A Light For My Love (33 page)

Luckily, his first and second mates had
returned to the
Katherine Kirkland
, so his ship wasn't
sitting in the water unguarded. But there'd been no one to look
after China.

And after he sailed in a few days, Jake
pondered for the hundredth time, what might happen to her then?

He dipped his hands in the hot water to
splash his face. It wouldn't be like the last time he'd left, he
swore to himself, lathering a washcloth. It couldn't be. Sometimes
he'd wondered if missing her hadn't been the reason he'd been so
seasick those first few weeks.

Just sitting here with her tonight stirred up
a lot of old dreams he'd rather had remained asleep. God, while
he'd talked about his mother, it had taken every bit of
self-control he had to keep from hiding his face against her
breast, to inhale her fragrance, to shut out the rest of the world
and its problems. She made him want to protect her. But Cap was
right—China was strong, and her strength offered shelter to him
too. That was a feeling he'd never had from a woman before. At
least, not since he was six years old.

Tomorrow . . . tomorrow it would end when he
moved back to the
Katherine
.

*~*~*

Jake started, his eyelids snapping open. He
must have dozed off for a while—the bath water was cool and his
goose bumps were coming back. He hauled himself out of the tub and
grabbed a towel to dry off with, then tried to wrap it around
himself. It was kind of small and the ends didn't overlap enough to
tuck them in, but he couldn't find the one China had used on his
hair. He struggled with the skimpy thing and gave up, gripping the
terry doth with one hand. What the hell, he only needed to wear it
to get to his room. He combed his hair back with his fingers. It
felt good to be clean again, and he was curiously energized after
the nap.

Just then he heard a faint tapping on the
door. Goddamn it, if that was Susan Price—

"Jake?" China called softly. "I left a
sandwich and a piece of pie for you on the kitchen table. If you're
all right, I'll be going to bed now—"

Tying the two corners of the towel over his
hip, he strode to the door and pulled it open. China stood there,
wearing a nightgown, a wrapper, and a surprised expression.

China gaped at Jake in his state of near
nakedness. It seemed like he'd wound a hand towel around himself,
for all the covering it provided. It was just long enough to cover
the gist of him, and the side of one firm-muscled buttock was
exposed. There was no part of him to decently let her gaze stray
to, except his face. And somehow the unmistakable desire she saw in
his eyes made that most difficult of all. She recognized it easily;
it was the same look she had seen two nights earlier on the back
porch.

She glanced down at her own attire, an aged
nightgown that had been washed so many times, the fabric was
translucent, betraying her nipples as shadowy smudges beneath. Her
hands flew to the edges of the wrapper, pulling them together.

"Oh! I didn't expect you to open the door.
There's a sandwich—uh," she glanced over her shoulder toward the
stairs, "you know, on the kitchen table." Good Lord, she was
babbling like an idiot. She had to get away. "Well, good
night."

She turned to dash down to her bedroom, but
his hand dosed on her elbow before she could escape.

"China."

He asked a dozen things in murmuring her name
with a voice both resonant and intimate, none of them could she
answer with words. She kept her face averted and dosed her eyes,
praying briefly, for what she wasn't sure. Will power, maybe? Or
better yet, that he would suddenly be stricken ugly and
undesirable.

"China." Once more, and he gently pulled her
toward him, nearer to his embrace. She braved a look to see if her
silent prayer had been answered. But no. Still tall and unutterably
male, he had a presence that vibrated with a tangible energy.
Everything female in her struggled to respond to him, and she
fought the treacherous urge. If she gave in to her feelings, it
would only be that much harder on her when he left.

"No, Jake, you won't do this to me again—"
She heard the anguish in her own voice.

His arms closed around her. Rigid and barely
yielding, she put one hand flat to his sternum, intending it to be
a barrier between them. But under her palm she felt the soft, dark
blond hair that she knew reached from his chest to a place that
disappeared beneath the line of the towel. His heartbeat, strong
and vital, pulsed beneath her fingertips. Her resolve wavered.

China was so tense, she imagined she felt
like an ironing board. Maybe he'd lose interest and let her go.
Instead he rubbed one hand up and down her back, under the fall of
her curls. "I just want to hold you," he whispered.

She wasn't naive enough to believe that was
all he wanted. He was a man of powerful appetites—hadn't he
demonstrated that on the back porch? She stiffened her spine,
trying to pull away. But her determination to remain aloof faded
still further when she looked up into the long-lashed eyes. The
heat, the yearning she saw there stopped her flight.

"Hold me?" she parroted, mesmerized.

"And kiss you," he added, lowering his head
to hers to capture her lips. His mouth was demanding as it moved
over hers, evoking sensations she tried hard to ignore. She heard
his breath quicken, and her own with it.

He broke the kiss for an instant. "And touch
you."

The hand that had stroked her back came
forward to rest just under her arm, not quite brushing the side of
her breast.

When he freed her lips, he enfolded her
against himself, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. Oh, God,
there was an infinite comfort in being held in Jake's arms, a sense
that this was where she belonged. His skin was warm and damp from
his bath; she could feel it through her thin nightclothes. He
smelled faintly of castile soap, and the witch hazel she'd dabbed
on his scalp. He felt too good to let go of. This was heaven, it
was hell.

And when he's gone? Ruined, you'll be
ruined if you do this
, her nagging conscience whispered again.
But what was she saving herself for? The answer stood before her,
wrapped in a towel that was too short for him. She'd saved herself
for Jake. It was baffling, but no other man had seemed so right for
her. Now he was asking for her, and she had no will to do anything
but yield.

She turned and rested her cheek against his
shoulder. "Oh, damn it, Jake," she breathed with quiet despair, and
allowed her hands to slide from his chest around his ribs to his
back.

That uncharacteristic curse was all Jake
needed to hear from China, because behind it, he knew, was her
surrender. "It'll be okay," he said against her ear. Maybe he'd
reassured her; he felt some of the tension leave her. He swept her
up into his arms and bore her down the hall, away from possible
prying eyes, to his room. She was small and delicate and trembling,
with her face tucked against his neck.

He sat her on his big bed and walked to the
fireplace, holding a lighted match to the paper and wood he'd laid
that morning.

China watched him as he rose again.
Illuminated by the flames, he looked like a young, beautiful pagan
god in his loincloth, his small gold medallion shining on its
chain. He approached slowly, and sat down a foot away from her, the
mattress sagging under his weight.

He reached for her hand and lifted it to his
mouth, letting his eyes drift closed. Honoring it with a kiss, he
touched the center of her palm with his tongue. China jumped, and
pulled her hand away as though electrified.

Jake gave her a questioning look, and inched
a little closer.

"I guess—" she said, feeling a little
foolish, "I'm just . . . oh, just—"

"Just what, honey?" he asked so gently, she
felt stricken.

Why couldn't it have always been this way?
she despaired. Why had fate chosen this last moment to make him
kind, to strip off her blinders and let her see the man he really
was?

"I-I'm scared," she admitted in a small
voice.

He smiled at her and took her hand again,
resting it on his knee. "So am I."

"You are?" she asked, surprised. Jake knew
everything, he'd been everywhere, he'd lived a sailor's life. He
must have had lots of women. "But you've done this before," she
faltered a bit, embarrassed. "You have, well, experience."

"I've
never
done this," he said,
putting his arm around her.

"Why, Jake Chastaine, I can hardly believe
that!" she challenged, momentarily forgetting her fear. "Are you
going to sit there and tell—"

"I've never made love with you before."
Tucking her more securely in his embrace, he kissed her temple, her
cheek, the outer corner of her eye. His lips were full, warm.

"Oh," she breathed. She gulped a bit, hearing
him put into words what they were going to do.

Jake
was
scared. China Sullivan, the
regal, unapproachable princess he'd watched from his youth, now sat
in his arms ready to give him her virginity. Sometimes she'd made
him so angry back then, he'd lain awake at night and pictured a
scene like this. Except that in his imagination she'd squirmed
beneath him, aflame with desire, sobbing and begging, while he
tormented her by withholding what she needed. He felt a little
guilty for that now. It hadn't really given him much pleasure then,
either. Just a monumental ache in his groin that wouldn't quit.

The ache was back, but tonight would be
different. It had been months since he'd had a woman. And an
eternity, it seemed, since he'd actually made love. The women he'd
known in the last few years had been more interested in the number
of times and ways he could satisfy them.

But China would need slow tenderness, and,
given the circumstances, that might not be easy for him. The scent
and feel of her ignited flames in him that licked through his body
like Saint Elmo's fire. Yet no matter how he burned, he had to
remember that this was her first time. He closed the remaining gap
between them and took her face between his hands to kiss her.

China felt the soft rasp of his beard against
her chin as his lips claimed hers again, hungrier this time. By
intuition, or perhaps from her brief experience with him, she let
her lower jaw relax. His tongue, warm and slick, invaded her mouth
to explore the satiny recesses.

Ending the kiss, he stood and pulled her to
her feet. He tucked her long black curls behind her shoulders, then
nuzzled her neck. It gave her a funny shivery feeling.

Slowly, Jake lifted his palm from her waist
and slid it along her ribs, where it rested just below the swell of
her breast. "It's so good to hold you," he murmured, drawing her
against the length of him with one arm. Letting his hands slide
behind her, he gripped her buttocks to pull her to his hips. Once
the contact was made, he rocked against her flat belly, and a groan
worked its way up his throat.

China felt his swollen hardness. This time,
without layers of skirt and petticoat and denim between them, it
was all the more obvious. Downright frightening. Last-minute panic
flooded through her, and she struggled to free herself from his
embrace.

They stared at each other, their breathing
labored.

"If you want to change your mind, that's all
right." His voice took on a strained, gritty sound. "But if you're
going to, you'd better do it right now and go to your room.
Otherwise, I don't think I'll be able to stand it."

China glanced at the door on the shadowed
side of the room, then fearfully scanned the alarming bulge in his
scanty towel and contemplated escape.

He caught her look. "Yeah, I want you bad,
and it's no secret."

Was this wrong, what they were doing? she
asked herself again. Would she be sorry? Very probably. She let her
gaze travel upward to his face. A slight frown creased his brow.
Even though it was cool in the room, a fine sheen of perspiration
dotted his hairline. He returned her scrutiny, waiting tensely.

In frustration, Jake took her into his arms
again.

"We were meant for this, China, from the day
we were born," he breathed harshly in her ear. "You know we were.
Tell me that you know it."

Yes, she knew it, and suddenly it was as
though she'd always known it. There was no argument she could
muster. No further objection she could voice to herself. When he
left Astoria, well, so be it. They would have this night.

All those years, she'd seen him come and go
from the house, and she'd felt his eyes on her, though she
pretended otherwise. And she'd watched him, too, telling herself
that the rude, cocky fisherman's son was not even worth
acknowledging. She realized now she'd told herself that because
when she had looked at him, she felt a frightening, indefinable
pull. The differences of backgrounds and beginnings that lay
between them, none of that mattered. Because what Jake said was
true: they were meant for this.

And because, God help her, she was hopelessly
in love with him.

"Tell me, damn it!" he insisted. His voice
was severe—angry, but his touch was tender as he dragged his wide
palm from her waist, over her

ribs, to gently support her breast. Then,
with impatient swiftness, he unbuttoned the front of her nightgown
to reach her bare flesh. China's breath stopped when he brushed his
fingers over her nipple. She felt it tighten in response.

"I know it," came her whisper. "From the day
we were born . ."

Satisfied with her answer, Jake buried his
mouth against her throat and pulled her tightly to him. "Then I'm
going to make love to you."

"Yes," she agreed dreamily, and he laid a
line of kisses along her shoulder.

To enhance his suit, he pushed aside the
fabric of her gown and bent to place moist, soft kisses on her
breast. She sighed and put her hand on the nape of his neck. Her
flesh was unbearably smooth and full under his lips, and he had to
remind himself of his resolve to make this right for her. No small
task when what he really wanted was to push her down on the
mattress and ruck up her nightgown to claim the warm center of
her.