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He was not some rutting beast—and she would still be here tomorrow—assuming they didn’t die in the storm.
Warrington stood, extinguished the wick and looked to the window. He had no time to get a hammer and nail a covering over the opening so the flashes of lightning wouldn’t illuminate and accentuate the discordance outside.
He’d been graced with this woman whose ancestors could have been from Thessaly, where mythology began, and he would not be allowed to touch her. Lightning wove gold threads into her hair, but illuminated the pallor of her skin and reminded him she didn’t feel well.
At least on deck he would be forced into thinking of staying alive. He reached to the door, but her voice stopped him.
‘Please,’ she said, and touched the bed beside her. ‘The ship shakes so. I don’t want to be alone. I feel better with you near. Here.’
Lightning kept flashing through the glass—giving her a mythical glow, freezing the unmoving image of her into his mind, painting her like a statue, a work of art.
The intensity of her gaze caused him to stare—her eyes clear as a harvest moon, surrounded by lashes dipped in the flashing light. He dropped to his knees, landing beside her, entranced by the flickers of lightning on her skin. He swept his finger over her bottom lip. Now he knew what magic felt like. His skin tingled with anticipation.
More thunder crashed. He heard a crack of lightning. With the sounds, and the sight of her, sensual energy surged in him, heating him until an internal maelstrom engulfed him. The memories he made tonight would some day take on larger-than-life images in his mind. Melina, different from all he’d seen before, and all he’d see again, would remain in his thoughts—like a precious gem hidden away in a safe. A secret only for himself to have.
A wave tilted the ship and she wrenched her body around, clasping the front of his shirt. She buried her head against him and he held her.
‘Have you ever been in seas this rough?’ she asked.
Lightning crackled much too close. The very air could not be still, as if it had an awareness of their moments, and told them to hurry, hurry, hurry, and grasp every second of sensation.
He ran his fingertips across her back, and the lightest touch of his hand against her took his breath. The fierce waters faded from his mind.
When he could speak, he said, ‘Once is too many times. I didn’t tell you before. Suspected you’d worry if you realised how brutal the waves can be when the sun heats the water in the day and the storms take us at night.’
He pulled his coat front aside, sliding into a sitting position, and then tucked the garment around her back, hugging her inside with him. ‘This ship was built to handle such weather and the men are the best sailors in the world. Nothing will happen.’ Assuming the repairs held and the storm did not get too violent.
‘Shut your eyes, and think of... Think of this,’ he said.
His mouth closed over hers and the kiss was nothing more than a simple touch, almost the same as he might give a tavern maid who’d plopped down on his lap, before he scooted her away to get to his ale or talk with his companions. But the pulses stirring in him ignited.
When he pulled back, she reached out, running her hand along the side of his jaw, seeing him with her fingertips.
‘I have wanted to touch your face since I first saw you,’ she said. ‘You’re so foreign from the men I have known all my life. And the other sailors. I think you even look at me differently.’
He rested his forehead against the side of hers. ‘I wanted...since I saw you...so much more.’ His lips explored her skin and he cupped her breast, letting the fullness feed the sensations in his fingertips. The fabric didn’t prevent the yielding flesh from rolling beneath his caress with her softness and he discovered the hard nipple, and stretched his hand over her, so he could take in as much of the feeling as his mind would allow. No corset. He’d never felt through a woman’s clothing to find so much of her underneath.
Just as she had explored his face, he traced her, keeping the fabric of her garments as a barrier between skin and mapping out the feminine twists and turns of her.
The storm would frame them and their bodies would gain sensations from the hint of danger in the air. And she would be the essence of every sensual mythological being ever imagined.
He couldn’t read her expression and didn’t know if it was a flaw in him, or if she hid herself well. But when she parted her lips and moved towards him, he didn’t have to. She slipped her arms around his waist, mumbling his name, muffled words against his chest, and she clung to him. Her breasts pressed against his shirt, causing his clothing to feel tight over his body. She moved with the lunging waves, too, but not in the same way as he. She kept herself upright by pushing herself into him at the same time as she pulled. He braced against the wall, one hand clutching the edge of the bunk, leg jammed against the opposing side. His body was forced still within the movements. And she burrowed and snuggled and wove herself against him, holding on like a handkerchief might be wrapped around a blowing limb. When the ship created even the smallest distance between them, she moved to fill the space, keeping him as her anchor.
