Capture The Wind (34 page)

Angela watched, admiring the muscled curves of his bare arms and chest. She supposed that the taxing work he did kept him in shape and had the detached thought that he would look elegant in a well-tailored coat and doeskins. Yes, Kit Saber would turn any woman’s head, whether in London or the stews of the Caribbean. The elegant line of his jaw and high cheekbones gave him an aristocratic mien that would be at home in a royal drawing room or the most sophisticated club in London. It was a thought, and she wondered how he would react if she suggested that he give up a life of piracy for the more sedate, accepted lifestyle of a London gentleman.

After all, he’d attended Oxford; he couldn’t be a complete barbarian, for he must have acceded to society’s rules at one time. Would he do so again? Especially if she asked him?

Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Angela regarded Kit in silence, paying little attention to their destination. It wasn’t until the boat bumped against shore again that she looked around her.

A thickly wooded cove silvered in moonlight surrounded them, and she could hear the muted splash of water in the distance.

“Where are we?” she asked, sitting up in the boat.

“Careful. Don’t tip us over. I’ve no desire to bail water from the bottom of this thing.” Kit stood up in the prow, and the tiny craft rocked wildly. “Don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder when she gasped and grabbed at the sides, “I won’t dump us.”

Leaping agilely from the prow, Kit caught up the line and beached it before returning to help her out. He lifted her easily, placing her on dry sand before he returned to the craft.

Curiosity pricked, she eyed the bundle in his hands when he rejoined her, but refrained from asking about it. It wasn’t until they were several yards up the beach that he unrolled the canvas he carried, and she saw with delight that he’d brought candles, a thin mat, blankets, some cloths, and a package that smelled temptingly like roast meat.

“A picnic—Kit, what a wonderful idea. But at night?”

“That’s the best time. All the ants are asleep.” He flashed her a grin as he tossed down the mat and motioned for her to sit. As she did, he stuck the candles into the sand and dug in his pocket for a flint and tinder. In moments, he had the candles lit, small ellipses of light that stabbed the darkness and added a rosy glow to the beach.

“The ants may be asleep, but you forgot about the other insects,” she observed when a flurry of pink-winged moths descended upon the candles, and he shot her a wry smile.

“So it seems. Let’s hope they’ll be more interested in the flame than flesh.”

Hugging her knees to her chest, Angela sat quietly while Kit set out food and a bottle of wine. When he looked up at her once, his eyes a dark blue in the shadows, she felt her throat tighten almost painfully against a surge of love. She wanted to tell him of her feelings, and how very touched she was by this gesture, but didn’t quite dare.

What did she really know of love, anyway? Did she trust herself to recognize it? Perhaps it was all an illusion, as had been her feelings for Philippe. She’d wasted the words on a man who had not wanted nor deserved them. She’d been too foolish, too blind and innately selfish to understand what they really meant in terms of a loving relationship.

Now, she no longer had silly virginal ideas about the realities between a man and a woman, yet didn’t know how to express herself. Mere words sounded so inadequate for how she felt, for the wealth of emotion bottled up inside her heart.

Kit came to sit beside her, crossing his long legs and reaching for the wine bottle. He pulled the cork, glanced around, then swore softly. When she gave him a startled glance, he smiled crookedly.

“I forgot glasses. Well, do you still remember how to drink from a bottle?”

“I think I can manage well enough.” She took the bottle and tilted it, swallowing a small amount. As she held it out to him she said, “Much better than last time.”

“Agreed. Jolly good thing, too. I forgot napkins.”

Laughing, Angela asked, “Aren’t you going to drink any wine?”

“I’ve already had some, thank you.” He stuck the bottle in the sand, adjusting it so it wouldn’t tip over. “Our friend from Bloody Bob’s was generous enough to deliver a sufficient supply for the return voyage. I sampled a bit earlier.”

She stiffened at mention of the tavern. “What friend?”

His brow lifted, and he grinned wickedly. “Monroe. Who were you expecting?”

She looked down, chagrined that he could read her so easily. “No one. I just wondered.”

“I’ll bet. Don’t worry—I doubt if Kate would dare come to our camp.”

“She looks like the type who would dare anything,” Angela couldn’t help muttering, and looked up angrily when Kit laughed.

“Jealous, sweetheart? Don’t be. Last time I saw her, she was quite taken with my chief gunner, Dane. He’s a good-looking blond chap with a big hairy chest. Just her type. I’m quite certain he’s keeping her busy.”

“I really cannot imagine why you think I should care,” she said with a disgruntled sniff. “I was only curious as to who would have brought wine to our camp.”

“So now you know. Here. Try this.” He held out a strip of meat that was slightly charred. “Don’t worry—it tastes much better than it looks.”

Angela tried it, and found it delicious. “What is it?” she mumbled.

“Pigeon, I think. Some kind of wood fowl that one of the crew shot earlier. A bit gamy if not cooked properly, but I think Dylan found the secret of using wood that smokes. It gives it a most interesting flavor.”

Stripping off a liberal portion, Kit chewed silently for several moments, while Angela tried to eat daintily. It was a near impossible task, as there were no utensils and no plates. A cloth full of fruit provided their second and third courses, and when she was happily stuffed, she leaned back on the canvas mat with a sigh of satisfaction.

“Most excellent,” she murmured. “I cannot think of a better meal.”

Kit eyed her with a lifted brow. “I can almost hear the collective groans of dismays from all the chefs in London at that encompassing statement.”

“Perhaps the quality of the meal has something to do with the quality of the company,” she retorted.

“In which case, I accept your compliment with all due humility” He stuffed his last bite into his mouth and wiped his hands on his trousers, ignoring the cloth she held out to him. Rising in a fluid motion, he held out his hand. “Those are towels. We can wash our hands in the sea. Mother Nature has provided us with an entire ocean full of water for our convenience.”

But when they reached the water’s edge, Angela discovered that Kit had more than washing on his mind. Grabbing her around the waist, he held her up against him, his mouth next to her ear.

“Ever been for a midnight swim, milady?”

She drew back slightly to look up at him. “I don’t swim.”

“No? That can be rectified.”

“Kit—no,” she protested, struggling when he began to unfasten her gown. He stopped, but there was a militant gleam in his eyes that should have warned her what he intended.

“All right. Have it your way.” His hands moved to his waist and he flicked open the buttons on his trousers with a deft motion while she spluttered.

“Don’t you dare!”

“No?” Moonlight gave his face a hellish cast as he grinned at her with unabashed amusement. “How can I teach you to swim if I don’t go in the water with you?”

Angela turned away, her face flaming as he stripped away his trousers. She fled to the water, and to her surprise, found it warm and silky as she waded out up to her knees. Plopping down, she was covered up to her neck, her gown floating about her in billowing drifts.

“Oh no you don’t,” Kit said, coming up behind her. “Coward. Come on. It’s just you and me. No one else is here. Besides, the bugs won’t bite if we’re in the water.”

The water looked black, the only light coming from the moon above and the candles behind them, and Angela shivered. “It’s too frightening,” she murmured at last. Kit knelt beside her in the sand and water and took her hand.

“I won’t let anything hurt you. Trust me.”

She hesitated, then nodded, allowing him to draw her out deeper. He was surefooted, keeping one hand on her waist to guide her and the other supporting her arm. Though she half expected him to touch her elsewhere, he didn’t. The water lapped around her, loosening her hair from its braid so that it floated like pale seaweed around her shoulders and in front of her, making her think of the tentacles of a jellyfish as it coiled and moved with the waves.

There was a sensuous delight in the warmth of the water and Kit’s hands supporting her, and finally some of the tension left her and she began to enjoy it. There was a sense of weightlessness, of being free of restraint as he lifted her off her feet, and after she had conquered the first surge of panic, she relaxed. Kit smiled, his teeth white in the murky light.

“You like it, don’t you.”

It was more a statement than a question, and she nodded. “Yes. But you tricked me.”

“Would you have come in if I hadn’t? No, don’t answer. You and I both know you wouldn’t have.” He shifted slightly to move in front of her, and put both hands on her waist.

Lightly holding her, he said softly, “You would make a beautiful mermaid, angel.”

“Like the one in the story Dylan tells?”

He laughed. “God, I hope so. But you may have heard a different version from the one I’m familiar with.”

“No doubt,” she said tartly, and he laughed again. The water was up to her chin now, and she grasped his arms. “Don’t take me any farther out. This is deep enough.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Excuse me, but being captured by pirates was adventure enough. Swimming with their captain exceeds even my imagination.”

“I never knew you were so limited in imagination. No, don’t pull away. I won’t take you any deeper if you don’t want to go.” His voice lowered slightly, and his hands moved up to her rib cage. “Haven’t you ever been in over your head, angel?”

She caught her breath. She knew he wasn’t talking about the water. There was an underlying current to his words that made her heart lurch, an unspoken question that she didn’t know how to answer.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, which were well above the water, she whispered, “Kit, what do you want from me?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he leaned forward, one hand moving to hold her head while his other slipped beneath the hem of her dress to slide over bare skin. She drew in a quick breath at the sensation of his warm hand against her thigh.

“What do I want, angel? This. And
 . . .
this
 . . .
”

His mouth found hers, hot and searching, almost rough with urgency. Curling her arms behind his neck, Angela held on, buoyed by the water, her body sliding sinuously against his in the warm, silky waves. There was an exotic pleasure in the way she rubbed against him, in the pressure of his mouth and the feel of the water around them, binding them, somehow, into a single being. It was sensuous, voluptuous bliss, paradise lost and found and encircling.

“Here,” he said against her mouth, his voice a low rasp that barely penetrated her sumptuous haze, “we don’t need this anymore, do we?” Somehow, her gown was open and sliding over her shoulders, then floating away on the current. Her unrestrained breasts made contact with his chest, the nipples hardening at the abrasive brushing of his body against hers. The slightest movement sent a shock of sensation shuddering through her.

Kit must have felt her involuntary reaction, for his mouth left her lips and explored the damp region beneath her hair, his hand lifting the heavy mass of taffy-colored curls to facilitate his heated exploration. Murmuring a reassurance when she clung to him in quivering response, he returned to her mouth for a moment, then abandoned that luscious spot for the inviting curve of her throat.

Angela’s head tilted back, supported by the weight of his arm behind her neck. Liquids washed around them, salt tang and seaweed, a steady pulsing rhythm of sea that seemed to beckon through the heated haze that Kit was creating with his hands and mouth. She was barely aware of moonlight or wind, her senses so finely tuned to Kit that the rest of the world faded away. Vaguely, she saw the glitter of moonlight on water and felt the cool press of wind against her bare skin, but she was much more aware of the delicious slide of his hand over her body.

“Put your arms back around my neck,” he whispered, his breath stirring the wet hair over her ear, and she shivered as she complied.

“This
 . . .
this is crazy,” she said, gasping a little when his thumb and finger closed over her nipple. “Are you sure
 . . .
we should
 . . .
be doing
 . . .
this
 . . .
”

Kit laughed softly at her reaction. His mouth nuzzled the curve of her cheek and throat before he lifted his head, and she saw the glitter of his eyes as he studied her for a long moment.