If I Wait For You (16 page)

“
Let’s get this off,” she
said, like a mother talking to a small child. But he wasn’t a small
child. He was a man, well-muscled, standing in front of her
silently, almost daring her to finish the task she set out to do.
With a little huff, she raised her fingers to tackle his tie,
making short work of that.

Then she hesitated. “Are your hands
warm enough to finish the task?” she asked hopefully.

West made a valiant effort of undoing
the first button, then dropped his hands in frustration. He could
hardly manage to bend them enough to do what no doubt had become an
impossibly intricate task. Sarah knew that, if he could not, she
would have to. Clearly, he did not want her undressing him, either,
for he stepped back from her. “I’ll just wear it to bed,” he
said.

“
Don’t be silly.” Sara
quickly and efficiently undid the first three buttons, telling
herself the entire time there was absolutely nothing improper about
helping this poor frozen man out of his wet clothes. Then she found
herself staring at a naked chest. A naked man’s chest. West’s
chest. She faltered and shot a look up to him, immediately looking
down. He was looking at her oddly, a strange heat to his violet
eyes. And he was still. Too still, as if he wasn’t even
breathing.

She undid the next button, then the
next. His shirt gaped open now, revealing a smooth, lightly furred
chest, finely sculpted, and a hard, flat stomach, ridged with
muscles. Without thinking, she lay her fingertips upon that smooth
skin. It was hot, even though cold cloth had lain upon it. That
simple touch made her feel breathless. Then, with slow movements,
she grasped his shirt and pulled it from his trousers so that it
hung loosely on him. Sara dragged her eyes up his chest to his
well-shaped mouth, to his nose, to his eyes that burned into her.
Without looking away, she peeled the wet cloth away from his
massive shoulders, and began pulling it down his arms when her
wrists were enveloped by two steel bands.

“
Enough, Sara.”

She backed away with a
gasp, and he released her arms. Without a word, Sara climbed into
her bed and turned her back to him, bewildered by her
actions.
Desire
.
That’s what it was raging through her. Desire to touch him, to kiss
him, to do things she didn’t fully understand. He knew it, and he
didn’t like it. Oh, God, she thought, her skin prickling with the
heat of humiliation. What had possessed her to touch him like that?
She curled up into a tight ball wishing she could
disappear.

For a long time, West look at her
curled up on her bunk, knowing what she wanted, aching to have her,
shaking with his need. He dragged his hands over his face and swept
his hair out of his eyes in one movement in a vain attempt to gain
control of some of the emotions raging through him.

They’d become too comfortable
together, too close. It had been inevitable that she would begin to
have the same desires that nearly paralyzed him each time he was in
her company. His private hell had just grown more hellish. Knowing
that she wanted him—even if she didn’t truly understand what that
meant—would make keeping away from her even more
difficult.

“
If we are to succeed in
this experiment,” he said for lack of a better word, “then I
believe we need to come to an understanding.”

He watched as she stiffened.
“Experiment?”

“
This pretense,” he said,
feeling frustrated and angry. “This farce, this absurdity. This
asking of me inhuman things.”

She turned her head and he saw her
flushed cheeks, whether from her understanding or as a reaction to
his anger, he did not know.

“
I promise I won’t
compromise you,” she said sounding completely serious, almost
remorseful, as if she were ashamed of what she’d done.

He laughed—he had to. After all, it
was better than weeping, which is what he felt like doing at the
moment. Then he sobered. “I’m not certain I can promise the
same.”

Sara’s breath caught in her throat and
she suddenly felt hot all over. He wanted her, too. And though she
thought she should feel fear or perhaps anger, all she felt was
happy. West Mitchell wanted her. “Is that a very bad
thing?”

He closed his eyes briefly as if to
brace himself against a blow. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I do not
want to make a mistress of you. You will be someone’s wife one day.
I will marry Miss Smithers. In the meantime, I have a
responsibility to you.”

A responsibility, Sara
thought dully, shame coursing through her. My goodness, she’d
practically been throwing herself upon a man who felt
responsible
toward her.
“I understand,” she said. And she did: Sara Dawes might not have
been born on the Hill, but she was still a decent girl, the kind of
girl a man did not take to his bed unless he planned to marry her.
And West certainly did not intend to marry her, not when he already
had such a paragon as Elizabeth Smithers. She understood
completely.

West pinned her with a look that
seemed to burn through her. In one long stride, he was beside her
bunk, looking down at her as if he were angry. “Do you understand?
Do you? Do you know that hardly an hour goes by that I am not
tempted to come down here and take you in my arms? Do you know that
each night I lay in that bed and I pray to God I will have the
strength to let you alone?”

Sara lifted her chin. “How noble you
are, Mr. Mitchell. I bow to your high sense of morality, your
extreme fortitude in your stalwart ability to not touch
me.”

“
I am not noble. I am a man
with a man’s needs and you are tempting me far more than a man
should be tempted.”

Sara got up on her knees. “I am not
trying to tempt you. If you want to kiss me so badly, then kiss me.
Get it out of your system and then perhaps you can stop plaguing me
with your ill temper.” Her breathing was as harsh as his and her
anger as hot. “I give you leave.”

“
My god.” His eyes swept
down her body, resting on her breasts, her nipples taut against her
thin gown. “If I kiss you, I will not be able to stop. I will make
you my mistress. Do you even know what that means?”

She bit her lip. She knew
she wanted, wanted. But truly did not know
what
she wanted, what it meant to be
a man’s mistress. “You want me in your bed.”

West let out a bitter laugh. “I want a
hell of a lot more than that. I want to touch you. Taste you. I
want to be inside you.”

His words, while shocking, did nothing
to stem her ardor. “But we’ve only agreed to a kiss,” she
said.

He let out puff of air. “A
kiss.”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving
his.

“
All right, then. A kiss.”
And before she could move, toward him or away, he was pulling her
against him with a moan and pressing his lips against hers. It was
nothing like their other kisses, those quick good-byes. This was
something far more, far different than her imagination could have
conjured. He moved his mouth slowly over hers in a sensuous dance
as his hands gripped her shoulders, then slowly moved to her
back.

“
Open your mouth,” he said,
and she did, stunned to feel his tongue, hot and insistent, moving
against hers in such a carnal way she let out a small sound of need
she hardly recognized as herself. She wrapped her arms around his
neck, trying to get closer, mindful of the surge of pleasure she
felt when her hard nipples pressed against him. His hand reached
downward to cup her buttocks, drawing her even closer against him,
until her knees pressed up against her bed’s railing. She felt him,
that hard male thing, pressing against her stomach, and
instinctively knew it meant he was aroused. Just feeling it made
her whimper, made her body melt, made her want to strip him of all
his clothing so that she might see him, touch him.

He deepened the kiss, his hands moving
along her back, her side and to her breasts, finally, finally. His
breathing was harsh as he trailed hot, wet kisses down her neck,
and then, kissed one nipple, straining and taut against her
nightdress. A sharp current of pure pleasure shot to between her
legs, and she let out small sound meant to urge him on, meant to
give him leave to touch her wherever he chose.

With a groan, he pushed her away. “By
God, that’s enough,” he rasped, turning from her. “I can’t do this.
I cannot. My God, I am not a saint nor a eunuch.”

“
I’m sorry.” Even as she
said the words, she knew how foolish she sounded.

“
Sorry,” he spat. “I don’t
want you to be goddamn sorry. I want you to stop tempting me.” The
last ended nearly in a shout. He breathed harshly, and slowly the
tension in his body ebbed. “No. It is I who should be sorry. I have
no excuse. I am a man of honor and you are my third mate’s sister.
I…should have been stronger.”

She stared at him, horrified, then lay
back down and turned away to stare at the wall, hot tears forming
in her eyes. She heard him move.

“
Are you
crying?”

“
I’m not.” Sara pulled the
blanket tighter against herself. She stared at the wall, willing
the tears that were again forming in her eyes remain put. Surely he
knew the more he talked about her crying, the more she would
cry.

“
Is it because I kissed
you?”

Sara was silent a long
moment.

“
No,” she said, closing her
eyes. She finished on a whisper, “It’s because I wanted you
to.”

West sat back on his haunches and ran
a hand through his hair, ruffling and mussing it, making his hand
wet. He turned his head, taking in his bed that swung back and
forth so invitingly, the bed he wanted to share with her, and let
out a sigh.

“
I’m not certain I can keep
you aboard. Not now.”

Dread filled Sara’s heart at his
words. Not only did she fear being without him, she also feared
being alone. She could not go back to New Bedford where she was in
grave danger, but where else could she go?

“
Yes you can,” she said
quickly, turning around in bed to face him. “I’ll stay in the cabin
night and day. I’ll run the other way if I see you. I’ll sleep in
the aftercabin. I’ll never kiss you or touch you and I won’t even
want to. Please don’t send me home.”

He bowed his head. “I don’t want to.”
Hope surged hot in her veins. Until he finished. “But I fear we
have no choice. When we reach the Cook Islands, there should be
ships that can take you home.”

“
No! It was just a kiss!
That’s all. I didn’t mean it, you didn’t mean it. Our…passions got
carried away. It won’t happen again.”

West stood abruptly. He was so
goddamned tired. Too tired to be having this conversation. He
massaged the back of his neck, for it felt as if someone were
relentlessly squeezing the tendons. It won’t happen again, she’d
said. That she could say such a thing only showed how very naïve
she was. Now that he had held her in his arms, now that he had
tasted her, it was all he could do not to sweep her up and carry
her to that bed that even now taunted him with its languid
movements.

Good Lord, he wanted her so badly. He
wanted to hear her scream with pleasure. He wanted to feel her body
curled up softly next to him at night. Every night. He wanted her
belly to grow with their child. He clenched his fists against the
realization that assaulted him.

He loved her.

West walked to the door. He had to get
away, let the bracing air clear his mind, cool his ardor. Perhaps
this feeling was temporary insanity, perhaps it was simply wanting
something—desperately—that he knew he could never have.

“
Where are you going?” She
sounded afraid, as if even at this moment he was going to ready a
boat and put her on it.

“
Topside. Go to
sleep.”

He heard her call after him,
recognized the fear in her voice even as the same fear filled him.
He did not want to put her off this ship. That voice of reason that
plagued him of late calmly reminded him that no matter of simple
prayer would keep him from breaking his promise. He knew what would
happen if she remained on board, knew the only way to save his
sanity was to send her home.

Even if it meant ripping out his
heart.

Chapter NINE

He was with another woman. Everyone
knew it, she could tell by the mournful looks the men gave her. The
pity. The whispers.

Sara told herself at least one hundred
times since she overheard the men talking that it did not matter.
She loved him, yes. But he did not know that. And they weren’t
married, after all. He had every right in the world to seek out the
pleasures of another woman. Yet, with every minute that passed, her
heart ached all the more.

The
Julia
had anchored yesterday evening
in the sandy bottom of a lagoon near a lovely little island on the
fringe of the Cook Islands. At the center of the lush island rose
what Zachary explained was a volcano, a blue-black rising
surrounded by flat, brush-filled land. Here, the natives were
friendly and welcoming, but other islands in this chain were known
for their warrior cannibals, something that Oliver gleefully
related to her. Such tales needed no embellishment, for they were
true horror stories. Indeed, a whaling captain not long ago went
ashore to trade goods and was captured by the natives, his brain
eaten.