The door swung shut behind him, and he heard a whoosh. A bolt of lightning crashed through his skull as something hit him hard on the back of the head.
He stumbled forward, catching himself with one hand on his desk. “What the—”
But Ashley already had the door open, and in the dim light outside, he could see her running.
“Bloody hell.” What did she plan to do? Jump overboard?
Nick took three large strides and caught her about the waist. He tried very hard not to notice how good she felt in his arms. He tried not to imagine throttling her.
“Let go!”
He covered her mouth, hoping she hadn’t already awakened the rest of the crew, and hauled her back inside the cabin. He held her tightly until he managed to light the lantern.
Her skin was impossibly soft under his hand. He’d forgotten about that—how that porcelain skin that looked so coldly perfect could actually be so warm and sensual.
It wasn’t a realization he wanted at the moment, and he pulled his hands away, releasing her.
Immediately, she screamed and started for the door.
With a growl, Nick pushed her out of the way, fished his key back out, and locked the door. No fool, Nick tucked the key inside the waist of his trousers.
“No!”
He rounded on her. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not going to hurt you.”
She pushed away from him until she was flush against his desk. “What’s wrong with me? What is wrong with you, sir? How dare you leave me locked in here all day? I am not a prisoner.”
Nick shook his head. “Nor are you a sailor. The first day at sea is taxing for all aboard. I didn’t have a man to spare to be your nanny.”
“Nanny! I don’t need—”
Nick closed his eyes. “It’s late, and I’m tired. I haven’t slept in two days. Whine all you want tomorrow, but tonight I want peace and quiet.”
She glared at him, her eyes narrowing into slits. “You want peace and quiet? Go to your own cabin.”
Nick looked around the familiar captain’s cabin with its polished brass and scant mahogany furnishings—bed, table, desk, and chair. The light from the lantern flickered weakly in one corner. “This is my cabin.”
“Not anymore. I sincerely hope you didn’t think I was going to share it with you.”
“Sleep here or in the crew’s quarters. At this point, I don’t care.”
“I do. Get out.”
She tossed her wheat-blond hair over one shoulder, and Nick had the urge to grasp that hair, haul her into his arms, and rid her of some of that impertinence. He could do it, too. He’d tamed her before.
Instead, Nick crossed his arms. Perhaps she needed a reminder of her new station in life—of exactly whom she was talking to and what his rights were. “You are my wife. I have every right—nay, I have a Christian obligation to share that bed with you.”
Ashley’s features hardened. “Well, sir, I hope you take your faith seriously because if you attempt to share that bed with me, you will meet your Maker tonight.”
“Funny. I seem to remember a time you couldn’t wait to share a bed with me.”
“I must’ve been hit on the head.”
Nick shrugged. “If that’s what it takes.”
“Nice.” She gave his a forced smile. “That ploy might work if I didn’t know you so well. You wouldn’t hurt me.”
He reached past her and smelled strawberries. He grit his teeth and wondered how she always managed to smell of some soft, juicy fruit.
Nick lifted a coil of rigging line Mr. Fellowes must have left lying on the desk behind her. “I won’t hurt you, but at this point, I’ll do anything for a few hours of sleep.” He dangled the rope in front of her. “Give me your hands.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” She took a step back but was out of room to retreat.
He grinned. “Then why are you trying to escape?”
“Nick, you can’t. You won’t. I know you won’t.”
“Sweetheart.” He unfurled the rope, letting it fall with a hiss and a thud. “I don’t think you know me as well as you think.”
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