Kissing Comfort (35 page)

She also had the presence of mind to use the brush to clobber her assailant on the head.

“Ow!” Bode let go and jumped back before she managed a second swing. He rubbed his head. “Why did you do that?”

She turned around on the bed to face him and reared up on her knees. She shook the brush at him. “Because you scared me. Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to scare you.” Bode took her dismayed expression to mean that she clearly did not understand his intent. His slight smile mocked her. “Your hiccups. Remember? I believe they're gone.”

Comfort took inventory. “Mm. So they are. You're very clever.”

“I'm wounded.” He snatched the brush out of her hand, tossed it over his shoulder, and bore her back on the bed.

Comfort didn't protest; she didn't want to. He spread kisses across her face while she finger-searched his scalp for a bump. Not finding one didn't change her mind about accepting the consequences. She very much enjoyed Bode's sense of justice.

He got her out of her shift this time. She helped him out of his shirt. For warmth they mostly stayed under the sheet, but sometimes their own heat was all they could bear. Hesitancy was absent from their exchanges. He knew when she wanted her breasts touched and when it was too much. He made certain it was only
almost
too much. She understood that there was a sensitive spot at the base of his spine that made him shiver if she touched it exactly right. She made sure she did.

He could get her to move closer by running his hand along her thigh from knee to hip, but not when he caressed her in the other direction. The soft underside of her elbows was like velvet. He could kiss her there. She was too ticklish to let his fingertips brush that sweet curve.

She could make him go absolutely still by walking her fingers down the arrow of crisp hair below his navel to his groin, but not when she slid them through the mat of hair on his chest. He grew restless then, but in a very good way.

Her throat had a special fascination for him. He liked to press his mouth against the hollow. She liked it, too. She would arch her long, slender neck and let him feast. He sipped her skin, bruising her just a little with the suck of his mouth. She'd see the marks later when she looked in the mirror. It would be something that would show.

His eyes intrigued her. She liked to watch them while her hands moved over him. When did the balance of color favor violet over blue, and when did the pupils become so large and bottomless that she imagined she could see her reflection in them? She saw one thing when she used her knuckle to trace the line of his jaw from just behind his ear to his chin. She saw another when she cupped the sac under his cock.

“A light touch,” she whispered. “Responsive. Easy to manipulate.”

Bode might have choked on his laughter if his earnest groan hadn't pushed it out of the way. “Maneuver,” he said when he could manage it. “Maneuver, not manipulate.”

She kneaded his balls. “Are you certain?”

He wasn't. He was clearly under a siren's spell, and the siren knew it. She was smiling at him, full of her new power, full of herself. That gave him the impetus he needed. He startled her by grasping her wrist, hauling her hand up to his chest, and turning her onto her back. He pinned her with his hands and then his body. She squirmed, but that was better than when she was still, and he told her so.

Comfort stopped trying to avoid his kiss and welcomed it instead. It was long and deep and warm, and when it ended, he was inside her, moving steadily, evenly, drawing out each thrust as though he were drawing in a slow breath. He gave her time; he gave them both time.

She thought she knew what to expect: the sense of climbing, the desire to grasp for something just outside her reach. It was like that again, but different, too. She understood she wasn't alone, that he was taking her there, and that he would be in the same place at the end, spent but satisfied.

And when their breathing quieted and what they heard was the rush of water against the ship's hull, they were lulled into sleep without speaking a word between them.

 

 

Comfort's nose twitched. She warily opened one eye in time to see Bode pulling back a steaming mug of coffee. She thought he intended to pass it to her, but he merely raised it to his own lips.

“Cruel man.” The words were muffled by the pillow she dragged over her face. “Go away.”

“There's some for you,” he said. “Biscuits and honey, too. But you have to get up. It's almost noon, and Mr. Douglas would like to see you. You can't avoid him or the rest of the men indefinitely.”

She raised the pillow a few inches. “I'd like to know why not.”

He took the pillow away from her and tossed it to the foot of the bed. “Because you owe them your life.”

Comfort flushed. She knew that, and she was ashamed that he'd had to say it aloud. “I'm sorry.” She pushed herself up with one hand and clutched the sheet to her chest with the other. “You're right. Of course I want to thank them. I'm just not sure how one does that exactly.”

“One says, ‘Thank you.' ”

“Naturally you'd think it was that simple.”

Bode sat on the edge of the bed. “It's only difficult if you decide it is.” He offered his mug to her. “Decide that it's not.”

Comfort took the stoneware mug, sipped, and handed it back. “I'll get up.”

He nodded and stood. “There's a chest full of your belongings over there.” He pointed to the leather-bound trunk sitting beside a cherrywood armoire. “You can decide what you want to put in the wardrobe later. Your uncles had Suey Tsin pack it for you.”

“I don't understand. How did they know I would need it?”

“I told them you would.”

“But when? They weren't around last night.”

“I told them before.”

“Before?”

“Before you were rescued.”

She tried to take that in. “You were that certain you would be able to do it?”

Bode shrugged and gave her a small, modestly self-assured smile as he raised the mug to his lips. “It's only difficult if you decide it is.” Anticipating that she might lunge for the pillow and throw it at him, he retreated to the table. Comfort muttered something under her breath that he didn't catch and thought he probably shouldn't anyway. She didn't have much difficulty saying things clearly when she meant him to hear.

He sat down on the bench that was fixed to the wall behind the table. Angling into one corner, he brought up a leg, knee bent, and stretched the other out. He held the mug in both hands and watched Comfort manage the sheet a bit too deftly for his tastes. He had hardly any good view of the curve at the small of her back before she disappeared into the washroom. Since she hadn't taken anything from the trunk with her, he was hopeful that a second opportunity would present itself.

When she emerged some ten minutes later looking fresh, brushed, and rested, she was wearing the sheet tucked and knotted just above her breasts with one tail draped over her shoulder. It had as many folds as Aphrodite's gown and looked as if it might be as inviolate.

“I'm hungry,” she said, approaching the table. “I'll change afterward.”

Did she think he required an explanation? Complaining wasn't among any of the first hundred things he thought of when he saw her. He nudged a chair out for her with the toe of his shoe. “I sliced a biscuit for you. I didn't know if you'd want honey, or if you did, how much.” He pointed to the plate in front of him where his own biscuit dripped with so much golden honey that it looked trapped like a leaf in amber.

Her eyes widened a little. “Thank you, then, for letting me do it myself.” She arranged the sheet so she could sit comfortably. She thought Bode looked as if he was holding his breath waiting for the knot to slip. She patted the back of his hand as she sat. “I made a decent hitch. It's not going to come undone.”

“You're telling me not to hope.”

Comfort pulled the plate with the sliced biscuit on it toward her. “I'm telling you the knot is going to stay precisely where it is. Whether you continue to hope for a different outcome is up to you.” She picked up the honey pot and used the stick to drizzle some over the face of both biscuit halves. She heard Bode chuckle and smiled to herself as she lifted a biscuit to her mouth. She tasted honey first, and then the rich, flaky dough of the biscuit melted on her tongue. “Exquisite.”

“Mr. Henry will be pleased to hear it,” Bode told her. He poured a mug of coffee for her and set the cup beside her plate. “He's in charge of the galley on the
Demeter Queen
.”

“Was he at the saloon?”

“Yes. Outside, though. With the ladder.”

Comfort nodded. With credible calm, she said, “Then I have reason to thank him twice.” She took a second bite of biscuit before she set it down and picked up the mug. “Tell me how you won the lottery.”

Bode raised his knee again and rested his mug on top of it. “At the outset, I thought there might be a demand for ransom, and I told Newton and Tucker they would have to put together money sufficient to meet it. None of us could guess what the Rangers would ask for, and your uncles couldn't set a limit on what they were willing to pay, so I finally set the figure myself at ten thousand, but told them to be prepared to pay more.”

Comfort gaped at him.

“When no demand came in those early hours after you were abducted, I sent the crew out at dusk. The first rumors the men heard were about an auction. They knew that it involved a white woman, not a China girl or a Negress. No one was certain it was you, but the speed with which the event was being organized made all of us think it must be. The men learned the location quickly enough, but there was no information about you being held in the same place. We had to wait. All of the plans involved Mr. Farwell making the winning bid. No one knew it would be a lottery until the announcement was made. John carried in money sufficient for his bid.”

“Surely not ten thousand dollars.”

“No. No single person could have taken in that much money and kept the Rangers in the crowd from seeing it. It was divided among the men. When they realized it was a lottery, they all bought tickets.”

Comfort swallowed. “So any one of them could have won.”

“
Anyone
could have won, but Newton told me later that given the number of my men in the crowd and the amount of money they had to spend, the odds were almost seventeen to one in favor of someone from Black Crowne holding the winning ticket.”

It still made her shudder. What if it had been the one?

“Think of something else,” Bode said, guessing that the thing that occupied her mind was the same as what occupied his. There was no question that she was sitting beside him now because they'd gotten lucky.

“All right,” she said, nodding slowly. “Tell me how I came to be in bed with you.”

“That's easier to explain. You insisted.”

Comfort decided she would always be suspicious of Bode's answer, so the only sensible thing to do was not dwell on it. She had no memory of asking—demanding, according to him—that he stay with her. It might have been easier to accept if he'd led her to believe she wanted him there because she was afraid to be left alone. That would have been difficult to hear, but she'd have understood it better than being told she clung to him like a Barbary Coast whore to a sailor with five dollars in his pocket.

Of course, he'd said, “like a limpet to a rock,” but she knew what he meant. He reminded her that she'd been drugged, as if that was supposed to ease her mind. That was why she concluded the better course was to remain suspicious. Otherwise, she had to accept that the responsibility for all that followed sat squarely on her shoulders. It was a considerable burden.

After she ate, she dressed in the apple green walking dress that Suey Tsin had carefully packed for her, fixed her hair in a simple plait that she tied off with a matching grosgrain ribbon, and presented herself to Bode for inspection before she met the shipmaster and crew.

“Very nice.” He watched the way her hand fluttered to the nape of her neck. If she'd wound her hair in a chignon, there would already be several curling tendrils slipping out of it. “You don't have to be nervous.”

“I know I don't have to be,” she said, annoyed. “I just am. Bode, the last time these men saw me, I was—” She stopped. She didn't want to think about it, let alone say it aloud. When he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head, holding him off. “It's all right. I'm ready to go.”

He took her arm. “You'll meet Mr. Douglas first. The men will come by as they're able after that. You can stand between Nathan and me and greet them.”

“A receiving line. I can do that.”

There'd never been a question in Bode's mind.

Nathan Douglas made Comfort feel at ease almost at once. He reminded her a little of Uncle Newton, with his broad brow and silver-flecked black hair. His eyes were blue, not green, but they were kind, and they looked at her directly. If he was recalling anything he'd seen from the evening before, it wasn't showing on his face. He didn't regard her with pity, or worse, embarrassment. He took her hand, bowed his head over it, and then enthusiastically welcomed her aboard the
Demeter Queen
.

“She's the goddess of the harvest, Demeter is. And that's what this queen carries, plenty of bounty. We've got rum and other fine spirits, machine parts, steel, and finished hard and soft goods, all of it going to Hong Kong or Shanghai.”