Her Sky Cowboy (15 page)

Another explosion. This one from above. The zeppelin. “Holy…”

“Fook!” The captain took off, shouting orders while chaos commenced.

Was this Tucker’s plan? The element of surprise and distraction? She’d seen him through a portside window. She was now indeed portside. She took a chance and hurried to the rail just as the cowboy drifted up within eyesight. Her heart caught in her throat. “Crikey.”

“Jump.”

She didn’t think. If she did she’d argue that they were a great distance above the earth. That she had no more than a sliver of moonlight and the fire from the explosions to light the dark and vast sky. That if she jumped and missed, she had no parachute to slow her descent. Instead, she gathered her skirts and climbed up on the rail.

Tucker extended a hand. “Show some sass, Flygirl.”

From behind, she heard a shout. Heard a gunshot, then a screech that sounded very much like Leo’s. She started to turn, but the airship listed. Adrenaline surging, Amelia reached out, jumped, and landed on what felt like the back of a horse with a force that jarred her entire body.

Tucker glanced over his shoulder. “You okay?”

Her pulse raced; her lungs seized. Instead of plummeting to the ground, she’d landed safely on Tucker’s curious mode of escape. A flying horse? Her mind strained to make sense of it. Meanwhile, she took comfort in Tucker’s presence, in his courage and strength. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and her blood stirred in a most curious manner, making her chest ache and her body tingle.
It is the circumstance, not the man
, she told herself. One daring
rescue couldn’t possibly mend the romantic illusions he’d shattered mere hours before. Yet her heart was full, her mind crowded with the memory of his knee-melting kiss. Gobsmacked, she managed a nod.

“Hold tight.” Snapping the reins, he nudged the horse—or rather, the bird-horse—into action. Massive wings flapped, propelling them away from the burning airship.

A Pegasus.

As she lived and breathed, the Sky Cowboy owned a mythical horse. Straddling the ebony beast, feeling its body heat and quivering power, she knew it to be real—not a figment of her imagination or a mechanical configuration—even though her mind screamed,
Impossible!

Just then thunder boomed and lightning flashed. Amelia shivered as an ominous cloud mushroomed around them, seemingly devouring the
Flying Shark
. Tucker urged the horse faster, cutting through the perimeter of the cloud as a hard rain pelted them.

Seconds later they were clear of the storm, soaring through the night air with the ease and grace of a bird. Dazed, Amelia clung to Tucker, front plastered to his strong back, arms wrapped like a vise around his waist, legs draped over his thighs so as not to hinder the creature’s wings. She half expected a cannonball to blow them out of the sky. But there was no gunfire, no more explosions. Only the sound of the wind, the pounding of her heart, and massive wings buffeting the current.

She realized then that they blended into the night sky. As far as she could tell their mount was pure ebony, and Tuck was dressed in head-to-toe black. In kind, Amelia’s gown was deeply subdued. Only her golden curls threatened to give them away. She considered ripping fabric from the hem of her skirt and wrapping it around her head like a turban, but that would mean letting go of Tucker. She felt unbalanced as it was.

“How did you find me?” she shouted near his ear.

He gestured to the left.

“Leo!” Her beloved falcon was alive and well and flying alongside them. She burst with joy and a million questions, but emotion clogged her throat. Though her hair whipped and obscured her vision, though the wind stung her face and burned her eyes, she refused to bury her face against Tucker’s broad shoulders. Refused to miss one moment of the glorious experience. Yes, Leo had flown alongside Bess and the
Flying Cloud
, but this was different. This time Amelia almost felt as though she had wings herself. She’d thought the Pogo Pack rocket ride had been a rush. Nothing would ever compare to this thrill.

Moments ago she’d anticipated death. This moment she’d never felt more alive. Amelia’s soul danced as they sailed amongst the stars. She hugged Tucker, silently thanking him for this dream come true, breathing in the scent of bay rum, wool, horse sweat, and…licorice?

“Home, boy,” Tucker said to the horse.

Peeking around the man’s shoulder, Amelia spied flickering lights and the silhouette of a ship. The
Maverick
.

Blast
.

She ached to ask Tucker to circle the airship, to fly her to the moon and back. The man owned a mythical horse. Surely he was capable of such magic. Unfortunately, she was clearheaded enough to realize that they could still be in danger because of Dunkirk. She couldn’t expect the
Maverick
and its crew to lie in wait like sitting ducks whilst Tucker showed her the stars via Pegasus.

Sighing, she hugged the man who vexed and inspired and, damn him, ignited desire and tender affections that befuddled and annoyed her emancipated self. Grateful for the unique and wondrous experiences of the past two days, Amelia swallowed her pride and spoke her heart. “Thank you.”

Peg’s hooves hit the deck of the
Maverick
and, for the first time in more than an hour, Tuck breathed easy. His plan had been risky, damned by most of his crew; even so it had worked. But instead of feeling boastful or proud, he was pissed.

Knowing Dunkirk’s style, he’d assumed an elaborate seduction. He just hadn’t anticipated Amelia succumbing. The sight of her in that revealing gown, smiling and flirting with that bastard in his goddamned
cabin
, had torched Tuck’s blood. It had also doubled his conviction to steal her back pronto, since clearly the woman didn’t have a lick of sense.

After pinpointing her whereabouts, he’d planted the detonators, then returned to signal her to rendezvous. For a moment he wondered whether she’d ignore or betray him. She’d made her fury evident when she’d cursed him to “bloody hell” after he’d allowed Dunkirk to carry her off. Maybe she’d decided any airship traveling to Italy would suit her purpose—even the airship of an unscrupulous pirate. Maybe she thought she could handle her abductor. But then she’d feigned sickness, and Tuck knew she’d opted to escape the Scottish bastard.

He didn’t want to focus on the relief he’d felt when she jumped onto Peg. Or the pounding of his heart when she’d clung to him like a honeysuckle vine. Or the lump in his throat when she’d hugged tight and whispered her gratitude. He sure as hell didn’t want to focus on the jealousy that had ripped through him like a blistering sandstorm at the thought of her in Dunkirk’s bed.

“Take us out of here,” Tuck called to StarMan as he handed Amelia down to Doc. “What are you looking at?” he asked the younger man while vaulting out of the custom-made saddle.

Doc tore his gaze from the woman’s tantalizing curves. “Nothing. I…That is—”

“Ask Eli to see to Peg.” Eli was the only man he fully trusted regarding the delicate mechanics of the horse’s wings. Tuck patted his beloved stallion’s neck, offering a licorice treat before trading the reins for Amelia and spiriting her from appreciative eyes. Axel and Birdman were drinking in their fill as well. “You men have your orders!” he snapped, then whisked her down the ladder.

“Where did you ever find a creature like that? A Pegasus. As I live and breathe. How—”

“Later.”

“And Leo. I was certain he’d been shot. I distinctly saw—”

“Doc.”

“It would seem he has a magical touch. Do you know my leg feels fully healed?” she went on as he hurried her through the darkened passage way. “No discomfort at all. So soon. How can that be? How—”

“Consider yourself lucky.”

“Yes, but…” She tried to shake off his hold, then peered over her shoulder. “Why the urgency?” she asked in a breathless voice. “Do you think Captain Dunkirk will come after us?”

“Safe bet.” He squeezed her waist. “I’ve got something he wants.”

“But you set his airship afire.”

“Storm put out the flames. Trust me: He’ll rally. Did you tell him what he wanted to know?”

“What?”

“The location of the treasure.”

“Do I look vapid?”

“Don’t ask me what you look like just now, Amelia.” He steered her into his cabin and slammed the door. Wanting the
Maverick
to remain as invisible as possible, he opted for a kerosene lantern over an electric lamp. The soft glow illuminated the petite woman in all her tantalizing splendor. Windblown waist-length curls. Flushed cheeks. A silk-and-lace gown that left little to the imagination. Full hips, small waist, delectable breasts. Face of an angel, body of a goddess. “Christ.”

She crossed her arms, trying to hide her bountiful bosom. It didn’t help. Angry now, she stiffened her spine, which only heaved the pale globes higher. “Don’t look at me like that,” she huffed.

“Then take off that damned dress.”

“What?”

He wrenched off his coat and flight cap. “Take it off or I’ll rip it off.”

She gasped. “What is wrong with you, Mr. Gentry?”

“You’re what’s wrong with me, Miss Darcy.” He whirled and pinned her against the wall. Volatile emotions walloped calm thinking: jealousy, possessiveness, desire. Add to that the lingering adrenaline from attacking Dunkirk and the
Flying Shark
solo.

This was bad.

Walk away. Clear out.

He stood his ground. “Have you no shame?”

She blanched. “If wearing this hideous gown meant getting the upper hand with Captain Dunkirk, then it seemed a small price to pay.”

“You thought to manipulate Colin Dunkirk?”

“I…Well, yes.”

“The way you manipulated me? By playing a part?”

“Excuse me?”

“With me you were the damsel in distress. The feisty virgin in desperate need of passage to Italy to see your dying grandpap.”

“Yes, well…”

“With him a saucy treasure hunter in desperate need of reaching Italy to obtain hidden riches.” He leaned in, lowered his voice, and grazed her ear with his mouth. “How far were you willing to go, Flygirl?”

“Of all the…” She placed her palms on his shoulders and shoved.

He easily resisted, though there was surprising muscle behind that push. Point taken, he allowed her some breathing space.

In gratitude, she swung out and slapped his face.

Damn
.

“You’re the one who allowed that scoundrel to kidnap me,” she railed. “You said I was bad luck. ‘Good riddance.’”

“Tactical call.” He braced his hands on his hips and glared. “If you would have stayed in this cabin like I told you—”

“The thought of hiding whilst you and your men faced peril was unacceptable. I had Papa’s gun. I thought maybe…I wanted to help. Silly me,” she added in a mocking tone.

Tuck dragged a hand through his hair. She sounded so earnest. This woman tied his senses in knots so he didn’t know up from down. Only one thing was sure and certain: When given the option, she’d chosen him over Dunkirk. “You didn’t actually think I’d leave you at the mercy of air pirates?”

Still furious, she threw up her hands in frustration. “I do not know what you are capable of, remember? From your words and actions I assumed you’d rather the pirates abscond with me than your illegal cargo. Then I saw…I heard…I thought Leo had been shot after you promised to keep him safe.”

“You thought I betrayed you, so you sought to get even by sleeping with Dunkirk?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I was striking a bargain.”

“A roll in the hay for safe passage to Italy?”

She swung out again; only this time Tuck caught her wrists. She kicked and thrashed and, dammit, nearly clipped his family jewels. Patience spent, he wrestled her to the bed. Pinning her arms over her head, he looked hard into those furious blue eyes. “You can’t bargain with a man like Colin Dunkirk, Amelia.”

Chest heaving, she looked away. “I know that now. I misjudged. I thought…That is, you are an outlaw and I trusted
you
. I…I felt safe.”

This was worse than bad. Lust and affection lassoed his being, hog-tied logic and propriety. His gaze skimmed the blush of her cheek, the curve of her jaw, the length of her neck, the swell of her…

Christ
.

He struggled to be a gentleman, even though he was no longer convinced she was chaste. “We’re both outlaws, true. The difference is, I won’t take what isn’t willingly offered or honestly earned.”

She slowly turned and met his gaze. “Meaning?”

“I won’t seduce you with dinner and wine. I won’t make promises or offers or bargains. I’ll tell you straight up: I want you, Amelia. Naked and writhing beneath me. I want to kiss you senseless, make you tremble with desire. But I won’t make a move unless you ask. Way I see it, given the natural pull between us, it’s only a matter of time.” He stroked his thumbs over the insides of her wrists, pressed his erection against her silky skirts.
Flee or soar, Flygirl?
“Still feel safe?”

She reared up and kissed him—a closemouthed kiss that sent a shock of lust to his already throbbing shaft.
Well, hell.
He nipped her lower lip; she nipped back. He suckled; she suckled. He sensed inexperience, yet a passion that would scorch the ocean dry. A heartbeat later she dropped her head back and stared up with blatant desire.

“That your way of askin’, Miss Darcy?”

“Are you deaf, Mr. Gentry?”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“I live for adventure.”

“I can’t give you forever.”

“Thank God.”

Amelia held her breath as Tucker flipped her over and unlaced the bodice. Somewhere between being seduced by a pirate and rescued by a cowboy, Amelia had decided she would lose her virginity to the man of her choice. At the moment of her choosing. She chose Tucker Gentry, and she chose now.

Never had she craved a man’s touch such as she craved Tucker’s. His hands upon her flesh as he slid the capped sleeves from her shoulders set her entire body afire. Years of hero worship combined with spontaneous combustible desire obliterated inhibitions and rational thought. The longer he took to rid her of the abominable gown, the tighter the sensuous coil in her stomach. “What is taking you so long, sir?”