by Shana Galen
her version of a sweet smile. “Of course,” she cooed.
“Release me, and I’ll empty it.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You’re hesitating.” She challenged him with an
arch of her brows. “Afraid of something?”
“Not afraid. Merely… concerned.”
It was late, and he was beginning to realize he could
be fighting her all night. If he released her now, she
might wreak any manner of damage. He glanced over
his shoulder, checking for blunt objects nearby, and
jerked back as he felt her shift.
Too late.
Pain cut through him, and without thinking, he
reached for the shin she’d rammed her boot into.
Quick as a cat, she wriggled free and darted around
him. He grabbed for her, catching her elbow. With
an oath, she pulled away, careening into the berth
then tumbling to the floor. He watched helplessly as
her legs tangled with his and brought him down on
top of her.
His first thought was she was surprisingly soft. He
didn’t have time for a second thought. He caught her
fist a half inch from his jaw and—once again—forced
her wrist down. No fool, he caught the other wrist
and pinned it before she had time to strike.
“This is becoming something of a habit,” he huffed.
“Get off me, you bastard!”
He had to give her credit. She was fighting like a
hooked shark. She clawed, bit, kicked, and bucked.
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One of her knees came perilously close to his balls, and
he’d had enough. He pushed her arms down viciously
and rose over her until he was straddling her. “Look
at me.”
She continued to fight, her black hair flying about
her face. He squeezed his knees into her side and pushed
her arms down again. “Look at me, little hellion!”
She stiffened in midflail and glared at him. He could
see the hate in her eyes—deep hatred, something that
went much farther back than anything he’d done in
the past few moments.
“Calm down.”
“Get. Off. Me.”
“I will. If you calm down.”
She clenched her jaw. “I’ll calm down if you get
off me.”
“Mon Dieu, but you are impossible.”
“This is only the beginning.”
He shook his head. “Don’t tempt me, ma belle.
I like a challenge as much as you do.”
“What challenge? If you want to kill me, then do it.
I’d rather die than bear your touch a moment longer.”
He raised a brow. It was the first time a woman had
ever said such to him, and it was a bit disheartening.
“I think I could persuade you otherwise.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m swooning with passion.
Go ahead and try to rape me. You’ll regret it.”
Now he was truly offended. Rape her? Who the
hell did she think he was? “I’m insulted, chérie. I have
no intention of raping you.”
She glanced down at the juncture where their
bodies met, and he had the sudden realization that he
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was hard. He shrugged. “You’re an attractive woman.
I can’t control that.”
“Get off me, pirate!”
But now he was aware of his reaction—and really
his attraction to her had been simmering for some
time—he had the urge to test it. What would it feel
like to kiss her? To tame that defiant mouth and make
it bend to his will? He leaned closer.
“No!” She turned her head to the side. “Get off!”
“One kiss. If you don’t like it, I’ll release you.”
“Release me?” She sounded too hopeful.
“To begin your duties as cabin girl.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You might as well
let go now.”
“Wait.” He trailed a finger over the palm of one of
the hands he held captive. “If you do like it—”
“I won’t.”
“If you do, then you follow my orders without
further argument.”
She stared directly at him, those green eyes intent.
“Fine.”
He blinked. “Fine?” Her quick compliance made
him uneasy.
“Yes, fine. Hurry up and kiss me.”
“Hurry up…” He shook his head. “Ma belle, I do
not kiss that way. A kiss should be soft and slow and—”
“Are you going to talk, pirate, or kiss?”
He laughed in spite of himself. She was constantly
surprising him. In answer to her question, he bent and
brushed his lips over hers.
“No, not impressed.” She shook her head. “You
may release me now.”
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He frowned at her. “That wasn’t the kiss.”
“Your lips touched mine. That was it.”
“No.” He leaned down, but she turned her head away.
“The agreement was one kiss. This is two.”
“Merde, but you are exasperating.”
“I resent—”
He closed his mouth over hers, effectively silencing
her. Her lips were tense in protest, but he forced them
open. He was tired of her games, tired of the push and
pull. He would show her who was in control. This
would not be a soft, slow kiss, but one that demanded
her submission. Her lips finally parted, and he dipped
his tongue inside her mouth, twining it with hers,
overwhelming her resistance.
She tasted surprisingly sweet. If her hair had smelled
like cherries, her mouth was more of the same. Ripe.
Dark. And a little tart. No surprise, as she had spirit,
what the English called pluck. It maddened and drew
him. Even now, as she fought his kiss, he alternately
wanted to tame and free her.
But taming won. His body thrummed as his lips
slanted over hers again and again, kissing her deeply
and without mercy. Finally, he felt her give. The
tension drained out of the wrists he was holding until
they went slack in his grip. Her mouth yielded to his,
her lips becoming full and lush under his. But when
her tongue joined with his, he almost jumped away.
A zing of pleasure raced through him, the strength
of which caught him off guard. He tightened the reins
of his control, reminding himself that he was taming
her. But then she let out a soft sigh, arched, her hips
against him, and stroked his tongue expertly. Suddenly,
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he couldn’t get enough. His blood was drumming in
his ears, and his body felt tight as a sail in a storm.
He released her wrists and fisted his hands in her
hair. It was thick and luxurious. He used it to tilt her
head upward to give him better access. He wanted
to explor
e her mouth fully, explore her fully. If he
could just pull away from her mouth long enough, he
could have her naked and under him on the berth. If
he could…
Three hard raps on the cabin door echoed through
the room, and Bastien jerked away from the girl like a
man struck by lightning.
“Cap’n, come to let you know the cargo is loaded.
We ready to sail.”
Cargo? It took a moment for his mind to clear,
a moment before he recognized Ridley’s voice and
made sense of the words.
“Cap’n?”
He made the mistake of looking down, saw the
cabin girl beneath him. Her mouth was red and
swollen, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes still flashed
that same hatred. What the hell had just happened?
There was another rap at the door, and Bastien
jumped up. “I’m coming, Mr. Ridley.” He strode
to the door, took a moment to right his clothing and
sweep his loosened hair back out of his face. He put
a hand on the knob and, without turning toward her,
murmured, “You might want to get up off the floor.”
He opened the door and nodded at Ridley. “Good
work. Ready the ship to sail. I’ll be on deck in a
moment to supervise the last preparations.”
“Yes, Cap’n.” To his credit, Ridley’s eyes never
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left Bastien’s face, apparently seeing nothing. And still,
Bastien had the feeling Ridley saw everything.
Bastien closed the door and turned back to the
cabin girl. She was standing on the far side of the
room, looking cool and composed. “I’d say I won that
wager,” he drawled.
“You would think so.”
He opened his mouth to retort and shut it again.
He didn’t have time to exchange verbal ripostes with
her. Not to mention he couldn’t seem to focus. She
had done something to him with that kiss. Bewitched
him somehow. Between the first touch of their lips
and that last fervent joining, the kiss had become less
about her emptying his chamber pot and more about
taking her to bed.
But he was still the captain of this vessel, and she
was under his command. She would do his bidding.
“Empty the chamber pot,” he commanded. She
raised a brow, and he added, “And tidy the cabin.”
Nothing save the candlestick she meant to use to dash
his brains in was out of place, but he felt more orders
were needed. “We’ll speak again when I return.”
And he strode from the cabin, stopping outside
the door to lock it securely. On his way to the main
deck, he rubbed his face several times, trying to clear
the lingering haze. He had no idea what the hell
had happened. One moment he was in control; the
next he was little more than a bumbling youth who
couldn’t wait to get his breeches off.
He strode on the main deck of Shadow and felt
instantly better. This was his ship, his place. Even
though the ship rolled with the motion of the water,
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he stood on solid ground again. The girl had definitely
bewitched him, but his senses were rapidly returning.
Ridley approached him, nodded. “Everything to
your satisfaction, Cap’n?”
He nodded. He hadn’t inspected so much as a
thumb knot, but he had faith in his crew. “Won’t be
long before the tide goes out. Lower the boats.”
“Yes, Cap’n. If you got a moment, Mr. Maine been
wanting to speak wit you.”
Bastien raised his eyebrows then nodded.
“He in the wardroom.”
“Thank you.” Bastien turned and strode across the
deck, taking a ladderway to the lower deck. When
he reached the wardroom, he saw the door was ajar.
Maine stood with a lean, black-haired youth. Bastien
recognized the boy as one of his crew, but he couldn’t
recall the lad’s name at the moment. He and Maine
were speaking earnestly, but their conversation ceased
as soon as Bastien entered.
“Captain, you know Jack Smith. He’s one of the
deckhands.”
“Of course.”
The boy had a nervous look on his face, and Maine
knew as well as Bastien that having the captain know
who he was would put Jack at ease.
“Jack has some interesting news to share.”
Bastien nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m listening.”
“I-it’s about the girl, Captain. The one you brought
on board.” Bastien noted Jack had an English accent,
lower class. Perhaps he’d known the hellion in
England? Except that now that he thought about it,
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the hellion had a refined accent. He was no expert on
English accents, but he knew her speech was educated.
Why hadn’t he considered that important until now?
“I know that girl, Captain. She’s trouble.”
Bastien smiled. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, sir. I mean, she could get us into trouble. Her
father…” He swallowed, tried again. “Her father is
Admiral Russell with His Majesty’s Navy.”
Bastien felt as though a mast had fallen on his head.
He blinked slowly.
The boy must have seen something in his eyes,
because he took a step back. “I used to be in the navy,
Captain. Before I deserted.” He glanced at Maine as
though wondering if this admission would cause him
trouble. But Bastien couldn’t have cared less about his
crew’s former lives. Hell, half of his men had probably
deserted some navy or other.
Maine put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Go on.”
“I wasn’t part of Admiral Russell’s crew, but I
seen him from time to time. And I seen his daughter
with him. She sails with him, Captain, and it’s a bit
of a scandal.”
Bastien nodded but still did not trust himself to speak.
“Her name is Raeven, Captain, like the bird.
Raeven Russell, and she was engaged to Captain
Timothy Bowers.”
Bastien waited for the lad to continue, but he
seemed to think this explanation sufficient.
“What the hell does Captain Bowers have to do
with me?” Bastien looked at Maine. “And why the
hell is Admiral Russell’s daughter seeking me out and
challenging me to a duel in a Brest tavern?”
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The lad’s eyes were huge now. “I heard she has a
bit of a temper.”
Bastien laughed. “That’s an understatement, but it
doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s Captain Bowers,” Maine said, “her fiancé. He
was captain of the HMS Valor.”
> Like lines on a map, everything took shape as soon
as he was oriented. “The HMS Valor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The ship we… had a run-in with last spring.” The
Valor had come after them and gone away the worse
for it. But as the Shadow hadn’t sunk the 32-gun frigate,
Bastien didn’t consider the incident much more than
a skirmish.
Maine nodded.
“And am I to assume that Bowers was wounded in
the fighting?”
“Killed.”
Bastien already knew this, but he wanted it
confirmed. So the little hellion, Raeven Russell,
wanted revenge for the death of her fiancé. He could
hardly blame her. Bowers had not died a hero. The
British captain had chosen the wrong ship to trifle
with and had, after a series of clumsy maneuvers,
almost lost his own vessel. Bowers’s error, as Bastien
recalled, was engaging the Shadow in stormy weather.
The Shadow’s guns were mounted on the upper deck.
The Valor’s guns graced both the upper and lower
decks. In the storm, the seas grew so rough, the Valor
had been forced to close its gun ports on the lower
deck, evening the odds against the Shadow.
Bastien remembered the Shadow had fired the first
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volley, but the Valor was far from innocent. If Bastien
hadn’t fired first, Bowers would have. The Valor had
pursued him, and everyone knew the British Navy
was notorious for attacking ships and pressing their
crews into service. The Valor hadn’t had a full crew—
one of the reasons they’d been so easily defeated—and
if Bastien hadn’t attacked, young Jack would be
serving on Bowers’s ship now. Bastien himself would
be dead.
Bastien’s gaze met Maine’s. “It appears we have
something of a problem. I’ve just kidnapped the
daughter of a British admiral.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“No matter that she attacked me. I didn’t go
looking for her. And she never identified herself.”
“It’s a dilemma, Captain.”
“And we sail in… what? An hour? Less?”
Maine gave a curt nod.
“Merde. ”
“Aye, Captain.”
Bastien raked a hand through his hair, swore again,
and flung open the door. “Mr. Maine, I intend to leave
on the tide. How’s the wind?” Brest was the best port
France had to offer, but it was situated on a lee shore, and
the westerly wind could make outward passage difficult.