Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  Shaking his head slowly, he leaned against the door, folding his arms across his chest.

  “I cannot shoot an innocent man.”

  She exhaled slowly, her heart hammering. “I have a confession.”

  He stepped forward, the shadows sliding with him.

  “Where will I find it?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t steal from you,” she replied, a sharp edge in her voice.

  He paused, curiosity lighting his eyes. “What do you wish to say?”

  “Turn around.” She stared at him earnestly. “Please, it would be easier for me.”

  “I’ve never met such a peculiar man in my whole life,” replied Captain Shaw. He shrugged, rolling his eyes, and complied with her request, turning his back to her. “Will this exercise take much time?”

  “No, Captain.” One more deep breath followed. She was about to die… Slipping her shirt from her body, she dropped the material to the floor, following it with her trousers.

  “You may search me.”

  Whatever Captain Shaw meant to say was lost the moment he realized he was staring at a woman’s naked body. He froze, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. Shaking his head, he stepped forward, his hand stretched toward her, pausing just before it brushed over her skin. Several curse words followed.

  “You’re a woman!”

  “Yes.” She blushed, her eyes cast down, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

  He circled her slowly, his eyes blazing. Passing behind the desk, he rounded the corner, keeping the solid mass between them.

  “You should have told me.”

  “I can’t swim,” she replied, twisting to stare at him.

  “You can’t swim,” he repeated. The realization of her words caused him to groan. “So, you lied.”

  She nodded.

  “And cut your hair.”

  She nodded again.

  “I hit you.”

  “I know.” She glanced down again, a ghostly twinge of pain shooting across her face.

  “I’ve never struck a woman in my life,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.

  “I find that difficult to believe,” she murmured, flinching when he advanced around the corner, backing her against the desk.

  “A man who hurts a lessor creature is a coward,” he growled, “but a woman who is a thief is still a criminal.”

  “I didn’t steal anything!” Her hands flew to his chest, pushing against the hard muscle. “You can search my clothing… and me.”

  “If I search you, we will have other issues.” He sighed, his hard stance relaxing.

  “To satisfy your mind, and that of your crew, you must do what you think is necessary.”

  “I’m certain it is not necessary to search your body.” He cupped her face, his thumb gently sliding over the bruise. She winced. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she replied, leaning into his hand, the sensation oddly comforting. “I did mislead you… a bit.”

  “A bit?” He snorted. “I think you put a great deal of effort into your disguise. Where did you get the clothing?”

  “Most of it belonged to my late husband, the rest are my brother’s.”

  He sank down beside her, leaning against the desk. Reaching back, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey, uncorking it. Taking a long sip, he wordlessly passed the bottle to her.

  She peeked up at him as she accepted the bottle.

  “Are you going to execute me?”

  “No.” He exhaled slowly, bending at the waist, his fingers rubbing his temples, and glanced over at her. “You put us both in a dreadful position. The crew will not be as forgiving once they learn your true identity; it’s been many months at sea… women are not allowed on the ship.”

  “Can I not hide in here until we reach…” She paused, taking a drink. Coughing, she handed the bottle back to him.

  “Ceresus?”

  “Yes. Where is that?”

  He snorted. “The Caribbean. How will you avoid detection for two weeks? You didn’t last a full day with me.”

  “I would have if you didn’t accuse me of theft!” she snapped, yanking the bottle back, taking another sip. “May I get dressed?”

  His eyes slid over her body. Groaning, he stepped away from her, turning his back.

  “You may.”

  “What about the gold?” her muffled voice asked as she pulled the shirt over her head. She had set the bottle on the desk before snatching her shirt from the floor.

  “I am satisfied with your innocence; however, that means there is a thief among us, and my men will not be content until the culprit is punished.”

  “Who are your suspects?” she asked, stepping into her trousers and yanking them up her legs.

  “You,” he chortled, spinning back around. “Such a pity, I had hoped for one more glimpse.”

  She flushed, smoothing the shirt. “There is no need to be polite. I’m certain beauty has never been attached to my name.”

  “You have been misled.” Reaching out, he gently tipped her chin, his finger tracing her lips, a tingling sensation raced through her spine.

  She eyed him warily. “What are you going to do?”

  “Kiss you.” Very slowly, he bent his head, pressing his mouth to hers—an inferno exploded between them. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she moaned against his mouth. His tongue pushed between her lips, demanding and controlling, stealing her breath, her head swimming from his sensuous assault. He pulled away, his eyes glowing. Fanning herself, Alana sagged against the desk, her skin pink. Sitting next to her, he bumped her arm with his.

  “I like that shade on you.”

  She glanced down. “My shirt?”

  “Your blush.” He tilted his head. “I’d like to see it all over your skin.”

  “I’d have to undress again.”

  “I would be happy to assist you.” He folded his arms across his chest, grinning.

  “What would your crew think?”

  “I have no desire to share you with any of them.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Mrs. Dubois…” He paused, waiting for her to nod her confirmation. “I’m not a brute. Regardless of my reputation, I do not condone hurting women or children.”

  “But—”

  “I released the lifeboat.” His quiet admission floated across the intimate space between them. “The reason the Navy found us so quickly was we were too close to shore. They were rescued before we’d cleared the wreckage.”

  Her head whipped toward him. “Mrs. Parker…”

  “Is alive as long as she stayed in the lifeboat.”

  “What about her husband?”

  “A man is responsible for his destiny; he chose to die.”

  “You could have told him his wife was still alive.”

  Captain Shaw slammed his hand against the desk, causing her to jump. “I could not guarantee her survival, and thus, couldn’t make him that promise.”

  “But you could have given him hope.”

  “Hope.” A cold laugh escaped him. “Does my name bring to mind the word hope?”

  “No.” Alana chewed her lip, her mind racing. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “But you didn’t save him.”

  “I have no desire to quell a mutiny.”

  “What do you desire?”

  The heat smoldering in his eyes flared. “You.”

  Her tongue darted out, licking her lips. Glancing down, she toyed with the whiskey bottle. “Would you consider a trade?”

  “Go on.”

  “In exchange for safe passage to Ceresus, I will have relations with you.”

  A dark cloud passing over his face, he pushed off the desk, grabbing the bottle from her hand. Trudging across the floor, he dropped onto the mattress, taking a swig.

  “No.”

  “No?” Surprise colored her statement. “But, I thought…”

  “That I w
ould just take what I wanted.”

  “You are a pirate.” She shrugged.

  “I’m confused by your argument. Are you asking me to hurt you?”

  “No.” Alana shook her head quickly.

  “Then, I will transport you to Ceresus and leave you there.”

  “How will I repay you?”

  “You work for me until we dock, consider that your fare.” He held out the bottle. Crossing the room, she took it, sitting beside him on the bed.

  “What if I want you to kiss me again?”

  “Do you?” His eyebrows raised.

  “I’ve been a widow for two years, Captain Shaw.”

  “You should have remarried.”

  Her mouth crooked into a half-smile. “The real purpose of my trip to America.”

  He laughed, shaking his head.

  “I will make you a deal, Mrs. Dubois. As you and I are both longing for companionship, I propose we spend the voyage amusing each other. For your own safety, you must agree to remain inside this cabin. Once we reach Ceresus, we will part ways; I will sell my ship, and you can continue your search for a new husband. Do we have an accord?”

  Glancing at his offered hand, Alana raised her eyes to his. “Why do you want to sell your ship?”

  “I’m tired. I’ve amassed more wealth than one person needs in a lifetime.” He dropped his arm. “This was to be my final voyage. Mr. Evans will be taking over the ship once we dock in Ceresus.”

  Alana chewed her lip, her eyes sliding over his face, his mouth. Her stomach flipped, nervously churning. If his kiss could elicit such a reaction in her, what would his touch do? An irresponsible decision to be certain, but since when had she ever made a sound judgment? She set the bottle by her feet.

  “Do I still have to sleep on the floor?”

  “Only if we end up there.” Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her closer. Pulling her shirt over her head, he tossed it aside, his mouth nipping the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. His fingers slid up the back of her head, trailing through her short strands. “It is a pity, I do love long hair,” he murmured against her skin.

  “I still have it,” she replied, her breath hitching as his tongue traced a path along her collar bone.

  “Where?” The vibrations from his throat tickled, sending shivers cascading down her spine. She shuddered, pressing into him.

  “In my trunk,” she panted, arching her neck, “in the bottom of the sack.”

  He pulled away with a grin. “And how did you plan on explaining that when I found it?”

  “By distracting you.” She jutted out her chin, rolling her shoulders back.

  “Your scheme worked, I am extremely distracted.” Ripping his shirt from his body, he lunged, catching her around the waist, pulling her backward onto the bed. His mouth finding hers, his tongue pushed past her lips, thrusting with unparalleled urgency. Caressing the soft swell of her breast, his fingers drew sensual patterns over her skin, dragging a moan from her lips.

  Sliding down her body, his fingers wrestled with her trousers. Breaking the kiss, he snorted, sitting up and using both hands to unfasten her pants.

  “Never had to take off men’s trousers before.”

  “I find them to be quite comfortable,” replied Alana, wriggling as he drew them down her legs. His mouth pressed to her ankle, sending a tremor up her leg. Following the same path as the tremor, his mouth moved along her skin, nipping and kissing. She writhed against him, need flooding her body.

  As he reached her throat, one hand glided down her torso, propelling delightful shivers through her skin. His hand slid between her legs, dipping into her center. She cried out, lifting her hips to his hand.

  “I find them to be quite convenient,” he murmured against her skin, his finger moving over her nub. Her hands clawing the sheets, she cried out again, her body responding to his wicked caress.

  “Please,” she begged. His mouth covered hers, his finger dipped into her again, continuing its slow rhythm of torture. Alana bucked against his hand, the sensations growing in her stomach, exploding through her limbs. A scream ripped from her throat.

  Shedding his trousers, he pushed her trembling legs apart, stroking her gently. She shivered. Pressing against her, he pushed forward, sheathing himself in one stroke. He leaned forward, recapturing her mouth, his tongue thrusting in tempo with his body. Wrapping her hands around his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, she moaned, her body winding tighter and tighter as she approached her apex. His hand skimmed down her side, wrapping around her leg, pushing it toward her chest. Driving deeper, his pace quickened, groans tumbling from his lips.

  “I don’t know your name,” he ground out, his breath short.

  “Alana,” she managed, her body screaming for release. Her nails gouged into him, her body arched. “Please, please, please,” she begged, barely recognizing the guttural cry echoing off the walls.

  Plunging into her, his mouth closed around her nipple, his teeth gently biting. She screamed, the orgasm crashing through her body. He thrust twice more, burying himself deeply, finding his own release, his voice overpowering hers. Collapsing on top of her, he sighed, his limp body pinning her to the mattress—she found the weight oddly comforting.

  “We’re going to do that again.” His muffled voice came from her shoulder. He rolled sideways with a grunt and exhaled, his eyes on the ceiling. His hand slid across the mattress, finding hers, squeezing it once. “Just as soon as I get my strength back.”

  “May I ask you a question?” Alana’s quiet voice caused him to sit up, a strange emotion passing over his face.

  “It depends on the question,” he replied.

  “Do you regret your actions?”

  “Do I regret stealing from people?” he smirked, lying back on the bed and tucking his hands under his head.

  “Killing people.”

  “I didn’t kill Mr. Parker, we discussed this.”

  “But you did kill someone.”

  “Someone you know, I presume. A distant cousin?”

  “My brother’s closest friend.”

  “That is quite specific. What was his name?”

  “My brother or the man you killed?”

  “The man.”

  “Mr. Charles Ashland.” Silence followed the words. She glanced sideways at Captain Shaw. His gaze, locked on the rafter directly above his head, did not waver. The only indication he’d heard the name was the visible clench in his jaw.

  “How do you know Mr. Ashland?” he asked after a full five minutes had passed.

  “I told you he was a friend of my brother’s.”

  He rolled toward her. “Aidan?”

  “Patrick.”

  A flash of pain shot through his eyes, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He flipped onto his back again. “Patrick Flannery?”

  “Do you know my brother?” Alana turned toward him.

  “I did in a different lifetime,” he sighed, draping his arm over his face.

  “He was devastated when news of Mr. Ashland’s death reached us.” She leaned on his chest, resting her chin on her hands. “Why did you kill him?”

  “He had outlived his purpose.” Captain Shaw pushed her off, sliding from the mattress. Hooking his trousers from the floor, he yanked them up his legs.

  A twinge of pain sliced through her chest. She turned away, rolling toward the wall, a tear sliding down her cheek. A brute was a brute, no matter the agreement. How had she fooled herself into thinking he could be a gentleman? The mattress sank down, his hand sliding through her short hair, brushing it away from her face.

  Collecting the tear on his fingertip, he studied it. Then, tilting his head, he peered down at her. “I was unaware you were attached to Mr. Ashland.”

  “His death affected my brother in a way you cannot possibly understand,” she snapped.

  He sat back as though physically slapped and growled, “What do you know of my past? You know the lies print
ed in the society pages.”

  She sat up, jabbing her finger at him. “And how many men have you killed?”

  “One.”

  Her jaw dropped. One?

  “You seem surprised.”

  “Your reputation carries a different number.”

  He smirked. “That’s a polite description.”

  “How is that possible? I saw you…”

  “You saw Mr. Evans, the future captain of this ship, murder Mr. Parker.”

  “And Mr. Williams,” she murmured.

  “Mr. Williams?”

  “One of the men shoveling coal.”

  “And you think I should have stopped Mr. Evans?”

  “Yes.”

  He trailed his thumb over her jawline, brushing the digit over her lower lip.

  “Despite your prejudice against me, even pirates have a code that must be followed. I cannot intervene with justice, or I will find myself on the wrong end of the sword; mutinies are possible when the captain is soft.”

  A bang echoed through the room, startling Alana. She screamed, pressing her hand to her mouth to smother the sound, her head whipping toward the door.

  “Who disturbs me?” growled Captain Shaw, rising and stalking across the room.

  “Mr. Evans,” came the muffled reply.

  Unlatching the door, Captain Shaw cracked it open, narrowing his eyes. “Is there something that requires my assistance?”

  “The men would like to know if you discovered the gold on Mr. Dubois.”

  “I did not.”

  “And you believe Mr. Dubois is innocent of the crime?”

  “I believe he does not have it on his person,” replied Captain Shaw, his voice held a hard edge.

  “I would like to search him.” Mr. Evans pushed against the door. Alana scrambled from the bed, ripping her clothing from the floor, yanking her shirt over her head.

  Anger blanketed the room. “I am still captain, and I said it is not in his possession.”

  “Did you search his trunk?”

  Captain Shaw paused, his mouth partially open. Leaning back, he glanced at Alana, raising an eyebrow. She rose, fully clothed, and shook her head, answering his unasked question. Of course, the gold was not in her trunk.

  Moving aside, Captain Shaw gestured for Mr. Evans to enter the room. Marching over to her trunk, Mr. Evans flipped the lid open. On top of the chemise rested a small burlap sack. Alana’s forehead wrinkled, recognizing it instantly—the same bag Captain Shaw left on his desk, prior to the threat of the Navy. How had that gotten into her trunk?