The blankets felt very heavy when he woke. He was going to go meet Mr. Watkins today. Perhaps he would find a present for his niece. It was going to be a lovely day. The blanket shifted just a little bit. It wasn't really morning. A certain and entirely unmentionable aspect of his physical being pressed up against the thick blanket. He cleared his throat, as if the world would just, please, please, slip back into place. He tried to hold very still, so that his hard dilemma would not grow any worse with the friction between them. "Mrs. Watkins."
"Ummm," she said. Her body, somehow, by some unknown force, rocked against just the very dilemma he had been trying to ignore into minimization. "Where you raised in a monastery?"
"Now, Mrs. Watkins, it seems we have fallen. Have you tried calling for help? I am quite sure that God helps those that help themselves and we must try to right ourselves."
"Really," she said, using her best incredulous and innocent voice. Her right hand slipped under the thin blanket covering him and his eyes snapped open. "I find it hard to believe that a man who is sooo good with numbers could be so very naive."
Violet eyes snapped with anger. "I was not raised in a monastery, but I have made every effort to be completely polite and civilized to you, but if you don't get off of me and begin acting like a lady, I shall not be held responsible for my actions."
"Oh?" She rocked her hips again against his again. "I think you're way too much of a gentleman. We're at sea now, little boy, so let's see what's really hiding behind those violet eyes."
"We're at sea," he screamed. That gave him the momentum to push her off and scramble back from the bed. "Where is your husband?"
She shifted around so she sat with her boots on the floor, her hands on the bed. The dress was gone. Now she wore tailored trousers that tucked into hand tooled leather. The shirt she wore had probably belonged to a man at some point, but cinched around the waist with a wide leather belt. "I haven't met the man I'd marry yet," she admitted. "It was a little lie. It's just so difficult to do business sometimes."
"That's not a little lie," Hadrian snarled."Every moment since I've met you, ever thing about you has been a lie! If you think I would recommend my employers invest in this shame of a company then you are possessed of the devil!"
"Do you believe in the devil," she asked as she traced a finger tip along her skin from her throat down between her breasts. "He didn't pay passage. Maybe he's a stow away."
Hadrian pressed fingers to his forehead. "I don't think he needs to pay for passage! He's the captain."
"Are you a virgin?" She asked as calmly as one sips tea in the evening.
He was inarticulate. Sound gurgled. He clapped his hand over his mouth and stood there for a moment, just being in the moment.
Her gaze hardened. "You should just tell me now if you're really weak in the mind. If you are, I shall see you have a safe voyage and that will be the end of it."
Their eyes locked. Neither of them wavered.
"I am not weak in anyway, Miss Watkins," Hadrian said. He loosened his cravat just slightly, then shrugged out of his coat. "I assure you that no matter what my intimate experiences have been in the past I am ready to any challenge you may offer me." He hung his coat neatly over the back of the chair he'd sat in earlier.
"You fainted when I dropped my skirts earlier, even though all you saw was petticoats."
"I recognize that you are a captain and that you are very much in control of your world, but I will tell you that sometimes people can be very successful in withholding information, Miss Watkins." As he spoke his fingers moved down the row of buttons.
"I shall tell you a secret then as well," she said, feet edging closer together, eyes looking at the floor.
"Oh do share, Miss Watkins." He folded his vest. He sat down in the chair to work on pulling his shirt off.
"My company doesn't need money. I don't want the investment of your employers. I approached them because I met a boy a long time ago. I only spoke with him once, but he had such beautiful violet eyes and I wished, I so wished that I was good enough to talk to him."
Their eyes met again. Both of them knew exactly which day she referred too.
"You sought me out and abducted me all these years later because you liked the color of my eyes?"
She looked up at him. She chewed her lower lip for a moment, thought about all the days and nights she'd fantasized about him, wished for him, imagined him talked to her, urging her on, even in the very darkest moments of your life. "It wasn't the color of your eyes. You were the first person who ever smiled at me. Shit. You're bleeding."
"I must say," he paused to touch the bandages around his torso. Bright red spread across his side, "that your secret is more impressive than mine."
She was already at his side, pushing his hands away so she could gently explore his side. "Tell me what happened?"
"I had a disagreement with a gentlemen over some cards." He watched as she started unwinding the bandage. "It's just a light cut. I don't know why it's still bleeding."
"I hope you killed him," she snarled. Squatting in front of him, she eyed the slash, touching his flesh very carefully.
"There is that possibility," he admitted sadly.
"His blade was poisoned." She sprang back to her feet and strode to the door. "Mac!
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