She swallowed again, vainly seeking moisture and calm.
‘Demand?’ He prowled toward the desk. All the while he’d remained like a sentinel at the door, the force of his presence had seemed contained. Now it flooded the room, filling the corners, circling around her, no longer charming, but dark and forbidding. And if he intended his cool raking gaze to intimidate her, he was succeeding admirably.
Clearly issuing orders wasn’t the most sensible thing she’d ever done, but calm good sense seemed to have gone the way of her courage. She edged closer to the window, widening the distance between them. The open window provided a measure of air and dropped straight to the sea.
‘I—I am sure you are a busy man.’ She gestured at his desk. ‘You must have courses to plot. Orders to give. I will be in the way.’
He tilted his head on one side. ‘True.’
Thank heaven. He might be a pirate—no, a privateer, no point in insulting him again—but he seemed reasonably intelligent. ‘I am glad we agree. Would you care to direct me?’ She headed for the door, passing within inches of his broad-shouldered frame. Close enough for a quick glance to take in the long dark lashes framing his vivid eyes and trickles of water from his bath coursing from his hairline into his beard.
Up close, he seemed impossibly large. And very male. And far too handsome. With a wince at her wayward thoughts, she turned the door handle and pulled it open. It jerked out of her hand and slammed shut with a bang.
Above her head one large hand lay flat on the panel. Damn. She whirled around, back to the door. His chest, encased in an embroidered cream waistcoat over a pristine white shirt, hemmed her in.
‘No,’ he said, his expression implacable.
‘No?’
‘No. I do not care to escort you. Not yet, anyway.’
‘My brother is injured. You must take me to him.’ Hating the shake in her voice, she locked her gaze with his, and instantly regretted it. The eyes fixed on hers blazed hot.
And then he smiled. It didn’t make him look friendly, just wolfish, as if he’d scented something tasty. ‘More orders, Miss Fulton?’
Her heart gave an uncomfortable thump. ‘A request.’
‘A barely civil request. You could try being a little more polite.’ His deep voice ran over her skin like liquid honey. His chest rose and fell inches from her cotton bodice. Warmth permeated her skin. She inhaled the scent of ocean and soap. Clean and very male. Intoxicating.
Best not to notice his scent. Or how close he stood. Or the rapid beat of her pulse.
He placed his other hand flat on the door, framing her head within white linen shirtsleeves beneath which lay the bone and muscle she’d admired earlier in the day.
Her stomach gave a slow lazy roll. Her heart stuttered as if seeking a new rhythm. ‘How is your arm?’
Lord, what made her say that? She didn’t care about his arm. Would he think it an appeal for gratitude?
‘Almost as good as new.’ He flashed a smug grin. ‘Thanks to you.’
‘I wish I had chopped it off when I had the chance.’ Her stomach clenched at her rudeness, but she forced herself to meet his gaze without a blink.
He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze raking her face as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d heard aright. He ducked his head, pressed his mouth to hers.
Retribution. Punishment. Anger. All these things his mouth relayed through her lips. And something else. Something reckless and wild that made her insides tighten. Hunger.
She whipped her head aside. He caught her nape, held her fast, his mouth softening, teasing, wooing.
Her heart pounded. Her breathing became shallow. Her insides liquefied. She was melting from the inside out. She lifted her hands to push him away. They hovered above his chest, trembling, fingers curling with longing to touch and knowing it would be fatal.
The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips. Her eyelids drooped as wonderful warmth rolled over her skin.
Wickedness. Her body glowed with it. Her pulse fluttered with a longing she shouldn’t even be aware of. Her lips parted to his teasing.
His tongue tangled with hers. A thrill exploded low in her abdomen. A small moan rose up in her throat.
He pulled away and gazed at her with gleaming eyes, his chest rising and falling with rapid intakes of breath. A sensual smile curved his lips.
Easy virtue. That was what his smile said. Wanton. As if he knew. He couldn’t. Not from just a kiss. ‘Get away from me,’ she snapped, only too aware of her own humiliating shortness of breath.
He let his arms fall to his sides and straightened, looking a little surprised. ‘Perhaps you’ll have more care with your words in future. Then I won’t feel the need to stem the tide.’
She didn’t want to talk to him at all. She dodged beneath his arm, and scuttled ignominiously across the room, jerking around to face him when she reached the far side. To her relief, he made no move to follow. ‘I wish to go to my brother.’
He cocked a brow.
Her heartbeat slowed and she felt more like herself. ‘If you please,’ she said regally.
He leaned against the doorpost, folding his arms over that broad expanse of very male chest and observed her with narrowed eyes. ‘I don’t please. Sit down, Miss Fulton. We need to have a conversation.’
‘What can you and I possibly have to discuss?’
‘Your future and that of your companions.’ His voice was flat and hard and full of confident power.
Her stomach dipped, but she kept her expression calm. ‘Very well.’ She marched to the only other chair in the room apart from the one behind the desk. She perched on its edge, folding her hands in her lap, praying he wouldn’t see how she shook inside and pinned an afternoon-tea-with-strangers smile on her lips. ‘What are your plans?’
‘It depends on you.’
‘How?’
He pursed his mobile mouth as if deciding how to deliver bad news.
Looking into his eyes was like watching the ever-changing ocean. If eyes were the windows to the soul, his had turned the colour of storms at sea, the cold grey-green of the Atlantic in winter.
The cold crept into her blood.
He pushed off from the doorway and stalked to his desk. He perched one lean hip on the corner. Once more he was far too close for comfort. She squashed the urge to flee.
‘We might as well be civil,’ he said. ‘May I offer you some refreshment after your ordeal?’
Now he would play the gentleman? And would she submit meekly? Play the polite lady? ‘No, thank you.’
‘You won’t mind if I do?’ He reached down,
