Page 72 of The Pirate and the Pagan
He tried to keep the amusement from his face but failed utterly at her preposterous assertion. “I don’t do business unless it’s to my advantage,” he said. His eyes traveled down her body and back up again as if he were assessing her for his own private use. He thought how pleasant it would be to free those pert breasts from that lace shirt and toy with her nipples until they stood out like the ruby studs she wore. He’d like to lay her on the floor and teach her how to kiss a man, whatever sort of struggle she offered.
“I can offer you storage for any cargo you bring in,” she stated boldly.
“Up at the hall?” He grinned.
“No, at Roseland. I’ve a cave opens into my cellars,” she boasted.
“So, my little hellcat, you’re up to your pretty neck in smuggling … tell me how in Christ’s name you manage to keep all this from the magistrate?”
“Death and damnation, I should have kept it from him, but I was foolish enough to confess my sins.” She grinned sheepishly.
“And expected absolution?” He grinned.
She changed the subject. “I have some jewelry I’d like to sell.”
“Rubies?” he asked.
“No! I’m particularly partial to rubies,” she drawled. “I have diamonds, pearls, sapphires, lots of stuff. Will you buy them from me?”
His eyebrows went up at mention of so many jewels but he shook his head. “I told you I don’t like doing business with women, they have no stomach for danger.”
“Try me,” she challenged.
He stood up for the first time and she noticed his movements had the easy grace of an animal, lithe and quick, yet at the same time appearing unhurried.
“Jake,” he called from the cabin door. A blond youth about her own age appeared and had the audacity to wink at her. “Fetch two bottles of champagne and a barrel of oysters,” Rory directed. He came back into the cabin and circled his prey. “Have you ever had champagne?” he asked.
She tossed her long black tresses and lifted the corners of her mouth with conceit. “Of course. I had a whole cargo of the stuff in my cellars two months back,” she boasted.
He looked amused. He drew two comfortable chairs up to a low round table, sat down, and put his feet up on it. “Make yourself comfortable,” he invited, taking two Venetian crystal glasses from a cabinet at his elbow.
Jake brought the bottles of champagne in one hand and the barrel of oysters in the other. He plunked both down on the table between Rory and Cat and left, but not before he’d winked at her again.
With a little shock she realized that the oysters were raw. She’d eaten oysters before, of course, but they’d always been decently baked or fried. Raw oysters were a mass of slippery gray slime and just the thought of swallowing one made her queasy.
Rory Helford filled their goblets with champagne, pried off the lid on the barrel, and said, “Dig in.” He took a knife from his belt and picked up an ugly crustacean. He was testing her! The son of a bitch was laughing at her.
With all the assurance in the world, she took out her knife, slipped it into the shell of the barnacled creature, and exposed it to the light of day. She eyed it with distaste, then with a bravado she did not feel, she lifted it to her lips and tipped it down her throat. For one awful moment her throat closed and refused to accept the obscenity, then it slid down with a plop and she quaffed the champagne to wash it down into her stomach. By God, she’d done it! But now of course, she had the whole disgusting thing to do over, all the while looking as if she was enjoying herself immensely. She matched him oyster for oyster and glass for glass. He watched her with admiration as he ate and drank with gusto. She was a rare beauty, what man could resist her? Certainly not Rory Helford, he decided. He refilled her glass again and again and noticed she swallowed more champagne than oysters.
They were laughing over a tiny crab that jumped off one of the oyster shells and scrambled across the table, when all of a sudden a look of horror crossed her face and Summer and the oysters parted company. She moaned in terrible distress as she retched and spewed forth oysters afloat in champagne.
Rory was on his feet instantly. He picked her up with the greatest tenderness in the world and took her through an adjoining door into his bedroom. “Cat, forgive me, sweetheart, I’ve made you ill.” He laid her down upon his bed and brought fresh towels and water. He removed the offending shirt and washed her face, throat, and breasts with gentle hands.
She felt so ill, she thought she would die. He slipped off his own black shirt and put it on her, tenderly brushing her hair back from her face. “I’ll leave you to rest,” he murmured. “Close your eyes for half an hour and I’ll come back to check on you.”
She turned her face into the cool, silken cover and wished she could die. Miraculously, little by little she began to feel better. Within a half hour the extreme nausea had passed enough that she began to take notice of her surroundings. She lay upon a scarlet silk cover; above her was a flame-colored silk canopy that billowed and drifted about in the sea breeze from an open porthole. Red silk panels were tied back at the moment, but she could see that when the ties were undone and let down, the occupants of the bed would be enclosed in a flame-colored world which was exotic in the extreme, more so because the silk was transparent and would not completely hide whatever took place there. Red-lacquered Chinese cabinets stood against walls paneled in light wood which gave off a fragrance. Summer realized it must be sandalwood. The carpet was like thick, black, plush velvet. Good God, she thought, it’s fortunate I didn’t spew all over this. Then she thought wickedly, I’ll bet that would have wiped the damned amusement from his face.
She groaned. Hell and furies, how was she going to face him after she’d embarrassed herself so completely? She sat up as she heard him at the door and he came in carrying a steaming bowl. The last thing she wanted was food. Her lashes swept to her cheeks in chagrin and she muttered low, “You don’t expect me to ever eat again, do you?”
He laughed and said, “I made it for you myself. It’s broth … here, I’ll even feed you,” he offered. He lifted the spoon to her lips. She blushed hotly, but opened obediently and after three or four mouthfuls actually began to feel better.
“I’m sorry, I’ve never so disgraced myself in front of a man before,” she said shyly.
“That’s all right. I’ve never had a woman in my bed who I didn’t make love to before.”
Her blush deepened.
“But I’m giving you fair warning, little hellcat, I’m going to seduce you.”
