‘I think it was the jib,’ Lisa told him. ‘The sail’s gone…’
‘Umm, I suspect you’re right,’ he agreed grasping her just in time to stop her staggering as the boat wallowed again.
‘We’d better get below!’ he shouted to her above the noise of the storm. ‘We’re going to have to ride this one out. We’ll drop the sea anchors and take in what’s left of the sails.’
Under his instructions Lisa managed to help him take in the sails, but it wasn’t until they got below and he lit one of the lamps that she was able to see the damage the jib had inflicted on his skin. His forehead was cut and grazed, blood oozing slowly from the torn flesh, and there was another matted patch of blood in his hair.
‘I’ll clean that up for you,’ Lisa offered, trying not to let him see how concerned she was. He winced a little when she applied the antiseptic, and despite her protests insisted on going back on deck to check on the damage.
‘The wind seems to have dropped a little,’ he announced when he came back. ‘But we won’t risk putting on any more sail for now. We’ll give it a little bit longer just to make sure, although I’m pretty sure we’re through the worst of it.’ He started to yawn, and Lisa realised how tired he must be.
‘Why don’t you go and rest for a while?’ she suggested. ‘You might as well.’
‘Umm, I do feel a bit drowsy. Make sure you wake me in an hour, though, won’t you?’
Lisa heard him moving about in his cabin. Soon, whenever they used the schooner, she would be sharing it with him. The thought brought her out in a rash of goosebumps. Even now she could hardly believe that he actually loved her. It all seemed like a marvellous dream.
True to Rorke’s prediction, the wind dropped gradually. She looked in on him after half an hour and he was deeply asleep, his head buried against one outflung arm. A wave of melting tenderness washed over her as she looked at him, her hand reaching out to stroke the tousled hair back off his forehead. He opened his eyes and stared up at her with the unfocused blindness of the newly awake.
‘Lisa?’ he muttered hoarsely at last. And then his fingers were curling round her wrist, tugging her down beside him, his mouth hotly possessive as it burned against her skin, with an urgency that shattered her defences in its raw need.
‘God, Lisa, I want you!’ he groaned as his lips burned heatedly against the smooth skin of her throat, his hands moulding her body against the taut contours of his, tightening on her waist before sliding beneath the fine fabric of her tee-shirt to smooth the tanned skin of her midriff.
‘Kiss me. Touch me,’ he muttered thickly on a harshly uneven breath, and Lisa felt her body respond to the sensual demand implicit in the words, making no protest when he pushed aside the frail barrier of her tee-shirt to cup and caress the taut curves of her breasts, his thumbs stroking erotically over the already aroused nipples, until Lisa was trembling in his arms, pressing feverishly distraught kisses against his damp skin, her husky moan seeming only to incite him to further sensual forays as he removed her tee-shirt completely, his eyes darkening as he gazed down at her.
‘You’re so perfect I can hardly believe you’re real,’ he said softly at last, and then his mouth was burning a path over her skin, kindling a need within her to arch her body beneath him and entice him to possess the throbbing peaks of her breasts with the hard warmth of his hands.
His mouth stroked against her skin, the rough rasp of his beard as he explored the slender curve of her shoulder making her shiver with delicious response. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips moved questingly downwards, seeking and then finding the taut nipples he had aroused. Sensations exploded inside her as Lisa felt his mouth against her breast. Her fingers curled protestingly into the thick hair of his nape, her gasp of protest checked by the spiralling pleasure building up inside her. When she felt Rorke tugging impatiently at the zip of her shorts, protest couldn’t have been further from her mind.
This was what she wanted; what she had been born for, she thought wildly as she felt the feverish urgency of his hands stroking over her stomach, holding her, lifting her against him until she could feel his own arousal.
His lips followed the path of his hands, shock waves of incredulity washing over her at the intimacy of his touch, and then he was removing his own shorts, and the hard maleness of his body was against hers; his skin burning with a dry heat echoed by his lips as they moved feverishly over her skin. Locked in his arms, Lisa could think of nothing but that she loved him and wanted desperately to be a part of him, even though she was surprised that he should have chosen this moment to make her his own.
Perhaps the ferocity of the storm had reminded him of their own mortality; and indeed, she sensed a storm equally ferocious building up inside him as the urgency of his lovemaking increased and she was swept along in the fierce swell of it, unable to reason or protest.
Rorke trembled with the pent-up force of his desire for her, a husky groan of protest leaving his lips before they burned against hers. His whole body seemed to be on fire, burning against her, turning her blood molten with need.
‘Lisa, Lisa!’ He muttered her name hoarsely against her skin like a refrain, his eyes blind with the urgency of his growing need for her. ‘Lisa!’
He moaned her name against her mouth, his hands moulding her hips as he lifted her towards him and she felt the tense urgency of his need.
There was a brief searing moment of pain, lost in the sweet savagery of his possession, when they were both swept by the storm of their emotions.
Later while Rorke slept Lisa looked down at him, marvelling at their new closeness. Now they were man and wife, in deed if not in actual law, and that would soon follow. Lost in a happy daydream it was some time before she could rouse herself sufficiently to check that all was in order on deck. The storm, like their lovemaking had left behind it an oasis of perfect calm. When she went back to the cabin Rorke was still asleep sprawled on the bunk, his breathing deep and slow.
There wasn’t really room for both of them on the bunk, and rather than disturb him, Lisa spent what was left of the night in her own cabin, longing for morning, longing to whisper the words of love that had trembled on her lips when he made love to her but which, then, she had been too shy to utter. How glad she was that Rorke had been her first lover. How she longed for his arms around her, his mouth on hers…
‘Lisa…’
At first the deep voice was an intrusion on her dream state, and then when she opened her eyes and realised who it was who was standing there, Lisa smiled happily, taking the mug of coffee he proffered.
‘Rorke…’
She had been about to ask him if he still loved her, but he was already turning away, his voice completely matter-of fact as he told her that the storm had died away.
He rubbed his forehead as he spoke, and Lisa noticed the bruise darkening it.
‘Are you feeling okay now?’ she asked him. ‘I was so worried…’