He ignored it. “What the hell else can you do?”
“I can help unload the lace,” Kit stated, chin high.
“Fine,” said Jack. “And what happens the first time someone hands you a keg instead? Here, take this to the sideboard.” Without warning, he lifted the keg he’d brought in and handed it to her.
Automatically, Kit put out her hands to take it. Jack let go.
Jack could carry the keg under one arm. He didn’t have any idea how much Kit could carry, but he didn?
?t expect her to sink under the weight.
Kit’s knees buckled. Her arms slipped about the keg as she struggled to balance the weight against her own and failed. She went down, bottom first, and the keg rolled back to flatten her. The instant before it did serious damage, Jack lifted it from her.
In awful silence, Kit lay flat on the floor and glared at Jack. Then she got her breath back. Her bound breasts, swelling in righteous indignation, fought against the constraining bands; her eyes spat purple flame. “You bastard! What kind of a stupid thing was that to do?”
Carefully, Jack set the keg back on the table. He glanced once at Kit, sprawled at his feet, then rapidly away, biting his lips against the laughter that threatened. She looked fit to kill. “Here, let me…” Reaching down, he grasped both her hands. Gently, he hauled her to her feet. He didn’t dare meet her gaze; it was sharp enough to slice strips off him. Doubtless, her tongue soon would.
Back on her feet, Kit was agonizingly aware that a certain portion of her anatomy was very bruised. “Dammit—that hurt!”
The accusation was softened by the way her lips trembled. She frowned, and Jack felt a patent fool. He’d been trying to protect her and instead, he’d nearly squashed her to death.
“Sorry.” He was halfway into an apologetic smile, designed to charm her from her anger, when he remembered what would happen if he did. She’d smile back. He could just imagine it—a small, hurt little smile. He’d be felled. “But I’m afraid that’s precisely what will happen if you play the lady smuggler with me.” Realizing how close to danger he stood, Jack stalked back around the table.
Kit’s spine stiffened. Her fingers curled in fury. Her wilder self came to life. Remember your alternative to smuggling thrills?
Kit smiled at Jack and noted his defensive blink. Her smile deepened. She put her hands behind her waist and turned slightly, grimacing artistically. “How right you are,” she purred. “I don’t suppose you have anything here for bruises?” She let her hands press down and over the ripe curves of her bottom.
Despite years of training in the art of dissembling, Jack couldn’t tear his eyes from her hands. His body made the switch from semiarousal, his usual state in Kit’s presence, to aching hardness before her hands reached the tops of her thighs. His brain registered the implication in her husky tone and scrambled what few wits he had remaining. Only his instinct for self-preservation kept him rooted to the floor with the table, a last bastion, between them.
It was the silence that finally penetrated Jack’s daze. He glanced up and caught a gleam suspiciously like satisfaction in the violet eyes watching him.
“Er…no. Nothing for bruises.” He had to get her out of here.
“But you must have something,” Kit said, her lids veiling her eyes. Her glance fell on the keg. Her smile grew. “As I recall, there’s a rub made with brandy.” She looked up to see Jack’s face drain of expression.
A brandy rub? Jack’s mind went into a spin. The image her words conjured up, of him applying a brandy rub to her bruised flesh, his hand stroking the warm contours he’d just watched her trace, left him rigid with the effort to remain where he was. Only the thought that she was deliberately baiting him kept him still. Slowly, he shook his head. “Wouldn’t help.”
Kit pouted. “Are you sure?” Her hands gently kneaded her bottom. “I’m really rather sore.”
Forcibly, Jack clamped an iron hold over every muscle in his body. His fists bunched; he felt as if he had lockjaw as he forced out the words: “In that case, you’d better get on your way before you stiffen up.”
Kit’s eyes narrowed, then she shrugged and half turned to pick up her muffler and hat. “So I can help with the boats from now on?” She started winding the muffler about her face.
Further argument was beyond Jack, but he’d be damned if he’d let her best him like this. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” His voice sounded strained.
Kit pulled on her hat and swung about to discuss the matter further, only to find Jack moving past her on his way to the door.
“We’ll see what cargo Nolan has lined up for us. After all, you’ve only got a week more to go.” Jack paused with his hand on the door latch and looked back, praying she’d leave.
Kit moved toward him, a considering light in her eyes, a knowing smile on her lips. “I thought you wanted two months?”
She was getting far too close. Jack drew a ragged breath and pulled open the door. “You agreed to one month, and that’ll serve our purpose. No need for more.” No need for further torture.
Kit paused beside him, tilting her head to look up at him from beneath the brim of her hat. “You’re sure one month will be long enough?”
“Quite sure.” Jack’s voice had gained in strength. Encouraged, he grasped her elbow and helped her over the threshold, risking the contact in the interests of greater safety. “We’ll meet here at eleven as usual. Good night.”
Kit’s eyes widened at his helping hand but she accepted her departure with good grace, pausing in the patch of light thrown through the open door to smile at him. “Until tomorrow, then,” she purred.