"Enough, come here."
He heard her moving about in the darkness.
"Diana, if I swear I will not touch you, will you please share the bunk with me tonight?"
"I don't trust you."
You're probably very wise not to. "Don't be a missish fool. We will be married, you know. You have already been living in close proximity with me for a week."
She was thinking about it, he knew it. He waited, saying no more.
"I am not going to marry you, Lyon."
That reply was not really unexpected. It came to him suddenly that he'd already accepted the fact that she would be his wife. Strangely, he no longer was fighting the notion. She made him laugh when he didn't want to thrash her. She never bored him and, he admitted, she was lovely. He said mildly, "Very well. All I am asking you to do is keep yourself from being hurt. I swear to keep my hands away from your, er, womanly parts. Come here."
He heard her snort, then say, "And I promise to keep my hands away from your manly parts."
He laughed. "You have the last word this time. Why don't you take the inside? That way you won't roll off onto the floor. Besides, Diana, I am scared to death of this storm and need your soothing presence beside me."
"Ha! I don't believe that, butvery well."
/> She crawled over him, dragging three blankets with her. He didn't move. "There isn't enough room," she said.
He inched closer to the edge of the bunk.
Finally, she was lying on her side, her back to him, wrapped securely in her blankets. She realized after just a few minutes that she was quite used to the even tempo of his breathing. Then the ship lurched again and she felt his arms fly out. He grabbed her about her waist and she struggled to a sitting position.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't want to end up on the floor. Then the captain and crew just might believe that you beat me."
"It is a thought," she said. "Would you please remove your hands now?"
"Certainly."
They settled themselves again.
"Diana?"
"Yes?"
"I don't mean to revolt your finest feelings, but I must turn on my side, else I won't be safe."
"And you're nearly speechless with fright?"
"Exactly." He curled against her back, lightly placing his arm about her waist. She felt his warm breath against her neck. She wished she hadn't braided her hair. At least it would have been some kind of cover.
I won't think about this, she thought, and forced herself to take deep, slow breaths.
As for Lyon, he was sternly informing his lower body not to respond.
Diana awoke several times during the night when the ship heaved in a particularly violent movement. Lyon had her held securely. For the first time in a week, she felt warm enough, and she knew it was from the heat of his body. I will not think about it. I won't let himdo what?
Lyon awoke very early the following morning. The ship had returned to its gentle rocking motion. The storm, thank God, had blown itself out and the ship was still in one piece. He realized suddenly that his right hand was beneath the three blankets and was cupping Diana's breast. He could feel the slow upward rise and fall of her breathing. His fingers itched. Her breast filled his hand. His breathing quickened. She felt so soft, her flesh so very warm and inviting even through her linen nightgown. She will be my wife, he thought, staving off the guilt he immediately felt. His fingers curled, just a bit. She moved in her sleep, her body shifting slightly so that her breast eased more fully against his palm.
The Spanish Inquisition should have had this torture, he thought. He felt her nipple respond without her volition. Her breast felt heavy, richly full, and he swallowed convulsively.
She moaned softly and he froze.
Diana felt marvelously warm. She moved slightly, onto her back, and felt the warmth increase. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She was two inches from Lyon's face. He looked as if he were in pain.