“Right, well, don’t keep him waiting—he’s the captain.”

Footsteps thudded away across the sand, and Knigh sighed, dropping his hand from her face. He took a long breath, then sighed it out. It was fine. He’d decided not to betray her, and he wouldn’t. Hells, he should take a leaf out of her book—she wouldn’t worry, she’d just solve the problem.

He would work it out.

She stretched, long limbs cat-like with their lean musculature. Grumbling, she turned to him, a sleepy smile on her face. She slipped an arm around his waist. “You don’t have to go right away, do you?” Her hand found its way to his rear and gave a squeeze.

He scoffed, pushing her onto her back and rolling on top of her, weight on his arms. “I’m afraid I do.” He cupped her breast, smiling at the way it filled his hand so perfectly. Her back arched, just a little, but in unmistakable response to his touch.

And damn it, despite his intentions to get to FitzRoy, he responded in turn, blood heating, heart speeding, body stirring against her. He cleared his throat. “Or at least I have to go soon and”—he dipped his head and caught her nipple between his lips, giving it a quick suck and making her breath catch—“for what I plan to do to you next, I intend to take my time.” Next time, he would be languorous, savouring her in slow seduction, watching that blissful look on her face again and again. And again. He had the patience to make her beg—to say those words, rather than just please as she had last night and, gods, just the thought of that …

“Do you, now? And who am I to get in the way of your plans?” A slow smile claimed her mouth before she stretched, breasts lifting until he couldn’t help but capture them each in turn, grazing his teeth against her hardened nipples.

He gave a low groan. Damn the woman, despite making love twice last night, she’d got him at full attention again. Shaking his head, he pulled away, kneeling and grabbing his shirt with a snort. “Oh, well played, madam, well played.”

She grinned, eyes glinting in the dim light seeping through the tent’s canvas. Cocking her head, she raised her eyebrows. “What?” The fingertips of one hand traced a line above her breasts, ending at her collarbone.

With a soft growl, he turned away and pulled on his shirt. “I’m not looking.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Not so much that,” he said, pulling on his breeches, “I just enjoy teasing you a great deal.”

“Is that what that was? Bastard.”