ships have been as well-cared-for as my own. But I think you should see that for yourself."
Standing, he held out his hand. Erin hesitated before taking it. His skin was pleasantly warm against hers, his fingers strong and firm. She remembered the way they felt tangling in her hair, caressing the nape of her neck, sliding along her shoulders and arms to the curve of her waist.
The staircase was so narrow that only one of them could go down it at a time. She used that as an excuse to break the contact between them. When they reached the bottom, both her hands were occupied holding her skirt above the sawdust-strewn floor.
Storm did not miss her unease. He smiled sardonically before saying a few words in Japanese to the employee who stepped forward to open the door for them. The man looked surprised, or at least as close to it as rigorous courtesy allowed.
Erin was tempted to ask him what he had said, but she wasn't sure she would appreciate the answer. Resolutely silent, she accompanied him along the wooden-plank sidewalk laid over the dirt-packed roads that ran between the docks and warehouses.
The sailors who had greeted her when she arrived stepped aside to let them pass. There were no further comments about her beauty and desirability. Instead, their eyes were kept rigorously averted and their mouths firmly closed. More than one looked appalled at the thought that they might have offended a woman in whom their employer had a proprietary interest.
The dry docks in which ships were stored and repaired lay off to the side beyond the wharves. Erin had no difficulty picking out the Nantucket Moon and Emerald Isle.
Both clipper ships sat well out of the water, their hulls scraped free of barnacles, the seams sealed with waterproof tar. The decks gleamed with fresh varnish, and all brass and copper implements shone in the sunlight. Even the wheelhouses were newly whitewashed, as though awaiting the arrival of their captains.
The ships' fluid lines, proud masts and graceful prows fairly begged to slide back into the sea and feel the wind once more fill their sails.
Storm's claim was correct: they had clearly received meticulous care. Turning to him, she could not deny her appreciation. "I had no hope of finding them in such good condition. Please forgive me for doubting you."
Embarrassed by her gratitude, he attempted to shrug it off. "There's no need for that. I understand you were worried." Sternly he added, "As you should be. Just because they're in good shape doesn't mean you're going to sail them out of here anytime soon. There's still the matter of your uncle's debt to settle."
"I realize that," Erin murmured, her elation fading as the truth of what he said reached her. She raised her head, facing him squarely. "You have yet to convince me there is a debt."
"Is that so? Then how do you account for the shipments your firm received from here last year? If you paid any attention at all to the business, and I am beginning to suspect that you did, you must know your funds were exhausted. Without borrowed money, you couldn't have financed the cargoes."
Erin didn't attempt to repudiate that, but neither did she accept it as proof of his right. "But you didn't lend us any funds. If you had, I would have found some record. Even failing that, if we had borrowed from you, you would certainly have been aware that my uncle was running the company, yet you admitted yourself you didn't know that. So I don't see how you can claim to hold a lien on my ships."
"Not even if I tell you that the company your uncle did borrow from went bankrupt a few months ago, leaving among its debts a substantial liability to the Black Star Trading Company? I agreed to take control of property it was holding in lieu of the payments."
Erin stared up at him bleakly. What he said had the ring of truth. It explained why she had not known the fate of the ships, and why he had indirectly become involved in the affairs of the company run by a family he
Standing, he held out his hand. Erin hesitated before taking it. His skin was pleasantly warm against hers, his fingers strong and firm. She remembered the way they felt tangling in her hair, caressing the nape of her neck, sliding along her shoulders and arms to the curve of her waist.
The staircase was so narrow that only one of them could go down it at a time. She used that as an excuse to break the contact between them. When they reached the bottom, both her hands were occupied holding her skirt above the sawdust-strewn floor.
Storm did not miss her unease. He smiled sardonically before saying a few words in Japanese to the employee who stepped forward to open the door for them. The man looked surprised, or at least as close to it as rigorous courtesy allowed.
Erin was tempted to ask him what he had said, but she wasn't sure she would appreciate the answer. Resolutely silent, she accompanied him along the wooden-plank sidewalk laid over the dirt-packed roads that ran between the docks and warehouses.
The sailors who had greeted her when she arrived stepped aside to let them pass. There were no further comments about her beauty and desirability. Instead, their eyes were kept rigorously averted and their mouths firmly closed. More than one looked appalled at the thought that they might have offended a woman in whom their employer had a proprietary interest.
The dry docks in which ships were stored and repaired lay off to the side beyond the wharves. Erin had no difficulty picking out the Nantucket Moon and Emerald Isle.
Both clipper ships sat well out of the water, their hulls scraped free of barnacles, the seams sealed with waterproof tar. The decks gleamed with fresh varnish, and all brass and copper implements shone in the sunlight. Even the wheelhouses were newly whitewashed, as though awaiting the arrival of their captains.
The ships' fluid lines, proud masts and graceful prows fairly begged to slide back into the sea and feel the wind once more fill their sails.
Storm's claim was correct: they had clearly received meticulous care. Turning to him, she could not deny her appreciation. "I had no hope of finding them in such good condition. Please forgive me for doubting you."
Embarrassed by her gratitude, he attempted to shrug it off. "There's no need for that. I understand you were worried." Sternly he added, "As you should be. Just because they're in good shape doesn't mean you're going to sail them out of here anytime soon. There's still the matter of your uncle's debt to settle."
"I realize that," Erin murmured, her elation fading as the truth of what he said reached her. She raised her head, facing him squarely. "You have yet to convince me there is a debt."
"Is that so? Then how do you account for the shipments your firm received from here last year? If you paid any attention at all to the business, and I am beginning to suspect that you did, you must know your funds were exhausted. Without borrowed money, you couldn't have financed the cargoes."
Erin didn't attempt to repudiate that, but neither did she accept it as proof of his right. "But you didn't lend us any funds. If you had, I would have found some record. Even failing that, if we had borrowed from you, you would certainly have been aware that my uncle was running the company, yet you admitted yourself you didn't know that. So I don't see how you can claim to hold a lien on my ships."
"Not even if I tell you that the company your uncle did borrow from went bankrupt a few months ago, leaving among its debts a substantial liability to the Black Star Trading Company? I agreed to take control of property it was holding in lieu of the payments."
Erin stared up at him bleakly. What he said had the ring of truth. It explained why she had not known the fate of the ships, and why he had indirectly become involved in the affairs of the company run by a family he
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