Chapter Twenty-Nine

Consciousness appeared and then retreated many times over for the once strong and virile sea captain. Trader Jake had lost track of time and place, knowing not whether it was today, tomorrow, or even yesterday no more than he knew on whose bed he lay. He was certain of something, though. The room was hot and he with it.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, he watched his green-eyed vixen while beads of perspiration dotted the ridge where her sensual upper lip joined the smooth skin of her young face. She dabbed at the glistening beads with a lady’s handkerchief, embellished with a delicate, tatted edge. He studied her with an intensity he found hard to justify.

He wanted her, wanted her so much his body ached for this woman as much as his heart yearned for her. Afraid to move for fear she would find him staring, he lay motionless and watched her through the veil of his eyelashes.

Concentrating on her coppery tendrils that floated free from a once-tight chignon, he found nothing lessened his primal need. His desire for her was so strong he feared it might be obvious, and that his lascivious thoughts might travel through the small space of the room and be revealed. Try as he might to calm his fantasy of holding her firm, ripe body against his, he found her constant presence, her very nearness, intensified his feelings for her. Longing and downright carnal lust engulfed him while he fought for control, and as if the pressure were not enough, he had to deal with a new and strange feeling. The yearning he now felt for her deep within his soul made him wish to enfold her tenderly within his heart and protect her from harm as if she were a precious flower with delicate petals that might fall.

He found this warring within him, between two such compelling forces, sapped his strength. Finally allowing his upper and lower eyelashes to meet and meld into one another, he blocked out the vision of the beautiful widow. Whether slumber, exhaustion, or unconsciousness sweeping over Jake, he could never be sure and did not care which one as long as it absorbed him.

When he woke later, Jake was relatively certain he had kissed Belle, the elusive young woman of his seafaring dreams. What possessed me to do that? His vivid recollection of the incident, reality or dream, pleased him. Her scent, enchanting and hers alone. The delicious taste of her remained with him still, as did the memory of her startled expression. He had viewed her reaction while she warily watched him. But later, when he saw her pink tongue caress her full, sensuous lips, it was almost more than he could physically bear. The woman possessed such a heart-stopping beauty and captivating sensuality, yet she seemed unaware of both. He remembered smiling at her naïveté.

A familiar voice broke into Jake’s reverie. “The captain’s got color now,” String said. “Like I told you, he’s a tough old crow.”

Cool hands touched Jake’s cheek and forehead, then his neck and chest. I like the feel of that, the coolness and the softness. But these meant more to him. He believed they were healing hands and wanted to know who the comforting hands belonged to, yet he refused to open his eyes because he did not want to jeopardize the glorious feeling and ruin the moment. Awake or not, I’m unwilling to give up this dream.

Another voice, this one closer to his ear, spoke. “He has color all right, but I’m afraid it’s not a good sign. This man’s like a boiling teakettle.”

Jake relaxed to let them tend to him, hearing hushed voices as his faceless caretakers pressed cool compresses to his sweating forehead and neck. He heard water drip and splash in a basin near the bed when they twisted the cloths, wringing them out for another encounter with his feverish skin. Before long, fatigue overpowered his other senses, allowing his caretakers’ voices to fade away.

A white, gauze-like web surrounded him as he sailed in and out of consciousness again. Wrapped in a cocoon of fantasy, he slept.

Dreams of beautiful women occupied most of his moments, women who paraded in front of him, plying all their charms. “Choose me. Choose me,” they said and promised the most tantalizing and provocative encounters a man could wish for as they practiced their seductive sorcery. Although he might have been lured by them not so long ago, he now rejected them, one by one, when he looked into their eyes. The temptresses were each blessed with eyes of exquisite beauty, but none possessed the one quality he required. For now, his choice for a mate must have eyes of green.

Without warning, his dream changed to one of violence. He shouted at his half-brother to hold on, yelling at Stephen to not let go of the old tree, to hold fast so he could reach him and pull him back from the greedy whirlpool of red. Sometimes, Jake would feel the blast from Stephen’s weapon pierce his flesh and slam into his upper chest, and he would hold tight his shoulder, trying to stop the horrendous flow of blood and squeeze the excruciating pain away. But the pain refused to subside, and he would faint from the exhaustion of trying to endure it.

Other dreams were of the young widow, Belle Strong, who floated nearby on a cloud, always beyond his outstretched arms. She was forever winking seductively at him with those enchanting emerald eyes, her innocence making her all the more desirable.

His fever raged on, permeating the small room with an intense heat. Toward early morning, the fever broke, and he felt as though he had lain in a tomb, existing without an ounce of air, his clothes and bedding drenched in sweat. Still in a dream-like state, he persuaded his eyes to open, yet his heavy eyelids barely lifted. Becoming accustomed to the glare from a tallow candle on a wall sconce, he let his sight wander, and what he glimpsed almost took his breath away.

Belle Strong, the green-eyed vision he could not escape after sailing halfway across the world, sat near his sickbed. He watched her through slitted lids while she sought temporary relief from the stifling heat in the room. She had unfastened the top buttons of her black dress, revealing her creamy throat and a hint of her breasts. When she stroked the tops of her exposed skin with a moist cloth, she caught her breath at the shock and then released a deep sigh.

The woman was as lovely as Jake remembered, and the vision upon which his eyes now feasted was nothing short of divine seduction. He wanted to leap from the bed and make love to her, unleashing the animal passion a body like hers must be crying out for. Though tempted, he convinced himself this was neither the time nor the place for he must allow ample time for his body to heal and rejuvenate, and he also must concentrate on courting the young woman.

He closed his eyes so she would not feel him watching her in such a private and uncompromising moment. Yielding to his thoughts of carnal desire, Jake enjoyed his indecent fantasies of the young widow. Could she be an angel by day and make love like a fallen angel by night? He fervently hoped so.

Later, String replaced Belle, taking his turn for the evening and night to watch over his sleeping friend. “Captain,” he said, “you’d better be getting well. We’ve got rendezvous coming and a ship to load after that.”

Trader Jake surprised him when he opened his eyes. “We’ll set sail soon enough.”

“Captain,” String said before his mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Shh. Don’t wake up the whole world.”

“But, Captain, they’ll want to know your fever’s broken and you’re back with us.”

“I know,” Jake said. “Let them sleep. I’ve been lucid for a few hours.”

“Yet, you didn’t let on?”

“No. I enjoyed the company of a young woman whose green eyes weren’t flashing in anger.”

“She will, Captain, as soon as she hears.” String shook his head. “This news will rile her like a mama grizzly protectin’ her cubs.”

“You can announce my progress at breakfast. No one needs to know the exact hour I woke.”

“Yes, sir.” String gave him a mock salute. “If you don’t need anything, I’m getting some shut-eye.”

“I have everything I need, including your friendship. Until morning, then. Good night to you.”