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He opened his mouth, kissing her deeply, showing her that lovely darkness.
She moaned. The ship rolled, and her hands fisted in his hair. He welcomed the discomfort of it. It kept him from allowing the darkness to take over. It kept him present—present enough that he put his hands on her hips, shifting her body so his erection was nestled against her abdomen. She kissed him with an innocent passion that made his head spin. The slide of her tongue, the nip of her teeth, the satin of her lips unraveled him.
Show her, his body demanded. Show her what this could be like.
He nudged her legs apart until she straddled him, then he lifted his hips, pressing his hardness against her soft core. Even through the layers of skirts and petticoats, he could feel her heat.
She gasped and stilled. Cal stopped moving. His cock was screaming at him to push against her again. He wanted friction and heat. But this was yet another of those things he could not have. He should not have. His chest clenched as the weight of his mistake crashed down on him.
And then she shifted. She lifted her mouth from him, breaking the kiss. Cal began to apologize, but something in her eyes strangled his words. Her hips moved, lifted, and then lowered again, sliding her sex over his hard length.
Cal saw stars. He saw fireworks. He saw a room full of the best gin he’d ever had, and it was all for him. She moved against him again, and Cal couldn’t stop a groan. Take the woman’s clipboard away, and she was a seductress.
When she moved again, Cal grasped her hips. “Christ Jaysus, Bridget. I want you.”
But he couldn’t have that gin, and he couldn’t have her. He couldn’t even remember the reasons he couldn’t have her at the moment, but he knew they existed. In plural.
He lifted her hips and rolled away, ducking his head and raking his hand hard through his hair so it pulled painfully, the pain pushing at the pleasure.
“I beg your pardon,” she said again. “I don’t know what happened. I’m mortified.”
He turned and took her by the shoulders. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You did nothing wrong, but we can’t go on like this. We have a mission.” The last was said for her benefit. That was what she’d told him in the coach. And she’d been right. It wasn’t the mission but the payment that mattered to him. And now that he thought of it, he didn’t want Baron denying him payment because he’d seduced the man’s secretary. Or because she seduced him...
“You’re right.” She nodded. “I’m tired and hungry. I’m not thinking clearly.”
For some reason the last statement irked him. “Sure and it’s difficult. I’m hard to resist.”
She gave him a withering look. “I’m finding it easier every minute.”
He would have liked to test that, would have liked to kiss her and see if she didn’t melt against him again, but a knock at the door saved him from himself.
Bridget moved to open it, but Cal pulled her back and shook his head. “Who is it?”
“Porter with your tea.”
He’d forgotten all about the tea. He went to the door himself, and the man came in with a tray, sitting it on the table. His gaze took in the room, and he smirked. Cal looked about at the hat on the floor, the umbrella in a corner, the rumpled bed clothes, and Bridget’s disordered hair. It looked as though the two of them had been doing exactly what they’d been doing.
“We just married a few days ago,” Cal said with a wink.
“Well, enjoy the rest of the voyage,” the porter said, pocketing the penny Cal tipped him. He turned back to ask Bridget how she liked her tea, but she had her face in her hands.
“What is it?”
She shook her head. Hands still covering her face, she said, “He thought we were—”
“And I’m glad of it.”
Her hands dropped, revealing her scarlet cheeks and forehead. “Why? Because it makes you look virile and manly?”
He blew out a breath. “Because it makes our story seem plausible. What would newlyweds be doing to pass the time in a private cabin?”
He didn’t think it possible, but her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.
“If he’d come in and we’d been sitting in separate corners, all prim and proper, he’d wonder at it. Then if someone were to ask him about it later—not that they will, but they might if we raise suspicions—he’d report something felt off. But now there’s no reason to doubt our story.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Now, how do you like your tea? That’s something I ought to know.”
