Sea Scoundrel (16 page)

But don’t throw the brandy.”

Patience chose the brandy and unstopped the decanter.

The heady scent assaulted her, bringing fast, burdensome memories of her father, but she denied her grief, and returned to the game.

Presenting a feline smile fil ed with purpose, she poured the golden liquid, swirled it in her glass and raised it in a salute. Watching Grant over the rim, she pretended to sip, liquid barely touching her lips. “For medicinal purposes,” she said.

She loved him watching her, hands on hips, a twinkle in those devil’s eyes. She felt heat from that touch of brandy—

or from something more. Whatever the cause, it spread within her. She replaced the stopper and aimed the decanter.

“It’s yours.” Grant’s hands went up in supplication. “The bath’s yours.” Mirth shook him. “I always meant it for you.

Honest. I was just teasing.”

A gurgle of laughter escaped her. “You mean it?” He nodded, tucking his sextant safely inside his sea chest and unearthed a bar of fragrant, spicy soap from its depths.

He held it out to her with a smile. “I mean it.” Patience nearly danced in joy. “Hurrah!” She tried to undo the buttons on his shirt but couldn’t, her hands were so slippery.

“Come here.”

She did, awed at how readily she al owed him the intimacy.

He unfastened the buttons quickly and careful y. “Thank you,” she said, turning to the tub. She began to remove the shirt, but stopped. “Wait, you get out of here.”

“Devil take it, Patience.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned arrogantly against the door. “I thought you’d let me stay and watch.”

She scoffed. “Because I’ve lost my wits?”

“One can only hope.” He chuckled and opened the door to go. “Let me know when you’re done. I’l have someone empty the tub.”

Patience smiled. Their play had eased her heart, and it had nothing to do with passion, and as she questioned the thought, Grant stepped quickly back inside, and kissed her.

“Wish I could join you,” he whispered before he left.

In minutes she stepped into the soothing, decadent warmth, and slid deeper and deeper until she shuddered in near-ecstasy.

* * *

When the watch changed, Grant realized Patience had been down there a long time. Perhaps she’d climbed back in his bunk and gone back to sleep. He went and knocked on his door. “Patience?” When he heard no response, he opened the door a crack.

What a picture. Her asleep in the tub, and she hadn’t yet washed her hair.

He closed his door with a gentle click and stooped down beside her. He could hardly see her body beneath the water, for the soapy bubbles, rather disappointing, but probably for the best. Smiling, he dipped his hand in then let a drop trickle from his finger to her nose. She made a face as if to dislodge it, but never woke. He dribbled water on her brow.

Patience opened her eyes and smiled. “Hel o.”

“Hel o, my drowsy mermaid. You fel asleep.”

“What a sil y thing to do. I have to wash my hair.”

“Fine,” he said.

She closed her eyes. “Fine.”

He chuckled. “Patience. Let me help you.”

“Mmm.” She seemed to be drifting back to sleep.

Grant stood, rol ed up a sleeve, thought better of it, and removed his shirt entirely. He took flannel toweling from his chest and set it aside. After dipping a smal bucket in the water, he knelt behind her and poured the contents over her head.

Patience gasped and woke with a vengeance. “Are you trying to drown me?”

“No, I’m washing your hair. The water is cooling.”

“I’l do it.”

“Let me. Please.”

“Al right.” She closed her eyes then snapped them open.

“What are you doing in here? I’m naked.”

“I noticed. Now give me the soap.”

She didn’t move.

“Patience, if you don’t give it to me, I’m going to go in looking for it. Never mind. That sounds like more fun.” He extended his arm toward the water, but Patience slapped the water so fast, spray hit them both. In a flash, she located the soap and tossed it at him.

He juggled it for a minute, grin wide, and wiped his face with his arm. “Thank you.”

Before long, he lathered her auburn curls, enjoying the sensation. With soapy hands, he stroked and caressed, a slow, lazy scalp massage.

Patience moaned. She sighed.

Grant reacted to every sound. He stroked from her neck to the top of her head then down again. The more he caressed, the more verbal y she expressed her pleasure.

What it was doing to him, listening to those little mewling sounds of satisfaction, was indecent. She had sounded exactly so as he’d suckled her breast. He remembered it wel . His body did, too.

He stood suddenly. “Time to rinse.” He pushed her head down and dunked her, arms flailing, and got as much of the soap out as he could while she was under.

Patience shot to a standing position gasping for air.

“Bastard,” she yel ed, as she tried to get soap from her burning eyes. When she could final y see, Grant struggled with his laughter, as he held open a large square of flannel.

She stepped from the tub, snapped it from his hands and wrapped it around herself. “I can’t think of a word dastardly enough to cal you.”

She wished Grant didn’t look so bloody charming, his eyes twinkling like a court jester’s, his face a study in male perfection. How the devil could she be angry with a Greek God, his smile bright enough to shame the sun. “Oh, go away. Now. Immediately.” She waved him out. “Shoo.”

“Has anyone ever said that you have a magnificent body, Patience?”

There came his mocking smile again. And his bare-chested self was cal ing her magnificent. She swiped her dripping hair from her eyes. “No one else has ever seen it, dolt. Do you think I go around letting strange men see me naked?”

He inclined his head as much as to say, I have, his eye-crinkles prominent.

“Besides you, I mean. And you are
strange
, make no mistake.”

He bowed with a flourish. “I am humbled.” Patience scoffed. “You
are
a braying ass.” He hooked his shirt with a finger, threw it over his shoulder, and left laughing.

Clean and dry, Patience realized she had no fresh clothes.

Maybe if she stuck her head into the companionway, one of the girls would hear her cal . She opened the door a crack, to see if anyone was about, but before she had a chance to check, a fistful of garments were shoved in her face. “For my Lady.”

She snatched at them and slammed the door, nearly catching Grant’s hand then she leaned against the portal shaking her head. Captain Grant St. Benedict could be a most agreeable man, if he weren’t so exasperating.

Half an hour later, Grant was glad he’d been able to make up to Patience for being such a cad earlier. He thought she must be finished by now, so he sent Jasper for the tub. The sailor came back shaking his head, a grin splitting his face.

“Won’t let me in, won’t let me have the tub. Said to leave more hot water outside the door.”

“Good thing we’ve had plenty of rain. But what’s she up to?” Jasper shrugged and chuckled, suspiciously.

Grant went down to find his door locked to him, bolted from the inside. “Patience, open the door.”

“Go away, Captain. The girls are taking turns bathing.”

“Blast and damn, Patience, that’s my cabin and I need to get some sleep. I have the midnight watch.”

“You may use my hammock until we are finished.” Grant accepted her offer, but he woke, disoriented, and nearly got tossed by an angry hammock. Rising, flexing his stiff muscles, he thanked the stars that Patience hadn’t witnessed his near-fal .

He fol owed shrieks of laughter toward his cabin and stopped before the open portal in shock.

Patience, Rose and Grace, freshly bathed, hair just washed

—Patience with wispy curls about her face—stood around the tub. Angel and Sophie bent over said tub, very wet.

And, there at the bottom, in several inches of water, sat a shivering Wel ington.

When Grant entered his cabin, the pup took to yapping and jumped from the tub to circle the room, stopping to shake and sprinkle water randomly about.

“Damn it, Patience, stop him.” Grant scooped the pup and held him at arms length for protection. “I want this mess cleaned. Now. I want my floor mopped and....” Grant saw the wide-eyed look on Patience’s face at precisely the same moment he felt a new warmth spread down the front of his shirt. He looked down, hoping beyond hope that what he feared was happening, was not.

How does one keep one’s dignity, he wondered, when a pup has just relieved himself down the front of one’s shirt?

One does not, came his brain’s unfortunate response.

Into the silence, a giggle. He searched the girls’ faces, but not one moved a muscle. He placed the pup on the floor, heard another snort, a snigger, and he straightened to catch who dared.

Patience grabbed her middle, doubling over “Oh, God. I can’t hold it in.”

She was not alone. The girls laughed ‘til they wiped their tears. They tried to look away from the benighted sight of him, in an effort to control themselves, but they began laughing, again, as soon as they saw his yel ow-stained shirt.

Patience handed Wel ington to Angel, shooed the women from the room, and closed the door. She turned back to him, the picture of sympathy. “I’m— Wel , but, you—” She bit her lip, shook her head, and proceeded to unbutton his shirt. Without his cooperation, she slipped it off him then dipped it into the remaining bath water to rinse.

“Blast it, Patience. You bathed a dog in that water.”

“Yes, but then he peed on your shirt. I’d say the shirt’s worse than the water.”

Grant growled at the minuscule particle of his best soap that Patience held toward him. “Right.” He snatched the soap with a scowl and rubbed it over his chest, ‘til it nearly disappeared altogether, then he accepted the sodden towel Patience offered and regarded it.

“It’s my towel,” she said. “Never touched Wel ington.” Shaking his head for his squandered wrath, he wiped his chest dry, and donned a clean shirt. “When you’re finished cleaning in here,” he said. “I’l be on deck.” He succeeded in holding his smile until he left the cabin.

On deck, a short while later, Patience sought him out. As she approached, he admired her beauty and tried not to think of her standing naked, drenched and wild-eyed, in his tub. “Took you long enough,” he said.

“We made quite a mess, and then, of course, the pup.” She bit that lip, again, but failed to disguise her merriment. “I’m sorry, it’s just when I think of it.”

“I know,” he said, revealing his own amusement. “You should laugh more often. Your eyes sparkle and your dimples bloom.” He wanted to kiss them, but settled for touching each one with the tip of his finger.

Patience’s smile faded. “I thought I’d forgotten how to laugh, but I’ve laughed more on this journey than in the past twelve years.”

That surprised him. He wanted to touch her, restrained himself. “I’d think you were someone who laughed often.

What made you stop?” He gave in to his impulse and brought her against his side. Gazing at the calm, blue-black sea, his arm around her, the moon painting a silver trail to the stars, Grant found it difficult to remember life without Patience.

“Twelve years ago, my childhood ended,” she said. “The exact moment I entered Aunt Harriette’s cottage. She didn’t want me. Suddenly there was nothing to laugh about. To her, I can do nothing right.”

Grant stepped behind her to massage her rigid shoulders.

“She cared for you a long time. There must be some kindness in her.”

Patience tended to remember the bad rather than the good with Aunt Harriette, because it seemed there was so much more hurt. She sighed. “For years, I listened to her scold and preach. She said, ‘do not’ so often that I usual y ‘did’

just to be contrary. ‘No Patience,’ became her motto. Said I wouldn’t go to heaven. We fasted and read the bible for my sins. According to her, I’m too flippant, too bold, too precocious, too practical, and too impractical. Too everything. She said she only put up with me because I was her dear sister’s daughter. I’d best be content, there’d be no marriage for me. No man would want me.” Grant bent to her ear. “I have to tel you, without a doubt, she was wrong.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” she whispered, appal ed at what she’d shared.

He turned her and looked into her eyes. “
I
want you.” Patience needed clarification. “She meant no man would ever want to
marry
me. Do you mean that you want to?” Grant stepped back. “Wel , no. I have no intention of marrying. Anyone. Ever.”

“Nor do I,” she said, more disappointed than relieved. “See, we find more common ground daily. I think we’re friends, Grant. I’ve noticed that no matter how much we fight and bedevil each other, a real and true friendship has crept upon us without our realizing it.”

“You have, have you?”

“Yes, and for some reason, it’s important to me to preserve it.”

“How do you know this ah, friendship exists?”

“Wel .” She sighed, considering. “When people are friends, they do things for each other. Like ... when you removed my wet, icy clothes, wrapped me in blankets and held me while I slept to keep me warm. Such acts show concern and caring, like when you tried to teach me why men like women with large bosoms. It was something I wanted to understand and you tried to help. By the way, I stil don’t quite comprehend, so we’l have to ... discuss that again.” Lord, yes. He bowed. “At your service.”

“You showed concern when you made me take off Paddy’s clothes and gave me yours instead. You danced with me.

You took out my splinters. You washed my hair when I fel asleep in the tub.”

If she had a father, he’d be called out for this friendship.

With reason.
“Do me a favor, Patience. Don’t tel anyone about the wonderful things I’ve done for you. Aside from the splinter thing, I’d rather keep the rest between us.”

“I know you’re modest. But that doesn’t change anything.

We’re friends.”

He cleared his throat. “What about when I kiss you?”