"I've got you."

Pulling her closer, Jack saw his men throw down a few life-rings from the very closet in which they had found their stowaway. Jack intercepted one of the floating cork rings and put it under her while Trahern quickly lowered the bosun's chair to pull them up with.

Holding on to Eden with singular determination, he looked up and waved his arm, signaling the crew. Praying that Eden remained at least marginally alert, he held her tightly with one arm around her waist while he gripped the rope with the other, one knee balanced on the wooden seat of the bosun's chair.

At his signal, the line of men up on deck heaved in unison, drawing them swiftly through the waves. Then, as the hull of The Winds of Fortune towered over them, the men heaved on the ropes again.

Jack tautened every muscle in his body to brace for the strain; he shifted Eden onto his shoulder and clamped her to him as the men on deck lifted them out of the freezing water into the bitter wind.

For a few precarious seconds, they ascended on the bosun's chair, swinging and twisting over the churning waves below. They flew up over the rails of The Winds of Fortune, past the tangled ma.s.s of rigging that had struck her, and landed heavily in a heap on deck like the blasted catch of the day.

"Eden!"

Jack laid her down, cradling her head on the deck as gently as possible as he knelt beside her. Several of the men were already bringing blankets.

"She's not breathing."

Her lips were blue. Jack gripped her bodice and tore it open, exposing her new-made corset. In their reverence for the brave girl who had won over the whole crew, the men averted their eyes. Jack wrenched the corset's lacings loose, pumped on her chest, and she coughed.

He turned her onto her side as she spit up the seawater she had ingested, hacking and coughing for air.

When it was clear that she was breathing again, and conscious, he sat back on his calves in a kneeling position. His shoulders dropped, though his chest was still heaving.

He lifted his face to the marble sky, his hand still resting on her hip. He could have wept. He closed his eyes, shaking with cold and the aftermath of pure terror.

"I'm s-sorry, Jack," she chattered, lifting her stricken gaze to his with great, green, woeful eyes. "I m-more t-trouble than I'm w-worth."

"Stop talkin' nonsense," he chided gruffly as his heart clenched. He scooped her up in his arms and hugged her to him for all he was worth. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered. The choice of whether or not to dare love her had nearly been taken out of his hands.

"Oh, Jack." She started crying.

"Shh, sweeting. I've got you now." He pressed a fervent kiss to her cold forehead. A moment later, he stood up, lifting her in his arms. Holding her like the most precious treasure, he carried her back down to safety below.

Chapter.

Eleven.

The ship had stopped its tossing; hours later, the sea was calm. A steady drizzle of rain drummed the soaked planks and speckled the bank of stern windows, but by early afternoon, it appeared they had weathered the storm.

Eden was still shaken by her brush with death, but at least she'd had the chance to dry off, change into warm clothes, and rest for a while. Jack was still on deck running things, as he was wont to do. After bringing her down here and making sure she was all right, he had simply changed his clothes and then had gone back up on deck to finish battling the storm. The man had to be perfectly exhausted.

Dressed in one of his oversized shirts, with his thick brocade dressing gown wrapped around her for added warmth, Eden endeavored to make herself useful, lighting a few candles in the day cabin to ward off the gray gloom. She gathered some things together that Jack would want when he came down, towels, dry clothes, and such. She put fresh sheets and extra blankets on the bed. As soon as the ship's cook received permission to start a fire again in the galley stoves, she ordered tea and a hot meal for them both, along with a pail of heated water to wash the sea salt off her skin after her tumble into the waves. Jack would want to wash, too, she thought.

This done, she began the wearisome task of righting the tumbled furniture and putting back in their proper places all the books and cups and random objects that had gone careening across the room with the violent rocking of the ship.

With her mind continually replaying those awful moments at the mercy of the frigid sea, her hands still trembled a bit, making her slightly clumsy as she shoved each leather-bound volume back onto the shelves. She had faced many dangers in her life, but she knew deep in her bones that that was the closest she had ever come to meeting the great Omega. If it had not been for Jack, risking his life to save her...

She shuddered, pausing in her task.

She still felt ridiculous for what she had said to him on deck before the storm had hit, during the St. Elmo's Fire. She had practically told him she loved him, and he had said nothing back. One could not help but feel a bit rejected.

Of course, he had saved her life. Actions spoke louder than words. Then again, as captain of the ship, he was responsible for everyone aboard his vessel and she knew he took this duty very seriously. He would've jumped into the waves to save anyone, she admitted, crestfallen.

Yes, he had rescued her and had carried her down here most tenderly a few hours ago, but with the crisis behind them, he was probably still angry at her for finding out about his real father. This man had more secrets than anyone she had ever met!

Frustrated, unsure how to act toward him when he returned, and still fraught with the chill of her near doom, she pulled his warm dressing gown more tightly around her and went back into the sleeping cabin.

She turned all the locks out of habit and then slid back into his berth, which, along with the extra blankets, she had already prepared with a bed warmer full of toasty coals.

She had just gotten comfortable and closed her eyes when she heard a small jangle of keys. Outside the door, she heard Jack fumbling to free the first lock. Getting up from the bed, she went to save him the trouble, quickly unlocking the rest.

When she opened the door, he was standing there with his key in hand, his face haggard with exhaustion, ice crystals on his coat and in his hair. Eden gave him a sympathetic half smile and pulled the door open wider. "Come in."

He pa.s.sed an uncertain glance over her face as she turned away, gliding ahead of him into the cabin with the long brocade dressing gown sweeping behind her. Jack followed her in, taking off his black, knitted sailor's cap and raking his hand slowly through his damp, tousled hair. Eden lit the pair of candles attached to the mahogany washstand. As Jack wearily drew off his soaked gloves, she strode over to his sea chest, which was doing duty as a table at the moment. Upon it sat the tray of victuals and the other things she had gotten ready for his arrival.

She poured him a cup of the fragrant Indian blend from the teapot, fortifying it with a splash of brandy to help warm him. She brought it to him, and he accepted her offering with mumbled thanks. He warmed his hands on the cup, inhaling the steam for a moment. She watched him in shrewd worry; he only drank a sip or two before setting the cup aside to pull off his coat. He threw it across the cannon to let the ice melt.

Eden went to get the towels, frowning when she returned. The man would catch his death in those wet clothes. "Let me do that," she murmured when she saw the trouble he was having trying to make his frozen, shaking fingers work well enough to unb.u.t.ton his waistcoat.

He stood patiently and lowered his head while she freed him from the thick fleece vest, tugging it off his wide shoulders. "Take off your shirt," she ordered, a bit unsettled by his intense, bleary stare.

As he obeyed her order, peeling his wet shirt off over his head, she slipped off his borrowed dressing gown and held it up for him. "Quick, before the heat escapes."

"You use it-"

"I'm warm enough now."

"All right." Too tired to argue, he put his arms through the capacious sleeves, pulling the robe around him. "Oh," he said in mild surprise, a slight, weary smile breaking across his face. "You got it all nice and warm for me."

"I have my uses," she replied with an arch look as he slowly knotted the cloth belt.

Turning away to get his food for him, she eyed his lower half, now neatly concealed beneath the robe. "You might want to take off your, er, unmentionables, too."

"Yes, ma'am." He flashed a lazy grin.

Well, apparently, he wasn't that tired. "Incorrigible," she murmured as she went back to their makeshift table. She was glad to see him smile. Maybe he wasn't angry at her anymore about finding out his secret.

At least, perhaps he'd gotten over it.

His boots clunked to the floor and a moment later his breeches and long drawers were draped across the cannon with his coat.

"You must be starved. Cook sent up a bowl of chicken stew-it's very good." She lifted the lid and gave it a stir. "There's bread and b.u.t.ter, too. What else? Hot water so you can wash up. Here." She had dunked the washcloth in the basin of wonderfully warm water and turned just as he stepped up behind her.

"Eden," he murmured.

She turned around, the washcloth in one hand, the soap in the other.

He gazed cautiously into her eyes. "I owe you an apology."

"No, you don't, Jack," she said softly as her heart lurched with tremulous hope. She put the items down. "I was wrong to pry."

He touched her chin. "Nonsense. I shouldn't have yelled at you. You didn't deserve it. You were trying to help-and I pushed you away."

"It doesn't matter now. Does it?" She rested her hand tentatively on his chest, giving the black velvet lapel of his rich brocade robe a small caress. "You saved my life, and risked your own for me. Oh, Jack." She shook her head in fervent contrition. "I'm so sorry I let the boy get away from me. You were counting on me to watch over him-I hardly turned my back for two seconds, and look at what happened. You could have died!"

"A storm like that, we all could've died."

"But you didn't let that happen." Tilting her head back, she gazed at him for a moment, then reached up and stroked his rugged face softly. "Jack, my lion," she whispered. "Thank you for saving my life."

"Any time," he said quietly. Then he turned his face and grazed his lips along the heel of her hand.

She gazed lovingly at him for a long moment, a lump in her throat. She shook her head with a tender tsk, tsk. "Look at you, my brave man." She picked up one of the towels and reached up to blot his dark, wavy locks. "You're so tired, I know," she whispered as she smoothed the excess moisture from his hair. "I'm going to take care of you now, all right?"

Yes, please, he thought, his stomach quivering with desire as she poured out her tenderness on him. It wasn't his way to let a woman make a fuss over him, but the storm had wrung every ounce of obstinacy from him. He was stiff and sore and cold to the bone, too tired to deny his true feelings for her now, and he hadn't the will.

His fears still remained, but having come so close to losing her, they didn't seem to matter anymore.

"Sit," Eden whispered.

He obeyed, moving to the edge of the bed. Dressed in nothing but one of his linen shirts, which reached all the way to her knees, she came and stood between his legs, toweling his hair dry, and then gently stroking his skin with the warm, wet washcloth, wiping away the traces of the storm's abuse.

Jack watched her, entranced.

No, he had never had this before, what she gave him now. He had never sought it and if he'd found it, he probably would have distrusted it.

His pulse quickened with her every touch.

Her skin looked silken in the candlelight. All the red and golden hues in her hair burned like a sunset, or like the dancing flames of a cozy hearth fire. She stroked his face and kissed his forehead and his eyebrow, his cheekbone and his nose all the while she worked.

Her nurturing felt so b.l.o.o.d.y wonderful that he barely dared breathe for fear it might stop. He closed his eyes, absorbing her nuzzling affection in soul-deep need; ah, she was breaking him down so sweetly, kissing away his resistance, layer after layer of hardened defenses, until she reached the bare rock core of stark loneliness in him, so cold and bleak.

Jack wanted her so badly. She wrapped her softness around him, enfolding him in her tender heat.

And Eden thought he had saved her?

He dragged his eyes open again after a minute, his c.o.c.k swollen beneath the robe. She hadn't even kissed him and he was nearly hard. She blushed a little when she saw his hungry stare, and lowered her gaze demurely.

"Let me get your supper," she murmured.

But it wasn't food that Jack was craving. He captured her wrist, stopping her. "All I really want is you."

She went motionless: His smoldering gaze traveled down her body as he reached out with his other hand and slipped the oversized shirt off her pearly shoulder. Her chest heaved, the deep V of the shirt falling open to expose one alabaster breast with the most exquisite pink tip he'd ever seen.

He leaned forward and pressed a reverent kiss to the curve of that silky white breast, closing his eyes. "Eden, my own lovely paradise," he whispered. "Warm me."

She caressed his head. "You need sleep, Jack."

"I need you."

"You've been up for thirty-six hours."

"One more won't hurt." When he kissed her nipple, she stopped him, backing away.

He licked his lips. "Where are you going?"

She didn't answer; her green eyes were wide and uncertain, betraying her desire when the long muzzle of the cannon behind her suddenly barred her further retreat. Jack rose and walked toward her. She turned away as though contemplating escape again.

"What is this?" he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Are you afraid of me now?"

"No." She tried to extricate herself from his hold, but he stilled her halfhearted struggles, clamping her squirming hips gently to his groin.

"Don't you want me?" he asked, letting her feel his throbbing against her sweet, bare bottom.

She let out a most intriguing whimper.

He wasn't sure if it was a yes or a no, but the shirt she was wearing rode up as she strained forward slightly over the cannon, her slim midriff pressed to the cool metal barrel. Shifting his position, he hooked his left arm around her slim waist and slid his right hand deftly under the long hem of his white shirt. He breathed a wordless sound of appreciation as he cupped her right cheek in his hand. He molded his now warm fingers around the demure, silky curve-and squeezed. She drew in her breath sharply; the sensuous arch of her back told him all that he needed to know.

His blood heated by several degrees. He curbed the roguish urge to plant a spanking on her juicy rear end-though she probably would have enjoyed it, knowing this little h.e.l.lion. But rougher play could wait. For now, still gently holding her captive, he stroked her beautiful hair, pushed all her long tresses to the side, then lowered his head and again kissed the exposed stretch of delicate shoulder where his shirt was falling off her in the most distracting fashion.

She held very still, trying not to encourage him, or perhaps to deny her response, but when he let his touch wander down to the charming cleft of her backside and dipped an exploratory caress between her legs from behind, he learned the truth: Her dew immediately bathed his fingertip, and she uttered a low moan at his touch.

Jack felt his own need escalating swiftly.

He withdrew his middle finger from her wet threshold and let his hand glide around her hip to the front. He continued kissing her shoulder and her nape, while his hand played with her belly and coaxed her nipples to full arousal. Petting her creamy hips and sleek thighs, he circled her mound with a light tantalizing caress, until, at last, he grazed her hardened jewel, provoking an eager shudder.

She leaned against the cannon, braced on her hands, her body sending signals that would have shocked her virginal mind. He continued caressing her head with one hand, running his fingers through her luxurious hair; with the other, a few light strokes between her legs helped him recall exactly how she liked to be touched. And then he gave his lady just what her sweet body craved.

She was shaking, moving with him in dazed rhythm, her c.l.i.t swelling, rigid and inflamed, as he gathered her teeming nectar on his fingertip and used it to lubricate each gentle, teasing stroke. After a few moments, she dropped her head back with another soft groan, driving him mad with the sinuous motion of her b.u.t.tocks winding against his loins.

It soon became more than Jack could bear.

"Don't move," he whispered, his left hand still kneading the soft flesh of her left hip to make sure she didn't take it into her head to flee. He couldn't have that. "Don't be afraid," he added, untying the belt of his dressing gown with his other trembling hand. "I'm not going to take you yet. I just want you to feel me now." Letting his robe fall open down the front of him, he angled his upright c.o.c.k downward, nosing into the slick, damp heat between her thighs.

"Mm," she said, riding it a bit-cautiously.

Jack swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He was panting, and as he went back to sporting with her pert little c.l.i.t, he could feel his restraint beginning to splinter at the seams, like a ship coming apart in a storm.

Her wetness dripped down his c.o.c.k as she writhed slowly, sliding her silken crevice along the upper surface of his pulsating shaft. He helped her, glad to be of service; he rocked his hips with a slow, careful motion, letting her get used to him between her legs. After a moment or two, she reached back and clutched his hip, pulling him closer, her teeth bared, her hazy eyes glittering.

How pa.s.sionate she was, he mused as he complied, his touch quickening. Her eager panting turned to soft and high-pitched moans; she gasped his name and for a fleeting instant, her lithe body went rigid.