Yes, time to get down. As she hung there, deciding how much longer to rest, a figure came out on to the deck. Even foreshortened she recognised Alistair in his shirtsleeves. He seemed to be holding a pole of some kind. He turned as though to climb the companionway to the almost deserted poop deck and as he did so he glanced up.
Dita froze. Would he would recognise her?
‘Get down here this instant!’ He did not shout, but his voice carried clearly.
Defiant, Dita shook her head and began to climb. She had rested; she could do it and she was not going to come down just because Alistair told her to. A rapid glance showed he was climbing after her and she kept going. But she was slow now, slower than he was, and he reached her as she neared the top where the rigging narrowed sharply.
‘Dita, don’t you dare try to get into the crow’s nest!’
She glanced down to the wind-tousled black head on a level with her ankles, suddenly very glad he was there. ‘I have no intention of trying,’ she admitted. ‘I’ll just have a rest and then I’ll come down.’
‘You are tired?’ His face was tipped up to her now, and the world below him—one moment the sea, the next the hard and unforgiving white deck planks—twisted and turned in the most disconcerting manner.
‘Just a little.’
‘Hell. Keep still and hang on.’
‘I have no intention of doing anything else. Alistair! What on earth are you doing?’ He climbed up beside her and then swung over so his body bridged hers and his hands gripped the rope either side of her wrists.
‘Stopping you falling off. Your face has gone the nasty shade of green I remember from when you climbed the flagpole on the church tower.’
‘Oh.’ She certainly felt green now. ‘Alistair, you can’t do this, I’ll push you off.’
‘There’s hardly any bulk to you,’ he said. ‘Put one foot down. Good, now the other.’
Awkwardly they began to descend. When the ship swung one way his body crushed hers into the rigging, even though she could feel him fighting to keep his weight off her. When it went the other way she knew his arms would be stretched by the extra extension her body created. She glanced over to his right hand and watched the way his knuckles whitened and the tendons stood out under the strain.
His breath was hot on her neck, her cheek, her ear, and she could feel his heartbeat when his chest pressed into her back. And, as her mind cleared and she gained enough confidence to think of other things, she realised that he was also finding this proximity stimulating—with his groin crushed into her buttocks with every roll of the ship there was no disguising it.
The realisation almost made her lose concentration for a moment. She was enjoying the feel of his body so close too, frustrating though it was to be pinned down like this, unable to do anything but place hands and feet at his command. I remember how his body felt over mine on a bed. I remember the scent of his skin and his hands on my …
‘We’re at the rail. Slide round in front of me and jump down,’ Alistair ordered, shaking her out of her sensual reverie.
Dita very much doubted her legs were up to jumping, but she had too much pride to argue. With an awkward twist she swung down from the rigging and landed on the deck on all fours with an inelegant thump. ‘Thank you.’
Alistair’s face as he straightened up beside her showed nothing but anger. If he had enjoyed being so close to her, it did not show now. ‘You idiot! What the blazes do you think you were doing? You could have been killed.’
‘I doubt it.’ They were attracting attention from some of the deck hands; Dita turned on her heel and walked away towards the cuddy, her shoulders braced against the coming storm. Behind her she could hear the slap of Alistair’s bare feet on the deck.
The space was empty, she was relieved to see, and the stewards had not begun to lay the table and set out breakfast. There was little hope of outdistancing Alistair and reaching the roundhouse, although she was going to try—he could hardly pursue her into that all-female sanctuary. Dita lengthened her stride, then his grip on her shoulder stopped her dead in her tracks. His hand was warm and hard and the thin cotton caught in the roughness of his palm. Struggling would be undignified, she told herself.
‘I should go and change,’ Dita said, her back still turned.
‘Not until you give me your word you will not try that damn-fool trick again.’ The thrust of his hand as he spun her round was not gentle, nor was the slap of his other palm as he caught her shoulder to steady her. ‘Are you all about in your head, Perdita?’
She tipped up her chin and stared back into the furious tiger eyes with all the insolence she could muster. ‘Perdita? Now that is serious—you never called me that unless you were very angry with me.’ Alistair’s eyes narrowed. ‘Let me see. The last time must have been when I borrowed your new hunter and rode it.’
‘Stole,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘And tried to ride it. I can recall hauling you out of the ditch by your collar.’
‘And you called me Perdita for a week afterwards.’ She remembered his strength as he had lifted her, the fear in his voice for her—and how that had changed to anger the moment he realised she was unhurt. He had never failed to rescue her then, however much she annoyed him.
‘And it is not funny! ‘
She must have been smiling at the memory. He took a step forwards; she slid back, still in his grasp.
‘And I am very angry now and I am not fifteen and you are not a child and a fall from a horse is not the same as plunging into the sea from a great height.’
‘No,’ she agreed. The door was quite close. If she just edged a little more to the right and ducked out of his grip … She needed to distract him. ‘You enjoyed that.’