Her Passionate Pirate

by Neesa Hart

  He tensed. “Specifically?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, give me a little credit. The rest of the world might fall for that polished act of yours, but I don’t.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never given that speech before.”

  She searched his gaze. “Who are you?” she asked softly.

  “I’m just like you, Cora. I don’t merely want to learn about Abigail and del Flores. I want to know them.”

  She searched his gaze. When she spoke again, her voice had taken on a husky tone. “Why?”

  His gaze turned wary. “What do you mean?”

  “Why this ship, these two people?”

  “I’ve been interested in del Flores for twenty years.”

  “Why?” she said again.

  “Because I find the story fascinating, and because the Isabela has eluded me.” His gaze moved to a spot beyond her shoulder. There was a wariness about him she’d never seen before. “Because it’s there,” he finally said, “waiting for me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. There was more to this story. He was hiding something—or maybe protecting something. She couldn’t tell, but the brash veneer had momentarily slipped off, and she found herself fascinated by the man underneath. When she said nothing, he looked at her again, his ready smile chasing away the momentary vulnerability. “What are you thinking, Dr. Prescott?”

  Cora raised her hand to trace the edge of his eye patch. He didn’t flinch. “I think,” she said softly, “that I believe you.” Her finger found the scar and she followed it to his hairline. “Did you know that the first time I saw you talk about the Isabela was when you told a TV reporter that you weren’t obsessed with finding it?”

  He captured her hand. “Cora—”

  She interrupted him. “Tell me the truth,” she prompted again. “There are no reporters now. Just you and me.” She gave him a small smile. “So woo me.”

  Other than the tightening of his hold on her hand, he showed no outward signs of reaction. “I want you to help me learn who Abigail Conrad was,” he said with careful precision. “I want to tell you what I’m looking for, and then I want you to help me see del Flores as she saw him. You know Abigail better than I do.”

  “And you know del Flores,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Why can’t you wait until I’m finished with my work?”

  “There’s more to see than the diaries,” he explained. “There’s the feel of the house. The way it looks at night. There’s something about being right there where Abigail and del Flores met and talked and probably made love that will tell me more than anything you could ever show me in print.”

  He threw his head back and the sun glinted off his earring. “In his captain’s logs, del Flores makes veiled references to the diaries several times in some of the correspondence I’ve found. He even mentions in one entry that he’d warned his lover to hide them.”

  “You have no proof that Abigail Conrad was that lover. The man traveled all over the eastern United States. Why Abigail?”

  “She was a colonel’s daughter. The connection and information she could provide del Flores would be invaluable. He was wanted by the Union and Confederate governments at the time. Surely you can see why Abigail could be so helpful to him.”

  “And you believe he pursued her for information about her father?”

  He pressed her hand flat against his chest. “Do you?”

  Cora stared at him for long seconds. “No,” she admitted, “I don’t.”

  He acknowledged her confession with a slight nod. “I didn’t think so.”

  “What about the ship?” she asked. “What are we going to do about that?”

  “I have the clout and the resources to protect everything we’re doing, Cora. You just have to trust me.”

  That brought another smile to her lips. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t even let you near my house or my nieces. I don’t give a damn what Henry Willers wants.”

  “You’re sure? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  She laughed. “Are you kidding? I just told CNN that you’re going to be my nanny.”

  “A stroke of genius, I might add.” He moved his thumb over the back of her knuckles. His heart beat a comforting rhythm under her palm. “I meant what I said, Cora. If you decide you want me off this project, I’ll support you. Hell, I’ll even agree to finance you if you want.”

  She released a long breath. “I don’t want you off. I think we can do more together than I could do by myself.”

  “I’m counting on that.” She didn’t think she imagined the slight heat in his gaze. “And the girls?” he continued. “When Elena asks again, I’d like to know what to tell her.”

  “You don’t think we can just refer her to Liza?”

  He laughed. “Benedict Bunny’s power is in a surprise attack.”

  Cora nodded. “Then tell her, and anybody else you want, that you’ll be living in my home for the duration of the project.”

  “You’re sure?” The look he gave her was so intense, so darkly probing, that she felt as if he was watching her thoughts unfold inside her head. He was asking for more, and she knew it.

  Her fingers fluttered. “I trust you,” she said finally. “Academically and…personally.” She rubbed her fingertips on his shirt. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

  His expression turned to satisfaction. “What changed your mind?”

  “Instinct,” she replied. “The same instinct that tells me Abigail has more secrets to reveal. I want to find them. I want to share them with someone who’s going to protect them the way I would.”

  “I will,” he vowed.

  “I know. And before this morning, I was going to say that I didn’t think you had a real grasp of what you were getting into with the girls…”

  “But?”

  “I met your sister.” She smiled slightly. “And I watched your reaction when Benedict Bunny had his way with her.”

  He laughed at that. “Don’t judge Elena too harshly. You’d actually like her if you got to know her.”

  “If you say so.”

  “She reminds me of you.”

  “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

  He interlaced their fingers and lowered her hand from his chest. “As a matter of fact, you are. Elena’s determined and talented and smart as a whip. She’s one of the few people I know who can get the better of me.”

  “Well, if she was half as, er, precocious as a child, then I don’t think you’ll have any trouble coping with Kaitlin and Molly and Liza.”

  He grinned at that. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “We’ll just have to see how it goes. I’m not sure they’ll accept you any better than they have the others.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  She nodded. “I’ve already promised to take them to the beach tomorrow. Why don’t you come with us? It’ll give you a chance to bond with them a little. Maybe they’ll respond better if I’m there.”

  “Perfect,” he said, and she couldn’t keep from staring at the way his lips formed the word. His thumb was tracing lazy circles on her palm. Heat radiated up her arm and made her skin tingle. “I’ll bring my bags in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow night,” she continued, ignoring the renewed flutter in her stomach when she thought of him sleeping under her roof, “I’ll show you what I’ve already discovered about Abigail.”

  “You care for her, don’t you?”

  She nodded, not bothering to deny that she’d developed an odd affection for a woman who’d been dead for a century. Somehow she knew that he would understand. “The house—it’s always spoken to me. When I found the diaries, the connection got even stronger. I think that Abigail was a strong woman, but del Flores made her vulnerable. I’d feel like I was violating her if I let her get exploited.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “Anyone else would think I’m crazy.”

  Another grin. “T
akes one to know one.”

  “You feel it, too. Don’t you?”

  “Why do you think I’ve spent almost twenty years looking for del Flores?” He laid a hand against her cheek. Again her skin tingled from his warmth. “So we’re agreed about the research and the girls. What about the rest, Cora?” He traced the whorl of her ear with a callused fingertip. “What about you and me?”

  “There is no you and me,” she said.

  “There will be.”

  “You sound sure.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Unable to deny it, she took the coward’s way out and tried to retreat behind a quip. “It’s the long hair and the patch, I guess. What woman could resist—”

  He seemed to lose patience with her then. “Tell me later,” he said, “and kiss me now.” He pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth in a kiss rife with hunger, heated with need and filled with enough passion to make a pirate proud.

  Cora gasped, momentarily stunned by the onslaught, but passion sparked and flared seconds later. One of her arms snaked around his neck, and Rafael spread a large hand at the small of her back to fully align her curves to his hard lines. His warm, tangy scent made her head spin.

  He whispered her name as he deepened the kiss, and she absorbed the incredible, intoxicating sound as he tasted her. When he finally tore his mouth free, she dropped her head to his chest with a slight moan. She closed her eyes momentarily, waiting for a sense of reality to return. Slowly he trailed his fingertips down her cheek and along her jaw until he gently tipped her chin up to face him. “Cora,” he said. She forced her eyes open. He was watching her. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her moist lips. “Tell me you feel it.”

  She blinked. He pressed his thumb against her lower lip. “Tell me,” he said again.

  She shivered. With a soft smile, he enfolded her in his embrace and gallantly let her off the hook. “Never mind.” He kissed the top of her head. “We have plenty of time.”

  Chapter Four

  Dearest,

  I had to write you tonight! You’ll never know how very hard I laughed this afternoon when that horrid Mr. C. called on Father. You know him—the gentleman with the puce evening jacket and satin trousers? He’s been feeling quite puffed up and conceited since the Governor appointed him to a post in the capital. You’d think the man was completely unaware that in wartime, the Governor’s choices are so limited. All the true leaders are out in the battlefield—but I refuse to dwell on that now.

  What I wanted to tell you was what Mr. C. told Father about me. Last week, he went so far as to make advances to me at J.M.’s cotillion. Now, stop frowning, darling. You know I have eyes for no one but you, and you are quite free to defend my honor on your next visit. Anyway, I gave him quite the set-down, you’ll be happy to know. I informed him in no uncertain terms that my affections were otherwise engaged, and even if they weren’t, I would never consider a suit from him. Well, he announced to Father this afternoon that he’d best take me in hand, and soon, lest I embarrass the Conrads with my “headstrong and outspoken ways.”

  Father told him that, unlike Mr. C. himself, I at least had something of value to say. Mr. C. blustered and blubbered his way from the house—furious over the insult.

  I wonder if I should confess now that you taught me the art of pugilism on your last visit?

  Lovingly yours,

  Abigail

  19 August 1860

  The following morning Cora carefully searched her reflection in the mirror. At least she wasn’t showing any outward signs of insanity. Except for the dark circles under her eyes, she really didn’t look all that different. Still, something had to be misfiring in her brain or she never would have agreed to this. Maybe it had been the stress of the past few weeks. Maybe, she admitted, it had been the way her blood had heated when Rafael touched her. He’d woven a spell of seduction and charm, and she’d tumbled right into his trap.

  Sensible, practical, predictable Cora Prescott had tumbled like a rabbit down a hole. She frowned as she applied a thin layer of lipstick. The seductive way he’d looked at her when he’d talked about Abigail and del Flores—that had been her demise. All she had to do was remember the rough sound of his voice whispering, “Tell me,” and her stomach fluttered.

  By two this morning, when she still lay sleepless, she’d given up trying to pass off the sensation as indigestion.

  Muttering in frustration, Cora put the finishing touches on her makeup, then stalked out of the bathroom.

  Who was she trying to fool? What had her wound up tighter than a Swiss clock was the memory of that kiss. It made her shiver, despite the summer heat. No wonder the man had a reputation as a rake.

  Every inch of her flesh felt strangely sensitized this morning, as if he’d left an indelible imprint on her skin. As she pulled on her clothes, the heightened awareness gave her goose bumps. Worse, she felt as though the rational side of her brain—the one she listened to most often—had betrayed her by remaining stubbornly silent during that kiss. Where were the warning bells? Where was the voice of reason? Where the hell, she thought irritably, was her reputedly unflappable common sense?

  Moving in with her.

  Sharing the secrets of Abigail’s intimate, sensual, stirringly personal diaries.

  The very idea set off a bevy of longings she ruthlessly tried to suppress. When they’d parted yesterday, he’d assured her that he would handle the media fallout from the press conference. True to his word, her phone had rung only once that afternoon. She’d been shamefully relieved when she’d called his hotel and gotten his voice mail—she, who never cowered from anything and hadn’t avoided a confrontation since her last fight with her father on her twelfth birthday. Leaving Rafael a message about when to meet her and the girls this morning, she’d hung up and briefly considered whether or not she’d lost her mind. The rest of the afternoon had given her ample time to consider the rashness of her decision. And what it would be like to have him underfoot.

  Calling herself a thousand times a fool, she’d deliberately avoided thinking about the practical considerations of their arrangement by burying herself in activity. Her nieces had been in unusually high spirits after learning she wasn’t angry about Benedict Bunny’s assault on Rafael’s sister. Cora told herself that she hadn’t mentioned Rafael’s new role in their lives in order to maintain the rare good mood. The four of them had gone out to dinner, done a little shopping, which included new shorts for them and new pajamas for herself. She refused to speculate on why she felt the sudden need for sleeping attire that looked somewhat more respectable than her usual oversize T-shirt.

  She also hadn’t allowed herself to question why she’d purchased new sheets and towels for the guest apartment. Generally her tenants supplied their own linens, but she’d guessed that Rafael had not brought towels and bed linens with him to Cape Marr. That didn’t explain why she’d splurged on burgundy sheets. In Egyptian cotton. Or why she’d gotten goose bumps when she’d spread them on the bed and pictured him lying on them. His skin would look luxuriously dark against the blood-red cotton. And he probably didn’t even own pajamas.

  That thought made her fingers tremble as she buttoned her shirt. Taking herself firmly in hand, she squared her shoulders and pulled open the door. As she headed for the stairs, she caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. She pressed her fingers to her lips. What had her stomach in knots this morning wasn’t nervousness, she admitted, it was anticipation. She wanted to see him.

  To touch him.

  To have him touch her.

  She wanted to throw caution out the window of the third floor, where a bed with newly made burgundy sheets lay waiting, and find out why Abigail had risked everything for passion.

  Cora shivered and shut her eyes. She really was losing her mind. There was no doubt. Why else had she been able to calmly set aside every reservation and practicality that told her this was a bad idea?

  Deep in the night she’d searched for her ev
er-present common sense, which had tried in vain to argue that Rafael wanted to use her. His interest in her stemmed from his obsession with finding del Flores. Only she, and her ability to control his access to Abigail’s diaries and the secrets of her home, stood in his way. If he needed to seduce her to gain access, he seemed willing to do so.

  It should have made sense. She was not, after all, his kind of woman. She’d seen him in pictures and interviews flanked by stunning, glamorous women who perfectly matched his beauty and charisma. Supermodels and movie stars—they were what he needed and, if the rumors were true, preferred. Bookish, too-serious Cora Prescott didn’t compare.

  But she had refused to listen.

  Now, she lowered her hand from her mouth as she stared at her reflection in the hall mirror. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d looked in a mirror for any reason other than a practicality. She used mirrors to apply cosmetics or tweeze her eyebrows or check to see if she had something in her eye, not to wonder if she could measure up to the other women in some man’s life. It seemed so…belittling, and she was ashamed of herself for even letting her mind go there.

  So her face was a little too square and her breasts were smallish. So her hips were a bit wider than fashion decreed acceptable, and her hair was an indistinguishable shade of reddish-blond. She was not about to succumb to the kind of constant fear and anxiety about her appearance and self-worth that had destroyed her mother and was rapidly destroying her sister, Lauren, too. Either he accepted her on her own terms or he didn’t. And if he didn’t, then they could certainly establish a professional relationship that might still be advantageous to them both.

  Deep inside, though, where Cora had locked away unfulfilled dreams, roads never traveled and bridges never crossed, the doors were starting to rattle. Something in her was demanding freedom—freedom to make a colossal mistake or to answer a consuming desire without fear of the consequences. Rafael had a wanderer’s spirit, a Gypsy’s heart and a pirate’s passion, and the combination danced tantalizingly before her like an invitation to bliss. Temptation pulled at her, beckoning seductively toward uncharted waters.