Free The Price of Pleasure by Kresley Cole Page B

relentless, one bolt erupting just as another touched down. Flashes illuminated Victoria as she ran before him, her hands grasping vines overhead or trees beside her, her whole body in league to propel her forward. She moved over rocks and downed trees with an ease, and a recklessness, born of practice. Grant followed, running sideways, one foot over the other as they descended sliding hillocks toward her home.
    She stumbled past her hut out to the edge of the shelf, flat hand to forehead, straining through the wet curtain for a glimpse of the ship. Grant saw her sway on her feet, thought he heard her breath whistle out.
    Unbroken darkness covered the water.
    The ship was gone.

Seven
    W here’s the ship?” Victoria rushed to him and shoved her palms into his chest. “Where’s the bloody ship?”
    He grabbed her hands. “My first mate has standing orders to preserve the Keveral . They’ll sail to open sea, away from the reefs, in preparation for the storm. I waited here for you.”
    She twisted her wrists free. “She’s sick. This is her first time back at sea and you take her out in a squall?” A bolt lit the stricken expression on her face.
    â€œI think they beat it out,” Grant shouted over the wind. “My cousin will take care of her.” He laid his hand on her shoulder.
    She staggered back as if shocked senseless, her eyes bleak. “Don’t you touch me,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare.” He raised his hands, palms out, so she could see them.
    â€œVictoria, just trust me—” Lightning struck so near that his ears popped, the light blinding him. A ripping scream pierced the drum of pounding rain. Grant ran toward the sound, scraping his sleeve over his eyes, blinking furiously.
    Victoria had disappeared.
    Â 
    â€œYou’re nicer than the other one,” Cammy said as the young man pulled the covers up to her chin.
    â€œI get that a lot.” Traywick grinned, an easy, charming curl of his lips. “If you’re comfortable, I’ll just let you sleep.”
    Wind howled over the ship, and she gave him an impatient look. “Not likely.”
    â€œDooley is more than capable of getting us clear,” he rushed to assure her. “I don’t want you to be frightened.”
    â€œI’m not that afraid. I’m the sick one—Tori’s the one afraid of ships. I just don’t expect to sleep when we’re being jostled about like this.”
    â€œWe could talk,” he said eagerly, then added in a more subdued tone, “If it wouldn’t bother you.”
    She scooted up in bed. “That would be nice.”
    â€œI’ll be right back.” At the door he asked, “Can I get you something? Some tea or something to eat?”
    â€œT-Tea, you say?” The one thing she talked about each night by the fire, dreamed about during the day.
    He smiled. Enunciating every word, he said, “As much as you can possibly drink.”
    â€œCan you make it in a storm?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
    Traywick glanced out the port window and said, “This is nothing. Wait until the ocean really gets going.” He left with a wink and then minutes later, shuffled in carrying a tray laden with a steaming pot, a plate of small cookies, a bottle of spirits, and two teacups.
    He handed her a cup of tea and the plate of cookies, then poured himself a drink in his own cup. She sipped and nearly gasped. Piping hot, doused liberally with sugar—just how she liked it. Her eyes rolled.
    He chuckled. “Miss that, did you?”
    â€œLike nothing else. Besides maybe horses. So what shall we talk about?”
    â€œWhatever you like. You’re the guest.”
    â€œLet’s talk about your captain. Tell me who he is and why he’s searching for the Dearbournes.”
    Traywick moved over to the opposite bunk and slumped to a sitting position. “For your questions: Who?