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Jack turned to the helmsman. “Lash the wheel and let the boy watch it.” The man obeyed; Jack turned to see Kit already on her way midships. He grinned. Bales of cloth were not packets of lace.

They unloaded the cargo smoothly, lowering the bales on sets of ropes over the brig’s side, directly into the hold of the yacht.

Her hands on the fixed wheel, Kit watched, her heart leaping when one bale swung crazily toward her, threatening to slip free of its lashings. Jack jumped onto the cabin roof directly between the wheel and the hold and steadied the large roll, reaching high with both hands and leaning his entire weight into it to counter its swing. Relief swept Kit when the bale settled; it was lowered without further drama.

The Dutch ship had been carrying a full load; at the end, each of the four smugglers’ boats was fully laden, even carrying bales on deck, lashed to the railings. The entire process was accomplished in total silence. Sound traveled too well on water.

The men worked steadily, stowing the bales. Kit’s mind drifted to the comment Jack had made the night before, when she’d been late for the meeting in the barn. She’d slipped unobtrusively around the door, but Jack had seen her instantly. He’d smiled and asked if she’d had trouble with her grandfather. She’d had no idea what he’d meant but had scowled and nodded, and then been astounded by the laughing understanding that had colored many of the men’s faces. Later, she’d learned enough to guess that Jack had started paving her way out of the Gang. Clearly, he’d meant what he’d said about one month being more than long enough.

She’d gone on being Young Kit under duress; now, she was reluctant to part with her alias, her passport to excitement.

And you haven’t had him at your feet yet, have you?

Kit eyed Jack’s broad shoulders, presently directly in front of her, and fantasized about the muscles beneath his rough shirt. Before she broke with him, she was determined to convert at least some of her fantasies to reality. Thus far, the only response her tricks had brought was a general stiffening of his muscles, a clenching of his jaw. She was determined to get more than that.

A low whistle signaled that they were done. Ropes were released; the smaller boats poled off from the brig’s hull, drifting until they were out of the larger ship’s wind shadow before hoisting their sails.

Relieved of her watch by the wheel, which had been every bit as useless as her lookout duty but infinitely more exciting, Kit strolled down the deck, heading for the bow. She’d cleared the cabin housing when the yacht passed the brig’s prow and the wind caught its sails. The yacht leapt forward.

Kit screamed and just managed to stifle the sound. She was flung against the bale lashed to the railing. Her desperately groping fingers tangled in the lashings. Drawing a deep breath, she hauled herself upright.

Immediately she’d regained her feet, she heard an almighty crack, like a tree branch snapping.

“Kit! Duck!”

She reacted more to Jack’s tone than his words, but duck she did. The boom went sailing past, level with where her head had been split seconds before. Kit stared at the long pole swinging outward over the waves, a rope dangling behind it. She grabbed the rope.

Instantly, she realized her mistake. The sudden tug on her arms was horrendous, and then she was being hauled in the wake of the boom, the wind filling the sail and causing the heavily laden yacht to list to starboard.

Kit’s eyes widened in fright. She looked over the railings at the black waves and remembered she couldn’t swim.

Her belly hit the bale. The next gust of wind would lift her from her feet, half over the rail. She was no expert seaman, but if she let go of the rope, the yacht looked set to capsize.

Hard hands locked about hers on the rope and hauled back. Kit added her weight to Jack’s and the boom swung back. But the wind retaliated, filling the sail once more. The jerk on the rope pulled Kit hard against the bale, her arms outstretched over the railing. Jack slammed into her back.

Kit forgot the boom, the wind, the sail; forgot the waves and the fact that she couldn’t swim; forgot everything but the awesome sensation of a very hard male body pressed forcibly against hers. She was jammed between the bale and Jack. She could feel the muscles in his chest shift against her as he struggled to haul in the boom. She could feel the muscles of his stomach brace into hard ridges as he used his weight to maintain their balance. She could feel the solid weight of his thighs pressed hard against her bruised bottom. On either side of her slender legs, she could feel the long columns of his legs like steel supports anchoring them to the deck, defying the wind’s shrieking fury. She could also feel the hard shaft of desire that nudged into the small of her back. The discovery held her riveted.

Uninterested, was he? Found her unattractive, did he? What sort of game was he playing?

“For God’s sake, woman! Lean back!”

Jack’s furious whisper recalled Kit to the urgency of the situation. She dutifully added her weight to his as he drew in the boom.

Behind her, Jack was facing a conundrum unlike any he’d ever experienced. Having Kit trapped against him was pure hell. He’d give anything to be able to push her aside but didn’t dare; he needed her additional weight to balance the wind in the sail. And he couldn’t relax the tension on the rope long enough to wrap it about the rail.

The yacht raced before the wind, tearing through the waves. The helmsman tacked so they were driven by the wind-filled sail and were no longer in danger of capsizing.

Matthew appeared at Jack’s shoulder, and shouted over the wind: “If you can hold it like that, we’ll be all right.”

Jack nodded and turned his head, intending to have Matthew replace Kit on the rope, but Matthew had already deserted him. He glared in disbelief at his henchman’s retreating back.

Quite where the idea sprang from, Kit wasn’t sure, but it suddenly occurred to her that Jack was every bit as trapped as she was. And, that being so, this was a perfect opportunity to further her aims in reasonable safety. She was screened from the other men by Jack’s bulk. He had his hands full of rope, and he could hardly do much when the beach was only five minutes away. With a view to determining the possibilities, Kit pressed back against him.

A sharply indrawn breath just above her left ear was the result.

Her action had given her a little more room to maneuver. She wriggled her bottom, slowly, and felt a ripple of tension pass through the muscles in his thighs. The shaft rising between them was like iron, a solid but living force. Moving slowly, keeping her weight braced against the rope, Kit rubbed her body, from shoulders to hips and beyond, side to side against the man behind her.

Jack bit back an oath. He clamped his teeth over his lower lip to stifle a groan of frustration. Damn the woman! What devil possessed her wild senses to make her choose this precise moment to give him a demonstration of her potential? He could feel every undulation of her slender form, every purring stroke. She moved like a cat, sinuously against him.

The wind tugged again, and they were jammed together once more. Jack closed his eyes and forced his mind to concentrate on keeping his grip on the rope. His grip on his mind was dissolving.

Slamming into the bale knocked the breath out of Kit. She waited, but Jack made no move to pull back. His breath wafted the curls above her left ear.

Jack was content to remain where they were. He’d no intention of giving her the leeway to continue her little game. He considered whispering a few carefully worded threats but couldn’t think of anything appropriate. He’d a nasty suspicion his voice would betray him if he tried to speak at all. He set his jaw and endured, cataloging every little move she made into his ledger of account against the time, almost a week distant, when payment would fall due. He’d every intention of making sure she paid. In full. With interest.