That night, Joss cursed himself for what had to be the hundredth time for being rash enough to ever make her that fool promise.
"You're as safe with me as you would be with your own father," he mimicked in disgust. They'd gathered driftwood and piled it atop the dune together, practiced lighting the tender with the crude flint and steel he'd fashioned out of a rock he'd found on the beach and a buckle from the cuff of his breeches. This way she would know what to do if she should happen to be alone and see a ship. Then they had come down to feast together on a crab he killed with a rock. All the while she'd smiled at him, touched him, enticed him without, he thought savagely, even knowing quite what she was doing. Now it was full night, the moon was high in the sky, and they were going to bed. In his hut. Together. And he'd promised not to touch her. Christ in heaven!
Watching Lilah as she crawled before him into the hut, Joss groaned inwardly. He'd given her his word. And however much she might tempt him, with her silky pale skin and rag of a dress that was nearly transparent without the added thickness of her petticoat, he would not go back on his word.
"Damn it to hell and back!"
He hadn't meant to say the words aloud. Lilah heard him, and looked around inquiringly from just inside the hut. She was still on her hands and knees, her tantalizingly round little bottom barely veiled by the thin dress that was pulled tight around it by her position. Her soft eyes that were the exact color of one of Bristol's doves blinked at him over her shoulder as he failed to answer, and he was recalled to himself in a hurry.
"I'll-uh, there's something I need to check. I'll be back in a little while. You go on to sleep."
"I'll come with you." She started to back out of the hut. The soft blue cloth tightened even more around her bottom until Joss, watching with fascination, both hoped and feared it might split.
"No!" His protest was too loud, too vehement, but he couldn't help it. He needed a little time alone, a little time to get a firm grip on his baser instincts. "No, I'll be right back."
That was better, calmer. Christ, he couldn't let her guess how he felt! He strode away into the moonlit darkness, heading for the bay. A swim was what he needed. It might serve to cool him down.
He swam for what seemed like hours, then, exhausted, emerged from the water confident that he was safe. By now she'd be asleep. And he was tired…
But she wasn't asleep. She was sitting on a rock near where the incoming tide lapped at the white sand. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, the ends resting in her lap as she wrestled with the tangles that snarled it. The moonlight struck the silken strands and gave them a life of their own, so that they glinted and glittered like molten silver. She looked like a damned mermaid. His breath caught at the sight of her.
"What the devil are you doing out here?" There was more frustration than anger in his voice as he stalked up to her. She smiled at him, her face tilted up so that he could see each lovely feature washed by moonlight. Even the faded blue of her dress took on a silvery sheen in the otherworldly light that poured over the bay.
"Combing my hair. See?" She held up a crudely fashioned comb for his inspection. "I made it by twisting sticks together with vines while I waited for you. You were gone so long I was beginning to be afraid you'd had an accident."
"I was swimming."
"So I see." The dry amusement in her voice warned him. He looked down at himself, turned scarlet, and glared at her furiously before stalking over to where his breeches awaited him in the sand. Soaking wet, he pulled them on, buttoned them, and turned to face her. The brazen wench was still calmly combing her hair, her eyes fixed with serene propriety on the gentle waves rolling in across the bay. But from the small smile that played hide-and-seek across her mouth, he guessed she'd gotten quite an eyeful. His face burned hotter as he planted his fists on his hips and glared at her across the few feet of sand that separated them.
"Damn it, I couldn't swim in my breeches!"
"I realize that."
"I told you to go to bed! How could I know you'd be sitting on a rock like a damned Lorelei when I came out of the water?"
"Nobody's blaming you for anything." Her voice was soothing, her eyes still fixed on die bay. He would have been mollified-if it hadn't been for that damned sneaky smile that kept flickering around her mouth.
"So you got an eyeful!" He sounded belligerent, he knew he did, but he couldn't help it. The notion of her seeing him naked in such circumstances was oddly embarrassing to him. And it infuriated him that that should be so. He'd bedded dozens of females over the course of his life, all of whom had seen him in the altogether. Having a woman's eyes on his body had never bothered him before. Maybe it was because he wanted the minx so badly, and knew he could not have her. Their paths would never cross again once they got off this damned island. And he couldn't just take her body and then cooly abandon her afterwards. She was a virgin, he'd stake his life, and a lady, and a gentleman did not seduce and abandon virgins. Or ladies.
Sometimes it was hell being a gentleman.
"It's all right, Joss," she said gently, sliding around on her rock so that she was looking right at him. With the moonlight pouring over her and the twinkling stars in their midnight velvet background high overhead framing her, she was so beautiful that he felt his blood start to heat. So beautiful that his body reacted independent of his mind. "I wasn't embarrassed."
For a full minute all he could do was stare at her, not quite sure whether or not to believe his ears. She wasn't embarrassed? Was this the haughty lady who would barely tolerate his hand on her arm? Who slapped him and bit him the last two times he'd lost his head and kissed her? Who made no bones about thinking he was so far beneath her that he was hardly fit to dust the ground she walked on? She wasn't embarrassed?!
"Well, I sure as hell was!" he growled, and turning his back, stalked off in the direction of the hut.
If she had laughed, he would have killed her.
But she didn't, or if she did at least he didn't hear her. She followed him meekly to the hut and crawled inside behind him. Joss had built the shelter to accommodate one person-himself. It was scarcely high enough to sit upright in, a little longer than his length if he stretched out flat, and perhaps three feet wide.
Definitely not wide enough for two people. Not when one of them was a man in an acute state of arousal and the other was the woman who had aroused him. Not when he'd given his word not to touch her. Hell and the devil!
He sat with his legs crossed in the far corner, glaring at her as she crawled inside. She sat, curled her legs beneath her, and smiled at him.
"Were you really embarrassed, Joss?"
"I'm going to sleep," he announced, his eyes narrowing to forbidding slits. Suiting the action to the words, he scooted down until he was stretched out full length, and turned his back to her. The palm fronds he had dragged in for bedding stabbed him in the side, but there was no way he was going to turn over and face her.
Not when it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.
"All right. Good night."
Even the softness of her voice grated on him. He imagined that her skin would feel like she sounded, soft, silky, and exquisitely refined. He gritted his teeth as behind him he heard the sounds of her making ready for bed. Please God she would not take off any of her clothes.
She didn't. She lay down fully dressed, and curled up smack against his back.
He felt the softness of her with every fiber of his skin. The imprint of her shape was seared indelibly into his back.
"This is much nicer than sleeping by myself. I was always afraid something would get me in the middle of the night."
He could feel her warm breath against the back of his neck. Christ, if she got any closer she'd be lying on top of him. Did she want what she was inviting? he wondered savagely. Did she even know what she was inviting?
"I got cold by myself, too. There's quite a breeze that blows in off the bay at night."
Her voice reminded him of the sleepy purr of a kitten. But her shape told him that it was no kitten who was curled against his back.
"Joss?"
"What?" If he sounded irritable, it was because he was. She was driving him insane, either deliberately or out of criminal ignorance. He'd give almost anything he'd ever possessed to turn over and enlighten her in the most basic way possible.
"I'm a little cold now."
She snuggled closer. Joss lay rigid as a board, gritting his teeth as he fought the impulses that threatened to overwhelm him. Finally, no longer able to help himself, he began to tremble.
"Joss! What's wrong?"
"Not a single bloody thing." The words were forced out between his teeth.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure!" He had the trembling under control again, thank God, but for how long he couldn't guess.
"All right, then." She sounded doubtful, but to his relief she quit talking. The softness of her breath stirred the hair at his nape, her breasts burned holes in the skin of his back, and her bare arm rested against his waist.
A gentleman he was. A saint he wasn't.
On that thought he turned over, prepared to sweep her into his arms and give her the education she'd been begging for. Only to find that the maddening female was fast asleep.
"Lord Christ!" He glared at her for a moment, on the verge of waking her, then was defeated by the soft innocence of her face. She looked very young and very defenseless lying there beside him, her head pillowed on her arm, the feathery brown crescents of her lashes spreading out over her cheeks like fans. Her lips were barely parted as her breathing moved them, and her glorious hair tumbled all around her face and body. He lifted a hand toward her, hesitated, and drew it back. It came to him suddenly that she was lying there like that for one reason and one reason only: She trusted him.
Grinding his teeth, Joss discovered that the notion of her trust was a greater deterrent to his intentions than his promise ever had been.
She stirred, wriggling, as she tried to find a comfortable position. Cursing himself for a complete fool, he slid his arm beneath her and pulled her against his side so that her head was cradled on his shoulder. She sighed contentedly, snuggling close, but did not waken. Her arm moved to lie across his waist.
The weight and scent and softness of her was unbearable. Joss smiled grimly, set his teeth and closed his eyes. Only once before he fell asleep did he permit himself to stroke her hair.