by Sylvia Day
Hugh kissed the tip of her nose. “I miss her, too.”
Wrapping her arms around his lean waist, Charlotte squeezed tight. “Thank you so much.”
“For what, love?”
“For arranging this treasure hunt. I know you believe it to be nonsense.”
His mouth curved in a smile that stole her breath. “And you don’t?”
“I’d like to think it exists.”
“You’d like to believe in the romantic version of the tale as well.” Hugh’s large hands smoothed the length of her spine and cupped her derriere. “What happened to my pragmatist?”
Charlotte laughed, her heart light and filled with love. “I’ve never been a pragmatist where you are concerned.” Hopelessly addicted, she wondered how she ever considered living without him.
He squeezed her close before turning away, moving to the trunks that had yet to be taken downstairs. He was preparing to close one, then paused. Picking up a brown-paper parcel, he shot her an inquiring glance before untying the twine. A moment later his laughter, warm and rich, filled the air and warmed her heart.
“What do we have here?” He held up an eye patch.
“The journey is long I’ve been told.”
Hugh’s mouth twitched. “So it is.”
“It could become tedious.”
“You and I alone in a cabin? Never.”
“I have a fantasy,” she confessed, moving toward him with salacious intent.
“Umm . . . I like the sound of that.” Hugh tossed the pirate costume in the trunk and caught her about the waist.
She winked. “You’ll like the doing of it much better.”
“Fetch your pelisse,” he growled. “I want to get to that ship.”
Author′s Note
The characters of Calico Jack and Anne Bonny, mentioned in “Her Mad Grace,” did indeed exist. However, their “treasure” is entirely fictional.
If you love Sylvia Day’s historical romances, don’t miss Seven Years to Sin, available now in print and digital formats.
“Mr. Caulfield,” the object of his obsession purred. “Did no one teach you to knock?”
One long, slender, very bare leg stretched out over the rim of a copper slipper tub. Jessica was flushed from the heat of the bathwater and too much claret . . . if her slurred words, lack of modesty, and the bottle on the stool beside her were any indication. Her hair was piled haphazardly atop her head, giving her a disheveled, recently tumbled look embodying every carnal imagining he’d ever had about her. He was more than satisfied with the lush figure on display for him. She had lovely peaches-and-cream skin, breasts fuller than he’d pictured, and legs longer than he’d dreamed.
Bloody hell, his decision to indulge her by storing extra barrels of water for bathing had been a stroke of genius.
As his inability to speak drew out, Jessica arched one brow and asked, “Would you care for a glass?”
Alistair walked over to the stool with as much aplomb as he could muster with a raging cockstand. He collected the bottle, then drank straight from it. There was little remaining. And as excellent a vintage as it was, it failed to dull the sharp edge of his hunger, which was aggravated by his new vantage—he could see every inch of the front side of her.
Her head tilted back, and she looked up at him with slumberous eyes. “You are notably comfortable witnessing a lady’s toilette.”
“You are notably comfortable being witnessed.”
“Do you do this sort of thing often?”
Discussing past lovers was never wise. He certainly was not going to begin now. “Do you?”
“This is a first for me.”
“I’m honored.” He moved to one of the chairs at the table and wondered how best to proceed. The territory was unfamiliar to him. Yesterday, he’d pushed too far too soon. He could not afford to make a similar mistake today, and yet he was presented with a naked, inebriated, uninhibited woman he had been lusting after for years. Even a saint would be sorely pressed for restraint, and God knew he was far from saintly.
As Alistair sat, he noted the case of claret by the foot of the bed. The quantity spoke of a woman who occasionally sought oblivion. It troubled him to think she’d been so attached to Tarley. How could he compete with a specter? Especially one who had so perfectly suited her in ways Alistair never could.
“Are you preparing to join us for supper?” he asked in as casual a tone as he could manage.
“I shan’t be joining you.” Jessica leaned her head back against the rim and closed her eyes. “And you should not be joining me in my cabin, Mr. Caulfield.”
“Alistair,” he corrected. “So ask me to leave. Although you should have someone here to assist you. Since your maid has been dismissed for the evening, I would be happy to make the substitution.”
“You learned of my solitude and pounced straightaway. You are so reckless and impetuous and—”
“—apologetic about the upset you experienced yesterday.”
She sighed. He waited for her to explain. Instead she said, “My reputation is very important to me.”
Although it wasn’t said, he understood the implication that it was not a concern they shared. “Your good name is important to me, as well.”
One gray eye opened. “Why?”
“Because it matters to you.”
That lone, assessing eye might have been disconcerting if he hadn’t been determined to be completely honest with her. With a nod, the eye closed again.
“I enjoy the feel of your gaze on me,” she said with surprising candor. “That enjoyment is quite distressing.”
He hid a smile behind the rim of the bottle. She was an honest drunk. “I enjoy looking at you. I always have. I doubt I could change that. You are not alone in this attraction between us.”
“It has no place in either of our lives.”
Stretching out his legs in front of him, Alistair said, “But we are not in our lives now. Nor will we be for the next few months, at least.”
“You and I are very different individuals. Perhaps you think my paralysis that night in the Pennington woods hints at some deeper, more intriguing aspect of my character, but I assure you, nothing of the sort exists. I was confused and mortified; there is nothing of note beyond that.”
“Yet here you are. Traveling alone a great distance. Not by necessity, but by choice. I find that very intriguing. Tarley bequeathed you a source of great income. Why was he so determined to see you not merely taken care of, but exceptionally wealthy? In doing so, he provided you with the means to go in any direction you choose, while also forcing you to conduct business on a large scale. He shielded you with one hand, while pushing you into a new world with the other. I find that intriguing also.”
Jessica drank the last of the wine in her glass and set it on the stool where the bottle had previously been. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees and looked at the door. “I cannot be your mistress.”
“I would never ask you to be.” He draped one arm over the tabletop, his focus narrowed to the wet curl adhering to the pale curve of her back. He was hard as a poker, throbbing and on display due to the tailored fit of his breeches. “I want no arrangement with you. I do not want to be serviced. What I desire is your willingness, your needs, and your demands.”
She turned those big gray eyes on him.
“I want to service you, Jessica. I want to finish what we began seven years ago.”
Read on for a sampling of In the Flesh, coming next month from Sylvia Day.
The warmth and softness of her body was a salve. He was soothed, just from the feel of her, his fear and confusion gone as quickly as they’d come. Still he was shocked, staring up at her with wide eyes. It took years of training for a woman of her slight build to better a man of his size. Sapphire wouldn’t have managed it without the element of surprise. But that was not the point. The point was she had bettered him. She was no easy target and she wanted him to know that. He was impressed.
> Then his admiration flared into something hotter as the press of her curves onto his body burned into his consciousness. Suddenly, he was more than impressed, he was aroused.
Her breasts, so full and soft, were against his chest with only her transparent shift between them. Her legs, lithe and obviously powerful, were tangled with his. Gripping her waist with one hand, he watched her lips part and her pupils dilate. His cock swelled against her thigh. Her hair surrounded them in fragrant silk and he wrapped his fist into it, pulling her closer. Moistening his lips, Wulf longed for her to kiss him, his gaze riveted to her lush mouth.
Every nerve ending in his body was alert, every muscle tense. Every breath pushed his chest into those beautiful tits.
“Kiss me,” he ordered.
The knife at his neck wavered. “I won’t.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” she whispered.
“I know I almost died a few days ago and woke instead to the sight of you.” Wulfric lifted his head and nuzzled his nose against hers. “Kindness, a gentle soul—none of that would have revived me the way your desire did. You’ve no notion of what I owe you for that.”
Sapphire sighed, her free hand brushing briefly across his cheek. “Then don’t ask this of me.”
It was the regret in her tone and that fleeting caress that moved him. He didn’t have time to woo her properly, but he knew when it was wiser to retreat than press a shaky advantage. It took tremendous willpower to release her, but Wulf managed it.
When Sapphire slid off him and returned to her seat behind the desk, his disappointment was acute. He sprang from the floor and landed on the pads of his feet with the grace of a cat.
His stay with the lovely Sapphire was limited by necessity. Fortunately, the desire he felt was mutual. With that on his side, his rushed seduction just might succeed.
Needing a distraction from his erection, Wulf asked, “How did I end up here?”
“You were a gift.” Her low voice betrayed her response to him.
“A gift?” He scowled. He was not an object to be passed around.
A laugh escaped before she covered her mouth.
Heat coiled inside him at the seductive sound. He almost didn’t care why he was here. It was worth it to experience the things she made him feel.
“I believe you’re to be my punishment, Your Highness.”
“Punishment? For what?”
She gave an offhand shrug. “It was another time. Another life. It’s of no consequence now. The fact remains that you’ve been given to me, and we must make the best of the situation.”
Photo by David LaPorte
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SYLVIA DAY is the #1 New York Times and #1 international bestselling author of more than a dozen award-winning novels translated into over three dozen languages. She has been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Author, and her work has been honored as Amazon’s Best of the Year in Romance. She has won the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award and been nominated for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA award twice. Visit the author at www.sylviaday.com, facebook.com/authorsylviaday, and twitter.com/sylday.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2006 Sylvia Day
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Previously published as Bad Boys Ahoy!
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ISBN: 978-1-6177-3054-2
First Electronic Edition: September 2013
ISBN-13: 978-1-61773-055-9
ISBN-10: 1-61773-055-6