Chapter 17

"Isn't this nice? Me seeing you again. You seeing me."

To be truthful, the way his eyes glazed and his teeth paused midway to tearing off another hunk of bread, it was plain the last thing he wanted to see this morning was her. It was hardly important. Flint was slippery, waiting only for the moment her back was turned. He must be. Otherwise he'd have made some insinuating remark about the rolls. He hadn't. The time had come to strike.

He tore another mouthful. "That depends."

"Of course it depends. Here you are, eating my nice bread and "

"On the eye of the beholder."

"That's supposed to be beauty, James and it's in the eye of, not on."

"Whatever. Just quit it with the pretending you're dancing with joy. That you want me, even."

"Very well, I don't. And very well, I won't. Dance with joy, that is. But I couldn't agree more. Last night I gave you my rules and you, to your everlasting credit, gave me yours. Now, here's the thing. This morning the time has come to parley. Privateer fashion. About this transaction. Because of course, if you're somehow incapable? Or, well, I don't know." She didn't. Or why she'd said that when she meant to parley. "Wanting to go somewhere, perhaps?"

He set his coffee cup down on the saucer with a clink and then passed the back of his hand over his mouth. He looked at her, his blue eyes studying her in a way she'd never seen before.

"You just tell me when you're ready."

When she was ready? Thank God. Finally it was parley time. Now she might get somewhere at last.

"Well, now is as good a time as "

"Then let's just do this. Just the way you told me. Since I'm not exactly getting out of this, am I?"

She almost fell on the floor. But it would have ruined her attempt to appear stalwart, unflinching, serene, to let him see he'd taken her by surprise.

"Very well."

Anyway they could get to the parleying after. The important thing was to make a start. Besides, parley now about these rules and he'd be sure to think she now wanted him.

She lay down. Prayers were for those who hadn't come to the kind of place she had, so she emptied her mind. But she did drag a quiet breath.

"So what what?"

God, in some ways this was worse than being a virgin again. The problem of her hands and what to do with them. At least that first time that first time there had been no conditions like this.

Flint had waited till the Calypso was underway, then he'd called her to his cabin. It hadn't been quite as basic as that, in terms of what he'd then outlaid. At least he'd had the decency to let her eat supper first, before offering to throw her overboard if she didn't get into his bed. Nicely, the little smile suggestive of the fact he wouldn't really do it. It was just his way of asserting himself. But there was so little telling with him, she hadn't dared refuse. Especially given she couldn't swim.

It was why it was so nice to have the dog at her mercy now. Now she found the best place for her hands was flat against the mattress. Now that she hadn't rescinded the rules yet.

As for what to look at? Wasn't that what ceilings were for? Bedside cabinets? And as he rolled over beside her? She cleared her throat.

"What what about my skirt?"

"Hell, that's not my worry, is it? I got enough going on."

At least he didn't add, You think I want to do this?

Without a word she dragged up her skirt as far as her thighs. "There."

"You already been busy with the cream?"

The cream? How could she have forgotten the cream? Because he'd sprung this on her when she'd meant to parley--the bastard. Could she bear him saying, I knew you couldn't resist me?' if she now rescinded? No.

Anyway, when it came to resisting, he'd be the one to fail to resist a woman's body.

"Your consideration is flattering. Last night's will suffice. After all, it's not exactly as if it were used."

"Fine. Your choice."

He reached for the fastenings on his breeches. What was this? Wasn't he at least going to attempt to seduce her, despite the terms of the contract? Flint liked to prove a point. And that point was that no woman born was immune to him.

So the lazy smile, the little tease, the running of his deft hands over her body these were the things she expected and was ready to resist. The things she was waiting for, the fight on her hands about them too, until the rules were rescinded. But this man who simply undid the fastenings on his breeches? Excuse her, but who was he?

"What?" He caught her staring. "You did say to touch you little as possible. I'm just doing what I'm told."

Flint? Snowballs would survive in hell.

She swallowed the thought. At least he must be erect. She could always count on him to be that if nothing else. She parted her legs. Oh, God, this was going to be somewhat basic, wasn't it? Unless, of course, he said, Let me, sweetheart.'

He didn't. He didn't do anything. A pity she hadn't allowed a little contact. A kiss, if it was going to be as clinical as this.

What? Kiss him? If her body was fed to the crows in one inch pieces, before her eyes and all she needed to do to stop it was kiss him, she'd sooner the crows didn't go hungry. Did insanity run in her family? Have him crowing over anything she did when he was as unhelpful as this? When it came to resisting, she could and would resist him. After all he'd done to her, it would be easy.