The wide, terrified alarm slowly faded from her eyes, but still she surveyed him. “You…” she whispered, and it was not with pleasure that she did so.
“Aye, me,” he agreed, with a wry bite to his words.
“Treveryan, let me be!” she ordered with quiet fury.
Sloan became keenly aware that she was naked now, as was he. Each of her tense gasps for breath pressed the hard peaks of her breasts more temptingly to his chest; her slightest movement was a brand of her body against his own. To his vast annoyance he found his own resolve faltering; against his will intense desire took hold of his body.
“I’ve every intention of letting you be,” he informed her irritably, further annoyed by the flickering of her lustrous lashes, which signified all too clearly her knowledge of his arousal, her fear that he could not wield control over his own body as he lay with his weight sprawled over hers. “I am but trying to allow you to sleep in comfort,” he informed her, scowling darkly.
“If you wish to grant me comfort,” she snapped, “leave.”
Sloan took a perverse pleasure in the slight tremor that touched her voice. Damn her! They might have been strangers.
“Sorry—this is my cabin.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, then, I shall be glad to leave.”
To Brianna’s vast surprise she was instantly lifted from beneath him and set indecorously upon her feet beside the bunk. Sloan Treveryan surveyed her with idle interest as he stretched his length over his bed, lacing his fingers behind his head comfortably. “My crew will love you,” he told her dryly.
Brianna stared at him with uncertainty for a moment, but then her anger exploded like cannon shot within her head. She was instinctively tempted to cover what part of her nakedness she could with floundering hands as he watched her so casually, but she resisted the foolish temptation to reach furiously for her discarded shift, crumpled at the foot of the bed.
Dignity, she reminded herself firmly. He had taken her unaware, but now she was ready to fight for her dignity.
“Obviously, Lord Treveryan,” she said crisply, “I had no intent of rushing onto the deck unclothed.”
Her voice, so cool, taunted and reproached him. He was aware that he was losing something. Her unwavering denunciation of him rankled deeply. For the first time he was completely at a loss as to how to deal with a woman. Confusion ignited his temper, and he was left to fight for control.
Treveryan moved to keep her gown on the floor by placing a foot hard upon it. He smiled with deeper mocking amusement as she inadvertently met his eyes before tugging. “I’ve a crew of fifty, mistress. Good men, stout-hearted seamen. But long days at sea make a man crave for warmth and companionship. They are controlled by the appetites of the body, rather than the finer qualities of the mind. A bewitching form appearing suddenly to them at sea…well, I believe you know the likely consequences.”
Brianna tugged more viciously at the fabric of her shift in order to fight the desolation that filled her.
“I will cause no trouble,” she told him, but could not retrieve her gown. “Sir! What can I suffer that I have not already?” she demanded with a cry of indignity.
Treveryan clamped his hand around her wrist with a painful force that brought her eyes instantly clashing with his flashing green stare.
“Can you suffer worse, mistress? Oh, aye. I do think so. Each man will demand a turn, his share of spoils at sea. Little gallantry will be offered. But then, of course, the choice is yours. I cannot set you ashore, for we are not at dock. But by all means, if my protection is so loathsome to you, feel free to venture out. My lads will not be at fault!”
“Let me go!” she cried. Sloan smiled slowly—far more bitterly than he would have had her know. What had he done to her? Nothing, except save her fool life. Damn! How he would have liked to despise her in turn. But it seemed that she might very well be a witch; the more she reviled him, the more determined he became to win her.
“Nay—I cannot let you go,” he told her, and was startled when she bit hard upon the hand that held her.
Treveryan grunted out his pain, relaxing his hold only to secure her chin tightly. She stared at him defiantly, but a small gasp of pain escaped her and he eased his touch as soon as he was assured she would not use her teeth against him again.
She inhaled a long breath and began to speak. “Never think that I am not wholly grateful to you. I would give you any riches if I but had them. But can’t you see? If you’ve truly saved my life, then is it not my own again?”
How could she make him understand? Brianna wondered a little desperately. He was just staring at her—holding her, and staring at her. There was compassion within him, wasn’t there? She took another breath, coolly determined to start over again.
“Treveryan, I have been robbed of very much—”
“Robbed!” His exclamation was loud enough to rend asunder the timbers of his ship. “Robbed of your virtue, I suppose.” His repetition of the word was softer and more deadly. She found herself swept into his arms and cast down upon the bunk again. His grip was then upon her shoulders as he leveled himself over her, the green of his eyes seeming to shine like the honed blade of a rapier. “I am exactly where I wish to be,” he said in a velvet-soft voice, mimicking both the tone and quality of her own, the whisper seeming to caress her cheeks with warmth. And then his fingers were winding into her hair, just as hers had wound to his all those hours earlier. The touch was soft, caressing, and yet very firm, holding her as if in a spell. She could not have fought his grip anyway, nor the breadth of shoulder leaning above her, nor the long, sinewed leg cast negligently over hers. So she merely stared at him, wondering just what manner of man had been cast by fate as her protector. She could feel the tension within him, and yet it was with control that his gentle hands mocked her by their teasing touch. A control that so clearly reminded her of all that she had done earlier that day; her seduction of him. Yes, she had played out a role with surprising expertise.
“How I want you.…”
His inflection on each word was exactly as she had spoken it earlier, a mockery that was almost unbearable—and very angry.
“I had reasons!” Brianna protested. “Don’t mock me—I had no choice and you know it!”
His eyes, with their wicked gleam of anger, were still upon her. The caress of his fingers, soothing hair and temple now, were still a touch that both lulled and enticed. The intimacy he had so assuredly and casually demanded was still between them. She felt him ever more keenly—his leg, hard-muscled, covered handsomely with coarse black hair, was a brand that burned against her. Her breasts seemed to swell, the peaks harden, against the warmth of his chest.
