Captain Rourke

by Helena Newbury

  Some of the waves were breaking high up on my chest, the water covering me. But some were breaking just below them, the night air cool through the soaked fabric of my bra. I could feel my nipples puckering and standing erect. I gulped, staring back into those deep blue eyes. I felt as if I was falling, plunging deep into molten heat….

  Rourke turned and started swimming. I swam after him and now I could match his pace. I still wasn’t used to swimming in the sea and kept getting hit in the face by waves, but I was determined to keep up. I tried not to think about the boat being launched behind us, or how quickly it would catch up.

  It was completely dark by the time we reached Rourke’s boat: a small launch only about fifteen feet long. I got my hands up on the edge and struggled to lever myself out. Suddenly, a warm hand was under my arm, thumb a half-inch from the soft flesh of my breast, and another hand was under my ass, hard fingers spread across my cheeks. He lifted me like I weighed nothing and I tumbled over the side and into the bottom of the boat. Rourke tossed in our clothes and then hauled himself in, water coursing down his body. He was wearing just a pair of jockey shorts, the fabric soaked, and clinging.

  He loomed over me in the darkness, his height forcing me to look way up to meet his eyes. He was staring down at me just as he had on the beach, that same mix of raw need and fury. Except then, I’d been dressed.

  Now, I was in my underwear...and it was soaked through and almost translucent. As his gaze tracked slowly over me, a fierce, crackling heat started at my groin and spread through my body, every inch of my exposed skin tingling and throbbing. I found I was taking big, shaky gulps of air. My eyes raced over the dripping slabs of his pecs, the deep lines of his abs, crisscrossed with scars, and—

  His jockey shorts were black, soaked through and tight against his body, the bulge of his cock edged in moonlight. And as his eyes ate me up, I could see that bulge lengthen and swell—

  He marched past me, grabbed the throttle, and rammed it to its limit. The boat leapt forward so fast I almost fell over. Behind us, I heard another engine start up. Ratcher’s men had their boat in the water. They were coming.

  It was a warm night but the air seemed freezing after the water and the faster we moved, the more the wind whipped across my wet skin. I hugged my knees and huddled in the bottom of the boat, eyes glued to the dinghy that was chasing us. It was smashing its way through the waves with brute force but our boat seemed to skip across their tops, in the air as much as it was in the water. I had to cling on tight to avoid being thrown out.

  Rourke stood at the controls, legs bent to soak up the bumps, the muscles of his back standing out as he fought the wheel to keep us on course. Spray was blasting against his face and chest but he barely seemed to notice it.

  I suddenly remembered something and grabbed for my jeans. I rolled up the left leg, praying….

  No! It was gone!

  I stared in horror at the jeans for a full ten seconds before I realized that, in the dark, I was holding them back to front. I turned them round and groped inside the other leg—

  My fingers closed on the wad of cloth. I’d had to sew the map there in a hurry, while Ratcher waited in the next room of my great-grandfather’s house. But it had worked: he hadn’t found it. And my clumsy stitches had held in the water. If they’d come loose….

  “We’re nearly there,” said Rourke. “Be ready. Need to move fast.”

  I’d been focused on the men chasing us. Now I looked to the front and saw that we were nearly back to Nassau’s harbor. “What’s the plan?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I’m taking you aboard the Fortune’s Hope,” he grunted. “We’ll lose them in the islands.”

  Almost as soon as he said it, we were there. Rourke swung the launch in a perfect arc, coming in behind the sleek lines of his yacht. He cut the engine at just the right time and jumped effortlessly aboard. I scrambled out behind him, not quite as gracefully. He bent to secure the launch. I pushed a lock of sopping hair out of my eyes. “What can I do to help?”

  Rourke blinked at me as if he hadn’t been expecting that. But he rallied quickly and nodded towards the front of the yacht. “Cast off. Two painters, fore and aft.”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “Ropes,” he said patiently. “One at the front, one at the back. Untie them.”

  I nodded and ran along the deck. It was only when my bare feet started slapping against the wood that it sunk in that I was in my underwear. And... Oh God, all my clothes are on Ratcher’s boat!

  There was no time to worry about that now. I could hear the dinghy that had been chasing us, its engine echoing around the harbor. I found the first rope and untied it, then raced to the front of the yacht and repeated the process there.

  The engine roared as Rourke opened up the throttles and then spun the wheel to point us out to sea. Behind us, the dinghy with Ratcher’s men in it was closing in. “Can we outrun them?” I asked.

  “Not with just the engine.” He grabbed my wrist and tugged me to the wheel. “Hold her steady.”

  My eyes bulged. What? I don’t know how to steer a boat! But I grabbed hold of the wheel and held it, resisting the pull of the water that was trying to spin it back the other way.

  Rourke raced out onto the deck. The limp was visible again, now, but it still wasn’t as bad as when he was on dry land. There was something about being on the rolling deck of a ship that seemed to soak up the unsteadiness—where the movement threw me off balance, it seemed to suit him. As if….

  I worked it out a moment later. Rourke was grabbing ropes and tugging them, unfurling the sails, and he didn’t even have to look before he snatched each rope out of the air. He knew exactly where everything would be. As if this is his home.

  The yacht surged forward as the wind caught the sails. A completely different feeling to the steady push of an engine: it felt as if we were being carried by a giant hand.

  The dinghy chasing us started to drop back. As we moved out of the shelter of the harbor, Rourke really began to work the sails, turning and adjusting them to capture every bit of wind. He and the weather seemed to be in perfect sync: the wind would change and he’d already be swinging a sail across to compensate. We started to rush through the water, the yacht’s sleek hull cutting through the waves where Ratcher’s boat had battered them into submission. The dinghy following us dropped back and back...and eventually disappeared in the darkness. I realized there were no lights on Rourke’s boat: we were running dark, like a smuggler. Yet Rourke seemed to know exactly where we were going, cutting around rocks and islands with ease. I realized he could probably sail these waters blindfold.

  At last, he eased his grip on the ropes and stood listening at the stern. I stood there silently, barely daring to breathe, until he said, “They’re gone. We lost them.”

  I let out a long sigh of relief.

  And then it was just me and him, standing there all alone in the darkness.

  12

  Rourke

  My grandfather used to tell me tales about mermaids. Pale-skinned, golden haired creatures who’d tempt sailors with their beauty.

  I never thought I’d see one.

  But she was standing right there, alabaster skin lit silver by the moonlight, long golden hair falling in damp curls over her shoulders and breasts. Her breasts...oh, God, her breasts. Her body had been tempting in a blouse and jeans but now…. She was one of those women who tried to cover up her curves. Now, with her blouse gone and her bra turned gauzy by the water, she was unbelievable. I wanted to take each full, weighty breast in a hand, squeeze and lift and run my tongue between them while I stroked each pink, perfect nipple. And the rest of her...that hourglass formed by her waist and her flaring hips. Those legs that went on and on….

  What really had me entranced, though, was her face. Something in those eyes, an innocence, an honesty that was like a sweet south wind. It stirred something inside me beyond the simple lust. Something I’d forgotten existed. And the more
I felt it stir, the more frustrated I got, because I knew what that feeling was and I didn’t want it.

  Smitten. That’s what my grandma back in Scotland would have called it. You’re smitten with that girl, Billy.

  She really was a mermaid: a creature from another world. Nebraska was far more distant and strange, to me, than any undersea kingdom. And she’d cast a bloody spell on me. Tempted? I’d sail my boat right onto the bloody rocks for her.

  And then it got worse. Because she said, “Thank you.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her to stop it. I didn’t want her getting any ideas about me being a hero.

  But before I could, she said, “If you hadn’t come, they were going to....”

  The way she went pale said it better than words. My hands clenched into fists and I shook in fury. I wanted to kill every one of those bastards.

  She saw my reaction and nodded her thanks. Then she gave me a tiny, timid little smile.

  Aw, hell…. Something in my chest lifted, the way it hadn’t since I was a bloody teenager. No! She’d better not—

  She was still looking up at me—

  No! Don’t fucking like me, woman! Are you mad? No one likes me.

  But she did. I could see it in her eyes. I had to cut this off at the fucking roots before it got any worse. Because whatever she thought I had to offer, it died a long time ago.

  I forced it all down inside me, pushed past her, and started working the sails, not even glancing at her.

  She came to stand behind me. “Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m going to circle around and take you to South Ocean Beach,” I snapped. “Far side of Nassau. You can get a cab to the airport from there. Then you’re going to ask someone at the airport for a light and you’re going to burn that damn map!”

  I heard her shake her head. Imagined those blonde curls tossing. “I can’t,” she said.

  “You can.”

  “I thought the Hawk was the big haul everyone wanted. Don’t you want it? You can help me find it!”

  I shook my head, still not looking at her. “I told you: I don’t do this anymore.” I stared off to the side and cursed under my breath because now I was looking right into Edwards’ pleading gaze. “It’s too big for one person, anyway.”

  “I could help you—”

  I spun to face her. “No!” I snarled.

  She leapt back, scared. Good, I thought savagely. She should be scared. I wasn’t going to have her in danger, much less put her there myself. I hauled harder on the ropes. The sooner she was off my boat, the better.

  She went silent for a long time. As the lights of South Ocean Beach came into view, she said, “Rourke?”

  I stared fixedly ahead and didn’t answer.

  “What’s your first name?” she asked.

  “Rourke’ll do fine,” I snapped.

  She didn’t answer for a second but the silence was blackened and tainted, as if I’d slapped her. I silently cursed.

  “I really need your help,” she said, that sweet country voice barely a whisper.

  My hand tightened on the rope it held. “This is no place for you. Go home.”

  I caught movement in the windshield, up ahead of me, and—oh, bloody hell. I could see her reflection. And once I’d glimpsed it, I couldn’t look away. Her head was lowered, or I would have been looking right into her eyes.

  “That’s not an option,” she said, and I heard the crack in her voice. She was seconds away from crying.

  “Why?” I snapped, my frustration making my voice vicious. “Why do you need the money so bad? You in debt?” I had visions of some thug back in Nebraska, backing her up against her living room wall, demanding money, and the anger made me squeeze the rope so hard that its rough weave dug into my palm.

  “It’s not the money,” she said wretchedly. “It’s not about the treasure.”

  “Then what? What else do you think you’ll find down there?”

  She finally lifted her head and our eyes met in the windshield’s reflection. “A cure.”

  I wasn’t even aware of my arms moving, but the ropes slackened and the boat slowed as we lost the wind. I turned around to face her, all those feelings I’d been struggling with swelling up and then contracting down into a cold, hard knot of worry. Silent tears were running down her cheeks and each one that fell to the deck felt like it was striking my heart.

  It scared me, how much I felt for her.

  I motioned with my head: tell me everything. She laid it all out for me: the illness, the history, and the letters she found.

  The cure.

  “How can you be sure it’s down there?” I asked.

  “It was definitely taken by the Hawk when she raided the Gwendoline. And you told me the Hawk didn’t put into port again until Captain Mace scuttled her.”

  “Aye,” I said grudgingly. I knew the story of the Hawk better than anyone and it made sense. “But even if it’s there, some medicine’s not going to have survived three hundred years.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not a liquid, it’s not something that would go moldy or decay. The letter said it was a stone.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “A stone? How could that cure...you think it’s magic?”

  She shook her head again. “No. Nothing like that. Look, I don’t know how it works. I just know it cured one of my ancestors. Now it’s my only chance of saving my sister. And the others.”

  My stomach tensed as she told me about her cousins...and their kids. Ah, hell. Wee bairns, as well?

  “That stone is our only hope,” said Hannah. “And you’re my only hope of getting the stone.”

  I shook my head and looked away. But when I looked at her again, Edwards was standing behind her, staring back at me. “I quit,” I snapped at both of them.

  Hannah swallowed. “Unquit,” she said. “Please.”

  I closed my eyes. No. Not this. Diving and treasure...I knew where that road led. I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to her.

  But if I didn’t do it, half her family were going to die. I knew what that was like, to lose someone close.

  I opened my eyes and looked right at her. And saw that flash there, that heat, the same heat that was raging inside me. No. Jesus, no. She did like me. But she had no idea what a mess I was.

  I glanced at Edwards. She had no idea who else lived on this boat.

  And I was too smitten with her. Being around her, in the close quarters of a ship, would be unbearable. This was my home, for God’s sake, my sanctuary. I don’t want her here! However much I did.

  I looked back at Hannah, about to tell her no.

  But...she was staring at me with those big, clear blue eyes. Thousands of miles from home. A damn mermaid who’d swum right into my world and for some reason had put her faith in me.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go find the Hawk.”

  13

  Hannah

  I passed my soaking jeans to Rourke and he used his sword to slice through the stitches that held the map in place, then carefully wrung out the soaked cloth. Its time in the sea didn’t seem to have damaged it. Most likely, it had been through far worse in the last three hundred years.

  The wind was getting up. The boat lurched and I quickly sat down. This was nothing like Ratcher’s boat. That had felt almost like a building. But here, the floor moved up and down in a way no floor should. It didn’t so much rock from side to side as circle: a churning, lurching motion that left my stomach behind.

  “You’ve gone pale,” muttered Rourke as he examined the map.

  I nodded and closed my eyes.

  “Correction,” said Rourke. “You’ve gone green.”

  I just sat there and took deep, calming breaths as the seat below me lifted me up, up, up...and then plunged me down.

  I heard him sigh and stomp off. I thought he was leaving me to my fate but a few minutes later, he returned. “Here. Chew on this.” He pressed something into my hand.

  I grudging
ly opened my eyes and saw an orange nugget dusted with sugar.

  “Crystallized ginger,” he said. “It’ll help.”

  I blinked up at him, then nodded my thanks. I’d been expecting him to be scowling at me, despairing of the stupid landlubber. But he didn’t have that expression at all.

  He stared at me as I began to chew, the ginger fiery and sweet. “You really are from Nebraska, aren’t you?” he grunted at last.

  I nodded shamefully.

  “It’s not just getting seasick, though, is it?” he asked.

  He hadn’t missed the way I froze, when we jumped into the water. I looked away, flushing. I knew it must be impossible for him to even imagine being scared of the sea.

  And yet his voice, when he spoke, wasn’t cruel or disbelieving. It was gruff but kind...and almost embarrassed, as if he wouldn’t want anyone to catch him being kind. ‘You sure you want to be out here?”

  I looked at the endless dark ocean around us and felt my chest contract with fear. Then I shook my head. “I don’t want to be,” I said quietly. “I have to be.”

  I looked up and caught his eye. For a second, he looked almost impressed. Then he remembered to scowl again. “We better find you something to wear,” he muttered, and stomped below deck again.

  He had a point: I wasn’t as cold as I had been when we’d been racing across the water in the launch but the temperature was still dropping and I was still in just my soaking underwear. Rourke returned with a couple of towels and a bundle of clothes. I toweled off: it was strange, I’d been standing around in my soaked bra and panties for so long, I’d almost gotten used to it. Now, with a towel wrapped around me, I was suddenly aware that I was nearly naked, alone with a man I barely knew. A man who’d saved me twice. Why is he doing all this?