Chapter Ten

 

Leaving Mercy and the carpenter to make eyes at each other, Rosalyn spent the next day aboard the Fair Winds doing some serious soul searching. Considering her temporary loss of self-control when she caught sight of Grant Watermann in the arms of a beautiful woman, she needed to get a better grip on her emotions. She was obsessing far too often over the Fair Winds’ captain. Whatever had brought about this unwholesome passion for knowing where he was and what he was doing at all times, she needed to give up this terrible fascination with danger.

Perhaps I should look upon him as mere sand invading my oyster, she thought, as her fingers idly skimmed the ship’s railing. She looked back toward the town, her eyes dazzled with swimming images of her nefarious partner kissing that—that woman! Not that she would ever let him kiss her! Yes, she decided. Undoubtedly Grant Watermann was a God-sent irritant, designed to produce spiritual pearls in her life.

Breathing the warm tropical air into her lungs slowly, she exhaled with an impatient rush. It would be so easy to succumb to the sensual pleasures of fragrant ocean breezes caressing her skin, and the hot sun melting her insides to the consistency of wild honey. From what she already knew of him, Grant was an expert at leading young women down the path to perdition. Indeed, he was as potent a threat to her virtue as a deadly case of smallpox was to the general population! What she needed was the proper antidote. Until she figured out just what the cure was, she resolved to let her head rule, not her heart.

Even so, she spent a second restless night on board, with only a skeleton crew watching over the ship. Night breezes cooled her sweltering cabin, but she couldn’t block out the sounds of native drums and strange music coming from the town. She heard the waves gently lap against the ship. Tossing and turning, she finally opened her Bible and read the first thing that presented itself: the Song of Solomon. Later, she dreamt that Grant chased her around a garden, demanding to taste her ‘pleasant fruits,’ which only made her wish she'd read one of the Psalms or the Book of Proverbs instead.

After a night of highly erotic dreams, Rosalyn awakened the next morning in a testy mood. After an abysmal breakfast of thin gruel, she walked out on deck. The crew had returned, and Mercy and Charles were like two turtle doves, billing and cooing at the front of the ship. Eight bells sounded, as, frowning, she watched Grant stroll down the wharf toward the Fair Winds, accompanied by that same dark-haired woman and the two small children she'd seen him with earlier. His daughters? She wondered, noticing the strong resemblance. Their farewells were extremely tender, she noted, trying not to appear interested as she stood observing them.

Grant had one arm around the woman’s waist, and in his other carried the smaller child. He embraced all three repeatedly and kissed the slender woman’s face and hair. Audibly weeping, the woman clung to him, as if unwilling to let him ascend the gangplank. Finally, getting down on one knee, he gave the two little girls each a hug, and then he shared a final embrace with the woman before tearing himself away.

As Grant ran up the gangplank, Rosalyn couldn’t resist letting him know that she'd witnessed this touching scene. She moved to confront him, as he came aboard. “Your wife and children?” she purred softly. “A pity you won't be taking them along.”

He looked at her, his eyes damp with emotion. That he chose not to answer hardly came as a surprise. But at least she'd let him know how she felt about his philandering ways. . . His lips tightened, as he stalked past, his face wiped clean of the tenderness she'd seen there seconds before. “Prepare to get underway,” he told Garrison and, entering his crowded cabin, slammed the door.

Over the next twenty-four hours, Rosalyn avoided Grant. There was no possible way to take back her petty remark without apologizing, and, considering their tentative relationship, acknowledging her fault would sorely injure her pride. Instead, she had Mercy bring food to their cabin, under the pretext that she was under the weather, even though sailing conditions had never been smoother.

She was disgusted with herself for hiding out; it was a weak and cowardly thing to do. Frequently pausing in her work, she caught herself watching him from her cabin window as he worked alongside his men, the wind ruffling his black hair. She wanted to ignore him—truly! But the sound of his carefree laughter did strange things to her heart, as he steered the Fair Winds through stormy seas and fair.

“Oh, Mercy, I feel like such a fool,” she blurted out, raising her tear-streaked face from her pillow.

“Why? Because you’re human? Or because you’re jealous?”

“Neither. I just feel so small minded.”

Mercy smiled. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions.”

“What do you mean?” Rosalyn said, staring out the window and feeling strangely bereft.

“I had a little chat with Charles,” Mercy said, folding freshly laundered undergarments and placing them inside the cedar chest at the foot of the bed. “I merely asked who the lovely young lady was who accompanied him back to the ship. You will never guess Charles’s answer.” Mercy’s chuckle only made the lump in Rosalyn’s throat tighten.

“It’s rather obvious, isn't it?” she said gloomily. “A girl in every port, I suppose.”

“You’re not even close.” Mercy bent closer, confiding, “She’s his sister Lucy.”

“What?” Rosalyn grabbed her handkerchief and blew her nose.

Mercy nodded. “She’s married to an English customs officer stationed in St. George. Charles says the Captain went to tell her about their father’s death.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” As the truth sank in, Rosalyn could scarcely breathe.

“It’s true,” Mercy nodded, regarding her cabin mate with compassion.

Rosalyn hung her head in shame. “Then I must apologize for my rudeness.” And before anything could change her mind, she left the cabin and went in search of Grant Watermann.

Not finding her quarry on deck, Rosalyn went below, thinking he might be checking ballast or the ship’s inventory. As she descended the ladder, the blazing tropical sunshine on deck changed to pitch darkness in the hold. She paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim oil lantern hanging over his dark head. The mess table was littered with maps and ledgers. Evidently not hearing her soft tread behind him, he sat gazing at a chart.

She hesitated on the bottom rung, not wishing to interrupt his concentration. Until now their relationship had been complicated by all the events that had thrown them together. Indeed, Rosalyn had come to regard their frequent sparring matches as inevitable. But Lord willing, she hoped to remedy all that now, if she could.

But first she must apologize. As she stood there, screwing up her courage to speak, she stared intently at the back of his head with its unruly black hair. As usual she felt as if some magnetic force kept drawing them irresistibly together. She knew she must exercise better control over her feelings; otherwise—

“So you’re feeling better, are you, Mrs. Watermann?” he said quietly, dragging her thoughts back to the present.

How had he known she was there, she wondered. She hadn't made a sound. Did he have eyes in the back of his head? She had the uncanny feeling that he must be able to read her mind, and that was an advantage she would not tolerate!

“It must be terrible always having to be right about other people,” he said with a touch of gallows humor.

She stepped closer, knowing she had wronged him, and needed to admit it. “If you mean I owe you an apology for my rudeness,” she said with a lump in her throat. “I-I don’t know what makes me say such things. Please forgive me.”

Without looking at her, he reached around and caught her by the wrist, drawing her toward the table. Rosalyn moved reluctantly, balking slightly, and yet she hoped his apparent nonchalance meant tht he, too, was ready to make peace. She stood fidgeting, her emotions very much a mixed bag.

“I admit your reaction caught me by surprise.” His lips curled in an ironic smile, as his narrowed gaze subjected her to closer scrutiny.

“I-I came to apologize,” she said stiffly. “And to say that I regret very much my part in this battle of wills that continually spoils any chance we might have for a sincere friendship.”

He chuckled softly. “Au contraire, ma cherie. I find your temperamental flare-ups rather entertaining. Certainly they’re better than complete indifference.”

“Oh, I'm not at all indifferent!” she blurted out, then bit her lip, realizing that her admission might create even more difficulties for her.

His dimples sprang to life with devastating effect. “Nor am I—indifferent, that is.” He gestured toward a bench. “Sit down. Let me show you my plans for building the shipyard in Boston.”

Rosalyn sat, frankly amazed that for the first time he was actually inviting her to discuss their business venture. Grateful for somewhere to look besides into his tawny eyes, she studied the chart he'd been studying. It contained a roster of names, with each individual's responsibilities listed beneath. At the top, she noticed his name listed as Chairman. Further down was her father’s name as a member of the Board of Directors. Surprised to find her own name under the heading of Investor, she glanced up, a question in her eyes.

“You own a twelve percent share in the shipyard, because of the monies my father put into the business to start it up. Plus interest, of course.”

“And my father?” she asked. “How does he figure in all of this?”

“The success of our venture depends on all of us pooling our resources. Building a strong, fast fleet of merchant ships and getting launched is an expensive proposition. Rigging and sails are your father’s main contribution. It takes skilled laborers, a shipwright, carpenters, riggers, and so on. Others are producing the raw materials we need, such as timber for masts and ship construction. Iron workers for making nails, grappling hooks and hardware of all sorts, including anchors. I am currently forming a network of merchants and tradesmen and farmers to provide goods and to trade with.” He pointed various names at the chart.

Rosalyn listened with growing amazement, as he explained his vision. Gazing at him with new respect, she said, “It seems to me that you've planned this enterprise down to the last detail. But have you sufficient men to share your vision?

Grant nodded. “All we need now is additional capital to buy more hemp, flax and iron to start a full scale operation. Again, that responsibility falls mostly to me.”

“I am impressed, Captain. You have great organizational skills, to have brought together such an amazing number of skilled artisans and merchants. Not to mention finding the funding to build more ships.”

His eyes lit up with a twinkle. “I believe that’s the first compliment I’ve ever received from you, Mrs. Watermann,” he said. “Thank you.”

Momentarily distracted by his sensuous smile, Rosalyn reluctantly focused her attention on the roster of names. “What is my father’s share in this venture?” she asked.

“Nine percent. Does it please you to know that you outrank him, without having to lift a finger?”

“I am slightly in awe that I have any share at all.” she admitted.

“Let’s just say you were born under a lucky star.”

Stunned by his gentle needling, Rosalyn wanted nothing more than to catch him slightly off balance—if only once. “Just to satisfy my curiosity, Captain Watermann, what is your share in this venture?” she asked.

“Twenty-five percent,” he admitted. “My father left me the controlling share. That means I could pretty much tell everyone else to go to hell, if I wanted to, including you, Miss Prim,” he said with a mocking bow.

Sensing that they were probably destined to spar like wharf rats from now until eternity, she got to her feet. In the cramped quarters below deck, she suddenly wished she hadn’t risen, for now she found herself standing uncomfortably close to her nemesis—close enough, in fact, to catch a whiff of salt water, perspiration, and male virility on his clothes. Indeed, it was impossible not to notice his partially open shirt and the curly black hair on his chest. Intelligent, forceful, and shrewd he was, but he was no gentleman! The fact that she had invaded his territory didn't occur to her, but once again he had demonstrated his ability to place her at a disadvantage, to keep her in subjection. All because she was a woman!

Raising her chin coolly, she gathered her skirts around her. “Thank you for a most illuminating discussion, Captain. And now, if you will excuse me—” She paused, expecting him to step aside so that she could move safely past him.

He tossed his pencil on the table and stood, arms akimbo, blocking her from making her escape. “Let me give you a little friendly advice, Miss Prim: Drop all the haughty airs.”

“And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?” Lifting her chin, she balled her fists, with but one desire: to find his weakness and bring him down a peg.

He grinned. “Don’t forget, I saw you in all your glory at your wedding, and I gather you had a bit too much to drink during our stopover in St. George."

“I suppose it amuses you to think so, at any rate!” Her cheeks flaming and her eyes flashing with indignation, she was this close to winding up and planting him a facer.

“Nothing like the tropics to bring out a woman’s primitive nature, eh, what, Miss Prim?” He smiled, enjoying how easily he could get her all stirred up.

“You are obviously unaccustomed to polite society,” she blustered, flexing her fingers. “Your father left us equal shares of this ship, and nothing you say or do, will alter that fact!”

“Aye, and I got stuck with one hundred percent of the headaches,” he reminded her.

When she looked at him blankly, he uttered a curt laugh. “I also got stuck with looking after you! Well, fear not, my lady! I promise to keep a very close eye on you. Aye, and in the bargain, I’ll help you keep your passions in check, too.”

“I don’t need you in my life!” she sputtered.

“At least we’re agreed on something.” He stepped aside, but the way his eyes swept over her threatened to scorch her underclothes right off her! “Now get out of here before I bite those inviting, cherry-ripe tits of yours!”

His allusion, all in the same breath, to fruit and her breasts sent a jolt of molten fire through the very core of her being. She jumped back with a squawk, colliding with the desk. Oh, surely he couldn't possibly know the wild dreams she'd had about him! she told herself. Or could he?

“But that’s impossible!” she gasped.

“What’s impossible!” he asked with a ribald laugh.

Rosalyn gasped, realizing what she'd very nearly admitted out loud.

“You are impossible,” she whispered, backing away. Visibly shaken, she fled with his laughter ringing in her ears. Never again, she vowed, would she subject herself to such taunts!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Two nights later Grant went topside to check on the man standing the midnight watch. The seas and the winds were calm, and he was taking a leisurely stroll around the deck when he saw Rosalyn drifting along the railing, a fringed shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and the hem of her nightgown fluttering around her bare ankles.

Her lips were slightly parted, as she turned distractedly and brushed a strand of disheveled chestnut locks from her face. As she faced him in the pale moonlight, her eyes half-closed, like a woman still half-asleep, he instinctively knew he'd caught her in an unguarded moment, with her defenses down. She moved languorously, leaning against the rail in her billowing nightgown.

The thought crossed his mind that she might have come up on deck in hopes of finding him. Seeing no tension, and none of the usual signs of defensiveness in her demeanor, Grant found himself irresistibly drawn by her incredible beauty. Despite all attempts to disguise her sensuality, she was every inch a desirable woman, trembling on the brink of discovering her deeply passionate nature.

“Good evening, Mrs. Watermann.” His soft drawl appeared to rouse her from a dream state. For a second, she seemed to forget that he was her adversary, with whom she was constantly at odds. He heard her soft sigh, as her breasts rose and fell slowly with her breathing. Entranced, he couldn’t take his eyes off this apparition framed by moonlight and the stars. They gazed into each other's eyes, as if suspended in time, acutely aware and drawn each to the other.

“Good evening, Captain,” she whispered sleepily. She drifted closer, like a dream in motion, and Grant worried that she might have wandered on deck without any consciousness of where she actually was, or with whom.

“It's unusual to see you out on deck at this hour,” he said, watching her with consuming fascination.

She lifted her head, and he saw the pulse in her swan-white throat quicken. “The moon shone so brightly through my cabin window, I couldn’t sleep,” she told him,

“It’s a perfect moon for navigating tonight,” he agreed, unable to take his eyes off her. He felt a sudden tension in his loins. They stood close enough that he could easily have taken her in his arms. He watched her turn and gaze at him questioningly. Her tongue flicked across her lips, as if she could read the desire in his eyes. He wondered if he would ever again find her so malleable, or so willing. His head blocked out the moon, as he lowered his head.

His first kiss was tentative at best, and when she offered no resistance, his next grew more persuasive. She opened her silken lips with a moan, and his tongue began to explore her mouth, just to test her out. How would she respond? In anger, or with passion? He kissed her eyelids, her throat. He buried his face in her fragrant hair, breathing in her essence. He stroked his fingers through the luxuriant cascade of curls flowing nearly to her waist. He tasted her lips again and again. Sweetly, innocently at first, she began to sigh and kiss him back, then with increasing ardor. His passions quickened, and he cupped her rounded breast, feeling her nipple harden against the palm of his hand.

His eyes shuttered closed, or at this point he would have seen her eyes snap wide open in shocked surprise. When he felt her body stiffen beneath his hands, he opened his eyes and found her staring up at him in bewilderment.

“Wh-where am I?” Her breathing grew rapid, and her warm curves outlined in the moonlight made him impatient with her sudden change of mood.

“Come now, vixen. This is no time to play coy. You obviously like being kissed, and you want a lot more than kissing.” His voice grew more insistent; unwilling to be put off by a virgin's games.

“Wait!” Looking genuinely puzzled, she glanced around, then frowned. “How did I get out here on deck?” she demanded.

“On your own two feet, Rosalyn. What’s the matter?” he chuckled. “Can’t you admit you’re capable of a little healthy lust?” He lowered his head to nibble and tease her earlobe.

“Surely this must be a nightmare!” She tried to twist out of his arms. “Let me go!”

Grant stared at her in disbelief. Damn little she-witch, luring him into her trap, only to leave him high and dry! He swore softly under his breath. “You’re not going anywhere, not until we settle the score between us, once and for all.”

"Wh-what are you talking about?" she gasped, looking bewildered. "You carried me out here, didn't you?"

“No, I did not!" he growled. "You came looking for me, so don't try to play innocent with me! You're just dying to lose your virginity, and yet you cling to your high and lofty ideals!”

Her eyes began to fill with tears. “How can you possibly accuse me of encouraging you?” she raged. “I just w-woke up and found myself here on deck, and you—taking advantage of me!”

His lip curled in mocking dispute of her wild claim. “Are you trying to say you were sleepwalking? What a convenient excuse!”

“I-I must have been. I used to walk in my sleep as a child.” She stared down at the deck, refusing to look him in the eye.

“That’s a pretty dangerous habit on board ship. You might wind up in the drink,” he warned, not believing her for an instant.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she raged, taking a swing at him with her fist.

Oh, she’s awake now, all right! he thought. “I can think of better ways to get revenge, if I wanted to get rid of you. Aye, and don’t forget you nearly walked yourself into my bed!”

His breath was warm and seductive against her ear—clearly a warning that she must fight her own passionate desires as much as his evil schemes. “Maybe I’d be better off walking the plank in my sleep,” she replied, almost daring him.

If only she could place the blame squarely on him! But deep inside she knew that if she did, she would never be able to look into his fierce tiger's eyes without feeling guilty of taking unfair advantage. She was still a little fuzzy about how she'd wandered out on deck, but the longer they stood there, trapped against the rigging in each other's arms, the more she knew she was no lily-white innocent either. Besides, he could easily have taken her, if he had wanted.

This mad attraction was about to undo her altogether. If he makes love to me, she thought, I shall be lost forever. Truly undone. “Uhm, maybe you should just throw me to the sharks,” she whispered, feeling her knees give way, as his strong hands swept down her ribcage to span her waist.

“I think you’d enjoy bedding down with me more, spitfire. And if you want to pretend you got there by walking in your sleep, we’ll keep it our little secret.” Laughing softly, he nibbled her ear, and dipping lower, his lips tasted the warm dew on her arching neck, while she continued to squirm in protest.

“I’ll burn in hell before I let you touch me,” she gasped, shivering at his touch. Without meaning to, she had placed herself in terrible danger. Here she was, in the middle of the ocean with the world’s most daring pirate about to seduce her!

“Why don’t we burn in hell together, Rosalyn?” He stopped toying with her and jerked her close, pinning her hands against his chest. Running his hands down her back, he grasped her trim derriere, pressing her throbbing mons and firm, high breasts against his hard, muscular torso. As he plundered her mouth, Rosalyn came alive in his arms, no longer struggling.

She felt a little dizzy, as the hard evidence of his manhood pressed unmistakably against her. He captured her in his powerful embrace, unbuttoning the top of her gown, and she startled at the touch of his hand fondling her breast. His fingers unerringly found a pebble-hard bud, and as her resistance slowly began to unravel like a ball of yarn, her sleeping passions awakened to a dangerous flashpoint!

As he continued to barrage her senses with impatient kisses, her muffled protests gave way to moans of acquiescence. She no longer fought him, as her need became as strong as his own. Suddenly he swept her into his powerful arms, and he carried her swiftly to his cramped quarters. Kicking the door shut, he laid her on his bunk.

“No, no, we mustn’t!” she whispered, trying weakly to escape his ardor. “I-I feel so warm,” she gasped.

Capturing her trembling lips, he savored the velvet heat of her mouth. She felt herself yielding to the strong passion of his caress. His breath blew hotly against the thin fabric of her nightgown as he devoured her with burning, melting kisses. He suckled her breast, and she found herself arching and moaning with ecstasy.

The pleasure—Ah, so unexpected! Messages of sweet savage madness surged through her veins, until she could no longer deny him. Her fingers tangled in his unruly black locks and drew his mouth down to her breast. Gasping with excitement, she moved with untutored hunger beneath him. As Grant paused to gaze into her languid half-closed eyes, her heart quickened with trembling desire. In the shadows of his cabin, the dim lantern swayed above them, and the sight of his strong, sensual features sent a wild thrill coursing through her veins as she'd never dreamed possible.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she sighed, her lips brushing against his neck. He kissed her deeply, and she felt the urgency of their union build. With mounting impatience, he used his lips, tongue—even his teeth in gentle love-nips, coaxing, caressing and nudging her toward that moment of ultimate surrender.

“Do you believe in predestination, Rosalyn?” he teased, his eyes gently mocking. He cupped her breasts and nibbled the cockled buds. His breath was hot against her skin, as he buried his face in their soft fullness.

Rosalyn felt her whole body catch fire and moaned, “I shouldn’t be here," she moaned. "I shouldn’t be letting you do this to me.” She kept up her feeble protests, though she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the heat of his embrace. As he started to pull the loose folds of her nightgown over her head, a nervous frisson of panic swept over her, and a small inner voice, barely rational, admitted her vulnerability. “Oh, please . . .” she whispered.

“Just enjoy it, Rosalyn,” he commanded, his voice tense. He resumed kissing her deeply, his tongue now ravaging her mouth. Her heart pounding as wildly as his own, he paused to smile in triumph into her smoke-blue eyes. She gazed up at him shyly, with awakened desires that made her tremble as never before.

She raised her hand to caress his cheek, and instantly Grant grasped her hand in his. He stared at the wedding ring on her finger and thought, Talk about the dead rising at an inappropriate time! Here he was, about to take his father’s place! Abruptly the appalling truth of what they were about to do cooled his ardor. He collapsed beside her with a bitter laugh.

Startled, Rosalyn sat up on her elbow, puzzled by his strange mood. “What’s so amusing?”

He shook his head. “This is so bizarre! Here I am, making love to my father’s wife.”

“I was never his wife!” she declared indignantly.

“Even so, it feels a little spooky, like the Old Man’s looking down on us, urging us on.”

His remark hit like a dash of cold water, quelling their lovemaking. If she surrendered now to Grant Watermann, she knew she would never be mistress of her own destiny. “You’re right, we shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, frantically trying to wriggle out from under him.

He grinned wickedly at her and resumed kissing her with such thoroughness that she almost succumbed to her passions. “On the contrary, my dear, you need to be made love to on a regular basis,” he said, kissing her navel.

Abruptly Rosalyn’s panic escalated. If she allowed him to make love to her, Grant would always have the upper hand and be able to control her emotions. She'd become a slave to her passions, never able to resist or refuse him again! Obviously a great deal more was at stake besides her personal virtue. Deep down, she must have known it all along. What a fool I am to have let him slip past my defenses! And what made her think she could trust a devilishly handsome rogue like him anyway? He was a man of the world, while she— Let’s face it, she told herself with a choked sob. I am but a lamb and about to be devoured by an insatiable wolf!

“No! I won’t be used,” she panted.

“You can’t back down now. How will it look, if you run out of my cabin with no clothes on?” He grinned insolently, amused by her change of heart.

Rosalyn began to struggle in earnest, straining against his hands. “No matter what you hope to gain by trying to compromise me,” she gasped, “I won’t give up my share of the ship and its profits!”

Up until now, Grant hadn’t made the connection between their lovemaking and her desire for self-determination. Believing she only sought reassurance, he nuzzled her neck with his lips and tongue. “What if I marry you and make an honest woman of you?” He laughed as if he found marriage a great joke.

Rosalyn felt the pull between surrender to the pleasures his body was giving her and her need to protect herself from his scheming ways. “No! I won’t marry you, or anyone else, for that matter,” she gasped defiantly. “Clearly a woman loses her freedom when she marries.”

Grant stared down at her, astonished. God’s nightgown! Why would she want to spoil a good tumble? he asked himself, perplexed by her contrary ability to blow hot and cold. “I know you think it’s a man’s world, Rosalyn,” he said, watching her through fiery amber slits, “but a man gives up his freedom, too, when he takes a wife.”

Ironically, marriage was the farthest thing from his mind when he went out on deck and came across his beautiful “stepmother,” throwing out her lures. Well, she’d damn near caught him, but he wasn’t such a fool that he thought he could win this argument!

He rolled to one side and let her up.

She got swiftly to her feet and yanked her nightgown over her head. “You just want my share of what your father left me when he died,” she accused him.

So now he saw how things stood. How could he have forgotten so quickly?

He got up swiftly, and she shrank from the cold, dark fury in his tiger’s eyes.

“Damn your mercenary little heart!” Sickened by her, he used his words like a sword to drive her away. “You’re right. I’d never marry a cold, calculating bitch like you. You are incapable of loving a man just for himself! Why, you’re no better than a high priced—”

“I know better than to trust you,” Rosalyn said angrily, for in spite of her attempt to hide her feelings, his cutting words had found their mark.

“Get back to your cabin. Somehow the idea of getting inside you has lost any appeal for me.” He shoved her away.

“This wasn’t my idea anyway.” She stumbled, as she backed toward the door.

His features hardened, and he adopted a cavalier sneer. “Let’s just forget I temporarily lost my head over your charms, Mrs. Watermann.”

“Most gladly! But I shan’t drop my guard again, I can promise you that!” she countered, her face beet-red with embarrassment. “I won’t make the same mistake twice!”

“No, you’d rather be a mean old virgin, counting her money!” he mocked.

Rosalyn gasped indignantly. “It’s not my fault your father left this ship and its cargo to us both.” She spun around and yanked at the latch, only to find it was locked.

Grant reached around her, releasing the catch on the door. Damn her! This obsession with money didn’t jibe with the passionate woman he'd held in his arms. Hoping to salvage something out of the most disastrous sexual encounter he’d ever had with a woman, he tried a new tack.

“Look,” he said, “we’re stuck with each other, so let’s try not to be continually at each other’s throats.” He broke off, gratified to see her lick her lips in nervous response. “Now get out of here, before rumors start flying around this ship that you’re more than just my father’s widow!”