Caution to the Wind by Mary Jean Adams Page B

Amanda had never minded the musty smell of animals, but much preferred the fresh, clean scent of the sea.
    She propped the tips of her toes against the bulwark and, grasping the top beam, leaned back, rear end first. She twisted this way and that. Her spine creaked and popped. The last battle had seen numerous injuries. None life threatening, but she had helped more than one hefty sailor into the operating room. She was growing stronger by the day, but some days tested her limits.
    Stretching the knots from her muscles, Amanda watched her brother’s eager fingers flip the pages of the book. He lifted his face to the jagged coastline, and despite his boyish countenance, she could see the man he was becoming.
    Was it selfish for her to long for their relationship to return to its former terms? Neil was turning from a willful boy into a reliable young man. Without a doubt, much of the credit belonged to Captain Stoakes. Somehow, he had known how to give her brother just the right mix of instruction and encouragement, of discipline and freedom. She had never managed to master that recipe. Soon, perhaps even now, her brother would no longer need her.
    Amanda raised her eyes to watch the gulls dart in and out of unseen nests along the rocky shore. Distance and the morning breeze softened their plaintive cries. Did they think about the future? They had homes among the cliffs, plenty to eat, and each day played out much like the last. She, on the other hand, had no idea what her future held.
    She couldn’t very well remain a sailor. Although she had done a credible job fooling a ship of sixty men, she couldn’t keep it up forever. Once Neil no longer needed her, there was no reason to stay.
    Sadness fell like a fog over the beauty of the morning. The men of the Amanda had become her family...Cookie, Bull, Buck, every one of her shipmates. Of course, they weren’t the only ones she’d miss. Sadness turned to despair, though Amanda was at a loss to understand the ache that settled in her heart.
    In her mind’s eye, she saw Captain Stoakes sitting at his desk, his quill scratching across a piece of parchment. Nigh on three times a day for the past several weeks she had come upon him this way, the captain working diligently at whatever kept the commander of a successful privateer occupied while she brought him the tray of food that kept him content.
    Her heart skipped a beat, just as it always did when she encountered him. Walking into his quarters felt much like walking into the den of a wild animal. Over time, however, apprehension turned into a sort of reckless enjoyment. She would set the tray on the corner of his desk, lift the cover off his meal, then stand off to the side, watching for that moment when the tantalizing aroma pulled him from his work. He shoved his papers aside and reached for the tray, and a sense of satisfaction warmed her.
    In her imagination, he was without his neck stock and wool jacket. His muscles rippled beneath the finally woven silk of his snow-white shirt when he added more butter to his toast, then took a bite. A drop of melted gold clung to the corner of his mouth. Amanda licked her lips when his tongue darted out to catch it.
    The captain reached up and tugged at the strings that held his shirt closed. The soft fabric fell away to reveal a broad chest, tanned, with a smattering of curls as dark as his hair. The urge to touch him, to dip her hands beneath the silk folds, to run her fingers over the broad mounds of his pectoral made her palms ache.
    He looked up from his half-eaten breakfast, and his golden eyes burned like embers. Everywhere he looked, her skin quivered as though his gaze were a physical touch. The heat seemed to suck the air from the room, and her breath came in short quick gasps. The hunger in his eyes beckoned and pulled, urging her forward until she had no recourse but to obey.
    She rounded the corner of his desk, and he rose to his feet. She walked forward until the tips of