt there wasn't; and shaking her head, she again gave him the bright, blinding smile he had seen earlier.

Garrett's grip tightened as he was seized with a reaction that was mind-stopping. "If she continues to smile at me like this," he thought, "I won't have any control at all, and this will be over before it's begun."

Pushing her gently down against the pillows, he took a deep breath. "That's enough of your lesson for
tonight," he growled. "I think I need a brandy." He turned and headed for the decanter.

"Garrett?" Christie's eyes were wide with wonder.

"Yes, kitten?" He was pouring the brandy.

"Is—is it really supposed to be all . . . pleasure? I— I mean, I'm trying to imagine how that would be, and—is it more like the strange, fluttering feelings I had down inside me and all over, in the in-between moments, when you touched me and I wasn't frightened—or—or afraid you were going to—"

She stopped at the sound of shattering glass, for Garrett had crushed his brandy glass in his hand, cutting his fingers and scattering fragments to the floor.

"You're bleeding!" she cried, and she ran toward him, untying the sash that held her robe to wrap around his bloody hand. But as she tied the makeshift bandage, the robe fell open, revealing all that was necessary of her perfect young body to cause Garrett the reaction he had been trying to avoid. With a groan, his arms went about her, and he buried his face in the hair on her neck.

"Garrett—your hand," she muttered, but as he began to nuzzle the base of her neck, she felt the fluttery, tingling sensation she had just been asking him about.

"Damn the hand!" he growled, and lifting her up ever so much more gently than he had on the earlier occasion, he took her to the bunk, all the while nuzzling her throat.

Christie knew she should be protesting, but there was so much about his manner now that was not as threatening as before, and, besides, she was curious about this pleasure he spoke of. So it was with a
feeling of trust that she smiled, looking deeply into his eyes as he laid her down among the pillows once again.

At her look, Garrett began to feel his blood pounding. His senses were filled with her. Slowly, very slowly, he brought his mouth down to hers. The kiss was soft, his lips lighter than a snowflake, but as it continued, lingering, melting away any last doubts she might have had, it grew in intensity, by degree. Now it was warm and clinging, filled with a sweetness they both seemed to get lost in; now it was hungry, bespeaking the desire that began to work in them. Garrett's hands started to move lightly over her shoulders, pushing the robe aside. His thumbs moved lower to the nipples of her round, full breasts and he began to tease them lightly making them excited and erect. Then his mouth followed the trail his hands left. As his lips reached one pink peak, Christie moaned with pleasure, and her arms wound tightly about him.

Garrett laughed softly as his hands continued their skillful work, moving across her smooth belly and lower, to the silky triangle of honey-colored hair below. With a start, Christie drew back slightly, but Garrett drew her close again, his mouth at her ear, saying, "No, little one. Don't go skittish on me now. You're beautiful here, too."

Gently, he smoothed the hair back from her temples and looked at her; and the warmth, burning in his green gaze, made Christie's last resistance melt. Gently, his fingers parted her thighs and she moaned again, deep in her throat.

"Is this pleasure, little one?" he questioned softly,
his lips against the corner of her mouth. "Tell me. Shall I stop?"

"No, Garrett—I—don't stop!"

And from beneath the thick lashes of her half-closed eyes, Christie saw him smile while at the same moment the hard, insistent flesh of his manhood slipped gently between her open thighs.

The effect was startlingly pleasurable for Christie and she sucked in her breath at the sensation. But he was beginning to move now, slowly, taking his time. Feeling the positive rhythm, and finding herself caught up in it, Christie instinctively moved with him. Soon, wave after wave of almost unspeakable pleasure emanated from the core of her, and as she reached her many-ringed climax she felt him quiver with one mighty explosive burst, as he joined her on the heights.

Then she lay quietly satiated in the ring of his arms as he continued to kiss her eyes, her nose, and, ever so softly, her warm, curving mouth. It was as if he couldn't leave her alone yet and lying there still encased in her warmth, fingering the long, silky strands of her hair as it spread out around her on the pillow, he spoke, his voice low and husky.

"That, little Christie, is much of what it ought to be like between a man and a woman."

At last, he slipped away from her, and feeling the loss, she snuggled closer, laying her head against his chest while he tightened his arms about her.

Garrett chuckled. "Lesson two, accomplished," he breathed, continuing to stroke the smooth curve of her buttocks and hips.

Chapter Ten

Christie awoke to the sound of dishes being rattled, and she opened sleepy eyes to find Garrett, fully dressed, pouring coffee into a cup on a tray at the table where they had dined the night before. Sitting up slowly, she remembered her nakedness and pulled the blanket up over her breasts.

Hearing her stir, Garrett looked up and a broad smile spread across his face.