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“Woman!” he bellowed as he heard the lock click into place.
He saw red. Instinctively, he tried the handle.
Oh, it was locked all right.
This was it!
He’d had enough.
His anger coursed through his veins like fire and without thinking, he stomped to the storage room down the corridor where the tools were stored.
The room was tidy and orderly, with several axes secured against the far wall. Grabbing the one nearest him, he retraced his steps back to his cabin.
The wooden handle chafed the flesh of his palms as he gripped the ax tightly in both hands. It was time Miss Serenity James learned he wasn’t some lapdog for her to command.
No one told Morgan Nathaniel Drake what to do or where to go.
No one!
He paused before the door, listening to her tirade on the other side.
“Ooo, he makes me so mad.I thought I told you not to go to the galley alone,” he heard her say in a mocking voice. “Really! As if he’s afraid some nice man would harm my reputation after what he did.”
She spoke louder, as if she knew he was on the other side. “I wish I were a man so that I could pound you to dust, Captain Drake. A sound thrashing is what you deserve.”
A thrashing! his mind snarled.
Aye, that sounded like a good idea to him. Thrash the little vixen. Show her who was in charge!
Before he could think twice, he raised the ax and brought it down upon the door.
Just as she started disrobing, Serenity heard the sound of wood splintering. Her heart pounding, she watched as pieces of the door broke apart and the shiny silver head of an ax shredded the wood.
The lock gave way and the door thundered back on its hinges. Morgan stood in the doorway, a dark ominous look on his brow as he held the ax down by his side. “Don’t you ever lock another door against me.”
She should be terrified, she knew that. Yet he stood there with death itself etched on his face, holding the ax like a great woodsman as he glared his rage at her.
Every fiber of his body was tense, and the tattered door swung back and forth with the rhythm of the ship.
It was a ridiculous sight.
All this because she’d locked the door?
In spite of herself, she laughed. Deep and loud. She couldn’t stop.
Until she remembered what she wore. Or more to the point, what she didn’t wear. With a cry of alarm, she rushed to the bed and pulled the quilt off to wrap around her shoulders.
Morgan couldn’t move. His ears were still ringing with her laughter as he watched her sprint to his bed, wearing only her thin camisole that emphasized every sweet feminine curve she possessed.
“What the blazes were you doing?” he asked, dumbfounded to have caught her in the midst of undressing.
“That’s none of your business.”
And then he saw it. Her laundry was once again strung out across his cabin.
“Laundry?” he asked, his brow knotted in confusion. “You were doing laundry?”
She stiffened her spine. “I was about to take a bath, if you must know,” she snapped. “It seemed a good way to vent my anger. At least more practical than destroying doors.”
