The Captain's Caress (18 page)

“Are you trying to show me how uninterested you are?” he asked, although giving her a bright smile of welcome.

“I can’t seem to wake up,” she said, repressing an urge to indulge in a delicious yawn. “I never slept this late at home. Maybe it’s the sea air.”

“Did you help with the running of the plantation?” Brent inquired companionably as he offered her a seat.

“I managed the house after my mother died,” Summer replied. She was distracted by the nearness of his barely clad body as he settled down next to her, but she managed to keep talking. “My father wasn’t very good about paying the bills, or seeing that things were done on time.” Her eyes wandered to his powerful thighs, and as she remembered the feel of his Herculean limbs, her pulse began to race.

“It sounds like you ran everything by yourself.”

Startled, Summer said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“It seems I can’t even hold your attention when I’m next to you,” he remarked, obviously irked.

She couldn’t possibly tell him it was his nearness that was distracting her. She remained silent.

“I said you must have practically run the plantation by yourself,” Brent repeated.

“I did. Father could be a great help when he wanted to be, but he didn’t really like being a planter.” Summer attempted to adjust her chair.

“Did he grow up in England?” Brent rose to rearrange her chair, and thrust his torso so close to her shoulder she could smell his skin. A torrent of debilitating excitement washed over her, leaving her faint. She closed her eyes, hoping he would move before she started to lose focus.

“My parents came over from Scotland right after they were married,” she explained, her eyes still closed. “I don’t think either of them wanted to do it, but my mother had tried to elope with another man and there had been some sort of scandal.” She opened her eyes, but Brent’s body still blocked her view. She shut them again, trying to stop the tremor beginning to overtake her. “Mother managed things until she died of a fever. After that, Father never really tried.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Brent asked, looking at her closely.

“I have a slight headache.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Yes. But if you don’t really need me, I think I’ll sit here a little while longer.”

“Stay as long as you like.” His massive bulk filled her visual field and made her tremble even more. “Are you
sure
you’re well?’ he asked again. “Maybe I’d better have the doctor look at you.”

“That’s not necessary. I really do feel better.”

He felt her forehead. “It’s not hot.”

If he doesn’t leave, I’m going to scream, she thought, gripping her chair tightly. “I’m all right, really I am. If you don’t go, you’re going to miss your event.”

“I don’t think I ought to leave you alone.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she claimed, desperate now. “Send Smith or the ship’s doctor if that will make you feel any better, but I am fine.”

“I think I’ll stay with you.”

“You know you can’t. Lane has been dreaming of racing you for two years. You mustn’t disappoint him now.”

“I don’t swim yet. This is a wrestling match.”

“That’s just as important. You can’t win unless you wrestle, can you?”

“No,” he admitted, grinning at her dogged insistence. “If you’re sure you’re all right…”

Good God, would the man never go away! “Yes,” she said, trying not to scream the words at him. “Now go before you’re disqualified.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Just go.” Summer’s desperation was so thinly veiled she feared she couldn’t stand much more.

She didn’t have to hear the squeak of his chair or the soft padding of his bare feet on the painted deck to know he had gone. The easing of the unbearable tension in her limbs told her as clearly as her eyes and ears could that he was no longer by her side. She let out a long-held sigh, and her body melted into the chair.

She had looked forward to watching all of his matches, but now she felt that if she didn’t get some time to herself, if she wasn’t free for a while of his dominating male presence, she would do something desperate. She was losing control over herself, and she knew it.

They had passed some kind of limit last night, breached some invisible barrier. She had been attracted to him from the first, but though he had consistently worked to get within her defenses, she had never completely succumbed to his seductive powers. She had kept some distance between them, even if she had done that by whipping up her anger over his thoughtlessness. But that had ended last night. She had been defenseless before his passionate lovemaking.

They had made love twice. She didn’t see how he could have any strength left after their draining consummations. Yet here he was, bristling with energy, ready to compete in any event, whereas she felt as though she’d been doing hard labor. Her head didn’t ache, but everything else did.

It was chastening to discover that his mere presence could make her tremble. If she didn’t take some time to calm her senses, she’d make a fool of herself before they reached Havana. She had to stay in this chair until she could face him without feeling like she was going to pass out, even if it took the rest of the morning. They had held some games without her; they could do so again.

She leaned back, let the breeze ruffle her hair and swirl her dress gently about her ankles. Its soothing warmth eased the stiffness of her body, and the gentle rocking of the ship calmed her tortured mind. As her muscles relaxed, she allowed her shawl to slip from her shoulders, then sagged against the ropes of the chair, sinking more and more deeply into its welcoming depths. Gradually she slipped back into the welcoming arms of gentle sleep, her worries lulled by dreams that caused her lips to curve in a smile of pleasure.

“The captain insisted I check on her even though she’s still asleep. She looks fine to me, but he’s been running over here every five minutes for the last hour.”

“She’s probably just tired. A good night’s rest should put everything to rights,” Smith declared. There was an uncomfortable pause as the ship’s doctor digested the meaning of those words.

“I can’t see any reason to wake her,” Smith continued, “especially since she seems to be sleeping peacefully. Just keep an eye on her and call me if anything happens. I won’t be far away.”

“Make sure you aren’t. If she really is sick, you’re about the only one who can keep the captain from running his sword through my heart.”

“I doubt anybody could stop him if you let anything happen to her.”

“Things have gotten that bad, have they?”

“I think this one’s going to last.”

“But she’s already married.”

“I know that, but you tell that to the captain.”

“Not me. The last time I tried to tell him anything, he locked me in my cabin with a blasted monkey. You can laugh because he’d never do anything like that to you, but it’s pretty awful to sit in the dark for three days and have your food shoved under the door.”

“There’s no point in either of us saying anything. He knows the mess he’s got himself into, and if he means to persist, there’s nothing we can do to stop him.”

“I don’t understand. He’s always been such a sensible man, one you could count on to use his brains.”

“I would say this comes under the heading of the inevitable.”

“It’s madness if you ask me.”

“Maybe not,” Smith said, looking at Summer’s sleeping form. “Maybe not.”

Loud cheering brought Summer out of her dreams with a confused start. She looked around, wondering at the source of the noise. The crew, bunched at the rail and moving down the length of the ship in a loud, milling mass of jostling bodies, were shouting their enthusiastic encouragement to someone in the water. None of the occasional words she could catch made any sense. Then she heard someone call the captain’s name and was instantly wide-awake; it was the distance swim, and if she didn’t hurry she’d miss the whole race.

Ignoring her dizziness, she scrambled to her feet, rushed to the rail, and tried to push through the press of bodies; but no one offered to let her through. She tugged at the arm of a big burly man she didn’t remember seeing before.

“What’s happening?” she cried. “Who’s winning?” A sudden increase in the cheering drowned out her efforts to gain his notice, and she moved from one person to the next until she came to one of the young officers dangling from the rigging. She pulled doggedly at his sleeve until she got his grudging attention.

“Mr. Caspian, please tell me what’s going on,” she pleaded. “Is the captain in this race?”

Young Caspian looked down into her soft, gold-flecked eyes and breathtakingly lovely face, and he almost lost his balance. All thought of the race left his mind. “I beg your pardon. I couldn’t hear what you said.” Her hand was on his arm, and she stared at him with such intensity he felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth.

“What’s happening?” she asked again. “Why is everyone yelling?”

“It’s the race,” he said, dazed.

“I know it’s a race, but which one? Is the captain in it? Is he winning?”

“They’ve just finished the third lap,” he mumbled, still in a trance.

“Who’s ahead?” she asked with rising irritation. “I can’t see through all these people. Can you see the race? Don’t stand there like a dolt!” she ordered sharply. “Tell me what’s happening before I push you overboard.”

Caspian tore his eyes off her exquisite face. “They’re just rounding the stern,” he said finally. “The captain is on the inside. I think he’s slightly ahead.”

“He’s winning!” Summer exclaimed, jumping with excitement.

“Not yet,” said Caspian, dampening her enthusiasm. He strained to follow the distant swimmers as they churned through the water. “Lane’s pulling up. He’s even with the captain now.”

“But the captain will pull away again, won’t he?” Summer asked, wanting to be reassured.

“I don’t know. He’s got to be mighty tired. He wrestled three times today, and Lane is just doing this one event.”

“But he’s so much bigger and stronger than Lane. Surely he can swim faster.”

“He’s not doing it now. It looks like Lane has pulled ahead. No, they’re still even, but the captain has got to be bone tired.”

“He must win,” Summer really spoke to herself. “Why didn’t I stay awake?” She didn’t stop to ask herself how her staying awake could have helped Brent, but she felt that it would have made a difference. “How much farther do they have to go?”

“This is the last lap. They’ll finish at the bow in just a few minutes.”

“I’ve got to see the finish,” she declared, and ran to the front of the ship like a coursing hare. The swimmers were just coming into view and she could see them in the distance. She followed them with such intensity that she failed to notice Smith until she bumped into him. “Excuse me,” she mumbled absently, not taking her eyes off the furious battle in the water below.

“I’m glad you woke up in time to see the finish,” Smith said, calm as ever. “This is the most exciting race we’ve had all day.”

“He’s going to win, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know, milady. The captain has never lost before, but not even the captain is made of iron.”

“But he
can’t
lose! It’s not fair.”

“That was the captain’s choice, milady. Anyone may enter as many or as few events as he likes.” He watched the two swimmers, still neck and neck, their powerful strokes knifing through the water, their kicking feet creating boiling white wakes. “He’s got a chance. I was sure Lane would leave him on this last stretch, but the captain is still even with him. No, Lane’s pulling ahead now.”

“No!” screamed Summer. She raced back along the rail heedless of the crew, dodging ropes and poles, screaming her encouragement to Brent. With less than fifty yards to go Brent was gradually falling behind. His strokes were still clean and powerful, but Lane was clearly in control of the race. Summer’s voice rose until it cut through the masculine roar around her. She saw Brent glance up briefly at the ship, and a shiver of excitement ran through her. He had seen her. He knew she was cheering for him, that she had forgotten everything except her desire to see him win. Her eyes sparkled and her body radiated vitality as she urged him on to victory.

With a flurry of rapid strokes that set the crew to shouting, Brent began to cut into Lane’s lead. He poured every ounce of his waning strength into those last yards.

She’s completely wrapped up in the captain, Smith thought. He looked from Brent to Summer and back again. All she can think of is helping him win.

But before Summer could utter another cry of encouragement, a shout came from the lookout: “Sharks!” Her blood ran cold. Above the cheers of the crew and shuffling of feet on the wooden deck, the cry came again. “Sharks on the starboard side.”

Instantly the crew scattered. One group ran to the two long-boats which were ready to be lowered at a moment’s notice. As two seamen manned the winches, the men in the boats locked their oars into place so they would be ready to row the instant the boat hit the water.

A second group swarmed down the sea ladders ready to help their exhausted mates out of the water. Most of the swimmers had abandoned the race, but the leaders continued to head toward the finish line, each concentrating on the other and on the last agonizing yards still to be covered. They swept by Summer paying no heed to the shouts from the ship or to the oars being splashed to divert the sharks’ attention from the vulnerable swimmers.