Pirates Do It With Passion

by Mimi Riser

  With the growled words, Nate fell backward, lengthwise on the seat, dragging Rico on top of him, nose to nose, belly to belly. He undulated his hips, rubbing their groins together through the fabric of their shorts. He might just as well have touched live wires together, or a match to a fuse. Electricity crackled—sudden sparks, spontaneous combustion. Two bodies quivered with instant arousal. Two cocks stiffened to attention.

  Rico groaned. If old passions were hard to ignore so were old pains. “Yeah, this is your answer to everything, isn't it? You're always fucking—anyone, anytime.” Richard hadn't been able to tolerate Nate's infidelities, and Rico didn't want to try. He'd inherited a lot from his previous persona, including a deep sense of honor and commitment. “I'm a married man, damn it, very in love with my wife."

  "So am I, but I love you, too, lad. It is possible to want two at once—God knows I've done it for centuries. However, you're the only one here at the moment, so I'm taking what I can get."

  Rico groaned again. “Lucky me."

  "Very.” Nate chuckled, a low throaty sound laced with sinful purpose. The sound of passion, impatient and unabashed.

  And meaningless because it came from a man who was drunk as a skunk, flying high on the wings of drugged fancy, thanks to Seth. Without warning, as swift as he'd struck, Nate passed out, sank limp into the leather upholstered seat, eyes closed, mouth open, and snoring.

  Good fucking grief...

  Rico collapsed against him, unsure whether to laugh or cry and doing a bit of both while he scraped his wits back together and waited for his pulse to slow.

  Just don't wait too long, his muddled mind warned. You have stuff to do. This ain't over.

  "So I keep hearing,” he muttered aloud.

  The wail of sirens and screech of brakes snapped him alert. Three patrol cars skidded into the lot.

  Shit!

  Diving out of his car before the police exited theirs, Rico raced back to the inn to collect luggage and wife and hightail it home. Annie, who had no idea what had happened, must be fit to be tied by now.

  Luckily for Rico, she already was. A smart man would leave her that way until they reached the house. But he wasn't smart, of course. He had Richard MacDonnell's memories in his head, Nate Hawkins in his car, and a throbbing boner in his shorts—and no clear idea what to do about any of it.

  He was in deep shit was what he was.

  "Well, you're not going to solve anything by brooding,” a woman's voice said.

  Amalie?

  No, Ann was her name now. Annie. A nice name for a lass, pretty and sweet. It suited her. So did the voice, soft and throaty, like the brush of crushed velvet on your ear, soothing and stimulating in the same breath.

  "We don't have to figure it all out tonight,” she added. “It's late. You're tired. Why don't you just go to bed? You'll feel better after a good sleep."

  "How can I sleep knowing Long John Silver is in our back bedroom?” Richard answered—or Rico, as he'd insisted.

  Except Rico was enough like Richard to make “Long John's” chest constrict as though a fist squeezed his heart. Nate wasn't in the back room. He'd roused several minutes ago, unsure where he was or how he'd arrived there, and fumbled his way to the front of the house—bumping into a few walls en route, because he'd forgotten at first he wasn't a ghost anymore and kept trying to walk through them.

  He remembered now, of course—everything—was suddenly wide awake. But still invisible as a ghost, it seemed. Unnoticed, he stood in the doorway of a large, homey kitchen, watching the couple within...listening...waiting... For what? A hopeful word?

  They'd brought him home with them, obviously, but why? Where do we go from here? That's what they were discussing, and had been for some time, judging by the tense tone of the talk. Things didn't look promising. Nate's heart sank.

  Rico sat hunched forward, his elbows on the table and head in his hands. Annie stood nearby, leaning back against a counter, arms crossed over her chest. Both wore short britches and sleeveless shirts, what would have been scandalous, unheard of apparel in Nate's day, but he wasn't complaining.

  As a ghost, he'd seen fashions come and go. Strange, magical devices, too. Electric lights, automobiles, television... He didn't fully understand all these new things, but he was familiar with them. He'd always been an open-minded sort, ahead of his time, perhaps. Forward motion kept the world fresh. Where some might resist change, Nate embraced it. Lord knew he wanted to embrace the changes he viewed now.

  His gaze raked over Rico. The Scottish-born Richard had sported fiery red hair with a temper to match, whereas Rico was devil-dark—but equally hot blooded and muscular. Equally appealing, and even more stubborn. Like a banked fire he carried the embers of old passion within him, but would resist any attempt to fan them into new flames. Nate knew, having tried once already while drunk. Now sober he wasn't sure he had the right to try again.

  His attention shifted to Annie. She was taller than Amalie had been, with more bosom and hips, but just as blond and blue-eyed as her former self, just as beautiful to Nate's eyes. Only in a different way. A doll-like creature Amalie had been, strong inside but delicate in appearance, a perfect dainty morsel to nibble and savor. Her present body was a feast by comparison, all lush, ripe womanly curves.

  God help him, but Nate hungered for her, too. His cock swelled at the mere thought of taking her and Rico together. These people weren't exactly the two he'd lost long ago, yet in some ways he desired them more.

  "What else could we do?” Annie said in response to Rico's last comment. “Leave him drugged-out in the car? You're the one who carried him to bed and broke the handcuffs off him."

  "Only because you made me,” Rico grumbled. “I wanted to hold him under a cold shower until he sobered up."

  "Why? So he could explain what we already know?"

  "Which is?” Rico looked up to give her a glare. “Annie, we don't know anything for sure."

  "Maybe not, but we have enough clues to deduce the rest. Care to hear what I think?"

  "Do I have a choice, Sherlock?"

  Her expression, as she pulled out a chair and sat beside him, clearly stated no. Rico's chest heaved with a sigh.

  "Okay, but wait a minute. I want to catch the eleven o'clock report and see if there's any news about Barrow.” He reached and turned on a small television that sat on the end of the table.

  Nate couldn't see the screen from his vantage point, but he heard a crisp tenor announcing the “suicide of Seth Barrow"—complete with all the gory details of his fatal leap, bolstered by a few eyewitness accounts from those who'd seen him hit the pavement. Although none displayed any knowledge of what had occurred prior, which was good. It meant no one would be looking for Nate or Rico to question them. No one even questioned the suicide. Madmen did things like that, apparently.

  "Yuck,” Annie said. “They don't have to sound so chipper about it. I'm not making excuses for him, but the guy was severely psychotic. He wasn't responsible for his actions."

  "Shh,” Rico hushed her. “Listen."

  "Barrow died almost instantly, according to the coroner's report,” the announcer finished. “Police are ruling it a closed case."

  End of story.

  "Not quite,” a voice whispered in Nate's ear.

  Or was the voice in his head just imagination? He seemed to be the only one who heard it. An eerie prickle stiffened his spine—the kind of prickle he used to give people when he was a ghost.

  What the devil?

  "Nope, not any longer. I'm an angel now, Cap'n."

  Nate gripped the doorframe to steady himself.

  No, it can't be...

  Heedless of any danger, Rico switched off the TV. “Well, that's over at least."

  "Good, because nothing else is.” Annie flashed him a wan smile.

  He parried it with a frown. “I wish everyone would stop saying that."

  "Truth hurts, huh?"

  "Hey, babe, you're supposed to be on my side."r />
  "I am. But it would make things easier if you'd admit what's really bothering you."

  "You mean besides the fact we've brought a man back from the dead?” Rico scrubbed his hands over his face. “The legalities alone are a fucking mess. How can he function in today's world without ID, have you considered that? Do you think the government will issue a social security number to a man born in 1753?"

  "We can ask. There must be some way to work it. Maybe a lawyer could help, or a congressman?"

  "And maybe they'll lock us all in a nuthouse.” A dull thud sounded as Rico collapsed forward and his forehead hit the table. “Congress? Shit, it'll take an act of heaven to work this."

  "Exactly why I'm here.” The ghostly voice giggled. “Consider yourself blessed."

  Be gone! Your kind of blessing we don't need, matey.

  "Too bad, ‘cause you're gonna get it, Nate. Look at it this way—just your being here is a blessed miracle. Now you get another one to fix the problems created by the first. You can't escape fate, so you may as well relax and enjoy it."

  Aye, I've heard that before. Go to hell.

  "Sorry, been there. They kicked me out. Seems psychosis doesn't qualify as genuine evil. Besides, all the vacancies down there have already been filled by congressmen."

  Hell's bells...

  Annie leaned over from her seat and started massaging a pair of massive, tense shoulders. “Rico, we can't undo what's been done. It's wild, it's weird, it's friggin’ unbelievable—and, yes, the legalities will probably be a nightmare. But it did happen, so there must be a reason for it."

  "And you think you know what the reason is.” Rico sighed.

  "No, sweetie, I think we both know."

  "So do I. It's all about love, kiddies,” the voice Nate had been hearing said.

  Except now everyone heard it. Heads snapped up and jaws dropped. Eyes widened as a man's form materialized, sitting cross-legged on the table.

  Nate braced for action—fight since he'd ne'er been one for flight. No bloody ghost would toy with Annie and Rico while Nathaniel Hawkins lived. Never mind that he'd toyed with them himself when he was dead. That was a whole different kettle of fish, mateys.

  "You think? You were a very horny ghost, weren't you, Nate? But you're right, actually.” The apparition winked at him, then shifted attention to Rico. “You want explanations? Tough shit, man, ‘cause you really don't need to know how things happened. Chalk it up to a combo of magic and miracle. I'll tell you this much, though:

  "Nate was horny because he was pining for two people he'd loved and lost. The irony is he didn't recognize you as the reincarnations of those two when he first saw you and Annie at the inn. All he saw was a couple of tempting, hot bodies, a little relief for his pain. He was lonely, hurting, and just wanted to pretend you were Richard and Amalie for a night—but not scare you in the process. So he lulled you to sleep and transported you into a vision created from his memories. Only then did he realize the truth, but too late to stop things.

  "The problem was he'd also conjured a temporary body for himself, using your body heat as the power source. Naturally, that form weakened as it began to cool. But what ‘Richard and Amalie’ saw at that point was Nate inexplicably shivering, dying before their eyes—never guessing he was already dead, that it was only the ending of a vision.

  "You were desperate, weren't you? You hated to lose him—which is the crux of all this. Not knowing what else to do, you tried to warm him with more body heat that rolled you straight into a steamy menage. You warmed him so well, in fact, you basically baked him back to life, made his temporary form permanent—like firing clay in a kiln makes it hard. But it took more than sex, kids. It was the love you poured into Nate with your physical heat that resurrected him.

  "Love,” the garrulous creature repeated. “The real message here is that you three were fated to be together back in colonial times, but things didn't pan out then, so you get another shot at it now. I suggest you quit farting around and make the most of it.” He glanced at Annie. “Is that what you were going to say?"

  She gulped. “Um...yeah...sort of."

  "Seth?” Rico's chair skidded backward and he leapt to his feet, hauling Annie with him. “What the hell is going on?"

  "Uh-uh, hell has nothing to do with this.” Seth—it was him all right—chuckled. He wore a silvery white robe—and wings, for godssake. Golden light haloed his head.

  "Told you I was an angel.” He smirked at Nate.

  That did it, of course.

  "Arrrgh...” Without thinking, Nate lunged at him.

  At the same instant, Rico charged from the opposite side.

  They collided on the table and tumbled onto the floor in a jumble of arms and legs, clutching each other instead of Seth, who'd vanished in the blink of an eye, not surprisingly.

  "Blast,” Nate grunted.

  "Fuck,” Rico cursed.

  "Not yet, but you're on the right track.” Giggling, Seth reappeared, hovering horizontally above them, wings spread and vibrating the air, like a giant hummingbird. “First, I gotta give Nate his ID."

  He reached into his robe, pulled out a large envelope, and tossed it on the table. “You'll find everything he needs in there, including birth certificate and driver's license—all thanks to a little heavenly intervention, and all issued to the name of Nathaniel Hawkins, but with his birth date listed as thirty-two years ago. Because, let's face it, 1753 wasn't gonna work even with a miracle.” He winked at Rico. “Just don't let him use the license till you teach him how to drive."

  "I can hardly wait.” Rico groaned, but Nate noticed he made no move to extricate himself from their tangle. Stunned? Or dare one hope Rico enjoyed the close contact?

  Nate did—which might be very dangerous under the circumstances. He knew from his own spectral experience that disembodied spirits could draw power from the heat of the living. The more heat, the stronger a ghost became.

  "Yeah, but I'm not exactly a ghost,” Seth answered the thought. “My power comes from a higher source. I don't need to suck it out of people."

  "A pity you didn't think that way sooner, matey."

  "Tell me about it.” Sighing, Seth righted to a vertical position, folded his wings and perched, seated, on the counter. “I'm paying the price for my crimes now."

  "By helping us?” Annie, brave lass, moved to stand before him.

  Seth met her gaze with a steadiness that showed no trace of malice or madness, just incredible sorrow and deep remorse. “You and a gazillion more—anywhere and everywhere—from now till the end of time. I can't undo the wrongs I've done, but I'll right countless others. That's my fate, and I'm committed to it. I want to help."

  Amazingly, Nate believed him. He finally understood. Seth's crimes were the result of a diseased brain, not an evil soul. His illness had died with his body, leaving his spirit clean. It made no sense to condemn him to eternal damnation when he might otherwise do so much good. Divine justice was smarter than that.

  Tears glimmered in Annie's eyes. “I think you're going to be a fine angel, Seth. Very dedicated."

  He blinked back tears of his own. “I sure hope so, because God knows I was a really fucked up man."

  "Ahem...” Nate coughed to dislodge a sudden lump in his throat. “Aye, lad, but God's given you the chance to be something better."

  "You, too, Nate.” Seth's lips twitched with the hint of a grin. “No more pirating, okay? It got you sunk the last time."

  It also got me a grand stash of loot, Nate couldn't help thinking. And since the people he'd plundered it from were long gone, it wasn't like he could return it.

  "No, but you can share it with those who need it more,” Seth said, reading Nate's mind. Again. “Spread it around, donate to charity, turn something bad into something good. I've made that easy for you, by the way.” He pointed to the envelope. “In there you'll also find a checkbook with the ledger listing a current balance of about three million dollars, give or take a few thousand. I
took the liberty of converting your treasure into a bank account for you—because, frankly, it was nuts the way you were carrying it in your pockets."

  "Treasure?” Rico sat up. “Our treasure? The gems we captured together as privateers?” He scowled at Nate.

  Nate scowled back. “What do you mean ours? You're not Richard anymore, remember? Or so you keep telling me. That makes it mine. I'm the one who's been guarding it."

  "Not very well if you stuffed a fortune in antique jewels in your pockets.” Rico rolled his eyes.

  "I'd nowhere else to put them,” Nate defended himself.

  "Rico, you'd have found them yourself if you'd searched his shorts,” Seth pointed out.

  "I didn't want to look in his shorts,” Rico grumbled.

  Seth chuckled. “It bothers you being bisexual, doesn't it? You gotta get past that, man. Love knows no boundaries—and loving one doesn't mean you can't love another. The more love, the better. Take it from an angel. We know these things.” He waggled his brows. “We also know people sometimes need a little nudge to start them in the right direction."

  On that note, he vanished from view.

  A split second later, the kitchen disappeared, too. What? Nate felt a soft mattress and smooth sheets under his back, felt Rico's body pressed against his left side, and saw Annie by Rico's left.

  "Wow...” Her breath blew out in a low whistle. “He transported us to the bedroom."

  But left their clothes behind. They were stark naked, all three of them.

  "Son of a bitch!” Rico squirmed. “He cuffed my hands behind my back."

  "Really?” Annie braced up on an elbow. “Well, you handcuffed me this afternoon."

  "And I spent half the day in manacles,” Nate added.

  They glanced at each other, then at Rico.

  A deliciously sinful grin curled Annie's lips. “It seems to be your turn, sweetie."