s horrendous, and then she was being hauled in the wake of the boom, the wind filling the sail and causing the heavily laden yacht to list to starboard.
Kit’s eyes widened in fright. She looked over the railings at the black waves and remembered she couldn’t swim.
Her belly hit the bale. The next gust of wind would lift her from her feet, half over the rail. She was no expert seaman, but if she let go of the rope, the yacht looked set to capsize.
Hard hands locked about hers on the rope and hauled back. Kit added her weight to Jack’s and the boom swung back. But the wind retaliated, filling the sail once more. The jerk on the rope pulled Kit hard against the bale, her arms outstretched over the railing. Jack slammed into her back.
Kit forgot the boom, the wind, the sail; forgot the waves and the fact that she couldn’t swim; forgot everything but the awesome sensation of a very hard male body pressed forcibly against hers. She was jammed between the bale and Jack. She could feel the muscles in his chest shift against her as he struggled to haul in the boom. She could feel the muscles of his stomach brace into hard ridges as he used his weight to maintain their balance. She could feel the solid weight of his thighs pressed hard against her bruised bottom. On either side of her slender legs, she could feel the long columns of his legs like steel supports anchoring them to the deck, defying the wind’s shrieking fury. She could also feel the hard shaft of desire that nudged into the small of her back. The discovery held her riveted.
Uninterested, was he? Found her unattractive, did he? What sort of game was he playing?
“For God’s sake, woman! Lean back!”
Jack’s furious whisper recalled Kit to the urgency of the situation. She dutifully added her weight to his as he drew in the boom.
Behind her, Jack was facing a conundrum unlike any he’d ever experienced. Having Kit trapped against him was pure hell. He’d give anything to be able to push her aside but didn’t dare; he needed her additional weight to balance the wind in the sail. And he couldn’t relax the tension on the rope long enough to wrap it about the rail.
The yacht raced before the wind, tearing through the waves. The helmsman tacked so they were driven by the wind-filled sail and were no longer in danger of capsizing.
Matthew appeared at Jack’s shoulder, and shouted over the wind: “If you can hold it like that, we’ll be all right.”
Jack nodded and turned his head, intending to have Matthew replace Kit on the rope, but Matthew had already deserted him. He glared in disbelief at his henchman’s retreating back.
Quite where the idea sprang from, Kit wasn’t sure, but it suddenly occurred to her that Jack was every bit as trapped as she was. And, that being so, this was a perfect opportunity to further her aims in reasonable safety. She was screened from the other men by Jack’s bulk. He had his hands full of rope, and he could hardly do much when the beach was only five minutes away. With a view to determining the possibilities, Kit pressed back against him.
A sharply indrawn breath just above her left ear was the result.
Her action had given her a little more room to maneuver. She wriggled her bottom, slowly, and felt a ripple of tension pass through the muscles in his thighs. The shaft rising between them was like iron, a solid but living force. Moving slowly, keeping her weight braced against the rope, Kit rubbed her body, from shoulders to hips and beyond, side to side against the man behind her.
Jack bit back an oath. He clamped his teeth over his lower lip to stifle a groan of frustration. Damn the woman! What devil possessed her wild senses to make her choose this precise moment to give him a demonstration of her potential? He could feel every undulation of her slender form, every purring stroke. She moved like a cat, sinuously against him.
The wind tugged again, and they were jammed together once more. Jack closed his eyes and forced his mind to concentrate on keeping his grip on the rope. His grip on his mind was dissolving.
Slamming into the bale knocked the breath out of Kit. She waited, but Jack made no move to pull back. His breath wafted the curls above her left ear.
Jack was content to remain where they were. He’d no intention of giving her the leeway to continue her little game. He considered whispering a few carefully worded threats but couldn’t think of anything appropriate. He’d a nasty suspicion his voice would betray him if he tried to speak at all. He set his jaw and endured, cataloging every little move she made into his ledger of account against the time, almost a week distant, when payment would fall due. He’d every intention of making sure she paid. In full. With interest.
The sight of the beach was more welcome than the cliffs of Dover had ever been. Jack saw the helmsman wave. “Let go of the rope. Slowly.”
Kit did as she was told, wary of the wind-whipped sail. Jack held on until he was sure her hands were free, then he let go as well. The boom swung away, but the wheel was also swung; the yacht slewed and slowed as the wind emptied from the sail. The boom swung inboard.
Jack was watching it. He ducked, taking Kit to the deck with him. She sprawled full-length beside him.
A quick glance showed Jack that the helmsman was concentrating on his yacht while the other men, including Matthew, were busy securing the boom. The moment was too tempting to pass up.
Kit had seen the boom returning but had not been expecting Jack’s hands to close so abruptly on her shoulders. The deck was hard and uncomfortable, but it was doubtless better than a broken head. She saw the men struggling to tie the wretched boom back into position and placed her hands palm down on the deck. She braced herself to rise. Instead, she froze as a large hand splayed across her bottom.
Kit stopped breathing. The hand pressed gently, moving in a slow, circular motion, then its orientation shifted. Damp heat spread over her rear. Two long fingers slipped between her thighs.
With an audible gasp, Kit shot to her knees, but that only pressed her bottom more fully into that caressing hand, leaving her more open to those intimately probing fingers.
Too shocked to think, she leaned back on her haunches. The long fingers pressed deep. Kit leapt to her feet, her face flaming.
From behind came a mocking, very male laugh. “Later, sweetheart.”
Two hard hands set her aside, and Jack moved past to check the boom.
Kit escaped Jack’s dangerous presence as soon as she possibly could. Furious, nervous, and shaken, she bided her time until the difficult unloading operation began. Then she sought out Matthew. “I’ll go up on the cliff and keep watch.”