Captain Jack's Woman (Bastion Club 0.50)
Why not admit you wouldn’t mind trying it with him? What have you got to lose? Only your virginity—and who are you saving that for? You know Jack would never hurt you—a bruise or two maybe, but nothing intentional. You’ll be safe with him. Why not take the plunge? And what more perfect night for it—you know you hate trying to sleep during storms.
Kit remained silent, battling her demons.
Despite her beliefs, Jack’s mind was well and truly occupied with her forthcoming seduction. But he was freezing, too. They both needed to get out of the rain-soaked wind whipping across the land. The double meaning in his first statement had been entirely intentional—he couldn’t have planned this night better. He was looking forward to peeling Kit’s wet clothes from her and, after that, he knew just how to warm them both. What he was planning would eradicate any residual chill.
There was no better way to while away a storm.
Chapter 17
The cottage loomed out of the dark, squat and solid, tucked into the protection of the bank behind it. Jack rode straight to the stable. He dismounted, then lifted Kit down. “Go in. The fire should be lit; there’s wood beside it and towels in the wardrobe. I’ll take care of Delia.”
Kit stared through the darkness but couldn’t make out his expression. Dully, she nodded and headed for the cottage door. His last comment was obviously intended to let her know she’d have time to get undressed and dried before he came in. Doubtless there’d be a robe or something in the wardrobe for her to wrap herself in. Presumably, getting into her breeches the other night had slaked Jack’s l
ust, atleast for the present. Either that, or the drenching had doused his ardor. Kit grimaced and reached for the latch.
The main room was lit by the red glow of a smoldering log. With a sigh, Kit fell to her knees on the mat in front of the fireplace. The wood was in a basket to one side. She laid logs on the flames, then sat back and watched them catch. The warmth slowly thawed her chilled muscles. With another sigh, she struggled to her feet.
There were towels on the top shelf of the wardrobe. Kit drew down an armful of blessedly dry linen and went to the fire. Leaving the pile on the end of the bed, she spread one towel on the mat, then pulled up a chair and proceeded to struggle out of her wet clothes. Hat, muffler, and coat she draped on the chair. She sat and pulled off her boots, then knelt on one end of the towel and, after one wary glance at the door, pulled her shirt over her head.
It was a battle to free her shoulders and arms, but eventually she managed it. Her bands were even more trouble, with the knot pulled tight and the sodden material clinging to her skin. She ran through her repertoire of curses before the knot finally gave way. It was a relief to unwind the yards of material and free her breasts.
Kit dropped the long band on the towel and sat back on her heels, letting the fire chase away her chills. Reaching back, she tugged a towel from the pile. Bending forward, she draped the towel over her neck, running the ends over her curls, scattering droplets into the fire. Once her hair had stopped dripping, she dried her arms and back, then started on her breasts.
The door opened.
Kit turned with a gasp, the towel clutched to her chest.
Jack stood in the doorway, looking for all the world as if he’d just forgotten what he’d come in to do. A deceptive expression. He’d come in to seduce Kit Cranmer, and there wasn’t anything capable of making him forget that. His stunned look was due to the vision before him—Kit, bare to the waist, kneeling before his fire, her curls burnished by the flames. Kit, with wide eyes darkening from amethyst to violet, the towel clutched to her chest totally failing to conceal the twin peaks of her breasts jutting provocatively on either side, the long line of her legs revealed by her wet breeches.
Slowly, Jack shut the door, his eyes never leaving the woman silhouetted by the flames. Without turning, he slid the bolt home. He crossed to the table and laid his pistol down before shrugging out of his coat.
Held immobile by his silver gaze, Kit watched, helplessly transfixed. When he pulled his shirt over his head, she blinked free only to be mesmerized by the play of light over the muscles of his chest. She didn’t notice him pause to release his hair, but it was swinging free, brown streaked with gold, brushing his shoulders, when he knelt on the towel beside her.
His hands closed on her bare shoulders. Gently, he drew her to face him.
Kit looked deep into eyes of brightest silver burnished with passion. Desire burned, a steady flame in their depths. Her mouth went dry. She shuddered, swept by a force beyond her experience.
Jack watched burgeoning passion turn Kit’s eyes to glowing purple. When her tongue came out to moisten her lips, he judged it safe to reach for the towel. She relinquished it without protest. He glanced down at the treasure now completely revealed and watched as, caressed by his ardent gaze, her nipples crinkled tight.
With a slow smile of satisfaction, and anticipation, Jack returned his gaze to her face, noting her wide eyes and the lips already parted for his kiss.
Kit could barely breathe as Jack brought his hands up, skimming the contours of her neck, to cradle her face, his long fingers sliding into her curls. For a moment, he paused, his eyes holding hers, an unanswered question in their silvered depths.
She wanted this, she realized. Every bit as much as he did. In that instant, Kit made her decision. She put aside all the precepts of twenty-two years of training and reached for her heart’s desire.
As Jack bent his head, she rose on her knees to meet him.
Jack took her mouth in a burning kiss, slanting his head as she opened to his penetration. Kit braced her hands against his upper chest and leaned into his caress. In seconds, her blood was alight, ignited by his fire.
Thank God her hands were free—free to roam the warm expanse of male skin, to caress the bands of hard muscle, to tangle in the springy brown hair. Kit’s questing fingers found a hidden nipple. To her delight, she felt it harden to her touch. Hands spread, she explored the ridges of muscle above his waist before moving on to his broad back. Her hands found water. He was still wet.
Kit drew back from their duel of tongues. Jack’s brow quirked. He reached for her, but she stayed him, one small hand braced against his chest as she reached for a towel.
A droplet of water fell from his hair and trickled, unheeded, down his chest. Kit saw it. She smiled, then leaned forward and licked it off. Jack shuddered and closed his eyes, his hands fisting by his sides.
Kit’s seductive smile grew. She set to work drying his chest, working the towel in small circles, moving with a deliberate lack of haste. She stood and moved behind him to towel his back.
Jack sat on his heels and let her, held in thrall by her sensuous attentions. The tantalizing play of the towel would have melted a statue. Or at least sent it up in flames. His body was nearing that state.