SHE MUST HAVE SLEPT a long while, because when she opened her eyes again, it was with the realization that though the boat was swaying, she wasn’t moving forward. There was movement in the cabin, and as she focused sleep-fogged eyes, she saw Craig once more at work in the galley.
With that sixth sense of his, he knew she had wakened. He turned to her with a scowl. “I hope you realize you almost burned us up this morning.”
Automatically smoothing her hair, Blair sat up in the bed. “Am I supposed to be sorry?”
“Yes!” he snapped, moving toward her with what at first appeared to be menace, but then she realized he was merely handing her a plate of something that looked like stew. “I value my hide, Mrs. Teile, and I assume that you value yours. Grow up a little. You aren’t getting away from me, and it seems you’re determined to kill one of us with your escape attempts.”
Blair accepted the plate he handed her because she was ravenous. “Taylor, trying to get away from you has nothing to do with growing up. Someone neglected to tell you that kidnap victims were not necessarily cheerful and cooperative.”
“You could trust me,” he said quietly.
It was tempting, so tempting that it hurt. “Sorry,” she said coolly, turning her attention to her food.
He sighed and moved into the galley, then returned and sat across from her at the table. Suddenly feeling ridiculous and vulnerable sitting on the bed, Blair shifted to join him at the table.
“No,” he ordered quickly, “you’re not getting out of bed today. You do any more to that foot and we really will be in trouble.”
“I can’t just sit in a bed all day.”
“Well, today you will,” he told her firmly. Both fell silent as they finished eating, then Craig rose, took both plates, and put them in the sink. He returned to Blair’s side and sat beside her, grasping her injured foot without a word. He unwound the bandages, cursed softly, and rose once more to return with the first-aid kit. Blair stiffened and dug her fingers into the bedding as he again cleaned and bound it.
“You will stay off it today,” he repeated softly. Then he was rising and left her behind as he climbed the ladder topside.
Blair couldn’t remember a longer day in her life. The sun had dropped low before Craig returned to the cabin, having cast anchor for the night. By that time Blair was thoroughly irritated and edgy.
She watched as he came directly to her. “How does it feel?” he inquired.
“Fine,” she snapped shortly.
He shrugged and moved away. “I thought you might like to go up on deck for dinner,” he murmured indifferently. “But …”
He seemed so capable of so easily dismissing her! Blair thought with a sudden fury. She swung both legs over the side of the bed and grasped the paneling for support.
“I can go topside,” she insisted, then felt her fury drain as he looked at her with quelling eyes. “Really. All right, I was stupid this morning, but I’ll be careful, I won’t put any weight on it.” He was silent and she suddenly found herself pleading, bargaining. “I’ll cook dinner; I won’t really have to move, I’ll balance—”
“You have a deal, Mrs. Teile,” Craig interrupted her.
She had a deal all right, but she hadn’t counted on his hovering right next to her, determined to support her. Blair was amazed that she was eventually able to turn out a meal of well-seasoned pork and vegetables with his constant proximity.
“Stay here,” he ordered her when two plates had been prepared. “I’ll be back for you.”
After taking their meals and another cask of the rather acidic burgundy topside, he did return, and she found herself being carried up the ladder. “After you sleep on that a night,” he said huskily, setting her down and referring to her foot, “it will begin to heal. And then you can move around a little.”
It was strangely peaceful on the river that night; the water moved in slow, hypnotic ripples. The breeze was faint, carrying the soft rustle of jungle foliage and the easy lap of the river. If she were just clothed differently, Blair thought as she glanced at Craig and he smiled, causing her heart to skip a beat, and if the sailboat were something other than this downtrodden tub, they could have been any couple out for the peace and beauty of the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Handsome America. The scene was mocking; Craig was a mockery, a man so secure in his masculinity that he afforded himself a vast sensitivity.
He lifted his cup of wine to her. “To a very pleasant meal, Mrs. Teile. Thanks.”
Blair shrugged, unwilling to accept the compliment. “You seem to do all right yourself. You can cook.”
“I can cook,” he shrugged, “but not well.”
A little pain tugged at Blair’s heart as he grinned ruefully. Why? The question exploded in her mind. She had found a man who had effortlessly invaded her very soul; a man nothing less than incredible, and he was either a brilliant crook or a political fanatic.
“It surprises me that you’re not a marvelous cook, Taylor,” she murmured caustically. “After all, cooking is easily achieved by reading directions, and you seem to be adept at following instructions.”
She felt his stiffening withdrawal and was pleased that she seemed to have struck a nerve.
“I do follow orders, Mrs. Teile,” he said coolly.
“Whose orders?” Blair pounced immediately.
“We call him Chief,” he said blandly.
“Very droll,” Blair murmured acidly. “You’re a waste, Taylor.”
“Oh, really?” He picked up his burgundy and rolled it within the cup. “Would you care to explain that?”
“No,” Blair rasped, picking up her own glass and draining the wine. Damn! Why had she let that slip? Because she was feeling reckless, the hours of solitude in the cabin below had left her … what? The time had left her craving his presence, his tenderness when he worried over the gash in her foot.
He was simply too right a man to be so wrong.
“I’d like to hear an explanation,” Craig demanded, his cup connecting with the deck as he brought it sharply down beside him.
Explanation? If she tried, would he understand? Blair reached for the wine and refilled her cup. Keeping her hands from shaking through sheer will power, she once more drained her cup. Acidic or not, it had a marvelous effect. She couldn’t feel her foot; she could ignore the tension that radiated from him. She could draw upon a false courage.
“You’re a yes man, Taylor,” she said with brash disdain. “You’re a fool and I hate watching it. You’re made of all the right stuff, but you’re sending it in all the wrong directions.” She paused for a second, realizing that her head was starting to reel but not caring as his hazel gaze narrowed to that sharp, piercing yellow that signified she had wandered into dangerous ground. She was adding fuel to a combustible furnace. “You are nothing more than a lackey. You have no mind of your own. If you’re not after money, you’re a terrorist, but you’re not even the brains of the action. They found a prime subject with you, Taylor. You’re just yes all the way, even if you disagree. You’re sorry, you don’t want to hit me, but they told you to get me away and so you did it. Yes, I’ll keep a captive. Yes, yes, yes. Damn it, Taylor, you idiot, what you’re doing is wrong! Can’t you manage to think on your own? Christ, you obviously have brains somewhere, but evidently you sit on them!”
She had done it; she had ignited the spark. Suddenly their meals were forgotten and he was on his feet, dragging her up with a merciless grasp on both her upper arms. His facial muscles were stretched taut with a terrible tension.
“Watch it, Mrs. Teile,” he hissed furiously. “I may be a yes man, but I’ve been given a free rein to deal with you, and right now, I can easily come up with a few ways to still that tongue of yours. I’ve done my best to be decent to you, princess,” he intoned contemptuously, “but you’re pushing me too far.”
A challenge rose to Blair’s lips; she didn’t believe he would dare do her physical damage. But she wisely swallowed her retort as she saw the implacable menace behind the gleaming narrowed eyes. She pressed her lips tightly together, torn between tears and anger because she didn’t have the power to move or influence him. Swallowing convulsively, she stated, “I just hate to see it, Taylor.”
“Hate to see what?” he charged, his fingers clamping even tighter into her flesh. “You have no idea of what I say yes to! I follow orders as you’ve ascertained, but I do so because I believe in what I’m doing. I believe in the men who issue the orders. If you granted me a single iota of trust, none of this would be necessary.”
“I can’t pretend I’m out for a leisurely sail—”
“You are out for a sail!”
“And I’m supposed to say it’s all just fine,” Blair continued derisively, “I can trust Taylor?”
He said nothing, his eyes glowing yellow fire.
Blair laughed. She had to keep laughing; she had to remain at a distance. She was too close to tears. They were alone in a private world out here, the sky above them, the water around them. Just them. And he was demanding so much of her… and she was beginning to feel it would not be as hard as she first thought to give.
“You have to be insane, Taylor,” she snapped. “Totally insane. You’re working for some lunatic and holding me a prisoner in a tub on some dead-zone river and saying ‘trust me.’ Yet you won’t explain a thing. Where am I, Taylor? Why don’t you tell me that for a start?”
“Where are you?” he exploded. “You’re safe, you’re with me.”
Blair issued a bitter laugh and spoke without thinking. “A king cobra wouldn’t be safe with you—”
“Why?” he cross-charged instantly, his steam billowing rather than decreasing. If she had slipped into a tangent, she had really pushed the button for him to continue it. There was no hiding from him here, and absolutely no thought that she had any control. He was determined in his relentless fashion of pursuit to drag everything out that was between them. She could read it in his searing, demanding, incredible eyes.
And Blair was left suddenly realizing that she was no match for him. It was like setting a cocker spaniel against a pit bull terrier ….
“Why?” he thundered again, shaking her. “Why can’t you trust me? Have I ever harmed you? Don’t tell me that I struck you, or that I dragged you on this boat! Answer that honestly. Have I ever harmed you? And answer this too while you’re at it. Have I ever taken anything you weren’t fully willing to give?”
Blair’s head was spinning. Whereas the wine had once given her courage, it was now misting her mind. Held against him in his forceful grip, she felt overwhelmed by weakness. He was waiting for her answers; he would demand and demand and demand until she said something.
“Yes!” she screamed. “You have harmed me terribly. You are holding me against my will; you kidnapped me. But that wasn’t bad enough—”
“Now we’re at the crux of the matter,” Craig declared coldly. “Go on, Mrs. Teile. I’m breathless to hear the rest of this.”
“There is no rest,” Blair denied too late.
“Oh, there is a rest, and if you’re suddenly finding that the cat’s got your rapier tongue, I’ll finish for you. You’re hating me because you did trust me. Because you came to me. And you opened yourself up to me. And now you think I’ve betrayed your trust, but you’re wrong. And let’s bear in mind—you came to my tent, I didn’t drag you out of yours. And let’s also be honest here. You asked for something; I merely gave in to you.”
“You really are loathsome!” Blair raged furiously, interrupting him. More than at any time before in her life, she wanted to strike out and hurt, to cause a pain as violent as the one that lay inside her. A pain more gripping than most because it was caused by truth. But there was no question of her striking out, not even a slim chance that she could move. She couldn’t even flex the muscles that his fingers clamped down upon; they were, in fact, growing numb.
“No,” Craig retorted, his flow of words barely halted by her interruption. “No, I am not loathsome, nor am I even remotely so to you. But if by loathsome and traitorous you refer to the fact that I did eagerly accept you and take all that you offered—love, beauty, trust—then I do plead guilty. I wanted you from the moment I saw you, and if you became mine, and realized that you were a passionate, desirable, sensual creature, more a woman than you ever knew, don’t ask me to apologize. We were two human beings touching, Blair. You trusted me with the secrets of your past, with all that you are. I have never nor will I ever betray that trust, and if you don’t know that yet, you will, if I have to spend every second left pounding it into your head, crushing it into your head.”
His grip on her arms relaxed, but before Blair could assimilate her momentary freedom, his fingers were threading through her hair as if he did indeed mean to crush his every word into her mind. But this touch, though spontaneous and rough, was not painful or cruel. He was like a man compelled, torn into as many pieces as she. His eyes glittered over hers only briefly, then his fingers tangled more thoroughly through her hair, holding her still, her neck arched, her parted lips opened to his conquest.
He didn’t really need to hold her so forcefully, she dimly noted. She had no thought of resistance. She would rationalize later—and, God, how she would need that rationalization!—that it had been too much wine too quickly, that he had been too overwhelming, but for all the lies that she would later give herself, none would be so staunch as the truth.
She wanted him to kiss her, and it was so easy because his arms were so strong and she really didn’t have a choice. But then that was a lie, too, because he certainly didn’t force the response that she gave him. Not at first, at first she was just stunned, immobilized as his lips took hers with a bruising savagery, propelled by an urgent need. It was understandable that shock left her acquiescent, pliable, whimpering slightly as she was crushed to his onslaught, her arms slipping automatically, instinctively, around his neck. His demand was irresistible on every level, a hunger that created hunger, a fire that burned and consumed all that it came in contact with, and it was in contact with her. His fevered body seemed to meld hers to it, encroaching irrevocably, like the sparks that escaped a small fire and set the entire forest slowly, then rampantly ablaze.
No one forced Blair to ravage her fingers through his hair, to run them with raking, tantalizing pleasure across the breadth of his shoulders, down the length of his back. No one forced her to arch closer and closer against him, wallowing in the strength and heat. Nor could she hold anyone responsible but herself when her mouth opened fully to accept his hot, plundering tongue, to duel and play thirstily with her own, to wantonly seek every secret and crevice that was his.
Blank. She could later use that as an excuse. She had simply gone blank to everything except the sensations swimming sweetly in a body sensitized to his touch. After all, they took no courses not previously charted. Her body had become his willingly, his property, blossoming beneath his tutelage on not-so-long-ago nights that could never be recalled. When thought processes were stopped and responses were on instinct only. This was all that was right—being held in arms that were iron bands of security, the need to give in return flowing freely, naturally, from her, like the cascade that spewed and crashed from a waterfall with marvelous, earthly beauty.
It all just happened; she couldn’t really blame herself, she couldn’t blame him. Two human beings touching, he had said, but it was more than that. Very rarely did two human beings touch with such innate wisdom, bound by invisible ties that had no rationalization, needed no excuse, but existed pure and free, defying all else.
It just happened. The sun could not be prevented from rising, the earth from spinning. Some long-ago destiny had decreed that she should fit to Craig Taylor, perfectly attuned, a part of him. She was in no way restrained and his lips finally broke from hers to create a new, fiery trail as they sensuously massaged her throat and stroked the breasts that pressed high and firm against him, oblivious to the material of her blouse. She locked her fingers around his neck, holding him to her. Her teeth grazed his shoulder; she had drifted too far, she was willing to go on and on…. Her senses, shooting with a strident wildfire, demanded that she go on and on and follow that practiced route that he had led her upon before.
Craig knew that he should stop. He loved her so very much, but she was going to hate him all the more when she discovered that he was being a yes man to her own father and that his chief was Huntington’s old friend George Merrill. But he couldn’t reassure her now—he was held by a code of ethics and a belief in that code. There were reasons, sound reasons. Would she ever understand? Maybe she would at least forgive him—if he stopped now.
But he couldn’t stop now. Not when her fingers wound through his hair, not when her lips clung to his, not when her nails grazed down the length of his spine, adding fuel to the eruption of chemistry between them.
He should let her go; he should give her every chance.
But thinking only gave him warning. He couldn’t part from her even for an instant. Then she might start thinking …
He swept her into his arms, lips seeking hers even as he carried her down the ladder and to the bed, treading lightly as a cat so as not to break the binding spell. He lowered her with equal care, creating an exotic prison with his body as he worked upon the cotton blouse, lifting it over her shoulders with slow-moving fingers, his lips following the pattern of his hands, his tongue making quivering forays against her flesh as it was exposed. Sliding to kneel beside her and yet giving no quarter, he slowly slid her skirt down the length of her legs, once again tantalizing her flesh each inch of the way. All that could be heard in the cabin was the rustle of the fabric as it slipped from skin, that almost excruciatingly sensual sound. His lips touched her flesh and heartbeats began to hammer like the growing rumble of a storm.
Like the wind that accompanied the storm, their breathing rose. Then a moan broke through, a sound soft and sweet, piercing all others. Craig’s lips left the tender creamy flesh of her upper thigh where his teeth had gently nibbled; his eyes sought hers.
They were glazed emeralds, murky with lost passion, deep with love. Sensuously lazy, seduced …
Craig was beyond feeling guilt.
She moved lithely from the bed to fold her arms around him, sending his strong frame shuddering as she planted tiny moist kisses over his throat and along his shoulders and she in turn now helped him to remove his clothing.
It was a slow process. Delectably slow …
Blair was released from rational cognizance. She did love Craig; she loved being with him in this maddening whirlpool, alone, oblivious to all else. There was no other experience on earth that could do this to her, but once plummeted into this swift-moving soul-shattering current, there was nothing to do but hold on.
In turn she kissed bronzed flesh, growing bolder and bolder with the deep guttural groans that sounded from his throat, echoing his quivering pleasure.
“Touch me, Blair,” he murmured, a voice as deep and haunting as the golden orbs of his hypnotizing eyes. “Touch me. It’s so good, babe. So good.”
His clothing was gone; large, tender hands bore firmly down on her shoulders and together they sank down, entwined on the bed, soft femininity welcoming masculine strength. Golden eyes bored into Blair just before his lips sought hers and his knees wedged fully between her thighs. She jolted as his tongue plundered into her mouth just as his entry filled her entire being, taking her away in a wash of spiraling sensation as cleanly as a tidal wave.
The storm thundered on. Pelting, murderous winds, rains as gentle as flowers stretching through an eon of colors, cresting with a brilliant, shattering burst of pure white lightning to reach the sweet, satiating calm that always followed a storm.
But this calm couldn’t last. The storm that obliviated reason was over, and in the wake came the pain of reason.
Blair first became aware of his breathing growing easy, of the damp, tawny hair on the chest where her cheek rested, of the raw, rugged profile facing their chipped ceiling, the texture of deeply bronzed skin, the long-fingered, powerful hands that draped casually around her shoulders in an intimate, possessive caress.
“Oh, God,” she moaned with horror, pulling away, shaking.
His gaze riveted to her; he blinked. When they opened again a guarded look glazed his eyes. He was watching her very warily.
Blair tore her gaze from his and stumbled from the bed. She fumbled as she struggled back into her clothing, refusing to look his way again.
“Blair—” he began.
“Shut up, damn you!” she hissed.
“Blair, I didn’t force—”
“Shut up! For God’s sake, please, shut up!” she grated, grabbing his cutoffs with clamped jaw and hurling them upon his prone form. How could she have lost herself so easily? she wondered, flooded with shame and guilt. She was his hostage and she had fallen right into his arms. Be serious, Blair! she rudely admonished herself. She had done much, much more than simply fallen into his arms.
Craig didn’t struggle with his pants, nor did he fumble. She felt him watching her as she dressed.
“I don’t want to talk about this!” she snapped, quickly, firmly. “It didn’t happen.”
She was unprepared for his next move. Springing upon her with a mercurial pounce, he gripped her shoulders and wrenched her back into his arms. His touch was harsh, forceful. “It did happen, Blair.”
“No!” she protested, uselessly flailing against his chest. “Don’t touch me.”
He could tell her something now, ease her agitation, still the guilt-ridden self-horror that sent her heart thundering anew. Yet anger was stirring in his own blood; he couldn’t tell her anything. And she turned from him so easily, never, never to trust him again. And if he broke his word, his code of ethics, he broke himself and all that he was; he would then have nothing more to offer her, nothing more to give.
He didn’t let her go, but he did change his touch. It had been severe; it became comforting. His arms encircled her, drawing her to him with tenderness, as if the woman he had held with wildfire had become a fragile porcelain doll. “Damn Huntington!” The whisper formed on his lips, yet it was just a breath of air, inaudible, a whistle that wafted softly through the tendrils of hair at the top of her head—deep, rich tendrils that glowed with unquenchable fire.
“I’m sorry, Blair,” he said aloud, cradling her, listening as their heartbeats slowed. Thunderous beats and the sound and feel all but disappeared. “I wish you would trust me.”
“Let go of me,” Blair said tonelessly. She was able to think again, and, thinking, she knew she would be much better off completely away from him. Her heart and body hadn’t the will to obey a humiliated mind.
“Blair—”
“Please, Craig,” she said with great dignity, “let go of me. I—I don’t want you touching me.”
Craig released her, his face an implacable mask. Blair started to wander aimlessly away, but he halted her with a snapped, “Get off that foot!” She sank miserably into the seat surrounding the table, feeling curiously as if she had just viewed the end of a thunderstorm at sea.
Craig finally slipped back into his cutoffs and stalked to the far forward of the cabin. He stood straight beside the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His voice was as devoid of emotion as hers. “You do want me touching you.”
She cast aside the idea of making ridiculous denials. “Yes, Craig, I want you, you goddamn well know it. But try to understand how I feel, and if anything between us ever was real, you’ll honor what I’m saying. I do want you, but I don’t want to want you. I don’t want to be close to you. Don’t you see, don’t you understand? It’s crazy, and I don’t want to be crazy—”
“Blair!” He left his angry stance and moved quickly to her, one knee on the floor, the other bent with his elbow resting upon it. He took her hand, and she looked at him. “I do understand you, honey. Why do you think I said that I was sorry?”
Blair winced. “Please don’t call me honey.”
He stiffened slightly; she knew that she had hurt him. The hurt wasn’t intentional; it had to be.
“All right,” Craig said softly, that underlying tone of steel slipping through. One by one his fingers moved until he had released her hand. It was slow agony for both of them, but they watched as if spellbound as his large tanned hand left her smaller, softer one.
“I won’t touch you again,” he said, his eyes rising to hers. “I will honor what you feel. But in return I want you to listen to me, and I want you to make a deal with me.”
“I can’t make a deal with you,” Blair said incredulously. But God, it was hard to deny him, hard to doubt the strength, the honor, and sincerity in hazel eyes that could gleam like yellow ice and then become a gold that was darker and deeper than the sun. She had to though. She had spent years studying psychology, behavior. She wasn’t about to let herself become brainwashed, to be tricked into compliance.
Then what did she just do? she demanded of herself. That was different. It couldn’t be denied. It wouldn’t happen again; she wouldn’t allow herself to get that close.
“I can’t make any deals with you,” she grated again.
“Bend, Blair,” he suddenly warned, and there was a touch of gravel to his voice. “The tree that won’t bow to the wind is the one that is hurled over in the end.”
An edge of panic swept through her. He was right; he held all the cards. He could really do anything that he wanted, and she was sitting here throwing out rules like the Queen Mother—a Queen Mother already fallen.
“All right, Taylor,” she said, dismayed as the words slipped out a little too hastily. Taylor now? Who was she kidding? Certainly not herself. Not after the time they had just shared in a bed still warm from their exertions. “Let’s hear this deal of yours.”
“What would you say if I promised I would return you to Washington in no more than ten days time?”
Her eyes came to his again. Although he had released her, he was still haunched before her, so close that they were almost touching, so close that her mind screamed that he couldn’t possibly be a renegade, not this man with his gentle strength, his passion, his tenderness.
“I would be pleased of course,” she said primly. “But how would I know you were telling the truth?”
“I would give you my word,” he said. The hard contours of his face were softened ever so slightly by the ghost of a challenging grin. Blair’s eyes fell to her lap; she couldn’t challenge the honesty she read in his eyes, but it was all so absurd, she was going to take the word of her kidnapper.
“Do you mean that?” she asked, drawing idle patterns over the weave of her skirt with nervous fingers.
“Yes.”
She swallowed, wondering what her part of the deal would be, half frightened silly, half praying that it would be a demand on a personal level.
“In return,” he supplied, leaving her little time to wonder, “you grant me a modicum of trust. No yelling out to anyone else we might happen to pass. If you have something to say, I’ll listen. And you will listen to me.”
Blair felt herself going very cold, very weak. She was relieved of course. Her fingers became perfectly still. A voice she tried to ignore demanded, Are you so certain that you are relieved? Weren’t you really hoping that he would demand you continue the relationship that you both know can exist, still exists?
No! It would all boil down to the same thing; she would hate herself more than she already did if she allowed it to continue. She would hate him.
Unless … unless she could find out who Craig Taylor really was, what other crimes he had committed in pursuit of his strange ideals, if perhaps she couldn’t help him, force himself to turn himself over to her father when he returned her, if he returned her …
“Is that all?” she demanded. She was determined to sound like an executive discussing a merger, but squeaked slightly nevertheless. The high, wavering note wasn’t lost on Craig, and she could have kicked herself for even this slight admission of fear.
“That’s all,” he said slowly.
It appeared he wasn’t going to move away, and Blair could no longer endure his being so close, picking up intuitively on her every thought. She stood, brushing past him quickly. “I guess we’d better clean up the deck,” she said.
He shook his head. “I want you off that foot tonight. I’ll get the plates.” He hesitated a moment. “We’ll be moving into the Caribbean shortly and I’ll need you to help me sail. If you’re careful for a few days, that gash will heal. Go to sleep now. It’s been a long day.”
Long day? It’s been an eternity, she thought. “All right,” she said briefly, lowering her eyes until he passed, assuming he would pick up and sail through part of the night as he so often did.
But he didn’t. Reaching into the cupboard beside the table, he sprang some sort of a secret clasp and stretched his arm far to the back, extracting the jeans and shirts that had previously disappeared. A hidden compartment, Blair thought dryly, curious that he no longer cared that she was aware of its existence.
He tossed the bundle to her. “You can wear your own things from here on out,” he said briefly. “Oh”—a twinkle set into his eyes—“the one set will need washing.”
Blair lifted her chin a shade. “Fine, Mr. Taylor. But if you think this means I’ve agreed to become your laundress, you’re mistaken.”
He was grinning at her with good humor, and suddenly she couldn’t ignore the undeniable bond that had formed between them. Before she realized it, she was opening her mouth, unable to control the impulse to tease him in return. “Men are all alike,” she mocked with a feigned sigh, “give an inch and they think they can take a mile.” She walked past him and crawled into the far corner of the bed. “You aren’t that good, Mr. Taylor!”
His spontaneous laughter sent warm trickles of sensation trailing up her spine. He would never be offended; he knew just how good he was ….
He was suddenly leaning over her, but hovering a distance away, not touching her as he had promised. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Teile, perhaps if you were to give me another chance?”
“Get out of here, will you, please?” Blair responded, groaning with a good show of exasperation and pulling her sheet over her head.
Softly chuckling, Craig went topside.
Blair listened as he brought down the dirty tin dishes and cups and cleaned up in the galley. Her mind was spinning with plans to put into action, arguments that might force the man to turn his hand. The depth of her feelings shocked her; she was in love with him, so much so that she would mean every promise that she would give him.
“Blair”—he sat on the side of the bed, obviously aware that she was awake despite her tightly closed eyes—“I really would appreciate it if you would wash the clothes. I just don’t have time, and I can’t wear these pants forever ….” He let his voice trail away as he waited for a response. Blair refused to give him one.
He stood. “Okay, don’t.”
She kept her eyes closed as he moved away, which became difficult as curiosity almost made them fly open when she heard a faint cracking sound. But she didn’t give in even when she felt his weight bear down on the bed beside her. He wouldn’t touch her, she knew; he had given his word. Then what was he up to?
It wasn’t until the middle of the night that she was to discover the answer. With the passage of time an odor that was definitely rank began to permeate the cabin.
It was so rank that it woke her up. And it was coming from the usually fastidious Craig. She sat up in the bed and stared at him, startled to find out that he too was awake, watching her with wide-open eyes.
And then she knew what the cracking noise had been. He had smeared eggs over one of his blue work shirts.
“All right, damn it!” she hissed. “I’ll do your laundry. Just get rid of that stinking shirt!”
Laughing with the deep rumble that was always able to stir her blood, he rose and agreeably shed his shirt, walking forward to throw it topside where the night breeze would carry the dreadful odor away. “Thanks, Mrs. Teile,” he promised, slipping back into the bed. “I promise to make it up to you someday.”
Blair curled back into her corner. Could anything possibly be reconciled … one day?