by Shana Galen
But he had his hand wrapped around her wrist now, and he twisted it violently. She cried out, and he muttered, “Drop it.”
“No.”
The black sea was fading now, and he was able to focus on her face. It was set in a stubborn expression, those green eyes as turbulent as the ocean during a tempest. He tightened his grip and saw her jaw clench, but she didn’t drop the candlestick she held.
C’est des conneries! The thing was brass and had to weigh two pounds. She really did want to kill him. Anger shot through him as his head throbbed again, and he wrenched her arm. The little hellion held on, so he pushed her up against the door, slamming it closed in the process.
Her eyes were watering with pain now, but she still held the candlestick. “Drop it.”
“No!” The word was barely a breath.
He shook his head. “Mon Dieu! Are you always this stubborn?”
“Some might call it persistence,” she gritted out.
He had her pinned to the door, one hand restraining her wrist and the candlestick she held aloft, and the opposite hand trapping her shoulder. In one quick motion, he released her, plucked the candlestick from her grasp, and tossed it over his shoulder. It thudded on the floor just as her fist came up. But he caught that too, grinned, and forced it back against the wood. Now he had both her hands pinned to the door. “I can be persistent as well.”
He was looking directly into her eyes and realized, slowly, that their bodies were flush against one another.
“Don’t get any ideas,” she said.
He raised a brow. “What kind of ideas?” But his body had a mind of its own. He was more than aware of the warmth of her skin, the feel of her soft curves against his muscles, and the sweet, cherry smell of her hair. But something wasn’t quite right…
He couldn’t feel the swell of her breasts. He glanced down, noted her white shirt was all but flat. He looked into her eyes again. “Bound them, did you? Clever disguise.”
“It fooled you, pirate.”
He sighed. “Are we back to that again? I told you, I’m not a pirate. I have letters of marque from—”
“I don’t care what country’s flag you fly under. I know what you are. And what you did. Now get off me!” She shoved back hard, taking him by surprise. But he was a good deal larger than she and much stronger. He held her in place, rather liking this position and the view it afforded him of her eyes. They were undoubtedly her best feature… well, the best of the ones he could see at the moment. Her nose was a bit too snub, her lips too small—or perhaps that was because she had them firmly compressed—and her chin jutted too sharply. But those eyes were amazing. He’d never seen anyone with such vividly green eyes. They reminded him of a lush pasture or of a shower of emeralds.
And now he was reminding himself of some god-awful poet. He shook his head and hopefully rid himself of all poetic urges.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
“What?” She blinked at him. “No.”
“And you say I’m the bastard. Very well then, I shall call you Cabin Girl.”
She snorted. “You can try it.”
“You need some sort of name. How else will you come running when I call?”
Her mouth dropped open, and she let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Oh, you’re just full of delusions.”
“We’ll see.” He glanced about the cabin. “And your first task, Cabin Girl… is to empty my chamber pot.”
She smiled sweetly. At least he supposed that was her version of a sweet smile. “Of course,” she cooed. “Release me, and I’ll empty it.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You’re hesitating.” She challenged him with an arch of her brows. “Afraid of something?”
“Not afraid. Merely… concerned.”
It was late, and he was beginning to realize he could be fighting her all night. If he released her now, she might wreak any manner of damage. He glanced over his shoulder, checking for blunt objects nearby, and jerked back as he felt her shift.
Too late.
Pain cut through him, and without thinking, he reached for the shin she’d rammed her boot into. Quick as a cat, she wriggled free and darted around him. He grabbed for her, catching her elbow. With an oath, she pulled away, careening into the berth then tumbling to the floor. He watched helplessly as her legs tangled with his and brought him down on top of her.
His first thought was that she was surprisingly soft. He didn’t have time for a second thought. He caught her fist a half inch from his jaw and—once again—forced her wrist down. No fool, he caught the other wrist and pinned it before she had time to strike.
“This is becoming something of a habit,” he huffed.
“Get off me, you bastard!”
He had to give her credit. She was fighting like a hooked shark. She clawed, bit, kicked, and bucked. One of her knees came perilously close to his balls, and he’d had enough. He pushed her arms down viciously and rose over her until he was straddling her. “Look at me.”
She continued to fight, her black hair flying about her face. He squeezed his knees into her side and pushed her arms down again. “Look at me, little hellion!”
She stiffened in midflail and glared at him. He could see the hate in her eyes—deep hatred, something that went much farther back than anything he’d done in the past few moments.
“Calm down.”
“Get. Off. Me.”
“I will. If you calm down.”
She clenched her jaw. “I’ll calm down if you get off me.”
“Mon Dieu, but you are impossible.”
“This is only the beginning.”
He shook his head. “Don’t tempt me, ma belle. I like a challenge as much as you do.”
“What challenge? If you want to kill me, then do it. I’d rather die than bear your touch a moment longer.”
He raised a brow. It was the first time a woman had ever said such to him, and it was a bit disheartening. “I think I could persuade you otherwise.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m swooning with passion. Go ahead and try to rape me. You’ll regret it.”
Now he was truly offended. Rape her? Who the hell did she think he was? “I’m insulted, chérie. I have no intention of raping you.”
She glanced down at the juncture where their bodies met, and he had the sudden realization that he was hard. He shrugged. “You’re an attractive woman. I can’t control that.”
“Get off me, pirate!”
But now he was aware of his reaction—and really his attraction to her had been simmering for some time—he had the urge to test it. What would it feel like to kiss her? To tame that defiant mouth and make it bend to his will? He leaned closer.
“No!” She turned her head to the side. “Get off!”
“One kiss. If you don’t like it, I’ll release you.”
“Release me?” She sounded too hopeful.
“To begin your duties as cabin girl.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You might as well let go now.”
“Wait.” He trailed a finger over the palm of one of the hands he held captive. “If you do like it—”
“I won’t.”
“If you do, then you follow my orders without further argument.”
She stared directly at him, those green eyes intent. “Fine.”
He blinked. “Fine?” Her quick compliance made him uneasy.
“Yes, fine. Hurry up and kiss me.”
“Hurry up…” He shook his head. “Ma belle, I do not kiss that way. A kiss should be soft and slow and—”
“Are you going to talk, pirate, or kiss?”
He laughed in spite of himself. She was constantly surprising him. In answer to her question, he bent and brushed his lips over hers.
“No, not impressed.” She shook her head. “You may release me now.”
He frowned at her. “That wasn’t the kiss.”
“Your lips touched mine. That was it.”
�
�No.” He leaned down, but she turned her head away.
“The agreement was one kiss. This is two.”
“Merde, but you are exasperating.”
“I resent—”
He closed his mouth over hers, effectively silencing her. Her lips were tense in protest, but he forced them open. He was tired of her games, tired of the push and pull. He would show her who was in control. This would not be a soft, slow kiss, but one that demanded her submission. Her lips finally parted, and he dipped his tongue inside her mouth, twining it with hers, overwhelming her resistance.
She tasted surprisingly sweet. If her hair had smelled like cherries, her mouth was more of the same. Ripe. Dark. And a little tart. No surprise, as she had spirit, what the English called pluck. It maddened and drew him. Even now, as she fought his kiss, he alternately wanted to tame and free her.
But taming won. His body thrummed as his lips slanted over hers again and again, kissing her deeply and without mercy. Finally, he felt her give. The tension drained out of the wrists he was holding until they went slack in his grip. Her mouth yielded to his, her lips becoming full and lush under his. But when her tongue joined with his, he almost jumped away.
A zing of pleasure raced through him, the strength of which caught him off guard. He tightened the reins of his control, reminding himself that he was taming her. But then she let out a soft sigh, arched, her hips against him, and stroked his tongue expertly. Suddenly, he couldn’t get enough. His blood was drumming in his ears, and his body felt tight as a sail in a storm.
He released her wrists and fisted his hands in her hair. It was thick and luxurious. He used it to tilt her head upward to give him better access. He wanted to explore her mouth fully, explore her fully. If he could just pull away from her mouth long enough, he could have her naked and under him on the berth. If he could…
Three hard raps on the cabin door echoed through the room, and Bastien jerked away from the girl like a man struck by lightning.
“Cap’n, come to let you know the cargo is loaded. We ready to sail.”
Cargo? It took a moment for his mind to clear, a moment before he recognized Ridley’s voice and made sense of the words.
“Cap’n?”
He made the mistake of looking down, saw the cabin girl beneath him. Her mouth was red and swollen, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes still flashed that same hatred. What the hell had just happened?
There was another rap at the door, and Bastien jumped up. “I’m coming, Mr. Ridley.” He strode to the door, took a moment to right his clothing and sweep his loosened hair back out of his face. He put a hand on the knob and, without turning toward her, murmured, “You might want to get up off the floor.”
He opened the door and nodded at Ridley. “Good work. Ready the ship to sail. I’ll be on deck in a moment to supervise the last preparations.”
“Yes, Cap’n.” To his credit, Ridley’s eyes never left Bastien’s face, apparently seeing nothing. And still, Bastien had the feeling Ridley saw everything.
Bastien closed the door and turned back to the cabin girl. She was standing on the far side of the room, looking cool and composed. “I’d say I won that wager,” he drawled.
“You would think so.”
He opened his mouth to retort and shut it again. He didn’t have time to exchange verbal ripostes with her. Not to mention he couldn’t seem to focus. She had done something to him with that kiss. Bewitched him somehow. Between the first touch of their lips and that last fervent joining, the kiss had become less about her emptying his chamber pot and more about taking her to bed.
But he was still the captain of this vessel, and she was under his command. She would do his bidding.
“Empty the chamber pot,” he commanded. She raised a brow, and he added, “And tidy the cabin.” Nothing save the candlestick she meant to use to dash his brains in was out of place, but he felt more orders were needed. “We’ll speak again when I return.”
And he strode from the cabin, stopping outside the door to lock it securely. On his way to the main deck, he rubbed his face several times, trying to clear the lingering haze. He had no idea what the hell had happened. One moment he was in control; the next he was little more than a bumbling youth who couldn’t wait to get his breeches off.
He strode on the main deck of Shadow and felt instantly better. This was his ship, his place. Even though the ship rolled with the motion of the water, he stood on solid ground again. The girl had definitely bewitched him, but his senses were rapidly returning.
Ridley approached him, nodded. “Everything to your satisfaction, Cap’n?”
He nodded. He hadn’t inspected so much as a thumb knot, but he had faith in his crew. “Won’t be long before the tide goes out. Lower the boats.”
“Yes, Cap’n. If you got a moment, Mr. Maine been wanting to speak wit you.”
Bastien raised his eyebrows then nodded.
“He in the wardroom.”
“Thank you.” Bastien turned and strode across the deck, taking a ladderway to the lower deck. When he reached the wardroom, he saw the door was ajar. Maine stood with a lean, black-haired youth. Bastien recognized the boy as one of his crew, but he couldn’t recall the lad’s name at the moment. He and Maine were speaking earnestly, but their conversation ceased as soon as Bastien entered.
“Captain, you know Jack Smith. He’s one of the deckhands.”
“Of course.”
The boy had a nervous look on his face, and Maine knew as well as Bastien that having the captain know who he was would put Jack at ease.
“Jack has some interesting news to share.”
Bastien nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”
“I-it’s about the girl, Captain. The one you brought on board.” Bastien noted Jack had an English accent, lower class. Perhaps he’d known the hellion in England? Except that now that he thought about it, the hellion had a refined accent. He was no expert on English accents, but he knew her speech was educated. Why hadn’t he considered that important until now?
“I know that girl, Captain. She’s trouble.”
Bastien smiled. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, sir. I mean, she could get us into trouble. Her father…” He swallowed, tried again. “Her father is Admiral Russell with His Majesty’s Navy.”
Bastien felt as though a mast had fallen on his head. He blinked slowly.
The boy must have seen something in his eyes, because he took a step back. “I used to be in the navy, Captain. Before I deserted.” He glanced at Maine as though wondering if this admission would cause him trouble. But Bastien couldn’t have cared less about his crew’s former lives. Hell, half of his men had probably deserted some navy or other.
Maine put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Go on.”
“I wasn’t part of Admiral Russell’s crew, but I seen him from time to time. And I seen his daughter with him. She sails with him, Captain, and it’s a bit of a scandal.”
Bastien nodded but still did not trust himself to speak.
“Her name is Raeven, Captain, like the bird. Raeven Russell, and she was engaged to Captain Timothy Bowers.”
Bastien waited for the lad to continue, but he seemed to think this explanation sufficient.
“What the hell does Captain Bowers have to do with me?” Bastien looked at Maine. “And why the hell is Admiral Russell’s daughter seeking me out and challenging me to a duel in a Brest tavern?”
The lad’s eyes were huge now. “I heard she has a bit of a temper.”
Bastien laughed. “That’s an understatement, but it doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s Captain Bowers,” Maine said, “her fiancé. He was captain of the HMS Valor.”
Like lines on a map, everything took shape as soon as he was oriented. “The HMS Valor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The ship we… had a run-in with last spring.” The Valor had come after them and gone away the worse for it.
But as the Shadow hadn’t sunk the 32-gun frigate, Bastien didn’t consider the incident much more than a skirmish.
Maine nodded.
“And am I to assume that Bowers was wounded in the fighting?”
“Killed.”
Bastien already knew this, but he wanted it confirmed. So the little hellion, Raeven Russell, wanted revenge for the death of her fiancé. He could hardly blame her. Bowers had not died a hero. The British captain had chosen the wrong ship to trifle with and had, after a series of clumsy maneuvers, almost lost his own vessel. Bowers’s error, as Bastien recalled, was engaging the Shadow in stormy weather. The Shadow’s guns were mounted on the upper deck. The Valor’s guns graced both the upper and lower decks. In the storm, the seas grew so rough, the Valor had been forced to close its gun ports on the lower deck, evening the odds against the Shadow.
Bastien remembered the Shadow had fired the first volley, but the Valor was far from innocent. If Bastien hadn’t fired first, Bowers would have. The Valor had pursued him, and everyone knew the British Navy was notorious for attacking ships and pressing their crews into service. The Valor hadn’t had a full crew—one of the reasons they’d been so easily defeated—and if Bastien hadn’t attacked, young Jack would be serving on Bowers’s ship now. Bastien himself would be dead.
Bastien’s gaze met Maine’s. “It appears we have something of a problem. I’ve just kidnapped the daughter of a British admiral.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“No matter that she attacked me. I didn’t go looking for her. And she never identified herself.”
“It’s a dilemma, Captain.”
“And we sail in… what? An hour? Less?”
Maine gave a curt nod.
“Merde.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Bastien raked a hand through his hair, swore again, and flung open the door. “Mr. Maine, I intend to leave on the tide. How’s the wind?” Brest was the best port France had to offer, but it was situated on a lee shore, and the westerly wind could make outward passage difficult.
“It’s shifted, Captain.”
“Good. Make final preparations to cast off, but wait for my command.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Bastien stormed out the door and strode quickly back to his cabin. How the hell had this happened? How the hell had he kidnapped an admiral’s daughter? He’d have the whole British Navy after him as soon as the word was out. He’d have to let her go. Turn her loose as quickly as possible. But he couldn’t exactly set her on the quay and leave her to fend for herself. Miss Russell would need an escort back to her ship. Could he hire a cutter that quickly?