Kat Attalla Special Edition (31 page)

“You’re going to get very hot dressed like that,” he commented on her attempt to put him off.

She lifted her shoulders, unconcerned. “Perhaps. But you won’t.”

He stood in front of her, pulled off the glasses and placed them on the dresser. When he turned back, he put his hand below her chin and tipped her head back. Instead of taking her jibe as a putdown, he seemed to view it as a direct challenge. His ebony eyes twinkled with wry amusement. “Didn’t I tell you, baby? Grey sweats really make me hot.”

“Me too, honey. But not for sex.”

He chuckled. “All right, my devoted wife. You win this round. But I’ll give you two hours before you’re tearing them off your body. We’re right above the engine room.”

Jack pulled his sweater over his head and tossed it on top of the table. With no shame at all, he began to remove his pants, laughing when she buried her head in her knees. “I think you are ‘maksoofa’ after all.”

“What does that mean?” she mumbled.

“Shy. This, by the way, is the Arabic word for tea. So if someone says shy to you, try not to blush. They only want a cup of tea.”

“I don’t blush.”

“No?” he said, pushing the hair away from her face to expose her cheek. “You’re as red as a beet right now, and I’m still in my underwear.”

“Well, hurry up and put on your pajamas.”

He laughed again and switched off the light. “This is more than I usually sleep in. Move over.”

Jack slipped in the bed next to her and brushed away her offer of the blanket. He didn’t appear uncomfortable about the sleeping arrangements, and that made her determined to show the same indifference. She remained perfectly still, pinned against the wall. The steady ticking of the clock echoed in her ears, and she tried counting to relax herself.

Ninety eight, ninety nine, one hundred
…. Exhaustion wracked her body, but sleep eluded her. His body, so close to hers, gave off heat and made the warm room seem even hotter.

Beads of perspiration rolled down the small of her back. She longed to pull off the clothes, but she refused to listen to Jack gloat. As the boat engine started up, the temperature rose even higher. She tossed and turned several times in the futile hope of finding a cooler position.

“Do you want to change?” he finally asked.

“No,” she said stubbornly. “But, could I sleep on the other side of the bed?”

“Sure.” He turned towards her and lifted her right across his body.

She felt every muscle of his hard body and one in particular she didn’t want to notice. He didn’t even have the decency to act embarrassed. She couldn’t be responsible for that reaction. He had to be thinking about someone else. She prayed that Jack couldn’t tell that she noticed.

Apparently he couldn’t resist the opportunity to taunt her again. “I told you gray sweats got me hot. Now go to sleep before I decide not to suppress the urge to act on it.”

His mocking comments didn’t bother her nearly as much as the excitement she felt from his reaction to her. She carried that disturbing thought into her dreams.

* * * *

A loud knock on the door woke Jack from a sound sleep. He glanced at the illuminated clock in the darkness. Two o’clock? As his eyes adjusted to the limited moonlight, he noted that Lilly was not in the room. She must have gone for the bathroom and locked herself out.

He smiled and pulled the door open for her. The corners of his mouth dropped when he saw Mustafa standing there, grinning.

“What happened?” he groaned.

“I hope, for the sake of your ego, my friend, that your wife is only experiencing sea sickness.”

Jack cursed his stupidity. He forgot to pick up something for motion sickness. The storms of the past few days made the water more choppy than normal. To someone not used to that, it could be torture.

He grabbed a pair of pants and a tee shirt and hopped out the door, dressing and walking at the same time. “Where is she?”

“Up on deck. Sharif was afraid to help her without your permission so he called me.”

“I’ll get her.”

He ran down the narrow passageways and up the stairs to the deck. He found her hanging over the side, coughing and gasping. In an instant, he came up behind her.

Her hands gripped the railing so tightly that he had to pry them loose. “Come on, baby. Move away from the rail.”

“I’m not a baby, Jack,” she barely managed to get out before another coughing spasm began.

He pulled her in his arms and held her close, gently stroking her trembling body. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose, slowly.”

For once, she followed his instruction without argument, and the coughing stopped. She tilted her head back and gazed up at him, her face pale and clammy. “I still feel sick.”

“Swallow hard and fight it. There’s nothing left in you to throw up, so it will hurt if you don’t stop yourself.”

Sweat drenched her entire body. The heavy clothing on the hot summer night added to her condition. He led her to the stairs and grasped the back of her shirt as she stumbled down. The galley was the first door at the bottom, and he guided her inside.

“Sit,” he ordered, pulling out a chair from under the counter. She flopped down and hunched over. “Up,” he said, gently urging her hands above her head. He knew how sick she felt when she didn’t raise the slightest objection as he pulled off her sweatshirt.

He took a very fleeting moment to note that she had a penchant for black lingerie, which she filled out perfectly. The room began to feel hot to him too. Reminding himself of the poor timing, he pulled off his tee shirt and slipped it over her head.

She mumbled something that could have passed for thank you. At least, he chose to believe that was what she had tried to say.

He poured a glass of water from the refrigerator and handed it to her. “Drink this.”

* * * *

Lilly took the glass. Instead of drinking, she spilled the water over her head, arching her back to let it roll down her body. The cool water felt like heaven, and she sighed longingly. “More. Please.” Their eyes met, and she caught his know-it-all grin. “Damn it. Don’t you dare say I told you so!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He filled the glass again. She drank it, and then another. When she held it out for him to fill again, he took it from her and put it in the sink. “Slow down, or you’ll wind up over the rail again. Although, it is a charming sight for a bridegroom to see.”

She moaned and shot him a scathing glare. “Stop laughing at me.”

“Would you like something to eat?”

Her stomach contracted at the mere mention, which she was sure he knew would happen. “You’re such a comedian.”

“Then let’s go back to bed.”

They walked back to the room, and to his visible surprise, she slid off her sweat pants and crawled in the bed next to him without complaint. She might be stubborn,  but  she  learned quickly.  The  combed-cotton  tee shirt  felt  more comfortable than any pajamas she’d ever owned.

She closed her eyes and tried to deny the strange sensations that pulsed through her. Perhaps she should have changed. The shirt held the musky smell of him, disrupting her determination to remain the repressed little American he believed her to be.

She propped her head up on the palm of her hand. “Jack?”

“Umm.”

“I didn’t say it before, but I’m sorry about your friend, Stucky.” She didn’t ask to be kidnapped, but she felt responsible all the same. The explosion was meant to kill her, not his partner.

He eased his arm under her neck and cuddled her in the crook of his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Try to get some sleep.”

“Good night, Jack.”

“Good night.”

“Jack?”

“Shut up, Lilly.”

“Well, now you sound like a husband.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll start acting like one.”

Lilly decided not to push her luck. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore his presence. Now, if she could just shut out the soft sound of his breathing, close her mind to the masculine scent of him, ignore the feel of his arms holding her close. If she could just stop thinking about the feel of his arousal pressed against her, she might get some sleep tonight.

* * * *

Lilly spent the first few minutes of her day familiarizing herself with the compact galley. The cabinets were meticulously organized to utilize every inch of available space. Other than that, she found no difference in cooking for a ship’s crew or the farm hands back in
Iowa
during the harvest.

Since she hadn’t met any of the men the night before, her first introductions came at the breakfast table. Because they thought her a married woman, they carefully avoided any physical contact, even in the cramped area. They stepped over each other to avoid her so that no accident could be misconstrued in any way.

She spoke no Arabic, but Mustafa still kept a careful ear on the conversation. Any time he didn’t like the tone of voice, he bellowed at his crew. With Jack absent, Mustafa must have assigned himself the task of watching over her.

She walked around the table serving coffee. Most men mumbled or grunted their thanks, never once looking her in the eye. At the end of the table, a young boy of about sixteen was the only one to raise his head.

“It is the most delicious food I eat,” he said, proudly showing off his limited vocabulary.

She smiled. “You speak English.”

“Yes. Hello, pretty American lady. What is your sign?”

“No Trespassing,” Jack answered from the doorway. He waved his finger sternly at the boy, but with a trace of humor in his eyes. “She’s my wife, Sharif. You be careful how you speak to her, or I’ll use you for bait today.”

The taunting jibes from the others put an end to the harmless flirting. They filed out, congratulating Jack for finding such a wonderfully talented wife. At least in the kitchen.

Lilly took the opportunity to rest for a moment and sat down at the table.

“You sure can clear out a room, Mr. Murphy. Did you ever think about changing your brand of mouthwash?”

“They wanted to leave us alone so you can make your first breakfast for your new husband.”

She had no intention of returning to the hot kitchen to cook something special for him. “You should have come earlier when the food was fresh.”

“I wanted to make sure no one died of food poisoning first.” He took a piece of corn bread and sampled her culinary skills. “Not bad.” He sat next to her and leaned back in the chair. “So, feed me, woman.”

“With an ego as big as yours, it’s a wonder you have any room left for food.”

He laughed off her attempts to insult him. “So, pretty American lady, what is your sign?”

“Dead End.”

Rather than taking her warning seriously, Jack seemed to view it as another challenge. He hauled her out of her seat and into his lap with no effort. She squirmed and fidgeted but he snaked his arms tightly around her waist to hold her still. “Just relax. We have an audience.”

She glanced up and saw the shadow of someone standing in the hallway. Determined to keep her promise and play the part in public, she put her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. If there were justice in the world, her weight would cause his foot to get pins and needles.

“That’s better. How’s your stomach today?”

“Better than last night.”

He slid his hand down her waist and under the loose fitting cotton top she wore. Her stomach muscles bunched, and she gasped. A ripple of pleasure ran through her, and she fought hard to quell the feeling.
This is crazy
.
He’s the enemy
.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, pulling his hand away.

“Why?”

“Because there’s no point. Our voyeur has departed. Or is that part of the job too?”

* * * *

Jack swore under his breath. He thought he’d made some progress last night. Apparently, he had been mistaken. He unhooked his hands, and she slid off his lap. Her bottom hit the floor, and she let out a gasp of protest. He didn’t mean to hurt her, but she could be so infuriating.

What really bothered him? Was his ego bruised because she didn’t obey his orders, or because she didn’t want him? Play the game, he’d warned her. Suddenly, he behaved like a sore loser because she played better than him and stuck to the rules.

He needed to change the rules. Next time, she would have to come to him.

“I’m sorry.” He helped her up and held onto her hand as she tried to leave. “This is getting us nowhere, Lilly. When we get to Tangier, you’re free to go. Do whatever you want.”

She eyed him as if she didn’t quite trust his sincerity. “And what will you tell your boss?”

“I’ll tell him I lost you.”

“I doubt Edward Santana will be pleased to hear that.”