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“Not to mention, I don’t think you have your sea legs yet.” She smiled.
“I’d get them sooner if the damn ship would stop moving so much.”
“I daresay you would.” She looked at her watch again before tucking it back into the pocket in her dress and smoothing her coat over it. “The porter told me he would come to the cabins with tea. I wonder if he came and we did not hear him?”
“I’ll see if I can find him,” Cal said, eager to be doing anything but standing in the tiny cabin with her on the bed before him. He opened the door, almost pitching into the corridor and looked up and down. A sailor climbed nimbly down the ladder and paused.
“Can I ‘elp you with anything, sir?”
“My—er, wife would like tea. Can you tell me where to find the porter?”
“I’ll send ‘im your way. The sea is a bit lively this evening. Best you stay below.” And he was off, walking quickly and deftly as though his world wasn’t moving violently up and down at uncertain intervals.
“Well, at least it’s not just me,” he said, closing the door then leaning on it. “Apparently, the sea is lively today.”
“I heard. I hope that’s not a euphemism for a storm.”
Cal weaved his way to the porthole, moving like a drunk. He peered out and into the gathering dusk. “Looks clear enough, but the waves are rough.” He did not need to be convinced to stay below. The wind was such that water was surely crashing on the deck, soaking everyone above, and it was cold enough without the chilly sea water.
Besides the berth, the only other piece of furniture in the cabin was a small table with two chairs nailed to the floor. Bridget had set her hat and gloves on the table, but if they were to take tea, he had better clear it. “Mind if I hang these?”
She shook her head. He took one step toward the hooks on the wall and the ship rose, pushing him backward. He tried to catch himself, but he tumbled onto the berth, sliding back once he landed and hitting his head on the wall.
His already injured head. He hissed out a breath.
“Callahan!” Bridget lifted his head away from the wall. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ll survive.” He opened his eyes to see her still holding his face. Their gazes met and she released him, moving back.
“Perhaps you should stay on the berth. I can sit in the chair.”
He liked that arrangement much better. Bridget and a bed gave him ideas, and he’d rather not spend the rest of the voyage trying to keep his cock from stiffening every time she shifted or flashed a bit of ankle.
“If you like.” He lay back on the pillow, his head aching again. He’d dropped her hat and gloves when he’d been thrown onto the berth, and she reached over him to claim them.
As though God was punishing him, the ship dipped at just that moment and she fell into him, landing warm and soft across his chest. The ship rolled again, and she might have rolled off with it, but he clamped his hands about her waist and held her steady.
Oh, his cock was good and stiff now. Nothing like warm, soft woman stretched across him to wake it up.
“I’m sorry.” She tried to free herself, but by now her skirts were tangled in his legs, and one of her coat buttons had caught in his lapel. She struggled to free herself, and he released her waist. His hand was hanging in midair, as he wasn’t certain where to place it, when he noticed one of the brown pins holding her hair in place was sticking out. His free hand reached up, and though he’d thought to push it back into place, plucked the pin out. He turned his head to look at it then glanced back at her hair. She was still wriggling on top of him, trying to free her button from the thread it had caught in. Her hair was still in place, but he could see a few strands beginning to unwind. He spotted another pin. Like the first, it was working itself free. It seemed to want help, and Cal reached up and withdrew it as well.
The coil of hair, a section from the side of her face that had been pulled back to join the rest, fell against his cheek, brushing against the stubble there like silk. He caught it in his hand but couldn’t distinguish any fragrance different from that of Bridget herself—and she smelled of soap and sea air and ink. Holding the hair up to the light, he admired the strands of brown and gold. Was that what made red hair red? Brown and gold mingled together?
“What are you doing?” she said, her voice breathless. Cal had failed to consider that by pulling her hair to the side, he would also move her face, especially as these side sections were not as long as those in back. Her face had been pulled down and toward his, and she was watching him study her hair.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen red hair so close,” he said, dropping her hair so that it slipped seductively against his ear. “Are you free?”
Her eyes met his, and the heat that flashed between them was palpable. “I could use help.” Her voice was breathless. Or was he imagining that?
He licked his lips, which seemed suddenly quite dry. He only resisted wrapping his arms back around her by digging his short nails into his palms until his skin burned. “If you took the coat off, you might—”
She kissed him.
Her lips slid over his. Cal didn’t breathe. He didn’t dare move. She looked down at him. “I beg your pardon,” she all but squeaked.
“No need,” he managed.
“Good because I think I’m about to do it again.” She took his face in her hands and did just that. This time when her lips met his, he kissed her back. He’d closed his eyes involuntarily, and a sweet darkness enfolded him—soft and warm and Bridget. He wanted to sink into that darkness with her. He wanted to tumble down and down until he found the pleasure waiting at the bottom.
