Too Great A Temptation

by Alexandra Benedict

Passing the ratlines, though, he took no more than two steps before he turned on his heels and began to climb up the crisscrossing ropes.

  Mirabelle took the nail from between her teeth and positioned it over the splint. She envisioned Damian’s head and brought the mallet down with a resounding thwack.

  Obnoxious devil. How dare he accuse her of being foolhardy? So she didn’t fret over every potential peril. That did not make her reckless. Why, the ship could be swallowed up by a sea serpent at any moment. What good would it do her to panic over the possibility?

  Another hard thwack.

  It wouldn’t do her any good, dreading unknown hazards. Damian knew it. He was just being an ass—like her brothers. Worse even, for he pestered her without benefit of kinship. But like her brethren, Damian had tried to frighten her into retreat. He had said it himself the other night; how “unusual” it was to have a woman aboard ship. He thought to disturb her with ghastly tales of sea misadventures. Unnerve her to the point where she demanded to go home—where she belonged.

  Bah! What was it with the crew of the Bonny Meg? All seemed to think she lacked a healthy dose of feminine hysteria.

  Mirabelle hammered away for a while, fixing some minor damage amassed during the last spring storm they had weathered.

  She paused in her repairs, looking out to sea, trying to quiet her troubled spirit.

  The glow of the setting sun warmed her skin. She inhaled the fresh tang of salty sea air, listened to the ballooning sails stretch under the pressure of the surging winds.

  She loved being on board, feeling the breeze whipping through her hair. Even staring at the rhythmic swell of the water gave her pleasure. It soothed her soul.

  Resuming repairs, Mirabelle glanced down and spotted a lone figure scaling the ratlines with obvious prowess.

  A sudden giddy unease enveloped her. “What are you doing here, Damian?”

  A head popped up to glare at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Fixing the yard.”

  Damian straddled the wood beam opposite her. “You shouldn’t be up here. It isn’t safe.”

  She snorted. Life on a pirate ship was never safe. Always being hunted and all. It was the very reason her brothers had set sail for the Americas. Plundering near the English coast had become a hazard. Ever since that incident with an English passenger vessel two years ago, too many scout ships prowled the waters in search of the Bonny Meg. It being time for a change of venue, her brothers had crossed the Atlantic waves to find it. Of course, Damian wasn’t privy to any of that.

  “I told you to stay away from me, Damian.”

  “And I told you to be careful.” Then tersely he said, “It seems neither of us listens to the other.”

  She huffed. “I’m not in any danger.” Though perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. Hell’s fire, but the man had such stunning eyes. She was woozy just looking at him. “My father taught me how to sail—and hammer a nail.”

  The autocratic brute was quiet for a moment. “Was this your father’s ship?”

  She glanced down at the yard, pounding away. “Aye. He was captain for almost twenty years.”

  “So who is Meg?”

  Mirabelle paused, a welter of emotions swimming in her breast. “My mother, Megan. She died in childbirth to Quincy.”

  Mirabelle wished she had known the woman better. She was often told how much she resembled her mother, with her golden hair and eyes, while her brothers distinctly mirrored their father. It was why she liked being aboard the Bonny Meg. She felt close to her mother here. And her father. As though both parents were watching over her, hugging her in their arms.

  She took another nail from the satchel tied at her waist, and positioned it over the splint. “So you see, Damian”—bang!—“I belong here.”

  “Not way up here.”

  “I’ll have you know, Father was a wonderful teacher.” Bang! Bang! “He had faith in me.”

  Memories squeezed at her heart. Memories of her father. It had been a year since the death of Drake Hawkins. The worst year of her life, for with all her brothers at sea, she had been left home alone for the first time in her life. The silence had been agonizing. The ache in her lonely heart consuming. But out here she was close to her brothers—and her parents. Out here she belonged to a crew, a family. She didn’t need anyone else. She certainly didn’t need a husband and children, as James had suggested. Such a family would only bring her grief…as it had her mother so many years ago.

  Oh, the Hawkins clan had been happy for a time, blissfully so. And then tragedy had struck, a great upheaval that had devastated many lives, her mother’s most of all. It’d been more than twenty years since the awful event, but still Mirabelle feared the kind of heartache that had plagued her mother. She would much prefer the life of a seafarer. And there was nothing in the world that could make her give up her dream. Not a stubborn troop of brothers or a pigheaded navigator.

  “You should appreciate that more, Damian, the lessons of a father. Mine made sure to teach me everything about sailing.” While the ship was moored, of course. Drake had never taken her out to sea. This was her first voyage, in fact. “Didn’t your father teach you how to be a tar?”

  “My father wasn’t a sailor…and he never taught me anything of value.”

  She looked into his azure blue eyes, so gloomy for an instant. She recognized that doleful expression, having often felt the same way herself. But the intensity in Damian’s gaze was unique. A depth of sorrow even she couldn’t fathom.

  Suddenly curious, she decided it was time to learn more about the mysterious navigator and put her suspicions to rest. “If not a sailor, who was your father?”

  Damian appeared to dislike the question. A pulse ticked in his neck. “He was no one special.”

  Well, that wasn’t very informative. “Yes, but who was he—”

  “Enough of this, Belle,” he said roughly. “Get down.”

  Her flicker of curiosity smothered, she returned his poignant glare with a tart, “I will not.”

  “Get down or I’ll haul you down myself.”

  He wouldn’t dare, the blackguard! “I have to fix the ship, Damian. Captain’s order.”

  “I’ll fix it.”

  “It’s my ship. I’ll fix it.”

  A black brow cocked in disbelief.

  “Well, it is—sort of. It belongs to my brothers and I, so I have as much right to be here as any of them.”

  “So why did you stow away?”

  She took in a sharp breath. The conniving bounder! “You had no right to pry like that, Damian.”

  “You have no right to be here.”

  She snorted and whacked the nail head hard. “My brothers are just being stubborn.”

  “More like wise.”

  Affronted, she demanded, “And what does that mean?”

  “You shouldn’t be on the ship, Belle—at all.”

  Oh, men were such a tenacious brood! “That’s not your choice to make, Damian.”

  He glowered at her. “Get off the yard, Belle.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have neither the strength nor the proper balance to be up here.”

  “I’m hammering a piece of wood, not towing the ship.” She glared at the iron nail and imagined Damian’s head. Thwack! “How much strength do you think I need?” Thwack! Thwack! “And my balance is perfectly fine.”

  Of course, the ship chose that very moment to dip and roll, tipping her sideways.

  Damian reached for her, her muscles aching under the pressure of his grip.

  He yanked her forward.

  She gasped at the feel of his nose bumping hers. Dark eyes, burning hot, scorched her soul. He was so close. The heady scent of him swarmed her senses, making her heart tick hard and fast. She could almost taste him. She almost wanted to…

  “Get down, Belle. Now!”

  It was a cold command. Cutting and to the point. She didn’t argue. She could see it in his gaze, the tenacious resolv
e. If she so much as parted her lips for a breath, he’d take it as a sign of willfulness and toss her over his shoulder.

  And what would James think with Damian dragging her down the ratlines? That she was stirring up trouble, that’s what. It was always her fault.

  Snapped from her reverie, she gnashed her teeth and resisted the urge to clock Damian over the head with her mallet.

  After a quick scan of the deck below, to ensure no one was watching, Mirabelle swung her leg over the yard and began to climb down the ratlines, Damian in tow.

  She hit the deck.

  Offering Damian one last scowl, she flounced off, fuming.

  Chapter 5

  T he sounds coming from the belly of the ship had Damian bristling.

  He had come below in search of canvas, ordered by the captain to replace one of the badly worn jibs, but the noises stemming from the bowel of the ship, akin to groans, had him rooted to the spot.

  Mirabelle.

  He would recognize that smoky voice anywhere. And that she was making the most sensuous racket he had ever heard in his life had his body simmering with rage, for he was not the one making her sing like a wanton.

  The abrupt compulsion to tear off limbs overwhelmed him. With nary a thought for the impropriety of barging in on a most intimate act, Damian stormed into the storage nook—and smiled.

  It wasn’t much of a smile. A quirk of the lips, really. He rarely expressed the sentiment of amusement. He didn’t have much in life to be happy about. But this…

  Damian cocked his head to the side to better view Belle’s plump behind wedged firmly between two wood posts.

  She was stuck.

  And she groaned with each failed attempt to get unstuck. The lofty posts, it seemed, were quite determined to keep her ensnared. Damian didn’t blame them. He would love to have Belle in a similar position—in his bed.

  Dismissing the wistful fantasy, he was content to observe her wiggle for a while. How did she find herself in such a precarious position? Eyeing those voluptuous curves, though, was it really a wonder she got trapped?

  The ship dipped forward.

  Damian heard something roll across the floor.

  Mirabelle cooed. “Oh, there you are—”

  Her cooing quickly turned to shrieking.

  Damian noticed the rat scurry by and disappear through a crack in the planks.

  But the trinket continued to tumble toward Damian.

  He lifted his boot and stepped on the bauble. Arching forward, he picked up the shiny ornament.

  A ring.

  He eyed the jewelry carefully. It was a large ring. Too large for a woman’s finger. Crafted from gold, the emblem in the center depicted a winged hourglass.

  Time flying away.

  And so it was. He could stare at Belle’s delectable arse all day long. Nothing would ever get done.

  Enough of the frivolous pleasure, he told himself. He was on a mission to avenge his brother. And while he wasn’t the least bit looking forward to the task at hand, for it would bring him even more unease, he couldn’t very well leave the woman squished between two posts like that.

  Stifling a groan, Damian slipped the ring over his finger. Without a word to Belle, he came up behind her and spread his legs apart.

  She gasped. “Damian!”

  He hooked his arms around her belly, the twitch in his groin painful. Bloody hell, it was hard to be slumped against her in a most intimate way. Such a perfect position to take her hard.

  He tugged.

  Out popped Belle—and they both crashed to the floor.

  “Get off me, Damian!”

  Rather obtuse of her to say such a thing, considering she was sitting on top of him, every delicious curve rubbing against him, taunting his shackled arousal.

  “You mean ‘let go,’ don’t you, Belle?”

  She scrambled to her feet as soon as he opened his arms. “I told you to stay away from me.”

  “Aye, you did.” Damian was more slow to stand, the stiffening in his groin uncomfortable. “So should I stick you back between the posts and holler for one of your brothers to come instead?”

  She made a wry face.

  “I didn’t think so.” He dusted off his trousers. “Well, Belle, don’t I get a thank you for my effort?”

  “Effort? Was it really so grueling? I’m sure you found the whole thing rather amusing.”

  Don’t forget arousing.

  He slipped the ring off his finger and held it in the air. “Looking for something?”

  Belle eyed the bauble, then snatched it from his grip.

  “You’re welcome,” he drawled, and headed for one of the crates. He had to look away from her. She only stirred in him unquenchable lust…confused his senses…made him restless. It was pure torment being so close to her.

  Lifting the lid, he searched for the canvas.

  Mirabelle slipped the ring on a chain. “It broke.”

  He paused to glance at her. “It seems fine to me.”

  “Not the ring, the chain.” She sighed. “I can’t wear it anymore.”

  He went back to work, rummaging. “It looks familiar.”

  She stopped fiddling with the clasp to stare at him. “What does?”

  “The ring.”

  “How?”

  Damian closed the lid. No canvas. “I don’t know. I’ve seen it before, I think.”

  “Where?”

  She sounded rather desperate. Or was it panicked? “Like I said, Belle, I don’t remember.”

  Her amber eyes drifted to the floorboards. “It was a gift from my father for my twentieth year.”

  He went to the next crate to grope. “Does it have any meaning?”

  “No.”

  Well, that was uttered posthaste. Damian stuck his head out of the crate to stare at her. “You don’t know its meaning?”

  “It has sentimental meaning.”

  “So your father gave you a ring without bothering to understand its message?”

  Those amber eyes, alight with fire, pinned back on him. “I would think the message was rather clear.”

  “Aye, time getting away. But why give you such a ring?”

  She shrugged.

  “So you have no idea? Rather odd if you ask me.”

  “Well, no one’s asking you,” she snapped. “And there’s nothing odd about my father.”

  She blushed when she made the assertion. Now that was definitely odd.

  “Something you’re not telling me, Belle?”

  “Never mind.” She huffed and headed for the door.

  He grabbed her by the arm. He wasn’t sure why. He should let her go. He had work to do and she only distracted him. But he held her steadfast.

  “Don’t worry about your peculiar family,” he murmured. “Mine’s not normal either.”

  She made a moue and broke free of his hold, verily stomping out.

  Mirabelle wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent. It was making her a bit queasy. She was entombed below deck, ordered to disinfect the causeways with vinegar and salt. After a brief repose, she went back on her hands and knees and scrubbed away, but in the shiny, wet wood planks, she imagined the rugged features of one aggravating navigator, a seductive glow in his deep blue eyes, and her whole body started to hum.

  Mirabelle sloshed more vinegar over the floor, scouring across the haunting face. She was a bloody half-wit, letting Damian affect her so. She had so much work to do. Precious time should not be wasted on idle daydreaming.

  And why the devil was she thinking about him of all men? The arrogant blackguard who ordered her about like a tyrant? He only upset her at every turn. Unnerved her, too, with all that huffing and glowering…and grabbing.

  The queasiness in her belly grew worse. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sultry sensation of his hard-muscled thighs pressed against her buttocks as he’d yanked her from the wood posts. But it did no good. She shuddered in remembrance. Her body wasn’t willing to forget the tingles of exci
tement that had washed through her when he’d strapped his large body behind hers. The power surging through him had been palpable. It’d scorched her flesh, whipped her insides into a frenzy. Something had stirred deep within her womb. A pulsing need she had never felt before.

  Mirabelle opened her eyes and blinked a few times. She really had to stop her woolgathering. She had been washing the same spot for the last five minutes. At this rate, she would never get done.

  Moving to a new area, she set to work on polishing the floor. But try as she might, she simply could not dismiss the thought of Damian from her mind. Worse, prickles of pleasure dotted her skin, as though the man were still touching her, staring at her…

  Mirabelle glanced over her shoulder and stifled a gasp.

  Damian stood at the far end of the gallery, thick arms crossed over his strapping chest, hip cocked and resting against the wall. He was watching her, intent in his smoldering gaze. Intent to do what, though?

  She shivered under the lazy caress of his burning blue eyes. He moved from the wall and started toward her, a slow saunter that made the nerves in her body dance a jig.

  It was hopeless, evading the man. On a ship like the Bonny Meg there wasn’t much room for privacy. She had to accept that. She had to get used to the new navigator and bring her capricious emotions under control. Otherwise, the journey home was going to be a thorny pain in the—

  “I remember now, Belle.”

  Damian came to crouch beside her, dark indigo eyes peering at her from under a thick fringe of sooty lashes.

  She shivered under his seductive stare and dropped her scrub brush into the bucket of vinegar, perching on her heels. “Remember what?”

  “Where I saw the winged hourglass before.”

  The jitters in her belly intensified. “Where?”

  It was a damn bother, always sinking into the pools of his sea blue eyes. She needed her wits about her—especially now. The ring was tucked away in James’s cabin, but it still might prove a danger.

  Her father had worn the bauble for much of his pirate career, so if he’d ever raided a merchant vessel that Damian had sailed, the navigator might just remember the ring—and the formidable captain who had sported it.