by Kimberly Nee
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Eden’s Pass
Also Available from Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Love can blow even a true pirate off course.
Eden’s Pass
© 2009 Kimberly Nee
Finn Eden will do anything to escape a life of slavery on a Barbados sugar plantation. Even risk her life disguised as a cabin boy aboard a pirate ship, putting up with the drunken captain’s slovenly habits. Then her patience nets her an unexpected opportunity: A ship of her own. Half the profits. And freedom. Too bad the captain conveniently left out a small detail; there’s a price on his head.
Captain Inigo Sebastiano is a ruthless pirate with a years-long score to settle with the man who raped and murdered his wife. The truce he’s struck with the fiery Finn is uneasy in more ways than one, but his unsettling reaction to his new cabin “boy” is explained when he uncovers her true identity. Ever the gentleman pirate, he’ll help his lovely new bedmate keep her secret. For now. When the time is right, it’s a secret he’ll use to his advantage.
But the spitfire in his bed rekindles something in his heart he thought had died. As Inigo closes in on his quarry, he begins to wonder if Finn’s freedom—and her trust—is a sacrifice he’s willing to make.
Warning: This book may lead to fantasies containing gorgeous pirates with sexy accents.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Eden’s Pass:
She stared down at the jagged rip, unable to believe what he’d done. “Captain, my shirt—”
“It’s my shirt and I shall remove it as I see fit,” he rumbled, starting a tear in the linen bandage and ripping it in two. “And you will hush now. I’ve no desire to argue over a shirt. No woman has ever filled me with such fire, such need, as you do, Finn. We can do battle later. Now, we will make love.”
As he spoke, his hands roamed wildly, tugging linen, calico and whatever else blocked his path from her naked body. Her entire skin seemed to tingle with the slightest touch as the heat shrunk in size, but grew in intensity, dropping a bit lower than her belly now.
When he’d removed the last layer, he smiled, kissing her again, as he murmured, “Mi querida Finn,” in a husky voice.
She had no idea what he was saying, nor did she care overmuch. Not one bit. All she cared about was savoring more of his wonderful kisses. However, she did recognize her name in his whispered words, and a smile played at her lips as she whispered, “Fiona.”
Iñigo lifted his head once more. “What did you say?”
“Fiona. My name. My true name. Remember? I told you once before.”
“Ah…yes…you did… Fiona.” He repeated it slowly, as if tasting it.
She smiled. It sounded wonderfully lyrical, rolling off his lips in his lightly accented English. He brushed her lips with the lightest of kisses and replied, “A far lovelier name than the lad’s, my lady. Far lovelier indeed.”
He trailed kisses down over her collarbone, nibbling with teasing teeth and soothing with gentle lips. “Oh, love,” he whispered, brushing her still-grooved, chafed skin with gentle lips. “How could you bind yourself day after day?”
She sighed as his tongue dipped into the topmost groove, lightly moving along it, from left to right, his lips caressing her broken skin as if trying to heal her with his touch. “I had no other choice,” she replied, fighting to keep her eyes open against the wonderful sensations rising to the surface of her skin.
His hand slid up over her ribs to cover her left breast. “A crime, mi dama hermosa, the way you have treated such a beautiful breast. And to have smashed both beauties flat… A crime, indeed, my lady. A most heinous crime.”
She sucked in her breath as he plumped her breast with gentle fingers, his head dipping down as he offered it to his mouth. As his lips closed about her nipple, her fingers twisted in his hair, her back bowing as he teased her. It was quite delicious, the heated feelings tearing through her, causing her to shiver even as they left her limbs leaden and pliant. They filled her with a languorous sleepiness and tingling, and a rapidly growing need at the same time. The fog was back, swirling through her and growing thicker by the moment to make thinking almost impossible.
She smiled at his teasing murmur, shaking her head even as she shivered beneath his touch. “Think you I would have smashed anything lest it was absolutely necessary?”
He released her breast to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I certainly hope not. A shame, really, crushing such perfect breasts.”
He knelt above her, unfastened her calico trousers, and tugged them down. They joined the growing pile alongside the bed. He rocked back, a seductive smile playing at his lips as he unlaced his shirt and parted the silk. A roll of his shoulders, and the garment spilled from his body like water to display a broad chest, muscled and swarthy beneath a spread of black curls. Her gaze lowered automatically, taking in the defined muscles of his belly and without thinking, she reached for him, letting the flat of her hand smooth down over the solid slab.
He groaned in the back of his throat, his eyes closing as his groan became a sigh. Feeling braver, Finn trailed her fingertips along the narrow trail of hair, coming to hook in the waist of his breeches. He caught her by the wrist, lifting her hand to his lips before releasing her to rise from the bed. A moment later, and he shed those breeches.
She was afraid her eyes might actually pop free from their sockets. Captain Iñigo Sebastiano was every inch as glorious as she’d imagined. There was no feeling of shyness, no searing embarrassment as she finally laid eyes upon his naked form. Instead, she kicked herself for turning away all of those times when he undressed before her. If a man could be beautiful, he was. Beautiful. Masculine. She fairly ached to let her hands continue to roam over his body with the same slow curiosity as he’d explored hers.
Iñigo smiled as he covered her once more. He kissed her again, slowly, tenderly, tasting her and showing her the proper way to taste him in return. He coaxed her hesitant tongue forth to capture it and draw it deep into his mouth. All the while he kissed her this way, his hands cupped her breasts, robbing her of all reason leaving her with only wildly churning, hot pleasure.
An insistent pressure against her inner left thigh sent a thrill screaming through her. Iñigo. Solid, Steely. An unmistakable desire mirroring her own. She shivered as he pressed his hips into hers, and then pulled away, only to repeat the motion. Each touch set off a blazing ripple of pure desire and she was most eager to discover what came next. His breath was hotter still against her already overheated skin. Hot, but silken—as much a caress as any other. She slid her hands up over his smooth back, more than a little surprised to find his skin damp with sweat, despite the cool breeze wafting in from the window. Her surprise grew as he shuddered against her, his breath suddenly hitching.
She sampled whatever she could of him, her lips skimmed over one shoulder, down over the solid swell of muscle banding his upper arm. Moving back up, she did to him as he had done to her, kissed his neck, flicking out her tongue to dance over a cord that tightened at once. He groaned again as she nipped his earlobe, bringing another smile to her lips.
Gone was her fury, her horror at losing her weapon, the anger from badly bruised pride. They would return, to be sure, but she’d tend to them later. Now, red-hot desire filled her, her need as powerful as his. She didn’t care about Honoria, didn’t care about anything other than that maddening desire. It was hard to believe, but those were her hands roaming over his every inch, seeking him out and finding how her touch affected him.
“Gently, my lady,” he murmured breathlessly as she sought him out and her fingers stroked him with no shyness whatsoever.
“To the devil with gentle,” she whispered back hotly, her lips devouring his neck, down over the rise of his chest. “I want you, Spaniard.”
Fate rarely obeys the will of men…or women.
Prisoner of Desire
© 2010 Mary Wine
She arrives in Bermuda with hope, but finds her betrothed is a slave master who views her as chattel. Defiance gets her locked out of his house, vulnerable to the harsh tropical sun—and a band of desperate men.
Captain Warren Rawlins isn’t above using Lorena as a shield to rescue his brothers from the British fortress. Once aboard his ship, though, he finds Lorena is no fragile English bloom. She’s a delectable handful with a sharp sense of honor—and an even sharper tongue.
Despite her initial outrage, Lorena finds herself softening toward the rough crew of the Huntress who have more nobility than a thousand “proper” gentlemen. And its captain finds himself fighting a losing battle against the need to take her in his arms, propriety be damned.
All too soon Boston Harbor looms, but the danger isn’t past. Warren once again takes to the sea to fight for the woman he loves. Winner takes all…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Prisoner of Desire:
It was amazing how a little water could restore a person’s resolve. Lorena sighed and drew a last deep breath. Yes, she felt much better now. She smelled the fresh air again and felt the cooling night breeze on her cheeks. The burning heat was being carried away as she listened to the slap of the palm leaves.
A hand clamped down over her mouth, dragging her back against a solid body. She bucked frantically, trying to twist free. Whoever held her, lifted her completely off the ground. One thick arm bound her around the waist while the hand remained over her mouth, stifling any sound she tried to make. Two large steps and she felt her feet dangling over the water. Her eyes rounded when she noticed the rowboat. The bonnet still pinned to her head only allowed her to see directly in front of her. What had been empty except for oars was now full of dark shapes. They reached up for her feet, hard hands closing around her ankles. She kicked frantically, her mind searching for any means of escape.
She sank her teeth into the fingers pressing against her lips.
“Viper…”
The hand left her mouth instantly, but he released her waist too. She fell toward the boat, landing on top of the men in it. Pain shot through her back and shoulders. Her dress became a tangled mess, and she kicked at it, trying to get her feet on something solid.
The boat rocked dangerously and the men grabbed her to keep her still.
“Ease up there or we’ll capsize.”
Lorena snarled at the warning. “Unhand—”
The same hard hand slapped back over her mouth. “Make for the gate lads or we’re done for.”
Her captor spoke in a harsh whisper but the tone terrified her. It was solid as steel. He imprisoned her against his body again, this time throwing a leg over hers to trap her completely. She strained against his hold but it was like iron. Blood seeped over her lips from where she’d bitten him, but he kept his hand in place.
The other men dipped the oars into the water. The boat headed for the small arches that led to the sea. The iron gates were still raised and they slipped quietly out of the inner fort.
“Now, men, row! Row for your lives!”
Her captor gave the command. The men dug into their task, working their oars in unison. Light from the fires on the wall shone down on them. The hand over her mouth released her lips but returned with a knife. He pressed the cool blade against her neck.
“I suggest you stay still if you want to keep your skin uncut.”
She swallowed and even that motion made the blade press uncomfortably against her throat. Her heart accelerated, making everything seem as though it was moving in slow motion. On top of the walls, men pointed their rifles directly at them. She could see the soldiers looking down the long barrels of the weapons to line up a perfect kill shot. Terror choked her for one horrible moment which felt like an hour. Her ears strained to hear the explosion of the rifles being fired.
“Hold your fire!” The command echoed up and down the wall. The men looking down their guns hesitated but raised their heads and the muzzles of the deadly guns.
Breath rushed back into her chest, but it lodged in her throat when she realized how fast the boat was pulling away from the fort.
And taking her with it.
She kicked again, frantic to escape from the unknown men holding her. The knife slid into her skin, spilling warm blood down her throat.
“Damn it. I said hold still.”
Her neck burned and the scent of her own blood filled her nose. “I don’t care. As if I’d do anything you tell me to.”
The arms around her tightened, locking her so hard against him she struggled to breathe. The knife remained at her throat and a soft sound passed her lips. She couldn’t prevent it; helplessness was filling her so full it bubbled over.
“I’m sorry but you will do what I say.” He spoke softly next to her ear. A whimper of self-pity tried to answer him but she clamped it behind her teeth, refusing to show him any more weakness. She tried to push the hand holding the knife away from her neck but he didn’t move, not even a tiny amount.
Men were filling the walls on the fort and holding torches high to try to cast light far enough out to illuminate the boat. But the efforts of her captors were pulling the small craft out farther and farther into the darkness. The oars slid into the water with smooth sounds and the men working them panted. They were rowing to freedom and she could hear them straining toward their goal.
She couldn’t blame them…
But she hated the one holding her. In the blackness she felt his heart beating against her back. He’d raised his head, no longer hiding his behind her own.
“Keep north.” His voice was deeper now. A shiver went down her body. The little reaction annoyed her and she renewed her efforts to be free.
“Release me, sir!”
The knife lifted away but the hand around her chest remained, along with his leg. Tipping her head up, she caught her first look at the man who had kidnapped her. A gasp left her lips when she recognized him as the one who had told her where the water was. She was a trusting fool indeed.
“Can you swim?” He held her steady, completely ignoring her demand.
“Of course I can.”
The man tightened his embrace. Oh she was so naïve. But she could not take back the information she’d just handed him.
“You…mongrel.” She wished she knew how to swear. Lorena suddenly understood why prostitutes developed gutter language. They had to deal with rough handling such as this. Her heart was racing, straining against her corset. She was keenly aware of his body. It was much harder than she’d thought another human might feel. His strength fully amazed her. He held her without any hint of weakness. But he did remove the knife from her throat. She bucked when one arm moved, giving her the illusion of freedom.
An illusion was all it was. His embrace held her in spite of her struggles. A soft sound of frustration came past her ear before he clamped his right arm back around her. All the while, the men worked the oars. She heard every dip into the water but could only see straight ahead. Idiotic bonnet. Society was so worried about her flirting, it had trapped her in a hat which kept her from seeing someone sneaking up behind her. She strained once more, needing an outlet for her rage. A frustrated sigh came from her captor. He leaned closer to her ear and she actually felt his warm breath.
“We’re well away from the fort. Do you really wish a watery grave tonight? It would not be an easy death, I assure you.”
“Do you offer me one then?” She turned her head because she wanted to see him, the brim of her bonnet prevented it. But he was correct; the walls of the fort had faded into the night. She couldn’t see the light from the wall torches any longer. A shaft of fear went through her. There was no preventing it. Nothing but darkness surrounded them. The night seemed larger than it ever had on land, closing around the boat. It felt
like they might be crushed in its grasp, just like the man holding her had the strength to do. “As soon as you need me no longer, will that knife finish its work, granting me a swift death?”
“Light ahead, Captain.”
There was both joy and fear in the man’s voice. Lorena turned to look at him. The moon cast an eerie glow on his face, but she could not miss the longing in his expression. However much she detested her current circumstances, she could not fail to enjoy watching the men manning the oars. They looked radiant, lifting their faces toward the twinkling beacon in the distance like it was a promise of eternal youth.
Compared to their life at the fort, she supposed it was. Her heart softened, their plight had been a grim one indeed. But their success meant her ruin.
Nice girls love a sailor. Naughty girls are quite partial too.
The Wicked Lady
© 2010 Julia Knight
When a man she thought she loved offered Lady Catherine Harcourt a life wrapped in a velvet bow, she took it. That life wrapped her velvet chains. Now her status as a respectable widow allows her virginal alter ego, Cecily, to relieve milksop-for-blood dandies of their riches and go back where she belongs. The sea—aboard her pirate ship.
The one knot in her sail is Paul Ambury. Daring, irresistible, and a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. Yet the temptation to indulge in his gorgeous body—all in the name of the plan, of course—is too much to resist.
Paul has known his share of empty headed society women, and fiercely intelligent Catherine doesn’t fit. When he wakes up adrift in a longboat after a blazing night together, he knows why. She took him for a fool—and took his ship.