Her Passionate Pirate

by Neesa Hart

  When confronted, Jocelyn’s response had been a laughing dismissal and a label for his problem: obsession.

  And a string of frivolous relationships later, there had been Sinead. She was perhaps the one woman he’d known who had wanted him for something other than a casual affair or the challenge of taming his free spirit. Her father was one of his closest friends, a Dutch oceanographer Rafael had worked with on several expeditions. Sinead’s sweetness had drawn him to her. She’d asked nothing.

  And he, selfish bastard that he was, had given her nothing. By the time he realized that Sinead’s heart was at stake, he had already broken it. As long as his obsession with finding del Flores held him in thrall, she’d told him in a tearful goodbye, no one could hope to compete.

  He realized then that he’d become the horror his brother Zack had described. And in the years that followed, he’d carefully restricted his relationships to women who knew the game and who played on his level. He didn’t take advantage of innocents.

  Until now, an inner voice taunted as his gaze slid to Cora.

  “You’re frowning,” Liza announced, breaking his concentration.

  Rafael blinked, then shook off the gloomy thoughts. “Was I?”

  Molly nodded. “Your eyebrow was almost touching your nose. And your scar was white. Are you mad?”

  Good question, he thought, though the child referred to his temper and not his mental stability. “Of course not.” He stood then and forced a smile to his lips. “I think we should go out for ice cream. Any takers?”

  “HELLO?” CORA SNATCHED up the phone on the third ring. They’d made the promised trip into town for ice cream, but Rafael had retreated upstairs almost the moment they returned. She’d been unable to read his mood since her revelation at dinner.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Rafael.” The voice was feminine and low.

  Cora frowned. He took all his personal calls on his cell phone. No one called her number but the occasional reporter who slipped past his PR rep. “Who is this?”

  “This is Margie Adriano. I’m one of his sisters.”

  The librarian, Cora remembered from her conversation with Elena. “Oh, hello. He’s here, but you might want to try his cell phone. He usually doesn’t—”

  “Is this Cora?” Margie cut in.

  “Yes,” she said carefully.

  “Oh, good. Elena gave me your number. She’s in Miami covering a story and wanted me to call.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you happen to know if Rafael is planning anything for his birthday next week?”

  Cora didn’t even know his birthday was next week. “No. Not that I know of.”

  “This is the first time in seventeen years he’s been this close to home on his birthday. Elena and I were talking about that when she called the other day.”

  Seventeen years, Cora noted. Since he’d left home. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, um, listen.” She heard Margie shift the phone to her other ear. “I don’t know what he’s told you about his family…”

  “Other than the fact that there are twelve more of you?”

  Margie laughed. “Overwhelming, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Cora said wryly.

  “Well, this is a little tricky if he hasn’t…” She hesitated.

  “I know he and his older brother haven’t always been on the best of terms,” Cora told her. “And that he left home seventeen years ago.”

  “Really?” Margie said in the same surprised and delighted tone Elena had used. “He told you that?”

  “Elena was surprised, too.”

  “She told me you were different.”

  Given Rafael’s much publicized relationships with the super-model/socialite segment of the female population, Cora could only imagine. “I’m not surprised.”

  “She also told me she thought you were really good for him.”

  Having no answer to that, Cora waited. Margie continued, “So I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me with a little scheme.”

  “What kind of scheme?”

  “Most of my brothers and sisters are within reasonable driving distance of Cape Marr, and I thought if Rafael was going to be there on his birthday, we could put something together for him.”

  Cora hesitated, feeling like the outsider. It wasn’t her right or responsibility to meddle in his life. He’d made it clear he wanted a physical relationship with her, but beyond that, he’d made no promises. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure he would appreciate it if I got involved in this.”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything behind his back,” Margie assured her. “And believe me, things are much better now than they were. He and Zack don’t even argue anymore—well, not much, anyway. But at least they’re speaking, which is something.”

  “I suppose.”

  “All I need from you is some information about where people could stay and when to come. I’m just going to fire off an e-mail and see who’s interested.” Margie’s soft sigh carried on the line. “We really miss him,” she said gently. “And I can’t help but think he wouldn’t be planning to be in Cape Marr, not that close to us, if he wasn’t making an overture in our direction. I’d like the chance to show him that he’s still one of us.”

  Cora thought it over, but could already feel her resolve weakening. Her own family life had been so unfulfilling. She’d longed for a deeper relationship with her parents and her sister and never had one. “What did you have in mind?” she finally said.

  Ten minutes later she walked into the living room where Liza, Molly and Kaitlin were curled on the sofa watching a video. “Kaitlin,” she said, “can I see you for a minute—if you’re not too involved in the movie?”

  Kaitlin looked a little wary. She began to untangle herself from the blankets on the couch. “How come?”

  Cora smiled at her as they walked toward the kitchen. “I need your help with something.”

  “ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Rafael virtually snarled at Jerry the next day. Kaitlin was at her art class, and Liza and Molly were with Becky. Rafael had wanted to have this confrontation in person and alone. If his mood wasn’t black enough after another night of Cora’s locked door and his own conflicted thoughts, this morning’s phone call from his publicist had him in a rage.

  Jerry raised his hands in an unconvincing conciliatory gesture. “It wasn’t my idea. Henry Willers—”

  “Never would have thought this up by himself.” Rafael glared at him and uttered a harsh expletive. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “It’s an excellent idea. The media is—”

  “Too curious as it is. This isn’t a high-profile project, Jerry.”

  “Willers wants it to be.”

  “Willers can go to hell.” He planted his hands on Jerry’s desk and loomed over him. “I control the tone, the place and the scope of my projects. I am not going to turn this into a media circus.”

  “You sound like Cora,” Jerry grumbled.

  “She’s the only one around here with any sense,” Rafael muttered, and dropped into a chair. “My God. What the hell were you people thinking?”

  “Calm down,” Jerry said in a voice that had Rafael gritting his teeth. “Just calm down.”

  “My publicist called this morning to inform me that you’ve arranged a formal reception for the end of next week to announce that Cora and I have found incontrovertible proof of del Flores’s relationship with Abigail Conrad, and you expect me to calm down?”

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

  Somehow, Rafael knew, Jerry had found out about the jacket. “Who the hell cares? The point is, you had no right to release the information without Cora’s consent.”

  “She never would have agreed.”

  “Damn right she wouldn’t have. And neither would I.”

  “My first priority has to be what’s best for this institution, not what’s best for—”

  Rafael’s curse was distinct and to the point. “You don’t giv
e a damn about this college. The only thing you care about is your career. You can’t stand the thought that Cora’s reputation is about to eclipse yours.”

  Jerry’s color heightened. “I am still the chairman of this department. And as such, it’s my job to make decisions that will benefit the department and the college.”

  Rafael looked at him in utter contempt. “Who are you kidding? You’re pissed off at Cora because she didn’t turn the diaries over to you.”

  “By rights,” Jerry said through clenched teeth, “those diaries belong to the college. Not to Cora Prescott.”

  “It’s her house.”

  “Only after she bought it from Rawlings. We sold her the property, not exclusive rights to its historical significance.”

  “And you’re furious because she’s getting credit for the research on the diaries and not you.”

  Jerry leaned back in his leather chair and steepled his fingers. “I am the department head,” he said again. Rafael flung another expletive at him, but Jerry merely laughed. “Don’t be naive,” he said. “This kind of thing happens in academia all the time.”

  “Sure it does,” Rafael shot back. “Talented, intelligent, capable scholars like Cora Prescott get intellectually pillaged by arrogant asses like you.”

  Jerry’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “So you’ve appointed yourself as her champion, have you?”

  “I’m a colleague who happens to respect her work.”

  “Oh, really. That wouldn’t be because you happen to have gotten between her sheets, would it? Tell me, how is the ice princess in bed?”

  Rafael surged to his feet and stifled the urge to slug him. “Have I told you what a bastard I think you are?”

  “I believe you mentioned it, yes.”

  “I’m not going to let you win, Jerry.”

  Jerry’s smile was smug and infuriating. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

  Chapter Eight

  It’s the miserable days like this that find me longing for her, fool that I am. It could never be, though she swears she’d leave them all for me. I cannot decide whether I am more flattered by the strength of her affection or more disgusted with myself for seducing her. Were I the noble man she thinks, I’d leave her to find a future I cannot provide. Alas, I haven’t the strength of will. I must have her.

  Juan Rodriguez del Flores

  Captain’s Log, 25 December 1860

  “‘How I long for the sound of your voice,”’ Cora read to him that night, her tone slightly hushed. “‘In the deepest part of the night, I imagine it caressing my skin until I—”’ She broke off abruptly and looked at Rafael.

  He lay on her couch, propped on one elbow, watching her. Her expressive face registered a deep sensitivity as she read Abigail’s words from the reproduction pages. From the moment she’d walked in the door that night, he’d sensed a definite shift in the sea of their relationship. Thus far, she’d given him only a tantalizing glimpse of what that change might mean, but, he thought as he watched her fight a deepening blush, things were definitely looking up. “I what?” he prompted with a slight smile.

  The tips of her ears reddened, but she held his gaze. “This part is a little…stirring.”

  He hoped so. Unable to shake his foul mood since his conversation with Jerry that afternoon, he still hadn’t given Cora the news. She’d burst into the kitchen that evening, brimming with news about some new discovery she’d made in Abigail’s diaries—something she’d promised to tell him as soon as the girls were in bed. Cora’s exuberance had lent the evening a lightheartedness that he’d refused to ruin by talking about Jerry Heath.

  After the girls were settled and asleep, Cora had turned to him with an unmistakable look in her eyes. A look that said she was totally aware of what he wanted—and that she wanted it, too. She’d whispered, “Follow me,” and he’d thought, Anywhere.

  Fifteen minutes later he’d found himself reclined on her sofa like the sultan in Arabian Nights listening to the addictive voice of his Scheherezade as Cora read to him. Stirring, indeed.

  She sat cross-legged on the other end of the sofa, facing him. She wore jeans and a T-shirt and had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. The look should have been casual and unexciting, but it somehow managed to tempt him as effectively as any seductive lingerie. He ran his hand along her thigh for the sheer pleasure of feeling the worn and feather-soft denim against his skin. “Finish reading to me, Cora,” he prompted in a low voice meant to tell her he wanted so much more from her than a simple recitation.

  Awareness evident in her gaze, she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Rafael…”

  Her voice was a breathless whisper. His gut tightened and he moved his hand on her thigh to a more intimate spot. “Finish,” he said again.

  She swallowed, then looked back at the page. Her gaze wandered for an instant until she found her place again. “‘Caressing my skin until I feel it so deep in my woman’s self that I hunger for more. I can picture you so easily, here by my bed, your clothes strewn from the doorway in your haste to reach me. Your flesh pressed to mine, our hearts beating in unison as you brand me with your inner fire, I am moved beyond reason, dearest. Even now, I feel the passion stirring inside me. Were it not for these sweet remembrances, I think I would go mad.”’ She looked at him, her eyes bright. “It’s this next part.”

  He continued stroking her thigh with mesmerizing circles of his thumb. “Oh?”

  Cora nodded. “I almost missed this when I read it. I couldn’t believe it.” She ran her finger down the page and began again. “‘…sweet remembrances, I think I would go mad. You’ll think me silly, dearest,’—” her voice slowed to enunciate each word “—but when my sorrow at your absence is especially piquant, I sometimes slip your garment from its hiding place and wrap myself in its warmth.”’

  He sat straight up. “My God. It’s the jacket.” Shocked out of the slow-burning sexual hunger that had lulled him into a heated haze, he felt a new, stronger kind of need gripping him. “She’s talking about the jacket.”

  Cora nodded. “I think so, too. Listen to this. ‘Your scent still lingers on it, and I am so endlessly grateful that you left it here in your haste. I will keep it until you return, despite your warnings that I should not. If it is discovered in my possession, then no consequence could cause me greater grief than its loss. Hasten back to me, dearest, so I can take you in my arms again.’ Signed, ‘Abigail Conrad,10 February 1861.”’ Cora beamed at him. “I couldn’t believe it.”

  Rafael shook his head. He felt simultaneously disoriented and elated, and in the back of his mind resounded the knowledge that this victory wouldn’t hold such reward had he not shared it with Cora. “Neither can I.”

  “And that’s not all,” she said. “It gets better. I called Sheila this afternoon to see if she’d made any progress with the jacket.”

  His mind raced at the possibilities. “And?” He’d waited almost twenty years for this.

  “She said she’d sent it to a colleague of hers at the Smithsonian. He’d finished with it and was returning it to me with his report. It should be here tomorrow.”

  “Did he authenticate the date?” His fingers tightened on her leg.

  She laid her hand on his and squeezed gently. “Would you believe that the reason Sheila couldn’t identify the fabric was because of its unusual weft? And as it turns out, that particular weft was used only in one town and by one tailor on the southern coast of Spain between 1848 and 1871?”

  He closed his eyes. “Del Flores.”

  “He was here, Rafael. In this house with Abigail.”

  “I knew it.”

  “You were right all along.”

  When he looked at her, saw the genuine pleasure on her face, a gripping need spiked through him. “So were you,” he said.

  Cora shook her head as she lifted her hand to trace the edge of his eye patch. “It’s not my victory,” she murmured. “I only wanted to know Abigail better. I…” She hesitated
.

  He shifted closer and captured her chin in his hand. “You what?”

  “I saw something of myself in her.”

  “I know,” he whispered.

  “Because you saw something of yourself in del Flores.”

  Had the statement come from anyone else, he would have denied it, but with Cora he didn’t have to. She understood, somehow, the connection he felt to the lonely, wandering man who’d lived without home or family for most of his life. “Yes,” he said simply.

  Cora turned her face to kiss his fingers. “The hardened pirate and the prudish schoolmarm. Who would have thought?”

  He knew without asking that she was no longer speaking of del Flores and Abigail. He reached for her hand and found her fingers trembling. “You’re shivering,” he said softly.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Holding her hand up before her eyes, he showed her the fine tremors. Cora curled her fingers around his hand. “I’m not shivering. I’m shaking with anticipation and thinking that I—”

  He didn’t let her finish the thought. Stripping her glasses off, he tossed them to the coffee table. Without them, her eyes looked wider, more expressive. He searched them. When he found the flame, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. “Cora.” He said her name against her mouth. “Ah, Cora.”

  She kissed him, hard, her lips tracing his in an intoxicating rhythm that simultaneously gave and begged for more.

  With his hands pressed to her spine, he molded her against him. “You are…wonderful.”

  She whispered his name against his lips, a heated, urgent sound that crackled along his nerve endings and bewitched him. Barriers of restraint crumbled to ruin. When had desire turned to this clawing, consuming kind of need, a need that said he’d die if he didn’t have her? He wanted her so close to him that he could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every exquisite, pulsing flutter of her body. If he could, he would fully absorb her.