Blackwells: My Timeswept Heart Part 6

He smiled, enjoying the solid feel of her in his arms for the few steps to his bed. Reluctantly he laid her on the mattress, then stood back, hands on his hips. "Madame. Have you eaten?"

"Some." Why do I feel like a little kid about to be

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grounded? she wondered.

"Then I suggest you finish that." He nodded to the meal, then turned away.

"That sounds like an 'or else,' Captain Blackwell."

He spun back around, frowning. "I beg your pardon?"

"Or else you'll stuff it down my throat if I don't?" He smiled, and if she thought he was handsome before, nothing prepared her for the impact of those dimples.

"If I must."

"Not unless you join me." When he looked surprised at the offer, she added, "Please. I'm bored to tears," telling herself that was the only reason she wanted him to stay.

Dane felt weak in the knees at her soft plea and nodded agreement, knowing 'twas unwise to be so close to her. She did something to him no other woman had. Tess Renfrew fascinated him. He pulled a chair to the side of the bed as she scooted back, moving the tray between them.

"Dig in." She tasted a chunk of mango, then drained the cup of herbal tea.

"You have not sampled the beef as yet, mistress?"

Mistress? Madame? Awful formal for a man dining on a bed. "I don't eat red meat," she told him, popping a slice of melon in her mouth. She hated to think what chemicals were in that underdone carca.s.s.

"Fresh beef is rare on a s.h.i.+p, Mistress Renfrew." Dane tore off a chunk of bread and stuffed it with the juicy slices.

Her brows wrinkled. "How is that possible?"

His gaze flew up. Was she that sheltered? "Live

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stock of that size take up valuable cargo s.p.a.ce and, when butchered, it spoils quickly," he said, then took a bite.

"So freeze it."

His chewing slowed. "In this heat?" He gestured to the room as he swallowed. "Mistress Renfrew," he said patiently. "It is impossible to keep anything even slightly cool in the tropics, let alone blocks of ice."

Tess eyed him. Was he dense? "Why do you need blocks of ice? There is such a thing as refrigeration, you know."

His gaze sharpened. "Nay, I do not know."

"Rapid cooling, electric? Freon moving through coils?" She waited for him to nod agreement. He didn't. "A box that keeps things cold constantly, anywhere?" He looked at her as if she'd blown a gasket. "Skip it," she mumbled.

Tess kept her gaze on the plates of food. Who was he fooling? How could he not admit to knowing about refrigeration? And live animals on s.h.i.+p? The possibility was unnecessary and, if anything, revolting. They'd have to kill them on-she shook her head. This place was like a trip to the twilight zone, she thought, bracing herself on one locked arm and leaning over the tray just as he did, unaware that the velvet robe sagged open.

Dane's gaze dropped to the skin exposed, and his pulse quickened. The soft swells were pale, round, and he gnashed his teeth against the urge to brush the velvet aside and sample the creamy flesh.

Tess looked up. He was inches from her, and those eyes, they'd changed. Black pearls on pale jade. G.o.d, he was s.e.xy. She sketched his features, her gaze end-

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ing on his lips. Her head reeled-from lack of food or from him?

"Mistress Renfrew," he warned softly. G.o.d*s teeth, did she have to say so much with that look!

Raven lashes swept up. "It's Tess."

"Tess," he murmured, his gaze drifting over her face. Something drew him closer, against his will, he insisted as his knuckles grazed her cheek. She was so lovely, her beauty vivid. He knew this was wrong but couldn't seem to help it. Like the delicate flutter of a b.u.t.terfly wing, his lips brushed hers, and he heard her sigh.

He stole it.

He was stealing her breath, her soul, she thought, as his lips rolled warmly over hers. Tess's head was spinning again, wilder this time, her insides tumbling. His tongue slid across her lower lip, slowly, then pushed inside, his warm fingers slipping into her hair to cup the back of her head. He cherished her mouth, coaxing her pleasure to a lush peak, and in one moment showed her he was caring and loving and wanting. Tongues battled languidly, a blaze spiraled through her already-weakened limbs, and she pressed a hand to his chest to steady herself.

a.s.suming she was pus.h.i.+ng him away, he drew back.

"Wow," she whispered, sagging down on one elbow, breathless. I've never been kissed like that! she thought.

"I apologize for my boldness, Tess." He stood abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets to disguise her effect on him. "I shouldn't have-you're ill."

She smiled up at him. He didn't look that apolo-

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getic. "Now I wished you'd looked in my bag."

He frowned, puzzled. "Whyever for?"

"Because I searched your desk."

"Is that so?" His lips twitched. G.o.d's teeth, she was

priceless.

"And your closet."

"Anything else?"

"You caught me first."

He nodded thoughtfully. "What is it that you wish to know, Mistress Renfrew?"

So, they were back to that again. "Why I am on a- a-?"

"Frigate," he supplied when she yawned. "Forgive me, but I am still at a loss."

"Why didn't you just put me ash.o.r.e, send me to a hospital?"

He could see the tea was taking affect. "We are still days from land and I doubt there are adequate hospitals on those islands, if any." "Oh, be serious!"

"1 have no cause to deal you half-truths, Mistress Renfrew. Believe me when I say I am quite serious." He was. Tess knew it from the look on his face. She mentally examined all she'd discovered-no modern conveniences. None. And the way he acted dumb when she spoke of anything remotely technical. His eloquent speech and formal manners, his clothes, this room, h.e.l.l, this s.h.i.+p!

"What year do you believe this is, Captain Black-well?"

He scowled at the peculiar question and her superior look, as if she was indulging a child she knew couldn't answer correctly.

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"I do not believe, Mistress Renfrew," he fairly snapped. "I know it is the twenty-third day of June in the year of our Lord, seventeen hundred eighty-nine."

Tess wanted to cry.

He was an eccentric! That had to be it. He was rich and bored, and this was his "Fantasy Island," playing pirate on an eighteenth-century wars.h.i.+p. And he was into it deep, G.o.d, real deep. She cradled her head in her hands. Oh, why did he have to be a s.p.a.ce cadet?

"And might I ask the same question of you?" Her head jerked up. "What do you believe is today's date?"

She dropped her hands and sighed. "I'm not sure of the day, but it's June," she paused, gauging his expression, "nineteen eighty-nine."

His eyes sparked, and his lips thinned. "At least we agree on the month," he said, then walked over to the hutch.

Disheartened, Tess fell back onto the mound of pillows, her eyes following his movements as he withdrew a key from his pocket and unlocked the cabinet. He removed a beautiful crystal decanter and poured a drink.

"Would you care for a brandy?"

Tess yawned, shaking her head. "That stuff's poison to your liver."

He spared her a glance. "Since in your eyes, Mistress Renfrew, my liver is already two hundred years old, I do not see the harm."

Tess smiled sleepily. "Touche, Captain Blackwell," she mumbled through another yawn. I'll indulge him, she decided. Why not? It could be fun. He was certainly a change from any man she'd met before.