Seven Years to Sin(27)
Jess excused herself as soon as was seemly. As the men rose to their feet, Alistair said, “Would you grant me the honor of a walk around the deck, Lady Tarley? Perhaps the fresh air will revive you further?”
Nervous, she managed a small smile with her acceptance. They left the cabin along with the first mate, who vacated the passageway quickly, leaving them alone.
She paused beside her cabin door. “Let me fetch a shawl.” “Here.” He unfastened the row of buttons securing his tailcoat.
She protested, averting her gaze from a direct view of his chest. “A gentleman is never seen in his shirtsleeves!”
His answer was delivered in a biting tone. “You are the only individual on board who will take offense, Jessica, and after what transpired yesterday, I find any attempt at modesty tiresome.”
Her heart tripped over the austerity of his features. He had the glint of the devil in his blue eyes and a determined set to his square jaw that warned her he would not be easily deterred. How intimate she was with that look of barely restrained temper! It never portended well. “Perhaps we had best speak some other time.”
“There are issues that need airing. The sooner, the better.”
Despite her misgivings, Jess obliged him and set off toward the companionway. A warm weight settled on her shoulders as he dropped his jacket neatly over her. Immediately the smell of him teased her senses, stronger now, with an underlying unique masculine scent. Alistair was a virile male, and her body stirred with vivid memories of the evening before.
They took the stairs up to the deck. Caulfield paused in a space unshadowed by the masts and rigging. With an impatient and imperious gesture, he waved away the two sailors who worked nearby.
He loomed over her in a manner that made her both aroused and wary. He was flagrantly handsome. His classical bone structure took well to the moonlight that bathed him in silver. He could have been an ancient heroic statue come to life except for the vitality charging the air around him. Alistair Caulfield was alive in a way Jessica had never been.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he growled, raking a hand through his hair.
“Do what?”
“Dance around the truth, pretend things are not what they are, and use formality as a shield.”
“Formality is indeed like dancing,” she agreed softly. “It creates a known pattern of steps to follow that allow two disparate people to spend a length of time together with some purpose. It creates an avenue upon which strangers can travel together.”
“I am not interested in dancing at the moment, or being strangers. Why did you stay?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Don’t be coy. Why did you linger in the woods that night?”
She clung to the lapels of his coat from the inside, holding the two halves tightly together. Not because it was cold, but because she felt too exposed. “You asked me to stay.”
“Oh?” His mouth took on a cruel curve. “Will you obey all my commands?”
“Of course not.”
“Why did you obey that one?”
“Why not?” she rejoined with lifted chin.
Alistair stalked closer. “You were innocent. You should have been horrified. You should have run.”
“What is it you want me to say?”
He caught her by the elbows and lifted her up onto her tiptoes. “Have you thought about that night since then? Did you ever think of it when lying with Tarley? Has the memory haunted you?”
Jess was dismayed by how close to home he struck with his questions. “Why is it important?”
One of his hands lifted and cupped her nape, angling her lips to a position suiting him. His words puffed hot and damp over her mouth. “I remember every second you stood there. The rise and fall of your breasts as you panted. The feverish brightness of your eyes. The sight of your hand at your throat as if you forcibly held back begging little whimpers.”
“There are witnesses around us,” she whispered furiously, trembling with fear and excitement. She was astonished to be responding amorously to his rough handling. She, of all people, should not find such attentions thrilling. It horrified her to think some part of her mind might have been trained to seek such treatment.
“I don’t care.”
Torn by her confusion, she spoke harshly. “Your brutish lack of charm may be sufficient for some women, but I assure you, I am not amused.”
His hands fell away so quickly she stumbled. “Sweetheart, it’s more than sufficient for you. You look as hungry for me now as you did then.”
She winced. Something dark and tormented passed over his features; then he turned away with a smothered curse.
He spoke over his shoulder. “I have attempted to forget that night, but it’s impossible.”
Jess looked away from his rigid back, allowing the crisp misty breeze to blow over her face. “Why does the memory trouble you so? You have had my discretion.”
“For which I have long been grateful.” In the periphery of her vision, she saw him shove his hands into the pockets of his satin breeches. “You have avoided me in the years since. Why, if what transpired was of no importance to you?”
“I know something of you I should not know. It made me uncomfortable.”
“I made you uncomfortable,” he corrected. “I still do.”