Rogue Pirates Bride

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Rogue Pirates Bride Page 22

by Shana Galen


  something pretty and stylish, but either her hair was

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  Shana Galen

  recalcitrant or she had no talent with hair styling.

  Perhaps if she tried securing it up…

  “I’m only going to take it down again.”

  She jumped and whirled. Bastien stood inside the

  cabin. The door was closed behind him, and she

  had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Her

  instincts must be failing her because she hadn’t even

  heard him come in.

  “I-I was trying…” She couldn’t think of the words.

  He was too handsome, and the way he was looking at

  her seared her body, rendering her temporarily unable

  to think. Devil take it, she could barely stand. She

  wanted to dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

  He crossed to her, lifted a hand to her cheek, and

  carefully undid all her hard work, loosening her hair

  so it fell in a cascade down her back. With both hands

  he fanned it out then leaned in and inhaled deeply. He

  gave her a roguish smile. “Still smells like cherries.”

  “No, it doesn’t. It smells like salt water and—”

  “Shh.” He put a finger to her lips. “Just now, were

  you trying to make yourself beautiful for me?”

  She felt heat and color flood her face. “No.”

  “You don’t have to. I already think you’re the most

  beautiful woman in the world.”

  More heat and color flooded her face. “I told you

  foolish flattery doesn’t impress me.”

  “It’s not flattery. It’s the truth. Look into my eyes.”

  He took her chin between two fingers and forced her

  to look into his eyes. “Do you see the truth there?”

  She did see the truth, and it stunned her. How

  could he possibly think her the most beautiful woman

  in the world? She was far from it, especially dressed in

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  baggy men’s clothing and feeling as though she were

  half asleep on her feet.

  “But do you know how you could be more beautiful?”

  She was about to shake her head; instead, she

  frowned. “Take off my clothes?”

  He grinned. “How did you know?” His fingers

  hooked around the belt she wore and tugged her to

  him. He loosened the belt, and she heard it drop with

  a clink on the floor. “I would have thought you”—he

  took her shirttail in one hand while he undid the

  buttons at her throat with the other—“would be able

  to follow orders.”

  “I’m not one of your crew,” she said as he drew

  the shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything

  beneath and had to fight the urge to cover her breasts.

  “Much to my regret.” He looked as though he

  might cup her breasts, but his hands moved to the

  breeches and slid them easily over her hips. She wasn’t

  wearing anything beneath the breeches either. “You’d

  be the most valuable crew member I had—in here or

  on deck.”

  She stood naked now—feeling vulnerable and

  hardly like the most beautiful woman in the world—

  but then he reached out and caressed her cheek. He

  leaned close, kissed her lips tenderly, and suddenly

  she felt beautiful again. His hands brushed over her.

  They traced her shoulders, molded to her arms, slid

  down to her waist, cradled her hips, skimmed over her

  bottom… and stayed.

  “Mmm,” he said into her neck. “Turn around.”

  “You can’t kiss me if I turn around.”

  “Oh, no? Try and see.”

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  He turned her, and his hands came around her

  waist, pulled her bottom hard against his erection. She

  felt the tickle of her hair as he moved it away from

  her neck, then the softness of his lips as he nuzzled

  her. Meanwhile, his hands were free to roam. They

  circled her waist before moving to test the weight

  of her breasts. Finally, his fingers found her nipples.

  He teased them until they strained and peaked, until

  she was practically thrusting them into his hands.

  She could hear her breathing, heavy and hard, but

  she didn’t start moaning until one hand slid between

  her legs.

  He teased her there, sliding fingers in and out and

  around, all the time flicking her nipple with two

  fingers and tracing his tongue along her earlobe. She

  shivered and cried out, wanted to turn into him, make

  him sink himself into her.

  But he had other ideas. When she tried to turn, he

  shook his head, bent her over the bed. The fingers

  between her legs never stilled, but she heard him

  rustle with his clothing then felt his flesh against her

  bottom. He parted her legs with his own—kicked

  them apart—and she felt him warm and solid at her

  entrance. He slid into her, his fingers still working

  their magic as he thrust inside her.

  Her body didn’t know which way to move. She

  wanted him deeper inside her and wanted his fingers

  to move faster. She bucked and writhed, and he

  continued the sweet torture.

  Finally he cupped her, pressed and thrust hard into

  her at the same time. With a shout, she exploded,

  rearing back and arching. He caught her, tumbled

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  with her onto the berth, and rolled her into his arms.

  Before she could think, could breathe, he was kissing

  her again. Her senses were overwhelmed, her body on

  fire. She didn’t think it could burn any brighter, but

  the harder he kissed her, the more he stroked her, the

  more she wanted him again.

  He pulled her on top of him so she was straddling

  him, and it took no persuasion on his part for her to

  take him inside again. She needed relief. Again.

  She reared back as his hands cupped her hips, held

  her locked against him. He moved with her, and just

  before her world went white again, she felt his release.

  Before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she

  heard his breathing change as he fell asleep beside her.

  She smiled and thought, thank God. She was begin-

  ning to think he wasn’t human.

  She awoke sometime later. She wasn’t certain how

  much time had passed, as the cabin was still dark. But

  she was cold, and she fumbled for the bedclothes, pulled

  them around her. She blinked, looked around the

  darkness. Bastien was dressing, slowly and quietly, but

  deliberately. She watched him don a plain white shirt.

  “No lace?” she murmured.

  He turned to grin at her. “A battle is no time for a

  fashion statement.”

  She sat. “Have they spotted La Sirena?”

  “No, but we’re getting close. Dress and come on

  deck. I could use a g
ood pair of eyes and ears.”

  She blinked, more flattered by the plain words than

  all the compliments about her beauty hours before.

  She didn’t even think he realized how much his simple

  trust in her affected her. She felt strong and powerful,

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  as though she could have single-handedly defeated

  Bonaparte. Her heart swelled, and she felt… beautiful.

  When she didn’t rise immediately, he turned back

  to her. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she said. But she felt her heart constrict in

  a way she had never felt before—not even with Timothy.

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  Thirteen

  This was it, Bastien thought. This was his last

  chance. He would destroy Jourdain or be destroyed.

  The cat-and-mouse games would end today.

  He stood on the bow of the ship and trained the

  spyglass back and forth over the horizon. Jourdain was

  out there. He could feel the man’s presence in the

  prickle on the back of his neck. It was an hour before

  dawn, and Bastien had ordered the Shadow silent and

  dark. Now he could hear the creak of the ship’s bow

  as it plowed through the water, the slap of the wind

  through the sails, and the hitch in the breathing of the

  woman who stood beside him.

  He lowered the spyglass and turned to Raeven.

  She was peering through a second glass, but she

  held it steady and sure, no longer sweeping it across

  the water.

  “You’ve found him,” Bastien murmured low and

  close to her ear. He knew even the smallest sounds

  could travel across the open water. He smelled the

  faintest scent of cherries before she lowered the glass

  and turned to him.

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  “There,” she whispered. “Three points off the

  starboard bow. I think I see a light.”

  Bastien nodded and lifted his spyglass. If anyone

  but Raeven had reported seeing a light, Bastien

  would have been skeptical. Jourdain was no fool.

  Surely, he’d ordered his men to maintain silence and

  darkness as a precaution.

  But there were always mistakes. One mistake could

  cost a captain a battle. One traitor could mean destruc-

  tion for all aboard. Bastien hoped the bastard, whoever

  he was, showed himself today. He’d send both

  Jourdain and his traitor to the bottom of the ocean.

  He gripped the spyglass tighter and stared long and

  hard at the flickering light. The ship and the water

  moved, hiding the light then teasing him with a

  quick glimpse. He lowered the spyglass, looked at Mr.

  Maine behind him. Maine’s lips were tight, his jaw

  clenched. Probably unhappy at having to give up his

  glass to Raeven. “Order Mr. Khan to maintain course,

  and make sure the men are at battle stations. Silently.

  I want the element of surprise as long as possible.”

  “Yes, Captain.” He moved quickly to carry out the

  orders, and Bastien turned back to the ocean before

  him. He had Jourdain now. At the end of the day, one

  of them would be dead.

  “Raeven,” he whispered. She’d been looking after

  Mr. Maine, and Bastien could see he’d startled her out

  of some reverie.

  “Don’t tell me to go to your cabin,” she said

  immediately. It unnerved him how she could read his

  thoughts at times. “I won’t sit and hide while men

  fight and die around me. I can fight too.”

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  He’d seen that on the gun deck, and he was short

  gunners. But firing a cannon was hard, exhausting

  work. Even with the best of intentions, she wouldn’t

  be able to maintain the strength and stamina to fire as

  quickly and effectively as he needed. But he had to find

  a job for her to do. A safe— safer—task. He could not

  have said why, but he wanted to protect her more than

  he cared about protecting himself. Of course, logically

  he knew if he was killed, she would fare no better. But

  the woman had defied logic more times than he could

  count. He wouldn’t be surprised if she singlehandedly

  destroyed Jourdain and took over La Sirena.

  But she had to survive to do so.

  “How are you at sharpshooting?”

  She blinked, surprised. “I’m a fair shot. I’m better

  with a sword and dagger.”

  “I’ll expect you to have my back when we board

  La Sirena.” He’d been joking, but she nodded soberly.

  “You’ll need someone to cover your back. I’ll go to

  your cabin now and retrieve my sword. Do I see Mr.

  Castro about a rifle?”

  Bastien grinned. “Can you manage a rifle? You

  might do better with a pistol. I still have one of my

  Samuel Brunn flintlocks secured in my desk.”

  “I know. I’ve seen them.”

  They were in a locked drawer then locked again

  inside a hand-carved wooden box. He was the only

  one with the key, and he carried it on his person at

  all times.

  Of course she had seen the pistols.

  “Not that you need this.” He handed her the key.

  When she took it, their hands brushed, and even

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  with his mind and body tense with anticipation of the

  battle, he stiffened at the flash of heat unleashed when

  their hands touched. “I’ll see you after the battle.”

  She grinned. “You’ll see me in the thick of it.” On

  tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “For luck.”

  And then she was gone, and he was standing among

  his men, most of whom were trying to pretend they

  hadn’t witnessed the last exchange. Bastien raised the

  spyglass again, feeling for the cutlass hanging at his

  side, the pistol tucked into his waistband.

  He was ready.

  Raeven was ready. She had the second of Bastien’s

  beautifully engraved and embellished pistols in her

  pocket, her dagger strapped to her thigh, and her

  sword hanging at her hip. The weight of it was

  comforting. She’d missed it. She was making her way

  to the mizzenmast. She’d position herself there and

  hopefully take out some of La Sirena’s topmen. Fewer

  men manning his sails meant it would be harder to

  maneuver the ship away from Bastien’s advances.

  She turned as she made her way across the deck

  and spotted him standing on the poop deck. Her heart

  lurched as she saw the first gray fingers of dawn behind

  him. In another hour they’d be visible to La Sirena.

  But right now, they were cloaked and had the essential

  element of surprise. Her heart pumped fast and not just

  from the anticipation of the battle.

  Bastien stood with solid legs braced
apart, black

  boots firmly set on deck. His black breeches were

  tight, and she saw the glint of steel at his hip. His hands

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  rested surely on his hips just below his white shirt,

  which was open at the neck. His face was grim, his jaw

  set. His cobalt eyes burned as they looked out over the

  ocean, and his long brown hair had been caught back

  by the wind.

  Her heart felt as though a fierce wind had caught

  it, turned it, and tumbled it around. She didn’t know

  when it had happened or how, but she was in love

  with Bastien…

  Devil take it! She didn’t even know his real

  surname. How could she be in love with a man when

  she didn’t even know his full name? It was another

  sign she’d gone mad. But then hadn’t she been mad

  the first time she’d seen him? Hadn’t she fallen in

  love with him the first time they’d crossed swords?

  It was only now, when she knew she might not see

  him again, she could admit to herself the true depth

  of her feelings.

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t tell

  him. Even if they won the day, it didn’t mean their

  relationship changed. They were enemies. He was a

  pirate, and she was the daughter of a British admiral—

  an admiral who was probably hot on his heels at this

  moment. He’d have another battle on his hands very

  soon if he didn’t rid himself of her. And a sloop against

  a man-of-war stood no chance. Bastien might try to

  outrun her father, but in the end, the Regal would

  catch him.

  No, falling in love with Bastien would not save

  him. Leaving him and finding some way to convince

  her father not to pursue him would do the pirate more

  of a service than giving her heart ever would.

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  Besides, he didn’t love her. She thought he felt

  something for her, perhaps even something more than

  he’d felt for other women. She knew he respected her

  experience on ships, valued her judgment, trusted her

  with his ship and his men. That should be enough for

  her. It was more than she’d receive from most men.

  But a tiny part of her heart wanted his love too.

  Even though they could never be together, she

  wanted to hear him say the words: I love you, Raeven.

  She heard the sound of alarm bells across the water,

  the call to beat to quarters, and knew they’d been

 

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