25. The Horrors of being a Castaway

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Hard and fast, I swung the pan at my attacker. It swept straight towards the bastard's head—until said bastard's hand clamped around my wrist, and he said in a very cold, very familiar voice: "Is that any way to greet your husband, Mrs Ambrose?"

Oh.

Um.

Hey, wait a minute! What the heck was he doing here?

"You. Or at least that is the plan."

Wait, did I just say that out loud?

Oops.

More importantly, Lilly, what did he just say?

I felt heat rush to my face. "W-what the heck did you just say?"

Bending down until the shadowy outline of his chiselled face was right above me, he stared straight into my eyes with his own. Deep, dark, shadowy pools of sea water even a pirate princess would drown in, let alone sweet little me.

"I think I spoke clearly, no?"

I swallowed. "Indulge me."

"Oh, I intend to." He bent down a little farther, until I could feel the heat of his breath against my ear. "You want me to be clear about what I came here to do? Or rather whom?"

I felt heat thrum deep within me.

"You. Clear enough, Mrs Ambrose? You."

"It's Mr Linton!" I protested weakly. "We're in disguise! We have to pretend—"

"Not now." A single finger on my lips silenced me. "Not tonight."

Before I could get another word out, his fingers had already found their way to the top button of my shirt. Or rather, his shirt, which I had been wearing for the last few days.

And which you won't be wearing for much longer.

The thought sent a thrill through me.

Bad Lilly, bad! You're supposed to hide! You're supposed to be a man! Think chauvinism! Short dressing times! Socks stuffed down your trousers!

That was when I felt Mr Ambrose's "socks" against me. His very, very hard socks.

Oh boy.

Those must be uncomfortable to wear.

All of a sudden, in front of my inner eye appeared a mental image of Mr Rikkard Ambrose with a sock over his—

I couldn't help it. A giggle escaped me.

"Something funny, Mrs Ambrose?"

Oh shit.

"Um, well..." I cleared my throat.

"I see." His eyes glittered in the darkness. "Well then, let's keep you entertained, shall we?"

And he was on me. His lips were at my neck, scattering burning brands across my skin. Before I knew what was happening, he had left a trail of unquenchable desire down my neck, farther and farther down until he was about to reach my...

"N-no," I squeezed out while my mind screamed Yes! Yes, please! "W-we can't! If someone hears us..."

"I shall be silent. Or do you doubt my abilities in that regard?"

I nearly snorted. But it came out as a moan.

"D-don't make me laugh!"

"That did not sound like a laugh to me, Mrs Ambrose."

I opened my mouth to shoot back a remark—and out came another moan. Dammit!

Mr Ambrose, not being one to waste opportunities, used my distraction to pop the remaining buttons of my shirt. In a blink, the threadbare thing was fluttering away. Hot, tropical air caressed my skin.

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