In the Eye of the Storm

03. Sweet Reunion on the Rocks

The room was small and homely: a single window looking out over the cliffs, a gently flickering lamp on the nightstand, pictures of sailing ships on the wall and a four-poster bed with velvet hangings that had seen better days. But I didn't really take in any of that. I didn't even see the beautiful view of the cliffs and the sunset over the sea through window. Because in the bed, clothed in the tattered remnants of his black tailcoat, and with a bandage around his right leg, lay Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

He was not looking at me, but staring the other way, at the flowered wallpaper. This gave me a prime opportunity to study his profile to my heart's content. It was just as I remembered it: rock-hard, immovable and with power etched into every inch.

'Whoever you are,' he said to the wall, 'get on with what you've come here for and get out. I have no patience for time-wasters.'

'I know, Sir.'

My voice was nothing but a whisper – still, his head whipped around the moment I spoke. His facial expression didn't change when he saw me, but there was the slightest widening of his eyes.

'It's you!'

'Yes, Sir.'

Silence sank over the room. Mr Ambrose dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into mine, but his lips didn't move.

Blast you, why can't you say anything? You had no problem yelling at me on the ship, during the storm! You didn't even have a problem with kissing me, for heaven's sake!

'It's really you.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Silence. More bloody silence!

Why can't you say something, damn you? And I mean more than just 'It's you!' You can! I know you can! Remember last time? Last time we spoke. Last time you held me. Last time your lips touched mine! Remember that? Why don't you say anything about that?

'I thought you were dead,' he told me. My breath caught. The words themselves were as cold and curt as any you could think of, but the tone... Had I really heard emotion there? Surely not.

'Well... I'm not, Sir.' Whatever was in his voice, there was emotion in mine sure enough. Blast it!

'I can see that. What took you so long?'

The corner of my mouth twitched up. 'I'm glad to see you too.'

My feet suddenly started to move. Before I knew it, stood beside his bed. My fingers reached out, and I took his right hand in mine. Closing my eyes, I squeezed, gently, letting the feel of him, smooth and hard, fill me up.

'What, pray,' came his cool voice from down on the bed, 'are you doing?'

'I'm holding your hand,' I murmured, basking in the feeling. He was real! He was real, and alive, and with me!

'I realize that. To what purpose have you initiated this superfluous form of physical contact?'

'Oh, shut up!'

There was a momentary silence.

'I beg your pardon?' His voice lowered to a dangerous level – but right now I didn't care. 'I am your employer! You will address me with respect!'

'Fine. Shut up, Sir!'

'That is not what I was referring to and you—'

'Blast you!' Wrenching my eyes open, I glared down at him. 'I thought you were dead, too!' And I would have bloody missed you! Really missed you!

He glared back just as fiercely. 'In that case, you should have ceased searching. No point in chasing something that is already lost. It would be a waste of mon–'