"I have to go check the sails. They're fluttering."
He lifted himself up slightly and listened, then relaxed back onto the pillow. "They sound fine to me."
"And that's why I'm the captain, and you're not."
He splayed his fingers across her back, still refusing to release her, and toyed with the dimple at the base of her spine.
She immediately arched to get away from his touch-which pushed her beautifully plump breasts into his chest. Sam kissed the tip of her nose. At least, that's where he'd been aiming, but he ended up kissing her hair when she ducked to bury her face in his neck. Her cheeks felt unusually hot, and he suspected she was blushing.
"You're not fat, Willa."
She muttered something against his throat.
"What was that?" he asked loudly. "Sorry, but my ears are still ringing."
She popped up, glaring at him. "Look, I get a bit loud sometimes, okay? It's not like we disturbed the neighbors or anything. You got a problem with a little noise, Sinclair?"
His aim was dead-on this time when he kissed her nose. "Nope," He gave her lush behind a gentle squeeze. "I like that sort of noise. It lets me know I'm doing my job."
She snorted, but when she buried her face in his neck again, Sam realized her blush had kicked up several notches. Maybe he shouldn't tease her, but damn it to hell, she was driving him crazy. Ending her sexual drought didn't seem to have done a damn thing to mellow her out. The RoseWind took a sharp dip into a trough, and Sam cupped Willa's head to protect her just as his own head slammed into the end of the bunk. "Cuddle time's over." He rolled onto his hands and knees above her, straining to see her face in the first shafts of sunrise filtering through the portal. "I've never sailed at night before. It feels like driving with blindfolds on."
"That's why they put alarms on the navigational equipment. They would have sounded if we'd strayed off course," she said. "You get dressed and go check that sail. I'll be up in a minute."
He bumped his head again, since the bunk was no taller than it was wide. "If I'd been expecting company, I would have chosen one of the bigger back bunks."
There was enough light for him to see that Willa could sit up without her head touching. She had the blanket tucked under her chin, leaving only her tangled hair and her huge eyes exposed. He was just reaching for his dry sack when he heard her sigh.
"Do you know why they call it making love missionary-style?"
What in hell was she up to? One minute, she was sending him away; the next, she was suddenly chatty. It must have something to do with those hormones. "No, why is it called missionary-style?"
"Because in colonial days, young couples heading out to do missionary work often got married just before they left to sail abroad. Their bunks were no bigger than this one, and the only way they could consummate their marriages was in that position-thus, it became known as the missionary style."
"Who told you that?"
"Shelby."
"And who told her?"
"One of the crew Dad had hired for our autumn run down to theCaribbean ." She canted her head in thought. "She was eighteen, I think. I was twelve."
"And you knew what she was talking about at age twelve?"
She lifted that cute little chin of hers. "I might have been home-schooled, but I had plenty of friends in town. And, I'll have you know, I lost my virginity at fourteen."
"You did not."
Her chin inched up. "Well, I would have, if Dad hadn't come below when he did." She grinned. "Daddy and I were both surprised that Kevin couldn't swim. Though I don't think that would have stopped Dad from throwing him overboard in the middle of theGulfofMaine ."
Her eyes were focused not on his face but on his chest. He also noticed that her gaze dropped a bit lower every so often.
The little witch! She was sitting there covered up like a nun, telling him tall tales so she could ogle his body!
She must have realized the jig was up, for she frowned suddenly, her face bright pink. "I hear the jib flapping. You'd better go winch it down."
"Before or after I dress?" he drawled, slowly reaching for his dry sack. Still facing her, he dug around inside the sack, found some clean underwear and pants, and, just as slowly, slid them on. He heard her sigh when he slipped a heavy jersey over his head and tucked it into his pants. He turned away so she wouldn't see his smile and stepped over to the galley sink. He ran a cloth under the water, wrung it out, then tossed it to her. "Here, so you can clean up," he said, turning to head up the
stairs.
"Wait."
He stopped on the step and ducked his head to see her.
"Why did you pull out at the last minute? I told you I had the contraceptive thing covered."
"Let's just call me cautious, okay?"
She nodded. "So, you really don't want to marry me and get me pregnant." She sighed with obvious relief. "That's good, because we both know it would never work, anyway."
Sam turned to face her. "You don't think so? Why not?"
"Because we don't really like each other," she said, sounding exasperated that he couldn't see the obvious.
"I never said I didn't like you."
"Only because you're too polite to come right out and say it." She lifted her chin. "Since we've met, you've spent half the time laughing at me and the other half wanting to strangle me."
He took a step toward her. "What about now, Willa? Can you sense which way I'm leaning right now?"
Her eyes grew huge, and she clutched the blanket to her throat. She suddenly pointed at the deck over her head. "Something is definitely wrong with that jib," she said quickly. "Hurry, Sam! If you don't get it winched down, we're going to lose it."
He hesitated just long enough to glare at her, then turned and slowly climbed the stairs up to the deck. Honest to God, if he didn't strangle her before they reachedMaine , it would only be because he'd thrown her overboard instead.
Willa slapped the wet cloth to her burning cheeks. Sweet mother of God, was she suicidal? Crawling into bed with Sam Sinclair had been as bright as a four-watt light bulb. But who knew hormones were capable of throwing their weight around like that? She'd spent half the night sitting at the helm, dozing off and on, daydreaming and sleep dreaming about Sam's mouth on her breast. All she'd been able to think about was his offer to go below yesterday. She knew he'd kissed her only to shut her up, but she never should have tried to prove to herself that she was immune to his … his chest.
She was in such big trouble. Maybe if she hadn't been living like a nun for the last five years, she could handle a brief, casual affair. But jeez Louise, making love after such a long drought had felt unbelievably, wonderfully good. Hot and heart-poundingly fulfilling.
She couldn't remember ever having an orgasm that intense before. It had been … it had … damn, she wanted to do it again right now. But she had to get through the entire day first, because she sure as heck wasn't getting naked in the daylight, when Mr. Touchy-Feely could also see her. Next time, she intended
to cop a few more feels of her own, and not just of his chest, either. The guy had an amazing butt as well. That was, assuming there would be a next time. Maybe he wouldn't be in such a hurry to get naked with her again. Willa knew she wasn't any man's idea of a dream lover; she was a tad loud, in a rush most of the time, and worried about her body to the point that the less a guy felt her up, the better she liked it. Willa scrubbed her face with the cloth, then reached under the blanket and wiped her belly. Imagine him not believing her about having taken care of the contraceptive. He knew she never wanted children, so why hadn't he taken her at her word?
Unless he was only trying to make her think he no longer wanted to marry her and get her pregnant. Or maybe he'd been lied to before by women hoping to buy their way into the Sinclair empire with a baby.
"Don't you dare start making excuses for him," she muttered, crawling off the bunk. "Remember what he has at stake here. You're only a means to an end."
"Willa?" Sam called down. "You might want to get up here sooner rather than later."