Stranded with the Captain by Sharon Hartley

Author:Sharon Hartley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-05-20T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

CAT’S EYES WIDENED, and Javi resisted a sudden strong urge to kiss her. Thoroughly. As if that would help anything.

Although it might make them both feel better.

“No, I hadn’t figured that out,” she said, holding his gaze.

He’d intended to tell her the hike would satisfy his own curiosity about Spree’s location. Instead, some weird truth came out.

He would do anything within his power to make her feel better.

And why was that? Because he was the captain and this whole situation was his fault?

Or something more because they’d been intimate?

No, it wasn’t just the sex. His feelings about Irish were complicated. Too complicated to figure out under the present circumstances, that’s for damn sure. And once he’d regained control of Spree, he’d likely never see her again. So what did it matter?

Her beautiful mouth—the lips he still wanted to kiss—curved into a slow smile.

She took his hand, linked their fingers and squeezed. “Thank you for that.”

Javi swallowed. Maybe she was reading more into his statement than he’d intended.

It wasn’t like him to say things before he’d thought them out.

“But I can wait until the rain stops,” she said.

“Good enough,” he said. Perhaps the stress was getting to him, making his thinking fuzzy. He needed rest, but agreed it’d be difficult to find sleep.

Still smiling, she refocused on the fire. “Debbie would never believe our strict Captain Bligh could be so sweet.”

Irish’s smile faded. Her friend’s name hung in the air between them, altering her mood.

“So you three considered me Captain Bligh?” he asked, hoping to distract her for a moment.

She nodded. “It was the shoes.”

“What shoes?”

“You wouldn’t let her on deck with her stilettoes. Remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

“That seems like a long time ago,” she said.

“Yeah.” But it was only three days. It didn’t seem possible that he had known this woman for only three days.

“A decade at least,” she said.

Another blast of wind blew an object against the wall right behind them. Irish tensed, darting a look that direction, then relaxed, shaking her head. The rain continued to beat against the roof. The wind keened around the corners of the building. But its direction had changed so that gusts no longer rushed inside their sanctuary. The worst had moved past them. What was left of the fire burned steadily.

“Lie down with me, Irish.”

She turned her head and met his gaze.

“I want to hold you for a while,” he said. “Maybe you can rest.”

She scooted away from him and extended her body along the ground, facing their fire. He lay behind her, spooning her against his groin, briefly considering the wisdom of that position. But he placed his arm protectively around her and closed his eyes, finding the rhythm of her breath, the too-rapid tattoo of her heart.

With each inhalation, he became more aware of the mysterious fragrance he associated with her skin, wondering how it survived a swim in salt water, and decided the gentle scent was somehow part of her. He liked how she felt next to him.

Until she started fidgeting.

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