Too Great A Temptation

by Alexandra Benedict

  And then there were her youngest siblings, Edmund and Quincy. Babies really, at the ages of nineteen and seventeen respectively. The duo were always at each other’s throats and didn’t give a hoot for propriety or order. But even they, reckless and impulsive fledglings, were against her joining the crew.

  Mirabelle took in a deep breath to soothe her rumbling temper. She was older than half of her brothers at the age of twenty-one, more levelheaded for sure, and still her tenacious brethren refused to let her serve on board. All she wanted was a chance to prove herself. Just one measly opportunity to demonstrate her sex did not make her incompetent or a menace to stability and order.

  “I deserve to be here, James.”

  Her brother pushed the crate to the edge of the poop. “This goes to the galley,” he ordered, then looked back at her. “How do you figure that, Belle?”

  But she didn’t answer him right away. Their spat postponed, Mirabelle studied the swaggering figure of an approaching tar with avid interest. Bloody big, she reflected. Almost as big as James.

  Damian’s booted steps were heavy, the footfalls resounding in her ears like rhythmic drumbeats, hypnotizing her. He came to a stop by the poop, his dark gaze settling on her, raking over her in a thorough assessment.

  The fine hairs on her arms spiked.

  What the devil was the matter with her? Knots in her belly? Goose bumps on her arms? Was she daft? So the bloke was staring at her; he wouldn’t be the first. Mirabelle was used to such leering gazes. She was quite adept at ignoring them, too. So why couldn’t she turn her head away from the man? And why was her heart starting to thump so fast?

  Damian quietly collected the cargo and moved off.

  “Well, Belle, why do you deserve to be here?”

  “Hmm?” She looked up at James, a bit dazed. “Oh, right.” With a quick shake of the head, she dismissed her bewilderment. “I’ve proven my loyalty, unlike Damian. That’s why I deserve to be here.”

  There was something about the new navigator that made her uneasy. She didn’t trust him, and she was going to find out more about him. If he was hiding something, perhaps then James would see she belonged here and not some strange scoundrel of a sailor.

  “I’m not worried about Damian’s loyalty,” said James. “He thinks this a simple merchant ship, delivering cargo to England. He knows nothing that might put our lives at risk. Besides, we need a new navigator, and you can’t navigate.”

  Her reverie shattered, she glared at her brother. “That doesn’t mean I don’t belong here.”

  “You don’t belong here,” he stressed in exasperation. “Look, Belle, Damian saved Quincy’s life, which speaks something of his character. I’ll learn more about him over the next few weeks, and if he navigates well and obeys orders, then I might ask him to join the crew.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “And Quincy? The boy is a disaster. You’d prefer him over me?”

  “Quincy’s young.”

  “And foolish.”

  “He’ll learn.”

  “And I won’t?”

  “You’ve already disobeyed an order, Belle.”

  “But I saved one of you tonight.”

  “That doesn’t justify your disobedience—again.”

  She snorted. “Stowing away doesn’t count.”

  A dark brow lifted.

  “Well, it doesn’t,” she insisted. “You never ordered me not to stow away.”

  He sighed at that. “Belle, you don’t belong here.”

  “Yes, I do, and I’ll prove it to you.”

  And she had the Atlantic crossing to do it. The voyage from England to America had been spent in seclusion, so she hadn’t had a chance to demonstrate her nautical abilities. But the journey home would be different. She didn’t have to hide in the galley anymore, fearing her brothers would turn the ship around and take her home too soon. She could now stroll along deck with everyone else, participate in all the chores and missions—well, some of them, anyway.

  Needless to say, the Hawkins clan had not been pleased to find her on ship. She had foiled their main mission, for her brothers were not about to engage in their usual pursuits with her on board. After much haggling, it was agreed the Bonny Meg would stop in New York to obtain supplies and give the crew some leisure time before turning around to take her home. This was her one and only opportunity to prove to her blind brethren she deserved to be a member of the Bonny Meg’s crew.

  “You know perfectly well I can’t have you on board,” said James. “You’re a distraction to the crew, and the men consider you a bad omen.”

  “Bah!” She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Having a clumsy twit on board is unlucky. I’m no twit. I’m levelheaded, James. Father taught me everything he taught you.”

  “That was Father’s mistake.”

  She took in a sharp breath, stung.

  “Be sensible, Belle,” he said softly. “You belong on shore. Why not get married and raise a family?”

  “You’re my family. I belong right here with you.”

  “I’m sorry, Belle, but I won’t change my mind.”

  She would just have to see about that. The trip home would take a few weeks at least, enough time to convince her pigheaded brothers she’d make as good a pirate as any of them.

  The Bonny Meg sliced through the black, velvety ocean.

  Damian stood at the stern, hunched over the rail. He watched the bubbling waves, mesmerized.

  A woman aboard ship? He had never heard of anything so daft. Who could think with a stunning siren strutting across deck? Not Damian, that was for sure. Warm blood rushed through his veins at the thought of Mirabelle. She was a bloody temptation. And she would destroy him if he wasn’t careful. Just a short while ago she had said his name, and like an adolescent mooncalf he’d been completely bewitched. He had paused right in the middle of the deck—an obedient sailor heeding the siren’s enchanting call.

  Bloody idiot. Any more mishaps like that, and he was bound to find himself in the frothing water. If the brothers suspected he had any wicked intentions toward their sister, he’d be tossed overboard.

  “Damian?”

  She had a sultry voice. One that stirred the carnal heat in his belly. A sudden vision gripped him, an image of her lush and bare body writhing beneath him, as she cried out his name again and again in wanton desire.

  Damian closed his eyes, banishing the erotic dream. “Yes, Belle?” Her name did her justice. She really was beautiful. Too beautiful.

  “The captain wants to speak with you.”

  “About what?”

  “Our course, I suspect.”

  He glimpsed at her sidelong. She had a dry wit…and a devastating figure. Curse it, why was the woman here? It just didn’t make any sense, the peculiar family union. To risk the welfare of one’s own sister on the treacherous sea? The captain seemed the strict sort, certainly not the kind of man to allow any frivolity or a laxness of rules. So what the devil was she doing here?

  Damian crammed the lustful yearnings deep down inside him. “How long have you been a member of the crew?”

  She paused for a moment. “Not long. Why?”

  “It’s unusual to have a woman aboard ship.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my being here,” she said, a tightness in her voice. “You’re the intruder, remember?”

  “I was asked to join the crew.”

  “For one voyage. Don’t get too comfortable here.”

  He had ruffled her feathers. For some peculiar reason, he liked the thought of that. And he wasn’t sure why. Feisty females had repulsed him in the past. He had always preferred an obedient woman, one to satisfy his carnal appetite. But the spark in Mirabelle was oddly fascinating. And that was treacherous. He could not let her stir his dormant demons of lust. He had a mission to complete.

  To soothe her temper—and the heat in his belly—he deftly inquired, “What happened to the previous navigator?”

  “Thomas?” She snorted. “
Love drove him to shore.”

  “Love?”

  She propped her hip against the rail and crossed her arms under her splendid breasts. “So it would seem. Thomas had a ladybird in port, one he visited each time the ship moored. He hadn’t seen her for a few months, though. Imagine his surprise when he came to call and she had a squalling infant in her arms.”

  A surprise indeed. Even more of a surprise was Mirabelle’s candor. She behaved like a man, coolly chatting over delicacies like a mistress and a by-blow. Something a dainty maid would never do…

  “Thomas decided to do the gentlemanly thing and marry the wench,” she said.

  There was enough emphasis on “gentlemanly” that Damian recognized the sarcasm. What, she didn’t believe in love? That was odd for a woman. And speaking of odd…

  “You speak your mind most freely,” he murmured.

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  He delved deep into her catlike eyes. “It’s not something a proper miss would do.”

  Did she just shiver? He couldn’t be sure. He was too enraptured by the shimmering strands of her honey blond hair lilting in the wind. Like streaks of moonbeams, he mused.

  “And what do you know of a proper miss, Damian?”

  Something glinted amid her breasts. A ring dangling from a thin gold chain. The bauble rested on the sleek curves of her folded arms. He reached out for her; the impulse to do so too great to ignore. He trailed a finger over her wrist. So soft. So warm. Was she a virgin? he wondered. She didn’t act like one. “I know enough to suspect an innocent maid would never speak of things lustful…which leads me to believe you might not be a very innocent maid.”

  In the bright night, he could see the goose bumps dot her arm, sense the fine hairs on her skin spike under his touch, envision her nipples hardening…

  She brushed his hand away. “Who I am is none of your affair.”

  Well said.

  Damian straightened, the hypnotic spell shattered. What the hell did he think he was doing, flirting like that? Had he taken complete leave of his senses?

  “But you are my affair, Damian.”

  He bristled. “What do you mean?”

  “Who are you?”

  “The navigator.” And he’d best remember that. He had not come this far in his quest for pirate blood to falter over a pretty face. And before she could grill him for more details about his identity, he moved off and said, “I’ll go and speak with the captain.”

  Chapter 3

  T he hammock rocked gently, Mirabelle nestled inside.

  It was morning. A pale shaft of sunlight poked through the tiny window, brightening the captain’s cabin.

  James was already gone, his bed empty. She rolled her head to the side and decided to nap a minute more.

  Her eldest brother had insisted she bunk with him ever since her discovery aboard ship. The man was too overprotective. True, there were forty crew members serving on the Bonny Meg, but four were her kin and the rest had sailed under the former captain, Drake Hawkins, her father. No one was going to do her any harm. She had known all the pirates for years…with the exception of Damian.

  An image came to mind of the brazen sailor. What the devil had he meant by touching her like that? Making her skin tickle and her heart dance? And what about the way he had looked at her with those predatory eyes? Or the gruff way he had said her name, like a carnal growl? It had made her shiver. It still made her shiver, thinking about their brief interlude. Oh, why did he of all men have to be the new navigator? Couldn’t James have plucked a sailor from port? Did her brother have to take the rogue chained next to Quincy in the gaol?

  Mirabelle had never before felt the way she had the other night, so thrilled and anxious at the same time. Being close to Damian had had a disarming effect on her. One she didn’t much like. She prided herself on her cool composure, and last night Damian had cracked her poise. Just a little bit, but still, it was enough to make her vexed. The cheeky bloke. Did he think to woo her with a mere touch or beguile her with a fluttering look? Never mind that he had come close to doing that very thing, the knave had no right to even try. She was the captain’s sister. Didn’t Damian care? Did he always tread such perilous waters?

  Mirabelle hoped not. She didn’t like the thought of such a reckless man guiding the ship…but she did like the thought of Damian in other ways.

  Oh, of all the daft things to dream about! She wanted to be a pirate. She should stick to that seafaring ambition. Besides, Damian was just too mysterious for her liking. He deflected any questions about his identity. She didn’t trust the man, remember?

  So why was she still thinking about him? Mirabelle didn’t feel very collected this morning. She never got any sleep with James in the room. The man snored like a bull. Maybe that’s why she was so befuddled. She could only hope.

  After a few restful minutes, Mirabelle rolled out of the hammock and stretched, determined to forget all about her disagreeable encounter with Damian the other night.

  She combed her fingers through her tousled hair and let out a gaping yawn. If only she could get some rest. Ever since she’d roomed with James, the maddening man had roused her from her slumber every night, and she had to wonder if he wasn’t merely trying to deter her from her endeavors. Perhaps he thought to plague her with his incessant snoring until she couldn’t take it anymore and, hysterical with exhaustion, demanded to be taken home.

  “Well, he can rot,” she whispered to herself. She’d nap when she could and suffer James’s infernal snorts until doomsday if she had to. She would not be discouraged so easily.

  Mirabelle shuffled over to a wooden chest. Lifting the lid, she snared a linen shirt.

  The lid thumped closed. Slowly she fumbled with the laces of her black leather vest, sniffing the air attentively. Porridge? She scrunched her brow in disapproval. Breakfast was always the same.

  She yawned again, and dropped her vest over the back of a chair. Neck sore, she massaged the muscles at the back of her head, realizing she still had on her necklace: a simple gold chain with a ring at the end. She removed the bauble.

  A bowl of water had been left out on the table. She headed for it and set the necklace aside. She dipped her finger inside the basin. Cold. She shivered.

  She scooped up a cloth saturating in the dish and wrung the excess liquid. With a sigh, she dipped her head back, relishing in the feel of clean water washing away the sweat and dirt from the previous day. She rubbed the cloth across her arms, her neck. She moved it over her belly in swirling motions, then stroked it across her breasts.

  The door swung open.

  Damian stood rooted to the spot. His lips parted in a soft gasp, his eyes darkened and narrowed on her. Eyes as blue as the high sea—a stormy sea.

  The world seemed to fade away in that instant. Gone was the pitch and roll of the ship beneath her feet, the scent of freshly cooked fare, the creak of the deck boards. All those familiar sensations vanished. Only Damian’s penetrating gaze was left, making her heart thump loud and fierce.

  Mirabelle didn’t shriek or holler, too enraptured by the intensity in Damian’s eyes to move. He scorched her skin with one heated look, her flesh tingling, goose bumps prickling her arms, her chest. Her nipples, tight and pointy, jutted toward him.

  Quickly she wrapped her arms over her breasts. She was trembling. From what, though? She wasn’t cold. She felt quite the opposite, in fact. A fire sparked in her belly, the flames licked by the piercing stare of one dashing rogue sailor.

  Men had looked at her before, she thought. Some had looked in admiration, others had gazed with obvious lewd intentions, but no one had ever made her feel so…alive. Every nerve inside her was humming, every bone rattling.

  It was peculiar, the way her body responded to him. As if she had no control over her movements. As if he were in command of her limbs. And he was demanding she come to him, for her knees were quivering, and it took all her strength to remain entrenched right where she was.

 
Her mind still awhirl, she did have enough sense to pick up her shirt and drape it over her exposed front.

  That seemed to snap Damian from his reverie.

  He blinked. “I’m sorry,” he murmured roughly, and stalked inside to grab the sextant.

  He was out the door in an instant, the nautical instrument in hand, and she rushed after him to close the barrier.

  Panic-stricken, she leaned against the door and let out a desperate groan. Oh, why hadn’t she locked the door behind her brother as he’d warned her to?

  Because you’re not used to being aboard a ship, that’s why.

  True, she thought. At home, no one ever walked into her room—the girl’s room—without knocking first. But she wasn’t at home anymore. And she’d best get accustomed to her new surroundings, right quick at that.

  Mirabelle thumped her head against the door. Even more distressing was the devouring look in Damian’s eyes. She was in trouble. Big trouble. She was not supposed to cause any sort of disruption aboard ship. James was watching her, to see if she would drive the men to distraction. And Damian had definitely been distracted.

  “Bloody hell.”

  She swiftly grappled with her shirt, tugging it over her head. If James even suspected she’d captivated the attention of one of his men, he’d never let her join the crew. A distracted sailor was a menace to the whole ship, especially if danger lurked. A distracted navigator was even more menacing, for a few miscalculated degrees and they’d end up in India instead of England.

  Mirabelle left the cabin. Forget breakfast. She had to talk with Damian. She understood a man’s nature. She’d overheard her brothers, on more than one occasion, recount tales of romps and would-be conquests. Men were always looking for a tryst, and if she corrected Damian’s misconception now, she wouldn’t have to worry about correcting it later.

  But the thought of confronting Damian again provoked a flurry of fluttering sensations in her belly…and all because of that hot and spicy look in his eyes. That ravishing look, she realized, had stirred the jitters in her belly—and stirred them still.

  Was this what passion felt like? Did it make you dizzy, even giddy? She had never had the chance to explore anything like it before, always too busy trying to impress her brethren with her nautical skill to bother with such distractions…And why the hell was she even thinking about it?