cold, so biting, she couldn’t breathe. She spit out the knife. Water clogged her mouth. She couldn’t even scream.
The sudden pressure around her midriff was crushing. A robust arm pulled her through the water and hoisted her over the rail.
She went crashing to the deck. Dazed, she couldn’t move for a few moments, and then slowly she tilted her head to the side and caught a glimpse of Damian’s pained expression. He’d slammed his head against the ground when they’d toppled over.
Still gripping her in a mighty hold, he glared at her—with relief or fury, she couldn’t tell—before his eyelashes fluttered closed.
Chapter 10
D amian sensed a moist cloth bathing his chest, the soothing movements allaying his scorched skin and evoking a heavy sigh from him.
Fingertips, tepid and damp, gently pried apart his parched lips, allowing icy drops to seep into his mouth and trickle down his dry throat. Swallowing, he grimaced at the shooting pain.
Once one body part grew conscious of its torment, all body parts rang out with the same anguished cry. Muscles ached unmercifully. A throbbing at the back of his head pounded with mounting intensity.
What had happened? Where was he?
Darkness clouded his mind. He tried to remember…a roar of thunder clapped in his ears. The wallowing ship lurched beneath his feet.
A storm.
There had been a storm.
Damian opened his eyes. A pale mist still shifting through his vision, he adjusted his gaze to the dimly lit cabin and scanned his surroundings, only to blink in bewilderment at the sight of Mirabelle seated on the edge of the bed.
The bed? He glanced around the room once more. He recognized the space. It was the same infirmary where Quincy had recovered. The same bed, even. The only thing different was Belle’s tender bedside nursing. She hovered above him, dousing his fevered flesh—his naked flesh.
Damian was suddenly all too mindful of his undressed state, his body rigid with the realization that there wasn’t much obstruction between him and Belle, only a thin blanket covering his lower region.
The twinge in his head ebbed away, replaced by a more critical ache in his loins.
She was oblivious to the fact that he was studying her. With each graceful stroke, she mapped the contours of his abdomen, her eyes traveling in the same direction, at the same leisurely tempo of her roving hand. But Damian felt the caress of her amber eyes more than the fondle of the wet cloth. And despite the agony tearing through every fiber of his being, he wouldn’t have twitched and disturbed her salacious rubdown to save his soul.
With the cool compress, Mirabelle gingerly traced a path from his navel to his neck, her meditative eyes absorbing every part of his body. Up and up went her golden gaze, until their eyes locked.
Damian had never seen such scarlet color rush into a woman’s cheeks so quickly.
His voice rumbled, his throat raw with pain, “Were you enjoying yourself?”
Mirabelle cleared her throat and chucked the cloth into a bowl of water, spray splashing onto the floor. “Drink some water.”
She was stunning when mortified, blooming rose pigment accentuating the soft lines of her regal features. He could spend an eternity admiring her.
But Belle had another idea. When he still didn’t move, she shattered his reverie by bracing one hand beneath his neck and picking up a glass with the other. She pressed the rim to his lips and he greedily drank.
Setting the glass back on the table, she wondered, “How do you feel?”
“Awful,” he admitted gruffly. “What happened?”
“Don’t you remember?” She eyed him closely. “We sailed through a squall two days ago. You hit your head during the storm and have been asleep ever since.”
The heavy mist enshrouding his thoughts slowly began to lift. More images came to mind: images of shadows taking in the sails, strikes of lightning…and a woman perched on a spar, about to be swept away by an enormous swell of
The sudden pressure around her midriff was crushing. A robust arm pulled her through the water and hoisted her over the rail.
She went crashing to the deck. Dazed, she couldn’t move for a few moments, and then slowly she tilted her head to the side and caught a glimpse of Damian’s pained expression. He’d slammed his head against the ground when they’d toppled over.
Still gripping her in a mighty hold, he glared at her—with relief or fury, she couldn’t tell—before his eyelashes fluttered closed.
Chapter 10
D amian sensed a moist cloth bathing his chest, the soothing movements allaying his scorched skin and evoking a heavy sigh from him.
Fingertips, tepid and damp, gently pried apart his parched lips, allowing icy drops to seep into his mouth and trickle down his dry throat. Swallowing, he grimaced at the shooting pain.
Once one body part grew conscious of its torment, all body parts rang out with the same anguished cry. Muscles ached unmercifully. A throbbing at the back of his head pounded with mounting intensity.
What had happened? Where was he?
Darkness clouded his mind. He tried to remember…a roar of thunder clapped in his ears. The wallowing ship lurched beneath his feet.
A storm.
There had been a storm.
Damian opened his eyes. A pale mist still shifting through his vision, he adjusted his gaze to the dimly lit cabin and scanned his surroundings, only to blink in bewilderment at the sight of Mirabelle seated on the edge of the bed.
The bed? He glanced around the room once more. He recognized the space. It was the same infirmary where Quincy had recovered. The same bed, even. The only thing different was Belle’s tender bedside nursing. She hovered above him, dousing his fevered flesh—his naked flesh.
Damian was suddenly all too mindful of his undressed state, his body rigid with the realization that there wasn’t much obstruction between him and Belle, only a thin blanket covering his lower region.
The twinge in his head ebbed away, replaced by a more critical ache in his loins.
She was oblivious to the fact that he was studying her. With each graceful stroke, she mapped the contours of his abdomen, her eyes traveling in the same direction, at the same leisurely tempo of her roving hand. But Damian felt the caress of her amber eyes more than the fondle of the wet cloth. And despite the agony tearing through every fiber of his being, he wouldn’t have twitched and disturbed her salacious rubdown to save his soul.
With the cool compress, Mirabelle gingerly traced a path from his navel to his neck, her meditative eyes absorbing every part of his body. Up and up went her golden gaze, until their eyes locked.
Damian had never seen such scarlet color rush into a woman’s cheeks so quickly.
His voice rumbled, his throat raw with pain, “Were you enjoying yourself?”
Mirabelle cleared her throat and chucked the cloth into a bowl of water, spray splashing onto the floor. “Drink some water.”
She was stunning when mortified, blooming rose pigment accentuating the soft lines of her regal features. He could spend an eternity admiring her.
But Belle had another idea. When he still didn’t move, she shattered his reverie by bracing one hand beneath his neck and picking up a glass with the other. She pressed the rim to his lips and he greedily drank.
Setting the glass back on the table, she wondered, “How do you feel?”
“Awful,” he admitted gruffly. “What happened?”
“Don’t you remember?” She eyed him closely. “We sailed through a squall two days ago. You hit your head during the storm and have been asleep ever since.”
The heavy mist enshrouding his thoughts slowly began to lift. More images came to mind: images of shadows taking in the sails, strikes of lightning…and a woman perched on a spar, about to be swept away by an enormous swell of
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