Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

  But her ass! It drooped as flabby as her boobs. She sighed. The longing buried deep inside pushed her to just let go of the fear of rejection and just move. The last time she was in his bed, none of this mattered. Or in the water, at the island pond, she didn’t feel naked there. He’d bathed her! Why now? Within the confines of this palace, her insecurities assailed her.

  Let it go, let it go! She shouted at herself to release the baggage from a world she’d left behind. How many times would it take for her to hear he wanted her and that she wasn’t old, wasn’t useless and undesirable? Her head rang with the cacophony of the past. She wanted it gone!

  Holding her breath in some vain attempt to keep her flesh tight, she dropped the robe to the floor.

  Turning, she covered her face. She wouldn’t watch his reaction. Moving slowly, she approached the proximately of the bench as he chuckled. Could she peek? Was he chuckling at her, at her boobs, her belly, her flaws? Now, in the stark light where nothing was hidden by shadow or water, she was totally revealed.

  A warm hand touched her waist, drew her close until her knees touched the upholstery. His breath crossed the back of her hand. She shivered, ready to bolt, wanting to run. And at the same time, never wanting to be anywhere but with him. It was confusing. Why had this insecurity risen? Because he’d told her about his next voyage and she would miss him less if she could find fault with him? She must stop trying to protect herself and embrace this place and time. He’d return. He said he’d come back and they would talk of what was next.

  He enticed her onto his lap and spent an inordinate amount of time kissing and touching her before urging her to open her legs and bring an end to the extensive foreplay. All her nerves disappeared once he held her—once she held him. He was an anchor of confidence. “I’d take you on the floor, but Oshi would skin me alive if I mess up your hair,” he admitted. “I swore I would not touch your head.”

  Emily snickered, all discomfort gone. A relief to have it banished. She swore to get over past nonsense. He could have anyone, but he wanted her. She found proof of her desirability every time he met her eyes. She smiled. “I have no idea what they’ve done. They won’t let me see a mirror. Oh, wait!”

  She reached for the box he’d set on the table. He set a hand atop it. “Don’t spoil their surprise. Trust me, you look wonderful.”

  He quieted her with a kiss, keeping his hands at her neck. When he revealed the dress, Emily stared. “Uh, that’s not a blouse and skirt.”

  “No, of course not. But your fabric is here.” He gestured at the bodice. “The rest compliments it, and you.”

  She carefully approached it, worried she might damage it. “It’s thoroughly lovely, but I’ll trip—it’s too long.”

  He reached down and hiked up the front with several fabric ties. “No, you won’t.”

  “Oh, that will work.” She touched the bodice, laced with soft cord like a bustier. The skirt wasn’t too full. She’d be able to handle this much fabric. The tailor managed to match the piece she’d fallen in love with. The skirt echoed the gold and red of the blouse. A deep red, almost burgundy belt crossed the waist. And a bag matching the sleeves was secured to the belt. A reddish petticoat peeked out from underneath the gold. The period slip was gold, but not quite. She examined it, trying to name it correctly. Like the shade of well-made Bavarian cream from a cream-filled donut.

  Her mouth watered. She missed donuts.

  She swallowed. The bodice was terribly low cut.

  “I’m going to spill out.”

  “No, you won’t. You ready to let them help you dress?”

  “I’m going to need help? How will I get this off later if I need help now?” She snorted. Normally her clothing consisted of easy fasteners, like zippers. This dress had ribbons and ties and stays. “And damn, I have no shoes to do this justice!”

  “Yes, you do.” He pointed to a box off to one side.

  She gave up trying to act surprised. She knelt and pulled the box over. Lifting the lid, she sighed in appreciation. The shoes were lovely. They matched the skirt perfectly. A pair of delicate short boots, with a stacked heel. Laces. She touched them. “Oh. Alan!”

  He knelt and kissed the back of her neck.

  “People will begin to arrive soon. Some are already gathering—the drinking starts quite early. I’ll call Oshi in to help you while I see to myself.”

  “But you won’t be coming down?” She looked up at him, one shoe held delicately in her hand.

  “Don’t worry!” He kissed her, careful not to disturb the small bits of paint the Asian women had used to decorate her, then left the room.

  She was still kneeling when the two ladies hurried in to help.

  Why did the crew knowing about Silvestri scare her? Most in Tortuga didn’t look at Alan Silvestri with loathing or fear. She imagined they might if he tried to overstay his cursed allotment.

  She might stay on here. She could work for the Barmy Cock—be here when he was able to make land. Would the ladies on the Quill ever forgive her? Would Mick?

  The distraction lasted while they laced her up. The top didn’t bind as she’d feared it would, and she would after all be able to get out of the dress by herself if necessary. It would take some twisting, but it was possible. The sleeves reached her wrist, snug fitting and edged with lace. The same delicate lace decorated the purse, with stays in it. She lifted it, once dressed and tried to figure out what it was for. It seemed unusual to brace a stay like this.

  “Your mirror, my love.” Alan spoke from the doorway. He wore a regal captain’s coat in a burgundy so dark it looked black. A shirt of old gold matched her skirt, and his breeches were black. His boots gleamed.

  She glanced over at him and smiled. “You are a rare treat for the eyes, Captain Silvestri.”

  “And you, a precious treasure.” He pulled her mirror from the box and showed her how it tucked into the bag. “I don’t want you to risk losing this again. The stays will protect it from harm while you carry it with you.” He turned her to a curtain and drew it back to reveal a mirror.

  She gasped.

  This isn’t me! This is someone else!

  It reminded her much of a mix between the pirate and Goth world. Some steampunk? But in color—most of the steampunk costumes she’d seen consisted of mainly black, brown and some ecru. The skirt style she called a circle skirt, the blouse was relatively simple, save for the stays and bustier. It revealed a great deal of neck and shoulders. The girls did her hair up with delicate combs that sparkled with garnets. And he was right, the colors made her glow.

  A corner of her mouth lifted. “You enchanted me, Alan. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  He stood behind her and draped a sparkling collar-style necklace down over her head. If drifted past her eyes and they widened in appreciation. Garnets—deep, wine-red garnets. It covered her neck and dipped past her collar bone. Garnets, citrines and even a handful of peridots. She lifted one hand to touch it. “Where did you get this?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked, smoothing it down and holding up matching earrings. She slipped them on, feeling tears gathering at her eyelids. He wiped them away before they fell.

  The white pendant fell behind the necklace, leaving the stark white monster to peer out from below the sparkle.

  “You are Captain Silvestri’s woman. I want you to always know that.”

  Her heart sang when she softly replied, “Emily’s captain. I like that.”

  “Good! I shall escort you only far enough to be where I can see your crew observe your glory.”

  He hurried her along the tunnels. She heard the roar of a crowd and slowed. He allowed her hesitation. “We can stay in one of the side rooms for a while, until you become accustomed to the crowd. I know it is must larger than what you live with on the Quill . Shall I fetch you have a glass of wine to calm your nerves?”

  “Rum punch,” she managed to choke out.

  He assisted her in finding a deeply shadowed nook to w
ait in. She could see the room but remain hidden until she was ready. She peered out at a room that Hollywood would have loved to film. A grotto made up of several chambers, joined to a massive dome, a ceiling covered with stalactites. There were pools along the edges, peeking through rocky openings. Light reflected onto walls, tables, and people. The room shone with colors, countered superbly with shadows, giving an impression of sparkle and shine everywhere. An orchestra tuned up out of her line of sight.

  The acoustics here must be incredible.

  Alan returned, holding an icy glass in one hand. She smiled in relief and took a healthy swallow. He leaned close. “The Quill isn’t here yet. Come with me; we can sneak in a waltz before they get here. I want to dance with you.”

  “Where do people dance? There’s no room out there, and the floor isn’t even.” She took another deep swallow of the delicious punch.

  He led her down another tunnel, and suddenly, they were in the room with the orchestra and a smattering of dancers. This floor there was smooth and polished. But the room held the same magic. Subdued lighting, sparkling bits of quartz, and hushed alcoves hinted of lover’s meetings. She let the magic seep into her.

  They stepped into the room and he lifted her glass away and handed it to a man standing nearby. He nodded to the orchestra, and they quickly ended the tune they were playing and a waltz began. A studied slow waltz.

  She knew how to waltz. She had taken lessons, but never found the relaxation and confidence to enjoy the music and flow with it.

  “I’m not terribly good at….”

  He took her hand and gazed into her face. He wore no hat with this ensemble. His hair fell in waves to his elbows. The few bits of dark blond stood out from the fall of silver. She looked to her side in the formal manner she’d been taught by the dance master until Alan spoke. “Look at me, Emily. Please.”

  “Okay.” Turning her head, she inhaled, and suddenly they were moving. She stumbled once, but his power and confidence soared into her and she let go. The shoes whispered to her. Let us! Let us! And she surrendered, not the strangest thing she’d experienced since arriving here. Let the shoes do the dancing.

  He led, the shoes followed and she glided along.

  They waltzed slowly, gradually building speed as they moved across the floor. There were other dancers, but once Emily and Silvestri spun and whirled the rest backed away, leaving the dance floor, and standing in a circle to admire them.

  He watched her, those sapphire eyes sharp, yet warm at the same time. Blue was a cold color, right? Not his. She melted into his arms and those eyes. They whirled, spun, following the music to a sweet unity.

  One, two, three. One, two, three. Her skirt swirled out in a graceful sweep. Her back arched, thrusting her pelvis close to his, and she flushed. One corner of his mouth lifted, one eyebrow. He took a decisive step forward, inserting his thigh neatly betwixt her legs. She obediently stepped back, albeit reluctant to do so. He released her hand, and she spun in a circle under his raised arm.

  He pulled her back and continued to circle.

  One, two, three. One, two, three.

  Damn, what would it be like to tango with this man?

  The music reached its crescendo, then slowed. Her heart calmed while the frantic circling eased with sweet deliberation. He held her closer, drawing their extended arms to tuck against his chest. The music faded away.

  Her breath stilled, as she became totally lost in his arms. Without thought of where they were or who might be watching, they kissed. She wrapped her arms around him and sank into the passion binding them together. She clung to him, wanting him with a matched desperation and a calm knowingness, a deep chime of belonging rang inside her.

  Very slowly, the kiss ended, as they pulled from each other, releasing the contact reluctantly. She sighed, turned her face and set her head upon his chest. She opened her eyes, focus gradually returning only to see that directly across the floor stood Captain Jezebel, with Mick at her side, and the crew spread out behind them.

  Her heart froze.

  CHAPTER 19

  She pushed Alan away, terrified at the exposure. How to get out of this? And Mick, fuck it! The look on his face did not bode well for either her or Silvestri. “Damn. Alan, you need to get out of here. Now.”

  “What?” he crooned at her. Until his glance lifted and he saw what she gazed at. His voice grew heavy, sounding of grief. “Oh, hell. My luck plays with us. You will be safe. Jezebel will see to it.” He touched her face, turned and hurried away before she said another word.

  “Coward!” Mick’s voice carried over the new music. “Face me!”

  Emily took several steps toward Mick, who was being held back by Jezebel. His gaze shifted to her. “You ungrateful, treacherous bitch.”

  “I’m sorry, Mick. It was never my intention to hurt you. I’ll gather my belongings and leave the ship.” She nodded at Jezebel. “Captain.” She stepped around Mick and headed for the exit, hoping she could find her way out of the grotto. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she held them from falling. Standing straight, she walked like she owned the floor. She was not ashamed. Her back was straight, her chest thrust forward and she kept her eyes lifted. This is a good thing, she kept repeating to herself. No more lies, no more hiding. It is time to move forward. This was hard, but it wasn’t impossible

  Too bad the expression on Mick’s face didn’t echo her sentiments. She finally got someone to point her toward the main door to the outside stairs. She hit the fresh air and took a moment to just breathe.

  “Pawes? Captain Jezebel directed me to stay with you.”

  She turned to see Davis at her side.

  “You don’t want to miss the party—I’m fine. Ready to leave anyway, tired of pretending….”

  He took her arm. “Orders are orders, Pawes.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “Fine. He brought me here via some back street route, I’m not even sure how to get back to the port.”

  She appreciated his silence while he led her along a surprisingly short route to where the ships were anchored. He took the oars of a small boat, called a cutter, and helped her to the deck—even followed her to her cabin. She pulled out the largest basket she possessed and gathered items. Her book-binding supplies, the small things she’d bought in the various ports they’d visited. She even tucked Tink’s obscene carving into the basket.

  Next, she gathered up her few items of clothing. When she turned to leave, Davis stood in her way.

  “Pawes, my orders included keeping you on the ship.”

  She studied him. He was her friend, but he also obeyed orders. He didn’t seem to care for these orders, but he met her eyes and didn’t apologize.

  “On the ship? What am I—a prisoner? You can’t keep me here!” She tried to push past him, but he was as impossible to break through as a brick wall.

  “I’m afraid I can. I don’t believe they mean to force you to stay if you don’t want to, but Mick will want to question you. And Jezebel—she’ll want answers, too.” He touched her face. “Is it bad being here?”

  She took a step back. “I love him. I know I can’t be with him all the time, because of the curse. But I can be ready for when he can come ashore. I’ll take whatever time I can get.”

  The words surprised even her. Had she told Alan she loved him? She wasn’t sure. Her heart accepted she loved him, but had the words actually crossed her lips? She hoped they had.

  “Pawes, even I recognized you care for him. But you’ve managed to meet with him regularly and stay on the ship. Why must that change?” He smiled at her. “You always came back from being off-ship with contentment pouring from your skin. I’m happy for you.”

  “They aren’t—Mick, I mean, or Jezebel.”

  “The captain might surprise you, Pawes. And Mick will bend to her will, surrender his own agenda if she commands it.”

  She studied him, this man who taught her blades, who helped her with almost everything she attempted on the ship. He
never lied to her. Setting the basket down, she tossed her bag on the bed.

  “You’re not going to let me leave. And if they stay for the entire party it’s going to be hours and hours.” She glanced down at the dress, a bit rumpled from getting to the ship. “I can get out of this by myself, but some help would make it easier. Will you untie the back for me? I’ll change and maybe see what is available in the galley?” He’d always been an ally; she wasn’t going to challenge him now. And perhaps Cookie left out some rum. She could use more alcohol.

  She’d leave the ship tomorrow, find a room and see if Sam would let her work the bar, for tips if nothing else. It would be enough.

  ***

  Jezebel caught him in the room where Emily dressed. He bent down to gather the tattered sandals. He’d see them into the pack and back to the Quill. She’d need them….

  “What have you been doing, Silvestri? And what in the hell were you doing here? Now? With her?”

  He turned and smiled at the fierce Captain Jezebel. He remembered when she’d first come through a portal. All spit and vinegar, barely a woman yet. But she’d gone on to conquer Tortuga in record time. No one knew what to do with her. She dominated every man she took to bed and drew strong women to her with a magnetism that brooked no argument. She captained a ship of her own before two years passed.

  “Jezebel, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. I hear the ship is doing well.” His attempt at small talk fell flat. She glared at him. He turned and continued to pack up Emily’s items.

  “Don’t try to avoid me. I’ve got Tink and Janey out there holding Mick back. You are not supposed to be here—that is the deal!”

  “The deal. Yes. I am sorry. I didn’t intend to be seen. I but craved one dance with her. My spies reported you lingering at the Barmy Cock. My sentries at the entrance failed to alert me of your arrival, obviously. The Immorta is over at Hockster Bay, and I’ll be gone before the dawn.”