Home > The Princess Stakes(12)

The Princess Stakes(12)
Author: Amalie Howard

   Sarani’s entire body hummed with awareness.

   Gracious, he only had to touch her and she was ready to launch herself into that solid chest. Strip herself bare and throw herself at his mercy, though a hard man like him would have none to spare. He would use her thoroughly. That dissolute thought made her burn hotter.

   The captain shook his head, droplets of water catching her face. One flicked to her lips, and she tasted salt. Swallowing hard, she raised her eyes to his damp hair. “You’re soaked,” she murmured.

   He blew out a breath and released her, a muscle beating in his jaw. “You’ve won.”

   “Won?”

   “There’s a cyclone on our heels,” he gritted out. “If we turn back now, we’ll be blown off course. So you get your wish, Princess. Passage to St. Helena at least.”

   She blinked. “St. Helena? The shipping port?”

   “When we stop at the coaling station there to refuel,” he said, “you’ll find alternate passage, I’m sure.”

   It was more than she’d expected. “Thank you.”

   He scowled. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve cheated me of two of my much-needed men, and you will need to take their place. It’s a long journey, and we need every sailor onboard to pull his weight.”

   Disbelief replaced relief. “I’m not a boatswain—”

   “Clearly,” he said. “But you owe me. An eye for an eye. A man for a man.” Rhystan smirked. “Or woman as the case may be. You’ll have to get those delicate hands of yours dirty.”

   “I’m not afraid of hard work.”

   His hand rose toward her, and Sarani held her ground. His thumb swiped across her cheek in an unbearably soft stroke, wiping away the stray drops of seawater that had landed there. She wanted to lean into that wide palm, remember the way he used to cradle her jaw, but she kept still, reminding herself that this wasn’t the same man she knew. He hated her, scorned her, thought her a jezebel. He’d written as much.

   She let out a breath. “What do you expect of me?”

   “One of the men was supposed to be my new cabin boy,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll come to a suitable arrangement, Lady Lockhart.”

   The carnal smile that slid across his lips was decidedly predatory. Sarani couldn’t hold back the shiver that chased down her spine, but she straightened it until it felt like the bones might snap. He might be the captain here, but there were still rules of decorum that needed to be followed. She was a lady…and he was a duke. Modesty would have to be maintained, for both their sakes. She might be at his mercy for the moment, but she was not his plaything.

   Or a helpless pawn.

   She made her voice as haughty as possible, stepping out of reach of the palm resting against her face. “I am not a boy. And my body is not for your consumption.” Not that she hadn’t been above offering up said body in her private thoughts a few minutes ago.

   Heat flickered in his gaze, his hand poised in midair between them. “I am well aware. Don’t worry, my lady. I won’t ask you to do anything that breaks with civility. Much.”

   Holding her gaze, he raised his thumb to his lips and sucked the salt water he’d gathered from her cheek. The act was blatantly sexual, and transfixed by the lush lick of his tongue, Sarani felt her mouth go dry. She felt that decadent swipe right at her core and squeezed her legs together beneath her skirts. Though he couldn’t see that reaction, his lip tilted in a smirk as if he knew exactly how flustered she was. Goodness, was it sweltering in here?

   “Then I consent to these terms.” She gulped.

   “Unless, of course, you desire it. Consumption, that is.” His voice was reduced to husky gravel that made her nipples tauten and push through the silk of her gown. Rhystan’s eyes dipped to them, his hot gaze as palpable as if he’d yanked down her bodice and dragged his tongue over them. Sarani bit back the moan that crept into her throat.

   “I will never desire it. You. Anything.” The lies tasted bitter in her mouth.

   He knew it, too. His smile widened.

   “Sweet dreams, Princess,” he said, turning on his heel toward the deck ladder at the far end. “Don’t catch a chill.”

   Sarani frowned. “What?”

   “You’re soaked through, too.”

   His filthy meaning didn’t reach her until he was at the end of the hallway. She took off her slipper and threw it at him. It bounced harmlessly off the wooden walls, missing him by an inch. She snarled in frustration and stamped her foot.

   “Such temper, Lady Lockhart. Not befitting a proper English countess at all.”

   “Go sod yourself, Hunt.”

   “I do, daily. You should try it.”

   Mocking laughter echoed in his wake, and Sarani was left alone, furious, overheated, and ferociously aroused. That bloody insolent bastard was right as she clamped her trembling thighs together—she was drenched.

 

 

Five


   The problem with having the last word in a battle of sexual innuendo was dealing with the provocative images that said words produced. Namely that particular woman doing as he’d recklessly advised—fingers lodged between her soft, sweetly scented thighs—and bringing herself to swift, heated completion.

   Rhystan had seen the arousal in her overbright eyes. If he’d delved under those skirts, she would have been slick with it. Hell, he was at full mast himself. An hour later at the helm, outrunning a persistent bitch of a storm and sodden to the bone from rain and ice-cold sea spray, his erection had not diminished. Nor had thoughts of her touching herself.

   Therein lay the problem.

   “Conquered your frustrations yet?” his quartermaster yelled through the wind.

   “Fuck off, Gideon.”

   “That’s what she said, and what did that get you?”

   Rhystan scowled. “When this storm turns, I’m going to thump that shit-eating grin off your face.”

   “You can try if it will make you feel better,” Gideon remarked, folding thick arms across his chest and propping a boot on the rail as if the wind wasn’t howling like a wild animal between them. “But I suspect it won’t.”

   Rhystan’s fingers tightened on the wheel. If it were a live thing, it would have been strangled to death by that point. Gideon was the only one who knew scant details of what had happened with the woman he’d left behind in Joor.

   The memories he’d been fighting came back in force.

   He’d been hunkered down in a room at the Flying Elephant when the messenger had come from the princess, missive in hand and followed closely by Markham’s mercenaries. Before he could receive the message, they’d overpowered him at gunpoint, thrashed him senseless, and tossed him unconscious and shackled on a convoy bound for Bombay.

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