Captured

by Beverly Jenkins

  The honesty in her eyes was plain. “May I be truthful with you?”

  “Please.”

  Dominic wasn’t certain how this small unique woman had worked her way into the fabric of his being in so short a time, but he would feed himself to the sharks before causing her even a second of pain. “Showing you the truth may be better than words….”

  Placing his hands around her waist, he eased her in against his length and raised her chin so he could feast visually on the lips he had come to crave from sunset to sunrise. Bringing his mouth down to hers, he whispered, “I’ve chosen you, petite. No other.”

  He kissed her, slowly, passionately, intensely. “You, Clare,” he murmured. “Only you…”

  Shaken by the power flowing from him, Clare returned the kiss and mapped her hands blindly up and down the muscled lengths of his hard arms, pressing herself closer. His lips traveled over the edge of her trembling throat and then drank from the soft skin covering her jaw.

  “And I will not share you, either, bien-aimée,” he pledged. “Ever. Never…”

  Clare’s world was spinning. Every press of his lips sank her deeper into the maelstrom fed by his touch and the seductively whispered promises.

  He husked out against her ear, “Do you really wish to be in here where I can’t kiss you…or touch you…this way…?”

  He circled his palm lazily over her breast. As the tip blossomed, hardened, and pleaded for more, a moan rose from deep in her throat.

  “Do you wish to be alone…or with me, Clare?”

  He bent and gently nipped her throbbing nipple. When he transferred his erotic attention to her other breast, her world exploded. Arching bonelessly, she cried out in a soft raw voice, “You, Dominic. With you…”

  Knowing an orgasm when he heard one, Dominic picked her up and carried her from the room.

  His boots sounded loud against the marble floor and his long strides made short work of the lengthy distance down the niche-lined corridor. In his arms, Clare was so overcome she didn’t know if she was on land or sea. Only he mattered. Held against his heart, she pulsed everywhere, from her lips and breasts to the shadowy place between her thighs. His masterful caresses had made her body shatter, and she was certain she’d still be trying to find pieces of herself come sunrise.

  As they approached his door, the sight of Gaspar and Esteban posed beside it narrowed Dominic’s eyes. “What?”

  Gaspar shrugged, keeping his gaze away from Clare. “Sorry. Levine wants to see you. He’s trying to change the price on the guns.”

  “Can’t you two handle it?”

  Esteban shook his head. “Says he’ll only negotiate with you.”

  Dominic wanted to lean back and roar with frustration. “Meet me downstairs.”

  They nodded and complied.

  Dominic entered his suite and set Clare on her feet. Viewing her passion-swollen lips and thinking of the pleasure he’d hoped to continue, the last thing he wanted to do was to leave her. Tracing that same mouth with a light finger, he bent and kissed it softly. “I must go and handle this.”

  Clare’s world was still hazy but not so much that she didn’t feel the regret. “I understand.”

  They spent the next few moments sharing a reluctant kiss-filled farewell. “I’ll send Anna up,” he breathed against her ear.

  She watched him remove a clean change of clothing from his armoire and depart. She and her pulsing desire were left in the room alone.

  Downstairs, Gaspar and Esteban were waiting as he’d asked. After he conferred a moment with Anna, the three men left the house, but Dominic’s angry strides took him in the opposite direction. Gaspar and Esteban shared a confused look.

  “Where are you going!”

  “To the waterfalls for a cold shower! I’ll meet you at Levine’s shortly.”

  The two friends smiled.

  In addition to owning one of the most fabled taverns in the Caribbean, Moses Levine was a prominent weapons merchant and smuggler. It was he who would make the arrangements for the selling and the shipment north of the muskets Dominic and his crew had taken from the British frigate, but the price he’d quoted Gaspar and Esteban was far below the price he’d contracted with Dominic. He was a mousy little man of about fifty years of age who couldn’t see his hand in front of his face without his thick-lensed spectacles. “Ah, LeVeq,” he voiced warmly as the freshly washed and clothed Dominic, flanked by Gaspar and Esteban, walked into his office above the tavern. “So glad the winds brought you and the Marie home safely.”

  Dominic inclined his head in greeting. “Merci. Just don’t take all of my crew’s gold in one evening.”

  Levine gave him a yellow-toothed smile, “That will be up to them and the girls, I’m afraid. Have a seat please.”

  Dominic knew that Levine’s outwardly sunny disposition had nothing to do with the shark’s heart that beat within, but he took a seat. The shabby office was piled high with papers and crates. It was a windowless space and smelled heavily of mildew, bodies, and rum. “My friends tell me there is an issue over payment for the guns.”

  “I’m afraid so. It has become increasingly difficult to run the blockade. The smugglers are demanding more, thus forcing me to cut what I can offer to pay good clients like yourself.”

  “And without my goods you make no profit at all, am I correct?”

  Levine studied him for a long moment. “Aye.”

  “Then I suppose we’ll just run the blockade ourselves. No sense in your people risking the danger if they are not up to the challenge.” With that, Dominic stood. Clare was waiting. He had neither the time nor the inclination to dicker with greedy little businessmen. At least pirates kept their word.

  “No! Wait, LeVeq.”

  “Will you pay me the agreed-upon price?”

  “I can’t, not and balance the books.”

  Dominic bowed and looked to Gaspar and Esteban. “Gentlemen, let’s leave Mr. Levine to his books, shall we?”

  Without further word, they exited.

  Levine ran to the door. “Wait! LeVeq! Please! Let’s discuss this!” but they didn’t break stride.

  Outside the noisy tavern, Dominic asked, “Esteban, do you think your cousin in Florida can get us a fair price?”

  “If he can’t, he’ll know someone who can.” Esteban’s cousin Ferdinand lived on one of the Key Islands of Spanish Florida and was a well-known smuggler whose tentacles reached from Canada to Jamaica.

  “Good. Gaspar, when can we sail again?”

  “Between the careening and obtaining supplies, a month at least.” Careening involved scraping the Marie’s hull free of the barnacles, seaweed, and other debris that might have attached itself during the long sea voyage. It was a long and arduous process because the ship had to be hauled onto the beach and turned over on its side.

  “What if we take the Liberté?” Dominic asked. The Liberté, named for their home, was the sloop they employed for short runs to the islands in the area.

  “Two weeks, give or take a few days.”

  “We’ll sail her then. She’s faster and we won’t need as large a crew. We can also see Clare back to Savannah, so let’s give ourselves a few days’ rest, and you time with your ladies, then begin the necessary preparations.”

  They spent a few more minutes discussing the distribution of the remaining haul from the Marie’s hold. Some items, like the grain and gold, would stay with the people of the island, but the rest, from dry goods to casks of wine, would be sold to other Caribbean contacts.

  Their talk now done, Dominic mounted his horse, Louis, and turned the white stallion’s head towards home.

  As he rode, he did his best to throw off the weariness. Exhaustion held him in so strong a grip he was surprised he hadn’t already tumbled from Louis’s saddle. As he cast his mind back in an effort to remember the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep, Clare’s face rose to remind him that it had been the night before he brought her on board. Feisty, intelligent, beautifu
l Clare. She could speak four languages from lips headier than the finest wine. Thinking of her presented him with his other major problem. Arousal. Touching her and kissing her left him in a constant state of need. He was going to have trouble walking upright if he didn’t get some relief soon. Just thinking about her made his manhood swell, and he found himself shifting in his seat in order to remain comfortable. Were it not for the gathering this evening, he’d spend the night teaching her the ins and outs of passion; however, the homecoming feast was a tradition, and he wanted to be there.

  So for the time being, sleep would have to wait. Once his duties were done, though, he planned to sleep uninterrupted; preferably with the nude and sexually exhausted Clare Sullivan by his side.

  Unaware of how long Dominic might be away, and rather than sitting in his room twiddling her thumbs, Clare opted to accompany Anna back to the beach to help with the feast. She was tired but not enough to take to her bed as Violet would have. They were riding along in the wagon as it bumped its way along the uneven tract that served as a road and she was again mesmerized by the island’s lush beauty. “How long have you lived here, Anna?”

  “Long enough to know that this is heaven on earth.”

  Clare wondered if the housekeeper was being purposefully enigmatic. “It is a very beautiful place.”

  Loaded in the wagon’s bed were a number of large torches, old quilts, crocks of rice and beans, along with an assortment of tin plates, cutlery, and mugs. The sun was setting. “How long does the feast usually last?”

  “Sometimes days.”

  “Really.”

  “Depends on how long the dancing goes and how much rum the men drink. One year after a particularly long voyage we celebrated for nearly a week.”

  “There’s dancing?”

  “And drumming and weddings.”

  Clare turned to her with surprise.

  “There are no ministers on the island, so Dominic presides over them instead.”

  It was yet something else Clare didn’t know about her pirate captain. “How many weddings will there be this time?”

  “Just one. Gaspar and Suzette.”

  Another surprise. Clare had had no idea the quartermaster had an intended. She wondered if he’d had the chance to reunite with his Suzette since dropping anchor, or if he was still busy with tasks tied to the Marie.

  The wagon rolled past a short stone building perched on a hill a short distance above the road. By its architecture it appeared to be another structure abandoned by the Spanish, although this one lacked the grandeur of the governor’s mansion. Loitering outside its door were a number of men and women drinking from the mugs in their hands. They appeared to be having a good time. Rousing fiddle music drifted to her ears from inside the place, along with the sounds of laughter and raised voices.

  “That’s Levine’s tavern. It was once a Spanish garrison. Now it’s all doxies, ale, and gambling. He’s going to do good business the next few days.”

  They’d almost passed the establishment when Clare noticed a wagon pull up to the tavern’s door and then saw the familiar face of a woman being handed down by a short man wearing spectacles.

  “I see Sylvie’s found her a new home,” Anna cracked. “The man with her is Levine.”

  Clare watched him gesturing to some of the male loiterers to unload what must be Sylvie’s trunks before he escorted the woman inside.

  “They’ll do well until they turn on each other like vipers do.”

  Clare didn’t know what to say to that prediction, so she stayed silent.

  Anxious to get Clare in his arms, Dominic took the steps to the upper floor two at a time. Entering his room he was met by silence and no one. Again! Biting down on his frustration he went back down the staircase calling for her and Anna, but found only a note from Anna instructing him to meet them at the feast. Certain that the fates were bent upon keeping him from his prize, he remounted Louis and rode off.

  The setting sun was like a ball of fire melting into the ocean and Clare paused to take in the magnificent sight. Who knew sunsets could be so moving or so brilliant? Over the past week, she’d seen more sunsets than she’d ever seen in all her life as a captive, and each held its own unique and distinct beauty. When she returned to Savannah there’d be no more stopping to watch the day’s radiant end, but she vowed to remember the vistas and store the memories of them in her heart along with all the other wonderful experiences she’d tucked away in order to offset the silent gray existence awaiting her back home.

  “Miss Clare?”

  It was Anna, and she was viewing Clare with concern. “Are you unwell?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she replied. “Just musing on the beauty of the sunset.” She hoped she’d successfully masked the melancholy that had suddenly washed over her.

  She hadn’t. Anna studied her for a moment more. “All right. Will you place this platter on that table there?” She was indicating the last of the three long trestle tables laden with food. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  Clare worked her hands onto the pads Anna was carrying the crock with and walked it slowly over to the table, and set it down among the many other crocks and groaning platters of meat, fruits, and yams.

  As she walked back to the women setting up the tables, Clare was glad she’d come along. She hoped helping out would let the women know she was willing to be a productive member of their island community and use this as an opportunity to meet more of the people.

  Areas on and above the beach were buzzing with activity. Children were playing in the water, and those who weren’t were running all over the place, having their own version of a good time. Stacks of felled trees hauled in on wagons were being set up in a circle down on the sand while other trees were dropped off in groups near the area where the food tables were.

  “What are the logs for?” she asked Anna, who was coming out with yet another crock, this one filled with crowder peas and rice.

  “Seating,” she explained, handing the crock over to Clare.

  Drumming suddenly filled the air, and Clare looked up to see a group of men on the hill above pounding the skins of beautifully painted instruments both short and tall. The hypnotic rhythms had everyone swaying and the little children dancing to the beats of Africa. Down near the water, a dozen big boars were roasting on spits over fire pits dug out of the sand. The men tending to them were sipping from mugs of rum and seemed to be having their own good time.

  Called by the drums, more people arrived and immediately began to assist with the preparations. Clare saw the familiar faces of the Marie’s crew and people she’d met when the ship docked. Others were not known to her but all had ready smiles and a good word to pass along after Anna made the introductions. The women Clare was working beside seemed to accept her presence without issue and expressed gratitude for her help. Most spoke French, but a few were able to converse in French-accented English. When they found out she could speak French as well, the English was dropped and all conversation flowed in their native tongue. However, Clare soon realized that her tutor-taught command of the language was woefully inadequate in an everyday situation. Some of the words and phrases she understood fully, others caused her to struggle, but the women were patient with her even if they did chuckle at her Savannah-accented voice.

  For her next task, Clare was seated on an overturned bucket cutting up fruit to go into something Anna called sangria.

  “It’s a drink made out of wine and fruits,” explained the woman beside her. Her name was Odessa. She was about Clare’s age.

  Clare was about to ask a question, but glancing up she saw Dominic moving through the gathering astride a beautiful white stallion and she went still. Everything on him was clean, from the snow white, long-sleeved shirt to his gleaming hair to the snug breeches that showed off the hard lines of his thighs above the white stockings and straight soled shoes. He sat the horse as regally as any king, and the people around, young and old, flocked to him as if he truly were their rege
nt. When he bent down and took a young boy up onto the saddle in front of him, she smiled. She could see the boy’s wide grin and that Dominic wore one as well.

  “What a marvelous example of God’s work,” Odessa said in French. “He is a joy to look upon, is he not?”

  The mesmerized Clare could only nod.

  “You are a lucky woman that he has turned his eyes to you, Clare Sullivan.”

  Clare agreed, especially when those eyes found hers. His smile broadened, and he very gently placed the boy back on the ground before reining the powerful horse in her direction. As if she were already feeling his heated touch and magical kisses, her body blossomed with anticipation.

  Odessa’s laughing voice broke into her musings. “Clare?”

  Clare shook herself free.

  Odessa held out her hand. “Give me the knife before you hurt yourself.”

  Clare looked down at the loose hold she had on the large knife, and realized she’d no idea when she’d risen to her feet. Chagrined, she surrendered the blade and reset her focus on Dominic.

  “Now, go to him. You’ve helped us more than a guest should today. Your tasks are done.”

  Being a well-mannered woman, Clare knew she should protest such largesse, but manners had nothing to do with the reality of how much she wanted to be with him. “Thank you, Odessa.”

  “Go,” her new friend responded kindly. “I will see you later.”

  Walking to meet him was one of the boldest things she’d ever done; women were not supposed to be so forward as to approach a man this way, but since meeting him she’d done many bold things and doubted this would be the last of them.

  “I’ve been searching for you,” he said quietly as he pulled up beside her.

  “And now that you have found me?” she asked softly, playfully.

  He bent down so only she could hear, “There are a dozen things I’d like to do to you, sweet Clare, all of them scandalous.”

  Her knees turned to sand and she fought to regain her equilibrium. “I doubt the parents here would appreciate such a display.”