done. So why did she want to cry? She felt as though she were succumbing to a deep frustration and sadness. Was it over her situation? Or could it be that she was finally close to having that which her heart most desired—a babe of her own.
Mary-Michael owed her livelihood to Spenser Watkins. The reward of her marriage was the opportunity to learn from the man everything she needed to know to design and build ships. It was what she'd dreamed of doing as a child, and she had for the past seven years, six of them as his wife. Yes, the captain was attractive, and yes, she felt something... intense and elemental, toward him. But the only thing she wanted from him was the one thing her husband could never give her.
She dried her eyes, and looked into the mirror to make sure she wasn't blotchy from crying. Damn the man for flustering her. While his presence alone set her on edge, knowing he had the same carnal desires as she, was too overwhelming to contemplate. But more important than that, the realization she might actually stand a chance at achieving this dream, was making her giddy and nervous at the same time. Combined, it was almost more than she could take right then.
She splashed cold water on her face. Heaven knows she wasn't one of those girls who cried prettily. Mary-Michael had to get over this fear and nervousness if she held any hope for luring Captain Gualtiero to her bed. When he left on Monday morning, she wouldn't see him again for a year. It wasn't much time, but according to Becky, it only took once for her, and when she realized she was pregnant she and Mr. Parks had a hasty wedding.
While there were no hasty weddings in her future, she prayed before the captain left he would have given her a gift. Then she, too, will get to experience her body growing and changing as she carried a babe, and the joy of holding her own son or daughter as it nursed from breast. Why, the thought alone was enough to make her want to start on her project right then.
But she couldn't. She had to finish the specifications lists and draw the final copy the shipbuilders and other trades would use. Come Saturday morning, Mr. Watkins would leave town for a few weeks, and she would make herself available to the Captain for a few days.
With her resolve set to get her work done first, she opened the door and stepped through, slamming face first into a solid wall of masculine chest. Muscular, masculine chest. Make that a finely attired, exotic-smelling, face-high, muscular, masculine chest. The captain grabbed her shoulders as she pushed away. He fell back onto the wall in the narrow hallway and as he went over, he took her with him.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. His thick, beefy arms wrapped around her protecting her for a moment, until she realized there were others in the building. Mary-Michael righted herself, and the captain's hands still rested on the exposed skin of her forearms, sending a flood of molten heat coursing through her body. She couldn't get away. Couldn't escape the heat. It was as though the blacksmith's forge was inside her, consuming her from within.
"I'm sorry," she began, "I..."
"My fault entirely," he murmured. Somehow his arm had wrapped itself around her waist, and it continued to hold her firmly in place against him. He lowered his voice so she alone could hear. "I came to see how you were. I was getting worried."
"My men!" she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. Oh, God, what if someone saw them? When the captain dropped his arm, she pushed herself off that powerful, too-attractive chest, straightening her blouse as she turned and walked away.
She heard the door to the privy closet click shut as she passed Andrew, Robert and William Bailey, standing at the large drafting table. Because of the position of Andrew's desk on the other side of the wall, she was sure they saw nothing, but they could have heard any conversation, had there been one.
Mary-Michael gave them an embarrassed half-smile
Mary-Michael owed her livelihood to Spenser Watkins. The reward of her marriage was the opportunity to learn from the man everything she needed to know to design and build ships. It was what she'd dreamed of doing as a child, and she had for the past seven years, six of them as his wife. Yes, the captain was attractive, and yes, she felt something... intense and elemental, toward him. But the only thing she wanted from him was the one thing her husband could never give her.
She dried her eyes, and looked into the mirror to make sure she wasn't blotchy from crying. Damn the man for flustering her. While his presence alone set her on edge, knowing he had the same carnal desires as she, was too overwhelming to contemplate. But more important than that, the realization she might actually stand a chance at achieving this dream, was making her giddy and nervous at the same time. Combined, it was almost more than she could take right then.
She splashed cold water on her face. Heaven knows she wasn't one of those girls who cried prettily. Mary-Michael had to get over this fear and nervousness if she held any hope for luring Captain Gualtiero to her bed. When he left on Monday morning, she wouldn't see him again for a year. It wasn't much time, but according to Becky, it only took once for her, and when she realized she was pregnant she and Mr. Parks had a hasty wedding.
While there were no hasty weddings in her future, she prayed before the captain left he would have given her a gift. Then she, too, will get to experience her body growing and changing as she carried a babe, and the joy of holding her own son or daughter as it nursed from breast. Why, the thought alone was enough to make her want to start on her project right then.
But she couldn't. She had to finish the specifications lists and draw the final copy the shipbuilders and other trades would use. Come Saturday morning, Mr. Watkins would leave town for a few weeks, and she would make herself available to the Captain for a few days.
With her resolve set to get her work done first, she opened the door and stepped through, slamming face first into a solid wall of masculine chest. Muscular, masculine chest. Make that a finely attired, exotic-smelling, face-high, muscular, masculine chest. The captain grabbed her shoulders as she pushed away. He fell back onto the wall in the narrow hallway and as he went over, he took her with him.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. His thick, beefy arms wrapped around her protecting her for a moment, until she realized there were others in the building. Mary-Michael righted herself, and the captain's hands still rested on the exposed skin of her forearms, sending a flood of molten heat coursing through her body. She couldn't get away. Couldn't escape the heat. It was as though the blacksmith's forge was inside her, consuming her from within.
"I'm sorry," she began, "I..."
"My fault entirely," he murmured. Somehow his arm had wrapped itself around her waist, and it continued to hold her firmly in place against him. He lowered his voice so she alone could hear. "I came to see how you were. I was getting worried."
"My men!" she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. Oh, God, what if someone saw them? When the captain dropped his arm, she pushed herself off that powerful, too-attractive chest, straightening her blouse as she turned and walked away.
She heard the door to the privy closet click shut as she passed Andrew, Robert and William Bailey, standing at the large drafting table. Because of the position of Andrew's desk on the other side of the wall, she was sure they saw nothing, but they could have heard any conversation, had there been one.
Mary-Michael gave them an embarrassed half-smile
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