Never Trust a Pirate (Scandal at the House of Russell 2)

“Oh, heavens no. I want you to feel as guilty as you possibly can,” she said. “I just don’t know why you would.” She started to sit up, but he shoved her back again, muttering under his breath. She really was the most damnably obtuse woman.

He slid down beside her and began to weave the rope back and forth across them, around the frame and up again. He finished, then lay back beside her, breathing heavily.

She smelled wonderful, like soap and skin and sex, and it didn’t matter how damned hard he was, he told himself to leave her alone. He didn’t like the way he felt—obsessive, protective. He didn’t need her complicating his life, even if he thought he wanted it. As for Maddy, she seemed convinced he thought she was nothing more than a problem. For a smart woman she was being an idiot, but it was better that way. He’d lie beside her, not saying a word, riding out the storm, and if by any bizarre chance they foundered he could make sure she’d at least make it to the surface, find her something to hold onto in the unlikely hope of a rescue.

She was lying rigid beside him, staring up at the ceiling as the ship bobbed up and down.

He held still and realized her heart was hammering at twice its normal rate, so loud he could sense it, and he remembered her panic when she first knew she was on board ship. This could put her over the edge.

And there was another unpleasant thought. “Are you feeling seasick? This is the kind of weather that can turn the most experienced sailor green.”

“Yes,” she said promptly. “In fact, I’ll probably throw up in the next few minutes. You really should get out of the room while you can.”

“Cabin,” he corrected absently. She sounded just fine to him. “I’ll take my chances.”

She muttered something uncomplimentary and fell silent. He was tired—he’d barely slept the night before, and even the violent rocking of the ship soothed him. As the presence of the angry woman beside him soothed him. He certainly was a perverse son of a bitch, he thought.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here. I’ll be fine on my own.” She was doing her best to sound reasonable but he knew her too well.

“This is as good a place as any for me to ride out the storm.”

“Maybe I’d rather be alone? I find this storm… unnerving, and I’d rather deal with it without an audience.”

He let out a short bark of laughter. “I’m not your audience, I’m your lover.”

He heard her outraged intake of breath. “You aren’t my lover, you’re my kidnapper.”

“Technically both,” he said. “And the man who saved your life once already, and is in the midst of doing his best to save it again. So be quiet and let me think.”

“Think about what?”

“About what I’m going to do with you,” he said in a cool voice.

“I thought you already made up your mind. You’re going to dump me on the nearest piece of dry land and never see me again.”

“That was the plan,” he said wearily.

“Then what do you need to think about?”

“Whether I can let you go.”

She didn’t say a word. The ship was moving faster now, scudding through the violent waves even without benefit of the sails. The rain, which up till then had merely been a light drizzle, suddenly chose that moment to let loose, beating against the sides of the ship with a deadly ferocity. It was still daylight, but the cabin had grown dark, both from the blackness of the skies and the constant slap of waves against the porthole, and it was beginning to feel as if they were riding some massive, unbroken horse, bucking and kicking and tossing them about.

The rope holding them down was loose, just enough to keep them from being tossed about, and he could feel her beside him, positively vibrating with terror, clutching the mattress with a death grip as they were rocked back and forth. He did his best to lie still beside her—he hadn’t decided whether she needed distraction or to be left the hell alone, when he felt something. It took him half a second to recognize it, because it was the last thing he expected. Her hand had released its grip on the sheet, and was reaching for his.

He immediately caught it, wrapping his fingers around her, careful to avoid the damaged wrists. She’d done it to herself, she was right about that, and yet he felt even worse about those injuries than he did about hitting her. He’d had no choice when he knocked her out—it was the only way to keep her safe, but he should have untied her when he left her in the cabin. She would be well rid of him.

A wave crashed against the side of the ship, slamming so hard the porthole smashed open and water sprayed into the room, and Maddy screamed, turning and tunneling against him. There was enough room to pull her into his arms, placing his back to the sea spray that could just reach the berth, and he stroked her tangled hair, murmuring soft, comforting words as she trembled. They were still all right—Billy was steering a safe course through the storm, slicing into the huge waves instead of letting them hit them broadside, but Luca had no illusions. This was bad, so bad that even Billy might not be able to see them through.

He cupped Maddy’s face, tilting it toward his, and kissed her. The ship jerked, her teeth slammed against his lower lip, and he laughed, wiping the blood away. “How can you think this is funny?” she cried, holding him so tightly he thought the tough fabric of his shirt might shred. “We’re going to die.”

“No, we’re not.” He kissed her again, a little more carefully, then gently wiped his blood from her mouth. “We’re going to get out of here, and then we’re going to…” The loud, cracking noise stopped him, and he knew the only thing that could make that kind of sound, and for a moment his blood ran cold.

“What was that?” she demanded in a terrified voice.

“One of the masts,” he said, carefully prying her hands from his clothes and slipping out from beneath the ropes. “I have to go.”

“No!” she shrieked over the noise of the storm.