Chapter 42

I T TOOK A WHILE FOR D REW to get his body back under control. He remained at the railing where Gabby had left him. Stubborn wench! They weren't going to be at sea forever. They should be taking advantage of every minute they could get alone. So why did she fight it?

They'd shared one of the more enjoyable nights of his life—twice—and he knew damn well she'd felt the same about it. The damage was done. She was no longer a virgin. There was no reason for her to deny herself that pleasure. But she was obviously going to. Because he'd ruined her chances for a good marriage in England?

Damn, he hadn't meant for that to happen. He'd been drunk, yes, but that was no excuse. That he was ending his visit with his sister sooner than he had to had him annoyed, too. Because of Gabrielle. Because he had to get away from her before the temptation became too much for him. Because she was still husband hunting and immune to his charms and it was starting to irritate the hell out of him.

His guilt was extreme now that he knew what his careless words at that ball had done. "Payback," she'd wanted for it; that had been the word she'd used. He recalled all the temptation she'd presented him with when he'd been in chains and unable to do anything about it. How often she'd shown off her curves with a supposed innocent stretch of her limbs. The unusual looks she'd thrown at him that he might have called sexy if he hadn't thought she was immune to him. The silly wench had wanted him to want her, to drive him mad with lust so she could have more revenge in denying him. And she'd nearly succeeded.

Did she really not know that he'd already wanted her so much it was barely all he could think about? And having her hadn't changed that one bit.

He really did need to get as far away from Gabrielle Brooks as possible. This voyage couldn't end soon enough for him. And yet that wouldn't end it. He'd promised to help her free her father. Damn. But he had no choice in that. He did owe her something for inadvertently embroiling her in a scandal and after taking her virginity, too.

The honorable thing to do would be to…

He stopped the thought before it started. It wasn't the first time it had snuck up on him since that amazing night in her bed. An unexpected virgin demanded certain things of a man, after all, the least of which was to make an offer to turn the occurrence respectable. And if Gabrielle hadn't stolen his ship, he probably would have been foolish enough to make that offer, out of guilt, out of—lust, or for whatever reason. His guilt would have prevailed.

She would have refused, of course. She wanted nothing to do with him. She had stressed that from the start. Or would she? Her friend had said that day that she'd entertained thoughts of marriage to Drew. Was that a lie Richard had came up with to get him to stop questioning him about that punch?

He sighed and headed back to the quarterdeck. He'd never been in such a muddled state of mind over a woman before. And jealousy! Where the hell had that come from? But he couldn't deny it. First that fop Wilbur, then her friend Richard, now his own friend Timothy, who he knew damn well didn't entertain any thoughts about her. Why was jealousy rearing its head now, when Drew had never experienced it before? Well, he could only assume that it was because he wasn't the least bit done with her himself.

···

Lovers! Gabrielle no sooner entered Drew's cabin, where her eyes moved straight to his bed, than the fury she'd felt up on deck returned with a vengeance. Everyone on board thought she and Drew were lovers and he found that amusing!

It was too bad he didn't delay returning to his room that evening, since she apparently needed more than a few hours to get her emotions under control. He probably realized that when she began throwing things at him the moment he walked through the door.

He ducked the first missile she launched but wasn't as lucky with the second, which prompted the sharp command, "Put that down!"

She didn't. She was standing behind his desk with two drawers open, which gave her a wealth of items that weren't nailed down to throw at him. An inkwell was next. She wished it had splattered all over him, but it was securely stoppered and didn't even break. Then she aimed a well-worn nautical book at him.

She paused only long enough to hiss, "We aren't lovers! We are never going to be lovers! And you damn well better let your crew know that!"

He'd been on his way to reach her but stopped abruptly at that demand. He even grinned now, the blackguard.

"We've made love twice. Sorry, sweetheart, but that officially makes us lovers."

"The devil it does!" She snorted and hurled a handful of old coins at his head.

One coin caught him on the cheek and prompted him to move again, quite quickly. In fact, he was around the desk and behind her, dragging her hand out of the drawer before her fingers could close on the next missile. Safety, his own, prompted him to grasp her other hand as well and place both of them at the small of her back, where he had no trouble keeping them. That position put her rather close to him, so she still struggled for her release. It wasn't going to happen.

"I think you owe me for this gash on the cheek," he told her.

She didn't believe there was one there, but she eyed both his cheeks first before she said, "What gash? You're not bleeding, more's the pity."

"Feels like it."

"It probably won't even bruise, which wasn't the idea a'tall, so don't think I'm done!"

He tsked. And he was putting so little effort into restraining her in that position that his voice was almost soothingly calm.

He said, "Your problem is that you're as frustrated as I am. You couldn't get this angry over a little teasing if you weren't. It's got nothing to do with what I said. It's got everything to do with your desire—for me. Admit it. You want me, Gabby."

"I don't!"

"Liar. I happen to recognize the signs—since I just went through it myself. For God's sake, I was even jealous of Tim today for spending time with you!"

She stopped struggling for a moment and said, "Now who's lying? A man with a sweetheart in every port wouldn't know the meaning of jealousy."

"I would have been the first to agree with you—before I met you," he said.

"Timothy is rather sweet, like a big, lovable bear," she said provokingly.

His eyes narrowed. "You're not making me jealous again, wench."

"Wasn't trying to," she insisted, then said heatedly, "And let go of me!"

She shouldn't have made that demand. It brought it immediately to both their minds, just how close she was to him. His arms were already around her. Their chests were already touching. He didn't have to move very far to bring their mouths together.

She saw it coming and tried to turn her head aside. "Don't—"

"Stop?" he teased, finishing the thought for her.

"No, don't—"

"Kiss you here?" he finished again, brushing his lips against her chin. And then, cupping her cheek, he tilted her head up to him. "Or here?" and she felt a feather-light brush against her cheek. "Or do you want me to kiss you here instead?" he added deeply.

His lips pressed firmly against hers now, one hand slipping around her neck to support her head, the other moving down her back to her derriere to press her closer against his arousal. What a token resistance that had been! And her anger did not keep her from responding, oh, no, just the opposite. Gripping his shoulders, she kissed him back with all the heat she'd been feeling for the last several hours, and the passion that exploded between them was amazing.

He'd been correct. She wanted him. Too much, apparently. She even helped him get their clothes off. She wasn't sure who dragged whom to the bed. And they didn't leave that bed for the rest of the day.

They didn't sleep, though. Later, they were sitting on the bed, both cross-legged, both naked. He was running his hands softly up and down the insides of her thighs, caressing her. He wasn't trying to excite her. They'd already made love. He was just touching her very softly, continuously. He did that a lot, now that she let him. In fact, his hands were rarely far from her when they were together now.

And then out of the blue, with no previous conversation to give warning of what was on his mind, Drew said, "Will you marry me?"

Without thinking, she said, "Yes, I will."

He probably wasn't expecting such quick compliance, because he asked, "Why?"

"I rather like the life at sea. I figure from you, that's what I'll get."

He apparently didn't like that answer, because he said, "Try again."

"That isn't enough reason?"

"Admit it, you just want to make the rest of my life as miserable as you've—"

He sounded as if he were teasing, but that struck such a nerve that she cut in rather sharply, "If you weren't serious, why the bloody hell did you propose?"

She probably shouldn't have put him on the spot with such a pointed question. It turned him defensive, and frustrated, to go by the hand he raked through his hair.

"It was the honorable thing to do, all things considered," he said.

"My acceptance was for the same reason—all things considered. But if you weren't really serious, then I'll decline."

He should have looked relieved at that point. Instead he just looked more frustrated.

"Fine," he retorted. "Don't say I didn't ask."

She stared at him incredulously. "You call that asking? I'd call that begging me to refuse."

"You're not going to worm your way out of this. You accepted. I'm holding you to it!"

He lay down and turned a stiff back to her. She did the same. An hour later, his backside was touching her derriere. Thirty minutes later, their legs were entwined. About one minute after that, they were making love again, and not another word was said about his odd proposal.

Dinner came, and with an annoyed shout from Drew, it was left outside the door. Darkness came, filtered only by a little moonlight through the bank of windows. Sweat came and soaked the sheets, but they barely noticed. And Gabrielle came, again and again, each orgasm more powerful than the last.

It was a day she'd never forget.