She couldn't sleep. She felt restless and very stimulated, though by what she wasn't sure.

Melinda rolled onto one side, shoving her pillow into a better position. She could hear Delia's breathing, wondering how long her friend had been asleep.

She wished that Jamison hadn't told her he'd watch Captain Clancy tonight. She wished she'd been able to do it herself. She wouldn't have had any trouble sleeping there, at Captain Clancy's side.

She inhaled, kicking her legs off of the bed and finally giving in to her mind, standing up. She shivered in the cool air and grabbed her robe, sliding it on over her nightgown, tying it tightly.

She padded through the hallways, not sure what she'd say to Jamison when he saw her coming in. He would tell her to go back to bed, she was sure of that. But she could just say that she'd been worried. He would understand that.

She emerged on deck and quickly and quietly walked to the back of the boat, reaching Captain Clancy's door. She flattened her hand on it, feeling the cool rough texture of the wood.

She pushed it open, slipping inside, closing the door behind her before looking to meet Jamison's gaze.

But Jamison wasn't there.

She startled, seeing that Captain Clancy was all alone, and...and she could stay with him.

And she startled more, for he was sitting up.

He was awake.

"Oh my god," she whispered, clapping her hands to her mouth. "You woke up."

His eyes pierced her, the blankets sliding off of his chest, leaving him terribly bare, with rippling arms and a muscled chest that seemed even more desirable and eye catching now that he was awake. She felt like she hadn't been spending the past two days admiring it.

She felt like she'd never seen it before, watching the stretch of the muscles as they pulled tight and then relaxed.

And he was staring at her. "Yes," he said, voice deep. "I did. Thanks to you, I believe."

Oh my god. She had to explain her actions to him. This had been so much easier when he was asleep. It had been so much easier when she'd expected him to wake up while she was bending over him. She had an odd, tingling feeling that there wouldn't have been as much time for talk then.

She had a sudden vision of him waking up when she'd been sleeping near him. Of his arms curling around her, firm and strong. Of his eyes piercing her, and then just kissing her, leaving no time for talk.

Oh my god. That was a terrible thing to think about with him just looking at her the way he was.

Her cheeks felt burning hot and she felt like she couldn't breathe; yet her breathing was only escalating.

He started to push the blankets back, as if about to get out of bed, but then looked down and reconsidered it.

Oh god.

He was wearing trousers, wasn't he?

Jamison had said something about giving him a sponge bath.

"Why did you do it, Melinda?" He whispered, voice so deep and rumbly that she wondered if she actually felt the vibrations in her stomach.

He was lying there in bed, possibly naked, most definitely shirtless, and he wanted her to tell him her feelings for him.

He was impossible.

"Do what?" She whispered.

A smile curled his mouth, only there for a second, before his eyes sharpened again; his hands clenching on the blankets. "Save my life as you did."

"I didn't want you to die," she said cautiously, still unable to tear her eyes from his chest.

He scoffed. "Why?" He demanded, voice desperate.

"You didn't deserve that death," she hedged.

He looked away, tortured, as if wondering whether or not to push her more.

She wondered if she should leave.

She knew she should leave. No good could come of this and if she let herself walk forward right now, as she wanted to, she knew what would happen.

There was a pull in the air, she felt like the air was crackling.

She started to edge away, back to the door, her upbringing and her history, and things that she'd learned the hard way coming back to her.

She couldn't afford to be that girl again. She couldn't afford the pain. It had almost torn her apart the first time and she'd never cared for Kevin as she did now for Captain Clancy.

She couldn't imagine how much harder it would be with him.

And how much better.

She'd reached the door behind her, pressing her body against it, feeling for the knob.

He was staring at her.

Was he going to let her leave?

She didn't want him to.

"I don't want you to," she whispered, her hand twisting around the knob.

"Want me to what?" He breathed, staring at her.

"Let me leave," she said, the words slipping past her last defenses.

He shoved the blankets back, and he was wearing trousers, and Melinda wasn't sure how she felt about that, and he was across the cabin in what seemed to be two steps (it had never seemed like that small a room until his awakening) and leaning over her, forearm braced on the door above her head, holding it closed. Holding her inside.

"I...could not believe my eyes, or my ears, when you ran out on that deck," he said, voice raw. "My mind cannot wrap itself around the fact that you, who profess to hate me, saved my life as you did. And I keep asking myself...why did she do it?" He leaned closer, his head close to hers, and she ducked her chin, looking down at herself.

She couldn't afford to let him see her eyes right now.

"Why did you do it, Melinda Gordon?"

She was so silent. She'd told him she didn't want to leave yet she wasn't saying anything and Jim was terrified he'd misread everything again.

She didn't love him. She couldn't love a man like him. She couldn't love a pirate. She'd said as much, and more. She hated him.

She was just the kind of woman who wouldn't let...a stray dog die on the street.

He couldn't be more to her. It wasn't possible. He'd lost all hope of being loved like that when he'd gotten onto this ship with Dan.

She was so close, he realized, his body in awe of how warm she was, and how soft she promised to be. How welcoming she wouldn't be. How she was closing herself off to him, ducking her head, doing all she could to avoid his gaze.

He wanted…

His hand curled into a fist from how much he wanted to touch her. He had to let her go. He had to make her go.

But oh god, he wasn't sure he could. He wasn't sure his heart would permit him that when the last time he'd seen her she'd been crying his name and being led away to die or worse...for his sake.

When he'd never thought to see her living again.

His heart was too in awe of the fact that she was actually standing here to let her go.

And she was looking.

His heart seemed to take a pounding upon the realization that she'd seen his scars. That she'd taken his shirt off and tended to him.

She'd have seen them, every mark.

She probably thought they were ugly. How could she think of them as anything but?

He should pull away. He had no right to be so close to her.

And then her hands, limp at her sides, were slowly moving. Her head came up, a little, then she swallowed, and started to speak. He could feel her breath hit his chest and he tensed.

"How did you get this scar?" She asked, pointing a shaking finger to the one above his left chest, the one he'd gotten defending Dan.

"I tried to save my brother's life," he said, voice unsteady. "And instead he lost it. Because of me."

She rested a hand on his arm, and he closed his eyes, wondering if she was about to push him away. Because if she did...he wouldn't be able to bear it but he'd have to.

He could feel her shifting, and closed his eyes tighter, imagining that she wasn't about to leave. Her hand tightened on his arm and he prepared to let her leave, his heart clenching at the thought.

And then lips pressed to that scar.

Her lips.

After days of looking at his scar, watching him, after wondering and wondering, she'd finally learned the story.

Her heart hurt for him. She couldn't imagine carrying that weight.

She reached to place her hand on his arm, bracing herself against him. He was so still, like he was asleep again.

Was this really happening?

She rose up on her toes, stretching to her fullest height, and pressed her lips there, knowing exactly what she'd ignite by doing so.

She was tired of fighting against it. She wasn't going to any longer. She knew she'd only fail in the end.

But right now it didn't feel like a failure, feeling his skin beneath her lips, letting her lips part over him.

Her breathing was shallow.

She settled back onto her feet and then just looked up at him. His eyes were so dark, unlike their usual light blue selves.

"My god," he whispered.

His arms slipped off of the door and moved around her waist, and he was bending over her, and his lips were so close, he was all around her.

She moved closer, tucking herself into him, and he gasped, and then their lips touched.

She wasn't prepared for the onslaught of sensations. There were his arms pressing around her, so strong that she couldn't breathe, and there was the scratch of his unshaven cheek, and there were his lips, so warm and real and hungry that she felt like she'd gone to heaven.

His lips moved over hers, hesitant, cautious, and she arched into him, only wanting him closer.

She needed this.

Needed him.

She let her mouth fall open beneath his, wondering what could come next. Wondering if she'd leave his bedroom intact. Wondering if she wanted to.

His movements were becoming more fluid, less hesitant, and she slipped her tongue out to meet his mouth, making him moan...and then return the favor.

She melted into him, losing all resistance, not that she'd had much to begin with. She was holding onto him, onto her last hold on reality: his body, closed around hers.

She slid her arms up around his neck, pulling his head down even more, letting his cheeks scrape hers.

Her robe's ties were between them, tied in a hard knot.

She felt like they were a barrier, something that was holding her back.

She tangled her hands into his hair, feeling the curls there, feeling his head beneath her touch.

And then she moved her hands down his shoulders, feeling their strength, and touching him was completely different when he was awake and touching her back.

She clutched at his shoulders, stuck there, holding onto their warmth, and then, hesitantly, moved her hands lower. She'd found his scar again but she pushed past it, down to the nipples she hadn't let herself touch when he'd been asleep.

They were pebbled, like her own were right now. They were hard and they were flatter than hers, harder to get a hold of.

She rolled one in her fingers, pulling hard.

He gasped, like he'd been burned, and pulled away from her, staring at her.

She was like no girl he'd ever met, that much she knew.

But then again, he was like no man.

She reached down and untied her robe with two quick jerks. She wasn't going to pretend any longer.

When Melinda's robe pooled at her feet, leaving her in a delicate nightgown, Jim wasn't sure how to react. She, again, wasn't quite looking at him, but he could barely notice that because of the glory of her body. Her breasts rose high and firm, bigger than a handful for him.

Her waist, barely visible under the fabric, promised to be smooth and taut.

Her hips blossomed beneath them, touching the loose fabric.

He started to reach for her, but she moved away from him. He didn't even realize that she'd edged around him until he saw that she was headed for the bed.

He was chasing her onto the bed.

He stopped immediately, breathing hard.

This wasn't his intention.

But Melinda kept going, until her knees hit the mattress. Her eyes were dark as she looked at him; her hair was tousled about her shoulders, golden brown and curly.

And her eyes were wide. So wide.

She sank back onto the mattress, legs dangling over the edge, and extended her hand to him.

He moved forward, hardly able to breathe, and climbed onto the bed over her, as she lay down, bracing one hand on each side of her head, so he could stare down into those mysterious eyes. She blinked up at him, chest rising rapidly with each breath, and he lowered his lips to meet hers.

She seemed even more responsive than before, twisting her body beneath his, moving her hips up to meet his in moments that took his breath away again and again.

He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, bringing her body atop of his, clinging to her and letting his lips move to other areas of her face, ghosting over her chin and kissing down her neck.

She whimpered as he did so. He could feel her pulse beneath his lips and kissed deeper, reaching the top of her chest and sucking there lightly, tasting her. He turned over again, bringing her beneath him, raising himself up to glance at her.

Her nightgown had ties.

It was such a simple movement to untie the two strings and pull one side back, revealing her breast.

They were all they'd promised to be and more. Jim looked up at her face in that moment, gauging her reaction to his reaction, wondering if she was letting this happen or still wanting it.

In that moment, impatient, she arched up for him, and he pulled back the other side of her nightgown, revealing her other breast.

He moaned, deep in his throat, and moved his hands to cover them, to feel them. His hands could only just cover them, cup them, and that fact stunned him. He ran his fingers along the sides, swept them over the underside, feeling like sparks rose from her skin as he did so.

He edged his finger inwards, curious, until at last he held her nipple. It was hard, and rose colored. It was pebbly and bumpy and perfect.

He leaned his head down and latched onto her, wondering how he knew to do this, why his body ached for it. She sighed in her throat as he did so, resting her hands on his head, seeming to pull him closer.

He tugged and licked at her nipple until it was even more erect, and then moved to the other, doing the same, until she was gasping beneath him.

He felt so heavy, so full and hard.

She again arched her hips upwards, restless, and this time she brushed his arousal, and instead of pulling back she pressed nearer, and moved her arms around him, pulling her down to her, pressing him against her.

He could feel her heat, through her nightgown and his trousers. She was pulsing against him and he groaned, loud and aching.

Her hands slid down, to the skin above his waistband, and moved over his hips, tugging at his trousers.

This was...too good to be true.

Jim slowly rolled onto his side, holding her gaze. She was so silent, other than her moans and gasps. She was just watching him, examining every reaction and move.

He wondered if he could take his trousers off lying down without making a fool of himself and began to doubt it, slowly pushing himself to a standing position.

He hadn't expected her to watch. Not really.

But she was pushing herself up on her elbows, and then her hands, staring at him, expecting so much.

Jim tried to breathe, his hands fumbling at his trousers, slowly pushing them down his hips. He wondered how he appeared to her, his arousal so prominent that, free of his trousers, it was almost sticking straight out; that was how erect he was, how hard he was just for her.

For her and no one else.

He wondered if she knew that.

She was staring at him, and made an odd little hum in the back of her throat.

He wasn't sure what should come next, but then she reached for her nightgown's dropped neckline and stood up herself, letting it drop to the mattress and kicking it off onto the floor.

She was tiny, he thought, reflecting that she could stand on the bed and not bump her head on the ceiling.

But nothing about her was lacking.

Her breasts were large, full, and her waist was taut and slim, only to lead to wide hips, and, he reflected, stepping closer to her, a very shapely derriere. She reached forward, to him, and he held his arms out.

She stepped into his arms, pressing herself against him, wrapping her legs tight around his waist. He grabbed hold of her, feeling the swell of her derriere underneath his hands, cuppng her there, too.

Oh god. She was perfect. Utterly perfect.

They fell back onto the bed and Jim let his lips explore every bit of her body that he could, from her breasts again, to her shoulders and neck and then down, kissing a line of fire down her stomach.

He'd read about this. He was a doctor and he knew about a woman's anatomy. But in practice, not in a book, this was so...he reached her thighs….so different.

Sighing from pleasure, he slowly spread her legs, amazed that she let him. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her buck against him, before duplicating the caress on her other thigh, moving inward, to the heat of her. To her core.

"I...have read books," he said hoarsely, letting his lips fall to the skin of her thigh again, sucking there. "I am a virgin but I know...how to do the act in a way that is pleasurable...to a woman." He kissed her thighs again, getting ever closer. "I will make this...very...pleasant for you. You needn't be afraid."

"I'm not," Melinda whispered, and he moaned, reaching her core, and letting one finger slide inside her.

She was wet. Wet and aching for him. Ready to wrap around him. And she was hot. He wondered, dreamed about, how she might feel around him.

She gasped as his fingers slipped deeper, as he called upon knowledge from his anatomy books, and a few other books that hadn't quite made the syllabus, knowing that there was a...part of her that would respond to him more than all others.

Respond to touch.

The clitoris.

He located it, he thought, and from her reaction he knew he had.

He was hard, aching for her, but he'd be damned if this scared her away. If this was unpleasant for her. He had never defrocked a virgin; hell, he was a virgin himself, but he knew that there was no way he wouldn't finish satisfactorily, she had him more than halfway there already.

But it wasn't fair to her if she didn't finish similarly.

He hummed a little, deep in his throat, pulling his fingers from her once he thought she was ready, wiping them clean on her thigh, regretting taking them from her warm heat, but wanting a different part of him inside her instead.

"Are you ready?" He asked, and she nodded fiercely.

He still wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not.

He poised himself at her entrance, all too ready to be inside her.

"I'm not," she suddenly said.

"Ready?" He asked and it took all that was in him to force himself to stop.

She inhaled, the move elevating her breasts. "A virgin...I'm not a virgin, Jim."