The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,319

however, was no longer a mystery. He was afraid to ask the same awkward, humiliating question she couldn’t bring herself to pose.

“But what if…?” Cate gulped, words not being where she had expected. “I mean, what if the Fates were to, umm…change their minds?”

Nathan paused in mid-step and looked off to consider, his jaw twisted thoughtfully to the side. “Only a cuckle-headed dolt would think it possible,” he said, and then added with a wistful smile, “But if I was that fortunate cove, I’d treasure it, cherish it as no other has or could.”

Cate shifted self-consciously and wiped her suddenly damp palms on the quilt.

“What if you find you’ve misjudged, that this…something isn’t all—?” she asked. Anticipation could be a lethal enemy, meeting expectations a daunting prospect. It was no secret that he was far more practiced than she in the art of lovemaking. One man, in her whole life, compared to how many women for him?

“Noo…” Nathan said gravely. It was uttered so softly she could barely hear it over the tinkle of his bells. “Not possible. I’ve observed this something for a time, now. So much, so remarkable…”

His mouth moved wordlessly, and he finally surrendered. “Nay. Dreams are fulfilled in so very many ways.”

A glowing rush surged up to her face and other parts below. “Once, then, is all you’d desire of this…something?” The hoarseness of her voice wasn’t completely a result of the rum.

Nathan made a scornful noise. “Hardly. A lifetime wouldn’t allow for what could be.”

He flopped in the chair and sighed, dejected. “But, if it came to pass the once ’tis all I was allowed…” His head fell back against the chair, and he looked again to the smoke-darkened beams. “Then, I would have the once, and would be obliged to find a way to live with that.”

Too restless to sit, he rose again to stand at the window.

“If you’ve wanted this something, why haven’t you taken it before now?” Cate asked.

Nathan turned to her with a look that turned her spine to water. Boring into her with an avidity-sparked cinnamon and amber gaze, he knew better than anyone of how to hide his thoughts, but he hid nothing now.

His voice dropped to a throaty purr. “’Twas not mine to have. To take it could be to lose it, and then…” He looked away, his shoulders moving under his shirt finishing the thought.

Cate drew a deep breath. A kindred spirit had been mirrored in those eyes, one who had suffered and burned the same as she, desire and longing that neither had words for.

Words, however, had served them poorly.

She rose and walked purposefully to the doors. She swung them closed, the sound of the bolt sliding home punctuating an end to conversation. As she came back across the room, she allowed the quilt to slip from her shoulders, and halted as near to Nathan as possible without touching. A breeze wafted through the cabin. Clad only in her shift, she shivered, but not from a chill.

She plucked the bottle from his hand. “Just how much of that rum have you had?”

Nathan lowered his lids. The heavy lashes fanning dark crescent over his cheeks, he looked up through them and smiled crookedly. “Not much.”

Cate set the bottle on the table, and then pressed her body against his. “Then you’re not so drunk, are you?”

“No.” His breath stirred her hair.

“Good, because I want to show this fortunate cove something.”

Cate plucked a taper from the table and put out her hand. As she led him toward the curtain, Nathan reached to retrieve his baldric and pistol, and shrugged self-consciously. She nodded in mute acknowledgment of the facts of his world: above all else, one must always be on guard.

From the time she took Nathan's hand, until she put the candle into the wall sconce by the bunk, Cate's mind was flooded with a myriad of reasons as to why she should stop. Instead, she turned into his arms and allowed his kiss—so fervent it arched her backwards—to erase them all. She thrilled as her hands splayed across his back, tracking the cords of muscle taut over bone. A stronger thrill rolled through her at the brass hardness against her leg.

“I have to warn you,” she said. “I haven’t done this in a very long time.”

“Well, ’tis not something readily forgotten,” Nathan said dryly.

“It’s been five years.” She spoke with some effort as his tongue flicked her earlobe.

Nathan drew back, scowling as if he thought surely he had misunderstood.