Page 42 of Rose
“Where are you storming off to, Captain?”
“There are just a few things that require my attention,” he said, straining to keep his voice level.
William shook his head. “I’ve been married for thirty-five years now. I know a lovers’ quarrel when I see one.” He rested his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Trust me, Captain. Whatever it is, you can’t walk away from it—it will only be waiting for you upon your return.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled at Tristan encouragingly. “Go to your wife and make amends. No matter who is at fault, just tell the dear girl you’re sorry, and all will be right.”
Tristan’s hands clenched into tight fists as he resisted the urge to flatten William against the wall and push past him, but Tristan knew William would never relent. He was a sentimental and stubborn old man.
Tristan scrubbed his hand over his face as he railed against every instinct screaming inside his brain. “Fine,” he snapped, then stormed back down the stairs and stood in front of his door again.
“Take a few steadying breaths,” William cautioned, peering down from the hatch.
“Heed my warning, William,” Tristan growled. “Take yourself to another part of the ship.”
William’s eyes widened before he nodded and sidestepped out of Tristan’s view.
Tristan turned his gaze back to the door and took several deep breaths. On the other side, awaited the most beautiful and admirable woman he had ever known. He flexed his neck from side to side.
He could do this.
All he had to do was sleep next to Rose in the narrowest bed in all Christendom and not touch her…not weave his fingers through her silken red curls or taste her full lips or grab her taut thighs and spread them apart and—”
Enough, his mind screamed.
He swung open the door, his heart racing, his breaths coming in great heaves.
Rose lay in bed with the blankets pulled up under her chin, her eyes wide. “Ye accomplished yer many things quickly enough.”
He shut the door behind him. “There were fewer than I thought.” He stood, staring down at her. He longed to rip the covers back, pull her into his arms, and show her just how hot he burned for her. Swallowing the curse that rushed up his throat, he turned and raked his hand through his hair.
Then he whirled back around. “May I,” he said, standing close to the bed. He could hear the strain in his own voice.
She nodded, the blanket still tucked under her chin.
He lay down. Her whole body pressed against the side of his. The contact was unavoidable and pure torture.
He blew out the candle. The darkness felt thick and heavy. All he could hear were their quick breaths. His body ached with a need so great he thought he might explode. Never had he wanted a woman so badly.
“I lied today,” she suddenly said.
He froze.
“I barely slept at all last night.”
Her words caressed him in the dark. The ache in his chest grew tenfold. “Neither did I,” he rasped.
Moments passed. Their confessions hung suspended in the darkness, surrounding them.
“I do not think I will sleep again,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard, gripping the blanket in a death lock. “Neither will I.”
Then he drew a deep breath, fighting for control. Releasing the blanket, he closed his hand gently over hers. Her fingers trembled in his grasp. Slowly, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. He heard her breath catch.
“Goodnight, Rose,” he said, his voice strained.
“Goodnight, Tristan.”
Tension filled the room, making it difficult to draw breath. He held tight to her hand and prayed for the dawn.
