The Pirate Wench

by Melinda Barron

  Memories of their first day together flooded through her mind. When she'd first been hired at WXBJ, she knew she wouldn't make enough money to buy a house, or rent a fancy apartment. So she'd asked the real estate agent if she could suggest a place in the Quarter.

  The agent had done her one better, and suggested she rent a room from Devlin St. Giles, and his lover, Fletcher Covair. The two men bought and flipped houses, the money used to support their true passion: ghost hunting.

  The realtor had called, made the appointment, and driven Quinn over there. She would never forget her first sighting of them, both of them strong and muscular, both dark headed and brown-eyed, and both extremely handsome.

  But that was where the similarities had ended.

  Devlin was practical, a real thinker who never made a move without wondering where it would lead and how things would end up. Fletch, on the other hand, was a laid-back Cajun who liked to do things on the spur of the moment.

  She had liked them both immediately and signed a lease right on the spot for their second-floor bedroom. Since then, the three of them had become the best of friends, something her parents hadn't understood or approved of.

  The only thing missing from their lives together was sex.

  She moaned as she imagined the three of them in this huge bed, kissing and touching and making love. She'd been having these thoughts more and more often of late, and knew it wasn't a good thing.

  Dev and Fletch were in love, and there was no way she was going to come in between them or propose that the three of them engage in a ménage aux trois. Besides, they both played for the same team, and Quinn didn't have the equipment they liked.

  She sat back up just as they came out of the bathroom, still arguing about the pros and cons of visiting Fletch's aunt.

  "No voodoo,” she said. “I appreciate the thought, but no."

  Fletch's shoulders slumped, then his face brightened. He put his fingers together to where they were close, but not touching. “Just a little?"

  "No,” she said, her heart beating faster as they sat on either side of her.

  She put her head on Fletch's shoulder and took Dev's hand as he tickled her knee.

  "I still say you should sue,” Dev said. “You have seniority over the woman they moved into the anchor spot. It's discrimination because of your..."

  His voice trailed off and Quinn sighed.

  "Because of my size? Yes, you're right, it is. She's a perfect size two and I'm a perfect size fourteen.” She held up one hand before they could interject. “I know I'm not fat, but I also know that I'm not thin enough to be the anchor. And if I sue, then I get a bad reputation in the television world, and it's a small world as the old saying goes."

  "There's gotta be somethin’ you can do,” Fletch said. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and she wanted to make a suggestion about what they could do. Instead she sighed and shifted her head to Dev's shoulder. He kissed her forehead, too.

  "I'm thinking it would be a good night to drink. I'm also thinking it would be a good night to work on my resume."

  The men stood, almost as one, and pulled her to her feet. Their closeness amazed her; sometimes it seemed as if they could almost read each other's minds.

  Dev turned her toward him and cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her lips lightly and Quinn's eyes bulged. She wanted to scream at him not to do that, that it would take them places they probably shouldn't go. But it felt so good.

  When his lips left hers, Fletch tipped her head back and took Dev's place.

  What was going on here?

  Sure, they'd kissed her before, but never like this. And never in their bedroom, with the huge, comfy bed they'd just moved upstairs waiting to be initiated into the world of carnal love.

  Don't go there, Quinn, don't go there. They're just trying to make you feel better.

  "Maybe we should—” Dev's voice was interrupted by a shout from the staircase.

  "We're coming up."

  "Shit,” Dev said at the same time Fletch said, “merde."

  The three of them moved apart as Martin Vandreen, a friend of theirs and fellow ghost hunter, appeared in the doorway.

  "Hi. I'm inviting myself to dinner so we can discuss our Halloween hunt."

  She had to laugh. Martin was sweet, and very fun to be around. He was also a medium who had accompanied the guys on several of their ghost hunts. She knew they'd already discussed what they had planned for Halloween and what he really wanted was a free dinner—in the shape of Fletch's jambalaya.

  "Yeah, I figured you'd be here,” Fletch said. “Mooch."

  Martin laughed. “Proud of it. So, let's eat. I'm starved."

  He bounded back down the stairs and Quinn let out an exasperated breath of air.

  "No ghost talk at the table,” she said, looking at her two friends. “You know I don't believe in that crap."

  "One day that will change,” Dev said. “And that day may come a lot sooner than you think."

  * * * *

  The early morning sun drifted through the gauzy curtains in Quinn's bedroom. She lay in the middle of the bed, her eyes focused on the ceiling. She hadn't slept very well the previous night, her thoughts drifting between the crappy situation at work and the strange happenings between herself and her roommates.

  Had she given off some sort of sexual vibes that they had picked up on? That could be the only true reason for the kiss ... or rather, kisses?

  Had they merely felt sorry for her and kissed her in an attempt to make her feel better?

  If so, it had worked. The touch of their lips had seared her all the way down to her toes. She'd wanted to suggest that the three of them test out their new bed, but she knew that would have been the wrong thing to do.

  They had just felt sorry for her, for the things going on in her life. That's why they'd kissed her. It's not like they hadn't done it before.

  But last night had been different; their kisses were passionate yet tender. And they certainly hadn't felt platonic.

  The smell of coffee drifted up the stairs and she sighed. Fletch was the cook in the household and she was sure breakfast would be tasty. He knew her favorite was what he called his breakfast temptation: a mixture of herbs and eggs mixed with rice and a special spicy sauce only Fletch could create.

  She sniffed and immediately recognized the smell of the sauce mixed in with the coffee. Her eyebrows furrowed. The smell was close. The kitchen was on the first floor, and the delicious aroma wafted toward her from just outside the door.

  She sat upright as the door swung open. Fletch carried a tray heaped with food while Dev balanced a coffee carafe and a plate of beignets on another.

  "Morning, Boo,” Fletch said. “Time to eat."

  "You don't have to baby me, you know.” She watched as Fletch rounded the bed and set the tray on the nightstand. Dev deposited the other tray on the opposite nightstand. Both sat down, squeezing her in between them.

  Quinn shivered when Dev caressed her arm and Fletch leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  "We want you in a good mood for our proposal,” Dev said with a smile.

  He turned and poured large cups of café au lait, handed them out, and took a sip. His eyebrows went up and she knew Dev was waiting for her to ask about the proposal.

  "OK, I'll bite,” she said, taking a sip of her own coffee. The proximity of these two delicious men was driving her crazy. One thing was for sure: something was going to have to give around here, because she wasn't sure she could take much more of this.

  "You're going with us,” Fletch said.

  "Where?” She turned to him, and as the silence grew, understanding dawned. “Oh no, I'm not. Call me a chicken if you want, but I'm not spending Halloween in a haunted plantation house."

  "Oh yes, you are,” Dev said. “You've got plenty of vacation time built up. A few days without you at the office will convince them of how valuable you are. They'll beg you to stay. And they'll reconsider their decision."


  "No, they won't,” she said. “They'll just find someone to replace me."

  "Nobody could replace you,” Fletch said. He reached behind him and grabbed the plate filled with eggs, sausage and bacon. she pulled her legs up toward her chest to make room on the bed for the plate. Dev placed the beignets next to it, taking one and devouring it in two bites.

  Quinn stared at the powdered sugar left on his lips and fought the temptation to lean over and lick it off.

  She picked up her own treat and took a bite. Powdered sugar dusted the T-shirt she'd slept in. “I'm not going."

  "Listen to us, Boo. We know what we're talking about,” Fletch said. “We had a nice long discussion about it last night."

  Yeah, after you made love and left me horny.

  "Fletch, Dev. I appreciate it, but—"

  "We're not taking no for an answer,” Fletch said. “You eat your eggs while Dev tells you the story of this house. It's a beauty. We've stayed there before, but not on Halloween. It's gonna be fun."

  Dev licked the sugar off his fingers and took another sip of coffee.

  "So, the house was built in 1805 outside Baton Rouge by a man named Gerard Facet. He and his wife had come from Paris to build their sugar plantation. Soon after they arrived, their family started to grow. They had seven children, Marie, Charlot, Aramis, Alison, Thierry, Daphne, and Delphie."

  Fletch reached for a beignet and nodded at his lover. “All of the children except for Alison and Delphie died, and died young. Some sort of fever took them all. Very sad."

  "So, we're going to a house full of haunted babies?"

  "Oh no,” Fletch said. “The babes moved on long ago. The house is haunted by Alison, who would have inherited it if she'd lived past the age of twenty-five."

  "Gee, thanks for the uplifting tale, guys.” She swallowed a bite of eggs and took another.

  "Just listen,” Fletch said.

  Dev chased his own bite of eggs with a swig of coffee.

  "So, Gerard had no male heirs. The house would be Alison's, but she would need a husband to help her run it. Gerard chose a man named Amedee Badeaux, a younger son from a neighboring plantation. Alison was not happy with his choice because she was in love with a man named Cyrille Trotter, who worked for her father."

  Despite her dislike of haunted houses, she nodded. “Go on."

  "Well, in those days a daughter did as she was told—for the most part, anyway. Alison and Amedee wed in 1829. Her father built them a ‘small’ house on the grounds, near the cane fields. The house has ten bedrooms, four living areas, a kitchen, and now has three bathrooms added. The couple lived there for a few years."

  "And Alison continued to meet her lover while living in that house with her husband, right?"

  "You're so smart,” Fletch said.

  Quinn smirked at him. “So, Amedee killed his wife and her lover?"

  Dev nodded. “On Halloween night, 1832. He caught them making love in Cyrille's house. He killed Cyrille and set his house on fire. Then, he made Alison watch as it burned before he dragged her back to their house and killed her."

  "Horrid,” she said, dropping her fork on her plate. “So, she haunts the house?"

  "Yes,” Dev said. “But there's more. Amedee married Alison's sister, Delphie."

  "Are you serious?” Quinn shook her head. “The man murdered her sister and she married him?"

  "Well, they considered it justified,” Fletch said. “She was cheating on her husband. And old Gerard, he still needed an heir. Plus, Amedee needed to be compensated for being made a laughing stock."

  "He was a murderer!"

  "Different times, Boo,” Fletch said.

  "Can I finish?” Dev asked.

  She turned to Dev and nodded. “Sorry."

  "So, on Halloween 1833, good old Amedee was found at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck. Delphie swore she saw Alison push him down the stairs."

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “And you want us to stay there?"

  "Oh yes,” Dev said. “The house was closed up for quite a while before changing hands several times. The current owners, the Forshees, bought it for back taxes. They say Alison is quiet for most of the year, except for October. She always makes her presence known, and it's not always pleasant."

  "The Forshees usually close it down for two weeks around Halloween, and then everything is fine until next year. This year, they want us to try and make contact with Alison."

  "They want you to send her toward the light?"

  Dev smiled. “No. She's too good for business. They want us to get some sort of concrete evidence that she exists; photos, readings—basically anything that will verify the haunting. We're having a séance on Halloween night."

  Quinn nodded and took a slow sip of her coffee. “So, you want us to spend Halloween with a murdering ghost?"

  Fletch laughed. “She hasn't killed anyone since Amedee, and you can't say he didn't deserve it."

  "Good point."

  "It's gonna be fun,” Fletch said. “You know you wanna go."

  "I don't know, guys. I mean, I understand your fascination with the paranormal, but I don't share it. You know that."

  They scooted closer to her and Quinn felt her clit twitch in pleasure.

  "Look at it this way, Boo,” Fletch said, gently rubbing her arm. “It's a few days of vacation, a few days away from the city. A few days of clean air and free time to relax or do some reading."

  Do some fucking, maybe?

  Her thoughts grew increasingly desperate as Fletch continued to stroke her arm.

  Stop that, stop that! Don't touch me like that. I might jump you both.

  "Plus, you can take your laptop and send out resumes,” Dev said, his finger tracing her other arm. “You need this time. You know you do. Just say yes and we'll be on our way."

  She took a bite of her sausage, chewing thoughtfully. A picture of her boss Mark's face as he told her she'd never make it as an anchor popped into her brain. Maybe Dev and Fletch were right. If she left for a while, they'd see how much she did around there. How popular she was with the viewers. The idea just might work.

  She nodded, coming to a decision. “Fine, I'll do it. But, one floating candlestick and I'm out of there. I mean it!"

  They laughed and Dev poured more coffee into the cups. They clinked them together and both took a sip.

  Quinn whipped her head back and forth between them. “I mean it. Tell me you understand when I say I mean it."

  The men stood and picked up the dishes and trays, heading back toward the door.

  "Hey, answer me!” At the doorway, they both blew her a kiss and stepped outside.

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  About the Author

  Melinda Barron loves to explore Egyptian tombs and temples, discover Mayan ruins, play in castles towers, and explore new cities and countries. She generally does it all from the comfort of her home by opening a book.

  Melinda is the fourth of five children born to an Army officer and his wife. A longtime newspaper journalist, Melinda has loved to read and write from an early age. Now she lives in the Texas Panhandle with two cats, Amelia and Pippin, and enough books to, according to her brother, open her own library. In addition to reading and writing Melinda enjoys travel, cross-stitching, watching movies and spending time with her friends and family.

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