Regan’s arms went around his neck, responding to him fully, her body well aware of the many days since she’d touched him in any way except an impersonal one. Pulling away from him, as his teeth gently chewed on her lower lip, she gave a deep chuckle. “An hour ago you were too weak to get out of bed.”
“I still don’t want to get out of bed, but it has nothing to do with weakness,” he said, his hand at the back of her dress.
Instantly, she jumped out of bed. “Travis Stanford, if you tear another one of my lovely dresses, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“I don’t care if you do speak to me,” he said as he threw back the covers and showed her that he was more than ready for her.
“Oh my,” she breathed, her hand unbuttoning buttons faster than anyone’s hands ever had before or since.
Gleefully, naked, she sprung into bed with him, running her legs up and down his body, her face buried in the soft skin of his neck. She had waited quite a long time for him to return to her bed, and she was as ready as he was. Yet, when she tried to pull him on top of her, he wouldn’t budge.
“No, my little nurse,” he chuckled, and put his hands about her waist, lifting her like a doll and setting her on top of his manhood.
Gasping in surprise, it took Regan a moment to recover from her first sen
se of shock, but as Travis pushed her forward and took her breast in his mouth, her surprise gave way to delight. His hands ran up and down her back as his mouth teased the front of her. Never had she felt so many sensual areas touched at once. His strong hands moved back to her waist and lifted her, slowly, before setting her back down.
Regan did not think twice before she caught the rhythm herself. Her strong legs, muscled from walking about the constantly moving ship, moved her body up and down. She soon learned that she liked controlling the rhythm, fast or slow, bending to rub her breasts across Travis’s chest, leaning over him, watching his handsome face turn to an angelic expression.
But her interest in watching him faded quickly, and as her passion mounted she began to move faster and faster. Travis grabbed her in a hard clasp and, never leaving her, rolled her onto her back, where he thrust hard and deep until the wave of release and delight swept over both of them.
Weak, he collapsed on top of her, his body coated in sweat, every muscle relaxed. Under him, Regan smiled and hugged him close. It added to her pleasure to have control over him, to be able to take someone as strong as Travis and turn him into this pliable, calm man atop her.
Still smiling, she fell asleep.
Chapter 10
REGAN LAY BACK AGAINST THE CUSHIONS ON THE NARROW bunkbed, weak and trembling, while Travis pressed a cold cloth to her forehead. Looking up at him in gratitude, she smiled as best she could. “What a time to get seasick,” she murmured.
Travis said nothing as he picked up the chamber pot containing the contents of Regan’s stomach and went out on deck to empty it.
Regan was quiet, too weak to move as she lay there in the bed. Personally, she felt that this new sickness had something to do with what was going on in her mind. Of course she couldn’t mention it to Travis, but she was quite scared of arriving in America, of being on her own in a strange country with people whose language she sometimes had to strain to understand.
It had been nearly a month since the storm, and since then she’d done little except help Sarah sew on her new clothes. There were no more flirtations with David Wainwright, no more attempts to make Travis jealous. Instead she’d spent her time with Travis, eating with him, making love with him, and talking to him. She found he was a wonderful storyteller, entertaining her with long narratives about his friends in Virginia. There were Clay and Nicole Armstrong, of whom Travis told an extraordinary story of how Clay had been married to one woman, a French aristocrat, and engaged to another woman. The way Travis told the story made Regan laugh until she cried, especially at the antics of Clay’s niece and nephew.
He told her about his little brother, Wesley, and it took Regan days to figure out that Wes was a young man and not a child. Silently, she offered a prayer of support for any person who had to live under Travis’s thumb. Then there were the Backes and all the other people up and down the river.
Regan listened with interest, adding to his stories with her imagination. Picturing these people, she conjured small, crude houses; the women in their simple calico gowns, even smoking corncob pipes; the men plain farmers hard at work in the fields. Smiling confidently, she hoped the people would not treat her as royalty merely because of the beautiful, expensive clothes she wore.
All of Travis’s stories, and her own fantasies added to them, had made the long journey fly past, and it wasn’t until this week that she’d begun to worry. She didn’t know if the worry caused her vomiting or the other way around. All she knew was that suddenly she’d become very ill and weak, lying on the bunk, idly watching the ceiling, her stomach rolling.
Travis had been wonderful since she’d become ill, watching her quietly, holding her head over the pot, washing her face, and seeing that she rested. He’d even stopped working with the crew, not leaving her alone for more than a few minutes.
And Regan knew that all his attention was a way of saying goodbye to her. The pretty clothes and the last-minute attention were his final reward for the pleasure she’d given him on the voyage to America. Now he could be free of her, go back to his family and friends, and never have to see her again. No more would he have to put up with her flirting with other men, or her uselessness.
Tears began to trickle down her face. Why couldn’t he have left her in England where at least she knew the customs of the people? Why did he have to force her to come to this strange place and then abandon her like so much rubbish?
She planned to tell him what she thought of him, but as soon as Travis returned to the cabin her stomach started heaving again, and her anger was abandoned.
“We’ve just sighted land,” Travis said, holding her in his arms, her head cradled against his warm, comforting chest. “By this time tomorrow we should be docked in Virginia Harbor.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Perhaps I won’t be seasick once we’re on land.”
This statement seemed to amuse Travis, who hugged her quickly and stroked her hair. “I think your seasickness will be over very soon.”
The next few hours were a frenzy of activity. Sarah put the last of Regan’s new clothes in the trunk, and Travis paid her and the other women who’d helped with the sewing. There were tears shed as Sarah and Regan said goodbye. Sarah planned to stay on the ship and travel north to New York to be with her family. All of the many women whose heads Regan had held got together and presented her with a gift of a child-sized quilt done in the Rose of Sharon pattern.
“We figured you’d need it soon,” one woman said, her eyes teasing and glancing up at Travis.