Page 73 of The Pirate Lord
But she shrank back from him. “No! That’s exactly what I mean. You want to make me forget about everything but you. Then I’ll find myself married to you and wondering how it happened. I don’t want that. I want to know what I’m doing when I agree to marry you.”
Confound the woman. Why must she always be thinking about everything? Why couldn’t she be like other women, content to let a man sweep her off her feet?
He stopped short. That was exactly what his mother had done—and what a disaster that had been. No, Gideon didn’twant history to repeat itself. He wanted Sara not to have any regrets once she agreed to marry him.
Still, he’d be damned if that meant not touching her or kissing her or having her in his bed. He’d give her plenty of time to think . . . but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy each other occasionally in the meantime. He just had to make her realize that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And there was only one way to do that.
“All right, Sara. We can get to know each other. We can rebuild Atlantis and talk and never once touch, if that’s what you wish.” At her startled look, he lowered his tone. “I don’t think that’s really what you wish. But I’m willing to let you find that out for yourself.”
He paused, giving her time to think about what he’d said. “Let me warn you, however. When you change your mind—and you will—it’ll be your turn to come to me. Because the next time we make love, you’ll have to be the one to ask.”
Then summoning all the strength of will he possessed, he turned his back and walked away.
Chapter Twenty
With pretty, courteous, dainty knacks we please the females well,
We know what longing women lacks, most surely we can tell.
— JOHN PLAYFORD, “THE JOVIAL MARRINER”
Sara made it through the first week surprisingly well. During the day, there was so much work and so many quarrels among the women over who was to do what that she scarcely had time to breathe. Water had to be hauled and the men fed. Grass had to be cut and dried for thatch, and mattresses had to be sewn from the canvas cloth the men had brought from Sao Nicolau.
Still, she saw Gideon often enough to remind her of their night together. He sought her out for her opinions on how the houses should be laid out. Whenever he needed something of the women, he came to her first, and they spent many hours debating the best way to allocate their meager resources.
She found excuses to seek him out as well. Much as she chastised herself for it, she liked watching him work, his muscles glistening with sweat under the warm sun. He took to eating hisluncheon with her beneath the trees, offering her the bananas she’d come to like and hunks of pork freshly roasted on Silas’s makeshift spits. Sometimes his fingers brushed hers accidentally when they were sharing the meal, but otherwise he kept his hands to himself.
That should have made things easier. It didn’t. At night, she lay awake in her cabin, thinking about him in his huge bed across the saloon. Sometimes she closed her eyes and imagined him running his fingers over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. Sometimes she furthered the fantasy by touching herself, and that was the worst of all . . . to know he could make her behave so wickedly.
The second week was harder. By then, after much jostling and quarreling, everyone had fallen into a routine. Each had taken the jobs that best suited them and were diligently working to put Atlantis back together. That meant less time for discussing things with Gideon and fewer excuses for seeking him out. What’s more, he sometimes didn’t stop for lunch, although he ate with her when he did.
Yet she was aware of him no matter where she was, even when he was laying out buildings or supervising the cutting down of trees. She found excuses to see him, then made excuses to herself for the flimsiness of her excuses. She found herself touching him casually . . . his arm or his shoulder or his elbow. She didn’t mean to, of course. It just happened. And whenever it did, he went very still, fixing her with a hungry gaze that always made her jerk her hand away.
He began bringing her gifts in the evening—a scented soap, some satin for a bonnet, a sculpted shard of bright orange coral that he’d found while he and the men were spearing fish. He never once gave her anything she might think was stolen, and that warmed her, for he must have plenty of jewels he could offer.
Then he’d linger to walk the decks with her, speaking of his hopes for the island. Despite her determination not to let his words affect her, they did. How could she not be affected by his dreams for a society where men and women could work and live free of the cruelties of unfeeling governments? Where punishments fit the crimes, and people like Ann weren’t deprived of what they needed most?
The worst part of the night came then—when he walked her to the door of her cabin. She always half-hoped he would kiss her and was disappointed when he didn’t. Once in bed, her imagination would take over where reality left off. Long gone were her thoughts of his hands on her body. Now she dreamed of feeling his mouth on her. It would start with her reliving their kisses, but it always progressed to fantasies of his mouth kissing her breasts and belly and even her most private place.
It was dreadfully scandalous and made her so ashamed. Sometimes she even awakened to find herself touching her own body in wanton ways she’d never dreamed existed. She burned at night. She burned during the day. But Gideon, curse the man, seemed as determined not to touch her as ever.
By the end of the third week, however, that had changed. Gideon began to touch her when she least expected it. He would casually reach up to smooth back her hair from her eyes or take her arm to lead her down the gangplank in the morning. When they ate together, which was now almost every meal, he seemed to delight in “accidentally” brushing her breasts as he leaned over to reach something or taking a seat so close beside her that their legs touched whenever they moved.
If she’d had any sense, she would have pointed out how he was cheating on his promise not to touch her. But she’d long ago lost all sense. She lived for those furtive touches. She took unreasonable pleasure in the gifts he brought her and the way he deferred to her judgment on certain matters.
Even worse, her nighttime imaginings had progressed to unabashed memories of his making love to her. She no longer tried to suppress her fantasies, but gave free rein to them. And her hands—her treacherous, wicked hands—had become truly uncontrollable.
Unfortunately, they didn’t satisfy the clawing need growing in the pit of her belly, to have him kiss her and stroke her and yes, make love to her again.
It was those thoughts that engrossed her on the last morning of the third week. It was early, not even dawn yet, and she’d left everyone else sleeping on the ship. Needing a place to think, she wandered down the beach toward the stream.
A few rules had been established for the little colony, and one of them concerned bathing. Since the water in the stream was too cold for bathing in the early morning, the women were allotted the early afternoon hours for bathing and the men the late afternoon hours after they’d finished their dirty work for the day. The system had allowed the women the privacy they craved, especially those women who hadn’t yet decided on husbands.
So when Sara came upon the stream, she was surprised to find Gideon standing naked in the middle of it, bathing in the chilly water. Quickly, she ducked behind a tree to keep him from seeing her.
She couldn’t believe it. Did he come here every morning? And why, when the water was so much warmer later in the day?
She should leave him to bathe alone, she told herself sternly. But her erotic nighttime dreams were still too fresh. She couldn’t bear to leave just yet. With a furtive glance down to the beach to make sure no one had seen her, she peeked back around the tree at Gideon.
