Someone who wouldn’t try to mold her into a prim and proper lady; someone who wouldn’t extinguish the fire burning inside her. Someone who would not only accept her, but treasure and love her for all that she was.
No, an ordinary man would not do for Sarina. She needed someone who . . .
Someone like . . .
Jonathan shook his head, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to finish the thought. A thought he knew was not only dangerous, but absurd. Still, a strand fought its way through, not so much a conscious thought as an idea.
Almost a longing.
But as quickly as it reared its head, he fought it down as an impossibility. Jonathan Tremayne did not long for unattainable things.
Or people.
He turned around, hoping Sarina hadn’t noticed his preoccupation. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, however, belatedly asking, “And you? What will you do with the gold?”
Jonathan leaned against the wall, clearing his throat. “It will go to my family. I’ve no use for it, after all.” He shrugged, staring into his mug for a moment before draining it.
“I think your family would rather have you,” she said quietly.
He glanced sharply at her. “I’ve already told you that is impossible.” He crossed back to the table to fill his tankard again. “But the least I can do is to give Charlotte what she wants.”
“What Charlotte wants,” she repeated, shaking her head when he offered more rum. “You mean Max.”
“Aye.” He sat down, throwing an arm over the back of the chair as he stretched out. “With my share of the gold—along with Max’s—they can find a life together, somewhere the Crown can’t touch them. I owe them both at least that much.”
He felt Sarina’s eyes studying him. “You know about the vow, then,” she said.
Jonathan nodded. Max hadn’t meant to tell him, but he let it slip after one of his late-night rum indulgences. “I’ve tried to dissuade him,” he said. “Tried to convince him to leave the Arrow now, but he won’t hear of it. The bastard is too damned honorable for his own good. Says he can’t break his promise.
“But once this is over and Kane’s dead? He will finally be released from his blasted vow, and can have the happiness he deserves, far away from all of this.” He waved a hand absently and frowned at his tankard before setting it down heavily on the table.
After a long moment, Sarina asked, “And what of your happiness?”
Jonathan looked up, shocked by the tenderness in her eyes. He swallowed thickly but couldn’t look away.
And he didn’t have an answer.
Rina’s heart broke at Jonathan’s bleak expression. In that moment, she realized that he truly saw no future for himself beyond the Arrow—that he believed he would captain the ship until the day he died.
And that he believed that day was most likely not far off.
Before she even realized what she’d done, she found herself extending her hand and laying it over his. He startled in surprise, glancing down before hesitantly turning his own palm over, long fingers wrapping around to squeeze hers gently.
“Perhaps things can change,” she said quietly.
“How?” The word was harsh. Sad. Hopeful.
In that moment, a string of longing passed between them, joining them together with a tight knot she doubted could be untied—and she could almost feel that he yearned for her as she did for him.
“I don’t know.” She held his gaze, but he didn’t look away. In the distance, Rina could hear the plaintive tones of a fiddle player tuning his strings.
“Who’s that?” she asked as the notes formed into a lively melody, quickly accented by a flute and the rumbling beat of a bodhran.
Jonathan tipped his head, a slow smile lighting his face. “The men like to play when there’s an opportunity. Sadly, there’s not been much opportunity of late.” He stood, not releasing her hand. “Tell me, Smith, do ye dance?” He thickened his accent to lighten the mood, and Rina couldn’t help smiling in return.
“Aye, Cap’n,” she shot back, mimicking him as she stood up and let him pull her around the table. “That does sound like a good bit o’ fun.”
He laughed. “Are ye mocking me, wench?”
“Usually.”
Her eyes twinkled, and Jonathan twirled her under his arm before catching her around the waist. She squeaked out a laugh, and he started to lead her around the small room, dodging the table and chairs as the music played merrily. Rina tried to keep up, her heartbeat quickening as much from his proximity as the dancing. The pensive Jonathan from a few moments ago had vanished, replaced by the rakish charmer she knew could be devastating to any woman within reach.
And she was definitely within reach.
He twirled her and dipped her over his arm with a cheeky grin. Rina’s fingers tightened around his, her other hand gripping his shoulder tightly as her stomach dropped. She gasped, and his gaze flickered to her lips, his smile falling. Slowly, he lifted her to her feet, his arm firm and strong about her waist.
“The music stopped,” she whispered. He licked his lips—opened his mouth to speak—but then the flute started up again, a slower song this time, the tune filling out as the fiddle and drum joined in. Jonathan held her pressed up against him, watching her intently as they began to sway to the music. Then, a masculine voice began to sing the haunting melody, the words floating toward them through the ship.
My boat’s by the tower, and my bark’s on the bay
And both must be gone at the dark of the day
The moon’s in her shroud, and to light thee afar
On the deck of the daring’s a lovelighted star
Rina’s eyes fluttered closed as Jonathan pulled her closer, tipping his head slightly until his cheek brushed her temple. She could feel his breath on her hair, the heat of his body tingling along her skin, even through her clothes. He began to hum, low and rumbling, along with the song.
So forgive me my rough mood unaccustomed to sue
I woo not, perhaps, as your landlubbers do
My voice is attuned to the sound of the gun
That startles the deep when the combat’s begun
“Smith, I . . .” Jonathan pulled back a little, and she opened her eyes to look at him, but he seemed to forget what he was going to say. Holding her gaze, he released her hand, fingertips slipping tantalizingly down her arm, across her shoulder, until they came to rest cupping her neck, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against her skin. She stared at him, mesmerized, any pretense at dancing lost as he muttered a low curse and lowered his lips to hers.
So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be
Any thoughts of why this was a bad idea—a terrible idea, bound to result only in a broken heart—flew out of Sarina’s mind, scattering like dust in the wind. All she could think about was more. More kissing. More touching. More of this.
More of him.
She clung to Jonathan, trying to regain her balance, but the dizziness refused to dissipate. When his tongue traced along her lips, it seemed natural to part them, to breathe him in and taste him, heat and wet and rum deluging her senses. Her fingers found their way under his thick mass of hair, beads clicking lightly as she scratched at his scalp. He groaned in response, pulling her closer, crushing her to him as he devoured her mouth, the words from the song wrapping around them like a caress.
So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be
“Bloody hell, what am I doing?” Jonathan murmured against her mouth, lips trailing to tease lightly at her neck. “What are you doing to me?”
Rina tried to respond, but no words would come—only a slight whimper as he tugged at the shoulder of her gown, pulling it down and licking over the revealed skin.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Yes. What else had she, really? No future. Despite Jonathan’s talk of suitors, she knew there would be no
ne, not after the life she’d lived in the past few weeks. Why not take this now? Why not take whatever Jonathan could give her?
Tomorrow would worry about itself.
“Jonathan . . .” She choked on the word, breath hitching in her throat with every touch of his lips. His fingers scorched her flesh, burning a trail to her very center. Her head fell back as he nosed at her skin, licking into the hollow of her throat.
“Aye,” he grunted, low and raspy, as he pulled her even tighter against his hardness. His mouth pressed open, hot and damp against her skin. It was all happening so quickly . . . so fierce and all-consuming. She clung to him, lightheaded and dizzy, only able to gasp out his name.
He pulled back, and she was finally able to draw a deep breath.
“I don’t understand what is happening,” she whispered.
He lowered his head, touching his forehead to her cheek. “Neither do I, Smith.”
They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the only sound their harsh breaths and the ripple of the waves—the music long since silenced. Rina half expected Jonathan to pull away, to raise the wall between them once again, but instead, he lifted his fingers to stroke her cheek before kissing her softly.
“I think it’s time for bed,” he said, reaching up to pull the pins from her hair. She watched him as he loosened the tresses, stringing them between his fingers and gently rubbing her scalp. Finally, he stepped back and sat on the bed, bending down to scratch absently at his ankle. Rina clutched at the bodice of her gown, confused and overwhelmed at everything that had just happened. After a moment, she started toward her cot.
“Where are you going?” he asked, dropping his breeches.
She looked away quickly. “I was just—“ She motioned toward the cot.
Jonathan chuckled. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?” He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist to pull her toward him. With a smirk, he spun her around and unfastened her gown, then untied her corset with deft fingers. He shoved it and the gown to the floor before dropping to his knees and removing her shoes and stockings. Rina stood stunned, lifting arms and feet when instructed until she stood before him in only her shift. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw back the blankets, sitting on the bed and glancing back at her expectantly. When she hesitated, he rolled his eye and reached out to take her hand, tugging her between his knees and planting a kiss on her stomach.
“I’m tired, Smith,” he murmured against her. “Let’s go to sleep.”
Unable to resist, Rina lifted her hands, running them over his head before kissing it gently.
“All right,” she said.
They crawled between the sheets and Rina rolled onto her side, facing away from him, her heart hammering with nervous uncertainty.
What had she done? What was she doing?
With an impatient huff, Jonathan wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. He pressed his lips to the back of her neck, and she gasped, shivering slightly.
“You think too much,” he said quietly. “Just go to sleep.”
Sarina closed her eyes and Jonathan took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers against her chest. His steady breath and the heat of his body lulled her into relaxation, and she found herself melting into him, his heartbeat matching hers—or perhaps hers conforming to his.
A lone flute began to play on deck, the gentle melody fading away as she drifted off to sleep.
Jonathan awoke before the sun, Sarina’s soft warmth along his chest bringing a smile to his face. It was odd to feel so satisfied when all they’d shared was a kiss. Well, a bit more than just a kiss, he had to admit. Touching Sarina, tasting her skin and feeling her pulse beneath his lips—it had been heady, hypnotizing. He wasn’t certain why he stopped it when he did. He had a feeling Sarina would have let him continue, would have encouraged it, actually.
He’d nearly given in.
But wisdom won out over baser desires in the end, although he couldn’t put her out of his bed. He counted it as his reward for showing such restraint—to indulge in one night of soft, warm limbs and sweet scents.
Still, the intimacy of waking with her in his bed touched something deep inside—something he couldn’t quite name, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Not yet, at least.
Sarina mumbled in her sleep, and Jonathan lifted his head, propping it on his bent arm as he watched her. The blankets were bunched around her waist, one slender leg peeking over the edge. The strap of her shift had fallen off one shoulder, the pale flesh calling to him tantalizingly.
He leaned down, unable to resist pressing a kiss there . . . and there . . . lips nibbling along the tender skin. His tongue flicked out, teasing her, and Sarina gasped, her eyes flying open.
“What are you doing?”
He smiled. “Good morning.” He leaned down to kiss her, a quick touch of lips, a slick of tongue, his hand drifting to her throat. When he started to pull back, she turned toward him, lifting a hand to the back of his neck to keep him in place.
Jonathan laughed against her mouth. “Needy wench.” Then he stifled her indignant retort with another kiss.
The first light of dawn filtered through the porthole, and Jonathan pulled away reluctantly. “We’ll need to set sail for Tortuga soon,” he murmured, kissing her once more. “I’ll not be wanting to start something I’m not able to finish satisfactorily.”
Sarina blushed. “Of course not.” She started to get out of bed, but Jonathan held her in place.
“Not just yet, Smith,” he said, kissing along her neck. “We have a few minutes.”
“A few minutes?” she repeated, gasping as he bit her earlobe. “But what if someone comes by?”
“So what?”
“They’ll—Oh!—catch us.”
Jonathan considered that. On the one hand, he had no problem—obviously—with the men knowing Sarina was his. On the other hand . . .
He looked at her, splayed across the bed, all flushed skin and heaving breasts. No, no one else should see her like that.
Ever.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, shifting away from her.
“What?” Her eyes were glazed, lips full and bruised from his kisses. Jonathan felt a surge of satisfaction at the sight but pulled the sheets up over her chest.
“We should get dressed.”
“But—“ Sarina sat up, the strap of her shift descending further, revealing an expanse of creamy skin. “It’s barely sunrise.”
Jonathan swallowed thickly, reaching out to touch her without realizing it. His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder, stroked the dip of her collarbone, curled around the chain she wore around her neck.
“Damn it, Smith, what you do to me,” he muttered, pulling the chain and leaning in to kiss her. She sank into the kiss, and he smiled against her lips. “But I’ll not have my men privy to all your many charms, you tempting wench.”
Sarina frowned at him, but her cheeks pinkened, and Jonathan thought she might have been secretly pleased. He toyed with the chain.
“Why do you always wear this?” he asked, lying on his side and again resting on his elbow.
She shrugged, pulling up the strap of her shift. It fell down again, and Jonathan grinned victoriously.
“My father gave it to me,” she said. “He said it was a good luck charm.”
“Good luck?” Jonathan pulled the chain out from beneath her shift, examining the silver charm hanging from it. It was a flat disk, worn and misshapen around the edges—about the size of a button on his best coat—with a small hole punched in the top for the chain, another larger one just off center.
“He used to tell me stories about it, and how it came to have the hole,” Sarina explained, sitting up and tucking her knees under her. “Once it stopped the ball from a pistol fired by a revolutionary against a Russian prince. Another time he told me it was an arrow—destined for a fair maiden but caught in the charm when her true love threw himself in its
path.” She smiled at the memory, and Jonathan couldn’t help smiling back.
“No tales of pirates?” he asked with a wink.
“Of course,” she grinned, taking the charm and tapping it against her lips thoughtfully. “The dastardly pirate—“ She smirked at him. “—kept it close at all times, because peeking through the hole gave him unbelievable power.”
Jonathan watched her lips as she rubbed the charm over them, hypnotized. “What kind of power?”
“To see other worlds—worlds of adventure and treasure.”
“What good to see them, if you couldn’t reach them?”
Sarina laughed. “Who says he couldn’t reach them?” She released the charm and it fell against her chest, spinning slightly and catching the growing daylight.
Jonathan froze, then sat up abruptly, reaching out to take the charm in his fingers.
“What’s wrong?” Sarina asked.
He studied the silver disk. One side was worn almost flat, the carving barely detectable at first, and not discernible at all.
Jonathan flipped it over, his heart beginning to thump in his chest. The design on the other side was a bit more evident, enough visible around the hole for him to recognize the familiar image of a shield.
“Jonathan? What is it?”
He looked up at her. “Do you know what this is?” Why hadn’t he considered it? Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
“It’s just a trinket,” she replied. “Only of sentimental value, nothing more.”
Jonathan shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said, excitement building in his chest. “This is a Spanish reale.”
She frowned. “A reale?”
“I can’t believe you had it the whole time,” he muttered. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“Tell you what, Jonathan?” she asked, and the confusion in her expression put to rest any suspicion that she’d known what she had in her possession.
“This!” he said, lifting the chain until the charm dangled before her eyes. “It’s not a charm, Smith. It’s a coin! A Spanish coin!”
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