Page 52 of This Earl of Mine

Desperate to see how much had been completed, she stepped up onto the ladder that was propped against the side and peered over the rail. Unlike on a conventional boat, the deck was completely enclosed. There was just one funnel-shaped opening in front of the main mast, with a hatch to allow entry inside.

“I’m taking a closer look,” she whispered down to Wylde. He nodded, steadying the ladder for her, and sheclambered onto the deck and peered down into the workings of the beast.

The inner chamber was around six feet square and curved on either side like a barrel, following the shape of the ship. She could just make out the twisted shapes of various pipes, handles, and levers in the gloom.

“It looks almost complete,” she called, her head still down the hatch. Wylde’s body brushed hers as he crouched beside her, and she bumped the back of her head as she jolted in shock. His nearness made her quivery, as if snakes coiled in her belly.

“There’s the handle and crank for the anchor,” she muttered, “and the bilge pump. Those other controls must be for the letting in of water or air for ballast and flotation.”

Wylde’s gravelly voice sounded directly behind her. “Have you ever noticed the preponderance of double entendres in maritime terminology? It seems to me there’s an alarming number of hand pumps, cocks, and screws.”

Georgie stifled an unladylike snort. “I’ve never really thought about it.” She brought her head back up, and he waggled his eyebrows at her.

“I mean,bilge pump? I don’t even know what that is, but it sounds filthy.”

She rolled her eyes. “That is so—”

A shrill whistle interrupted whatever she’d been about to say.

“Shit,” Wylde said. “Someone’s coming.” He nodded at the hatch. “Quick. Get in there.”

Chapter 27.

Georgie didn’t waste time arguing. Someone was already scrabbling at the front door, trying to put a key into the lock. Panic filled her as she lifted her arms above her head and dropped down into the darkened hull.

She fell back onto her bottom just as Wylde slipped in beside her. He banged her head with his elbow as he closed the hatch, and the scant light shut off abruptly. Without a word, he tugged her down so they were both lying prone, squashed together like two sardines packed in a jar.

She hardly dared breathe. Above her frantically beating heart, she could hear muffled male voices and the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer. Oh, God. They were bound to be discovered.

Her eyes gradually became accustomed to the semidarkness. Thin bands of light filtered in between the unsealed horizontal planks and through the one tiny porthole at the front of the funnel. She could just make out Wylde’s profile, tiger-striped and shockingly close, as hebrought his index finger up to his lips in an unnecessary signal for quiet.

She lay on her back. He’d propped himself up on one elbow by her side, with one of his long legs draped partly over her to allow his larger body to fit into the restrictive space. Georgie closed her eyes as the scandalous nature of the position flooded her senses.

“Where do you fink ’e wants ’em?” a rough voice rasped.

“Just leave them over there,” came the reply.

The sound of something heavy being dropped echoed around the room. The footsteps receded, only to return a few moments later with the same series of clatters, grunts, and thuds, presumably some sort of lumber delivery. Georgie prayed that whoever it was would finish their task quickly and leave. It was warm inside the submarine, as if they’d been swallowed by a dragon. They were inside its belly, trapped within its curving ribs.

Wylde’s long body pressed against hers, his warm breath mingling with hers. Her heart beat in her temples, and she took rapid, shallow breaths as the darkness began to crowd in on her. Had Wylde shut the hatch completely? Wouldn’t they run out of air?

He seemed to become aware of her growing distress; his hand settled gently on her breastbone. “Breathe with me,” he whispered, his lips just brushing her ear, a mere thread of sound. “Slowly. It’s all right. Just breathe.”

His hand was warm through her clothing, a reassuring weight. She felt her rib cage rise and fall and matched her breaths to his. In and out. Slower. Calmer. The panic receded, only to be replaced by a greater sense of awareness—of him. As if to compensate for her lack of vision, all her other senses became more acute. She could feel the texture of his clothing, the buttons of his coat pressing into her side, every single place his strong body touched hers. A lingering trace of coffee and smokestill clung to him, but beneath that was his own familiar scent, which made her heart thunder against her ribs.

She glared at him in silent reproach, as if their ridiculous predicament were somehow his fault. He shot her a droll glance in return, as if to say,I warned you.

The delivery was still going on outside. Muffled sounds of scraping wood continued mere feet away, on just the other side of the planks, but Georgie could barely concentrate. All she could think about was Wylde’s proximity.

He shifted restlessly, his body pressing against hers, and then he closed his eyes, as if the feel of her against him caused him physical pain. She watched the apple in his throat bob down as he swallowed.

His hand was still resting lightly on her chest. Georgie shifted her shoulders, trying to get more comfortable, and the unexpected movement cause his hand to slip sideways. His palm cupped her breast, and Georgie sucked in a shocked gasp. Their eyes met—and a jolt of pure erotic tension flashed between them. Her stomach flipped.

“Georgie—” Wylde groaned hoarsely. His fingers tightened on her breast for a split second, before he seemed to realize what he was doing, and tugged his hand away as if she burned.

Georgie almost moaned at the loss. She wanted him to keep touching her. His breathing was deeper than normal, as if he’d been running, and as he shifted again, she became aware of the rigid length of him pressing against her leg. Her eyes widened in sudden realization. He wanted her!

He dropped his head against her shoulder with an odd, muffled sound, then gave a slow despairing exhale near her ear. “That’s what you do to me,” he whispered. “Every minute of the day. You make me crazy with wanting.”

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