Alias Smith And Jones. Kylie Brant
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banish old ghosts. Of course, today the tranquility was marred by the presence of the woman below deck.
His mouth turned down. Damned if he knew why he’d taken her money. Well, hell yes, he knew…because he’d been unable to afford to turn it down. But no amount of money could compensate for some kinds of trouble, and he couldn’t rid himself of the nagging suspicion that the word described Ann Smith. With a capital T.
“School of dolphin up ahead, Cap’n. Pretty miss like to see?”
Gazing in the direction of Pappy’s outstretched finger, he followed the man’s island dialect with little difficulty. “She’s down below, sick. Let’s leave her there.”
“Ladies like dolphins,” Pappy persisted. His wizened face was the color of walnut, burnished by his heritage and decades in the sun. “Pretty miss no different.”
“She’s more different than you think,” Jones muttered.
Although the other man couldn’t have heard his words from this distance, it was a sure thing he’d caught the tone. His voice split into a wide grin. “Cap’n show pretty miss nice things and mebbe she be nice to Cap’n.” He cackled at the dark look Jones threw him. “I ask her. I bet she want to see.”
Shrugging, Jones watched the other man disappear below. The woman wouldn’t be coming above, he’d put money on that. He’d never met anyone yet who was only seasick the first hour of a voyage. She’d be confined to bed for at least half the day.
Which suited him just fine. The blonde was a distraction, one he didn’t need. Even after she’d left the tavern last night, he’d been unable to stop thinking about her. Smoke hung thick in the place, so there had been no reason for her light, fresh scent to have lingered long after she’d left. And even less excuse for his mind to return to her, time and again that night, until he’d finally made an excuse to Lexie and gone home, alone.
He hadn’t been drunk, not quite, so he couldn’t blame his lack of concentration on liquor. No, it had been the woman who even now was probably retching below who was responsible for his sudden restlessness. That and a certainty that this was going to be the longest four days of his life.
“What you do with pretty miss, Cap’n? Toss her overboard?”
Although the idea had merit, he shook his head at Pappy’s question. “I told you, she’s in her stateroom.”
The man swung his head in silent negation. “Not there. And not getting sick in head, either. Not in galley. You leave shore without lady?”
He stared at the man, impatient. “Of course not. C’mere. Take the wheel.” When the man sprang to obey, he turned and went below. There wasn’t much space below deck. The woman had to be somewhere. He just hoped if she’d gotten sick she’d made it to the head.
It took a few moments below deck to discern that Pappy had been right. Ann Smith was nowhere in sight. A wave rocked the ship wildly, and he mentally cursed his crew member’s handling of the ship. Steadying himself with a hand against the wall, he opened the last remaining door.
And found the troublesome blonde in the last place he’d expected, the last place she should have been. In his cabin again, this time sprawled across his bed with her face buried in his pillow.
Ignoring the sudden knot that clenched in his stomach at the sight, he fixed her with a glare. Her head was bright against the navy sheets, and he had the sudden thought that now her scent would linger there, too, a tormenting reminder of her presence in a place she’d had no business being.
The glare settled into a scowl as she shoved herself upright in the bed, rose and turned for the door. Then sank slowly back down on the mattress when she saw him in the doorway.
“Hi.” Her tone was the most timid he’d heard from her, but it did nothing to allay his anger. “That…that was a big wave, wasn’t it? Did you feel it?”
“Must have been a big one to knock you out of your bunk, across the hall and into my bed.”
“Oh, well…about that.” She bounced up again, her hands twisting on the strap of her purse nervously. “I wasn’t actually in your…hmm.” Her gaze couldn’t seem to find a place to land. “I just…I took the pills you gave me but my bunk is sort of small and uncomfortable. I thought I’d rest better in a bigger bed.” She moistened her lips under his silent regard. “And I did. It’s a very nice bed….”
Comprehension dawned slowly, and Jones felt like three kinds a fool. He’d really been gone from civilization too long if he was becoming this slow on the uptake. Jamming his hand through his hair, he muttered, “I don’t believe this.” It wasn’t as if it hadn’t happened to him before, but of all the sorts of trouble he’d half expected to encounter with the woman, this kind had been the furthest from his mind.
“Look,” he said, turning his gaze back to her. “I think I know what’s going on here.”
She looked panicked. “You do?”
“Yeah. Damn.” This was embarrassing, which was a crock. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about. “But this thing between us is strictly business, okay? And that’s the way it’s gonna stay. I don’t mix business with pleasure, ever.” He’d learned his lesson about that the hard way and still had the scar to prove it.
Her expression was a mask of horrified fascination. “You…you think I want to have an affair with you?”
“Yeah, well…sex, anyway. And you seem like a very, uh, a real nice person. But I’m not interested in you that way.” Jones was proud of his tact. Although it wasn’t a skill he practiced on a regular basis, he thought he’d managed pretty well. Which didn’t explain her suddenly thunderous countenance.
“Let me get this straight. Even if I were offering casual no-strings sex, you wouldn’t be interested.”
What was it about women that they had to belabor everything? He thought he’d been damn clear, and it was something more instinctive than diplomacy that had him refraining from pointing out that she didn’t look like a no-strings kind of woman. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“It’s because I don’t have big boobs, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Boobs.” Her tone was disgusted. “I’ve got brothers. I know a man’s brain cells drain away the moment his hormones kick in. If I had a pair of thirty-six D’s you’d be drooling all over me.”
He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “For your information, I never drool.”
“All men drool when their tongues are hanging out of their mouths, which seems to be a universal reaction of your gender when faced with a huge set of mammary glands.”
There was a dull throb beginning in his temple. “Look, I was trying to be polite, and you’re missing the point.”
“Oh, I got the point all right. If I was contemplating having wild tempestuous sex with you, you wouldn’t be interested. I got that loud and clear.”
How the hell she’d managed to make him feel guilty when she’d been the one to sneak into his bed was beyond him. “Okay, then. I’m glad we got that out of the way.”
“Did we ever,” she muttered, shoving past him and marching down the corridor.
He followed her, feeling at a loss. “You know, at your weight, if you had big b— If you were big busted, you’d probably topple over every time you got up.”
She was ascending the ladder in record time. “Yeah, yeah. I told you, I know what men like.”
“You don’t know me,” he said flatly, tearing his gaze away from the curvy hips preceding him. Because if she did, if she ever found out that he was developing an inexplicable interest in delicately made blondes with backsides shaped by an angel, well then God help them both.