A Pirate's Curse (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix) (6 page)

Lightning crashed outside. Hannah trembled and her fingers clutched someone’s wet shirt, but ’twasn’t hers. Rain pelted against a window or was it against the walls. The beating of a heart matched the rain. Was the heartbeat hers or someone else’s? Her brain refused to unravel the situation.

“Easy lass
.” She liked the roll of the male voice rich with an Irish timbre and snuggled deeper into a wet chest.

He laid her gently down on a soft mattress.
“You foolish lass,” he whispered, his spicy breath washing over her, as he brushed her hair out of her face.

The captain?
Kane, yes that’s right. He had picked her up. His face came in clearer. His wet hair dripped down onto his soaked shirt. His damp eyelashes outlined his emerald eyes, the same eyes studying her with concern. Why was he concerned? She wanted to say something, but couldn’t form the words and a moan escaped her.

“Blimey,” he uttered.

“Have I done something wrong?”

His handsome face turned grim. She blinked, struggled to rouse herself, and shook her head, but the dull ache refused to allow her to focus on anything but Kane’s stormy eyes.

His soft fingers
, brushing hair away from her eyes, sent shivers down her. “What were you doing out there? One angry wave could have carried you out to sea where only Poseidon himself could find you.”

Kane's
words were more like an endearment than a scolding. Pain gripped her and her jumbled thoughts and blurry vision played havoc with her senses.

’
Twas a sin, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his tempting lines. His mouth was angular, firm. What would it feel like to kiss him? She had never been kissed. How strange if a pirate was the first man to kiss her. Why was she thinking about kissing?

Inappropriate.
Completely inappropriate.

“You’re wet,” he murmured.
He wrapped his arm, around her, pulling her to a sitting position, steadying her on the bed. She put her hand on her forehead, her other hand resting against his chest. His white shirt was so creamy against his tanned skin that she leaned forward, stuck out her tongue, and licked him.

He sucked in his breath.
“What are you doing lass?” His accent heavy and strained.

“I wanted to see if you tasted like cream.”

“Jaaysus, do I?”

“No, you taste like wet pirate.”
 

He pushed her back.
Nimble fingers undid her shirt. “What are you doing?”

“You’re shivering,” he murmured.
“We have to get you in dry clothing.” He gently slipped her arms out of the sleeves.

Damp
air gripped her and her teeth chattered. Cold sweat broke out around her. How could she be cold when sweat ran down her body as if she were out on deck in the hot sun?

She opened her eyes or at least one did.
Her right eye throbbed and remained shut. Why couldn’t she open it? She grabbed his hand. “No.” He shook off her limp hand.

“Hmmm, you’re wet, too.”

The mattress was surprisingly soft against her back and he was so handsome.
Her naughty arms longed to reach up around his neck and pull him down on top of her where she could indulge in exploring his sinful lips. A shocked giggle escaped her mouth.

He scowled. “
Are you laughing at me?”

She shook her head, suppress
ing a grin. “Not at all.”

His tanned, leaned
fingers went to the buttons at her untied the laces of his tunic she wore.

She
froze. “What are you doing?”

“
Don't worry, lassie, you're treasures are safe from me.”

Her mind refused to answer.
Kane jerked off her boots and undid her breeches. Was he going to rape her?

She tried to scream but her words caught in her throat.
Mother of God, she was naked.

She swayed on the bed and tried to summ
on her anger or her power, but all she could feel was the splitting pain in her head. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “I can’t think. Pain keeps clouding my thoughts.”

Kane ran
gentle exploring fingers through her hair and she sighed.

His soft touch dulled the pain and
she leaned into his hand. “That feels so good.”

His finger ran over the back of her skull and
a sharp pain stabbed her head. She winced. “Ow.”

“You’ve got a nasty bump on the back of your head, lass.”
He parted her hair, sending chills through her. “’Tis not bleeding. A good sign, but your thunderin’ head won’t thank you in the morning.”

“I like your fingers playing with my hair.”
             

His fingers slid across her head and glided through her damp strands.
“You do?”

“Your hands are
gentle. Soft.”

“Soft?”

She clasped his hand, caressing it with her thumb. The roughness spoke of his days in the sun, but he wasn’t always rough. She brought his hand to her cheek, nestling against him. “Maybe not soft, but you’re gentle with them. I like the feel of your hands on my skin.”

“Lassie,” he sai
d. “You’re testing my limits.”

She opened her eyes.
She couldn’t fathom why his face had turned stern. “What have I done?”

He slowly removed his hand and held her gaze.
“Now sit still, lass.” 

Kane wrapped a s
oft blanket around her and sat beside her, rubbing her skin, chasing away the wetness. He dried her soaked hair, his fingers pulling the strands and squeezing out the excess water. “Why are you doing this?”

His callous hands were as gentle as her mother’s when she used to dry her after a bath.

His wet hair
and shirt clung to his shoulder, molding to every hard muscle. She wanted to reach out and touch him.

Kane tossed the wet blanket onto the floor and
drew back the covers on the bed. Her head sank into a goose down feathered pillow. The slight movement sent pain through her and she grimaced.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he said as he draped the blanket across her shivering body.

She put her hand on her forehead and tried to focus, but her mouth failed to utter the words
of gratitude. Her tongue was thick and large in her mouth and her lips were swollen.

Hard steps marched across the floor
. A door opened and closed. Why had he left her? She tried to sleep, but her pain kept her awake.

The door creaked and she peered
out her good left eye. Kane had returned and held a bowl in his hand. He hurried to her side and brushed her hair away. His shirt was missing. What happened to it?

She gazed at his carved muscle
s. This was a man used to hard labor, his thick arms and chiseled chest, glistened. He dipped the rag into the bowl, twisted it, releasing a stream of water. The scent of rum filtrated through the room. He stared. “This is going to sting, lass.”

His
strong fingers gripped her chin. He dabbed the rag on her lips and she jerked. “Ow.”

“I know it hurts,”
he whispered, but his grip remained secure. “But you’ve a cut on your lip.”

Spots of
her crimson blood stained the white rag. He doused the rag into the water and squeezed again, a red stream drizzling into the bowl. “Why is there so much blood?”

He dabbed her forehead again.
“You came out during a squall.”

Wait, that’s right.
She fell. Or was she pushed? No, the storm. That’s right. 

He cleaned her
cheek and around her eye, his spicy breath caressing her skin. She licked her lips as he gently brushed her cheek with the rag, and jolting when he touched the sensitive spot.

“Be still,” he urged
. Did she imagine the huskiness in his voice or his thumb caressing her cheek? 

The blankets weighed heavy upon her. Sweat pooled between her breasts and down to her belly. Her hand ran through her hair. Fuzziness clouded her vision and she shivered. How could she be so hot? She kicked at the blanket. “I’m hot.”

His eyes narrowed
. He loosened his fingers on her chin. “Hot?”

Cold air rushed over
Hannah’s naked skin. She turned her head side to side on the pillow. She put the back of her hand on the back of her forehead. “Now, I…I…I’m so cold,” she muttered.

He put his palm on her forehead.
“Bloody hell,” he said. He sat on a chair and pulled off his black boots. They fell onto the hardwood floor. He unfastened his belt with his sheathed sword and pistol and hung over it a chair.

“I’
m so cold, never been so cold,” she whispered. 

“You’re freezing,” he said.
“The quilt isn’t enough to warm you lass.”

She shivered, her teeth chattering.
“Wh…wh…what are you doing?”

“You need body heat before
you freeze to death.”

“Body heat?”

“Aye,” he said.

Her eyes widened as h
e slid off his breeches, revealing his tree-sized thighs and hard calves and his manhood.

“No, don
’t hurt me.” He had been so gentle and now he would rape her.

“You’
ve nothing to fear from me, lass,” he said. “My only goal is to keep you warm. Body heat warms you faster than anything else.”

She had never seen a man nude, not even her father.
Propriety reigned in the Knight household. Staring at his beautiful body, she frowned. Sinful. Delectable. Tempting.

“Please do
n’t tell my father,” she murmured.

He frowned.
“Tell him what?”

“That I saw
a naked man. He will be angry.” She put her hand on her forehead. “He’ll beat me.”

“Like bloody hell, he will,” he
growled.

Why was he angry again?
Her jumbled thoughts tried to piece together what she had done.

He slid next to her.
His strong arms wrapped around her and pressed her against his chest, crushing her. She molded to him. He rubbed her back, warming her and the cold lessened. Chills rolled over her, but she didn’t feel cold anymore. Next to Kane, she felt safe and warm and cherished. “Don’t leave me,” she murmured.

“I won’t lass,” he said.
“Sleep, Hannah.” 

She placed her hands on his chest and spread her fingers.
His muscles rippled beneath her touch. She shivered, inhaling his masculine scent, and sighed and snuggled deeper. Her lips brushed his skin and she tasted salt.

He groaned and stiffened.
“You’re killing me, lass. Lay still.” His arms cradled her closer to him.

She didn
’t understand why his voice was strained. “I promise I won’t move,” she murmured. “As long as you stay here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.
Sleep.”

“My head hurts along with every muscle.”
  

“I know.” Kane kissed the top of her head.

Her eyelids grew heavy.
Before she fell into a deep sleep, she tilted her head, her lips capturing his, surprisingly soft ones. He tasted heavenly, salty, spicy. She wanted to taste more of him, but didn’t know what to do. She moaned as she nibbled on his lips, sweet oblivion, taking her away to dreams of Kane making her love to her…

Hannah’s eyes fluttered open. Her muddled mind had difficulty maneuvering through the fog of misery thumping in the back of her head. The right side of her face throbbed. She tried not to move. Every muscle was sore. What happened last night?

She lay in a soft feather bed, naked.
Her heart sped up. How did she get this way? Images tried to take shape in her mind, but melted away as soon as they formed. She remembered kissing someone, the taste of salt and spice. The kiss had been tender, sensual, lustful but brief, way too brief. She had wanted more. Delve deeper into the recesses of his mouth. She frowned. Had she seen a splendid nude Greek God? Not a god. Kane. It had been Kane’s lips. But that had been a dream.

When had she started thinking of him as Kane rather than the captain?

Over her head, sunlight beamed from a round window down onto a wooden desk covered with scattered papers, an inkwell, a metal clock, and a six inch upright jade Celtic cross. She frowned.

Someone
moved next to her and a sculpted arm clasped her waist tighter, securing her against a hard wall of muscle. Soft breath caressed her neck. She froze. Mother of Mercy.

She slowly turned her head. Her eyes widened and she gasped. What had she done? Lordly, the kiss, the naked man, it had all been real. 

Kane stared at her,
enthralling her with his stormy green eyes. He lifted an eyebrow. “You always come outside during a squall?”