His Pirate Seductress (Love on the High Seas Book 3)

by Tamara Hughes

  “Did you remove your left or right boot?” he asked.

  She paid no heed to him and his nonsense, and pulled off her other one.

  “I would guess you’ll cast off your breeches next.”

  Catherine halted with her hands on the opening to her breeches. What was he doing? And why? The slight chill to the air had little to do with the bumps rising on her skin. Thomas couldn’t see her. He only guessed by sound what clothing she removed. Even so, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Purely out of spite, she shed her stockings, leaving her breeches in place.

  “Ah, I was wrong. The sound was so quiet, it must have been your hose.”

  “Stop that!”

  “Why?” he laughed. “It amuses me, and apparently irritates you…which amuses me all the more.”

  “It doesn’t irritate me. Do what you must,” she muttered. Doesn’t irritate me at all. She released the buttons and slipped the breeches down her legs, the slide of fabric over her thighs more stirring than it ought to be. She flung the breeches aside.

  “All that remains is your shirt, then you’ll be as naked as I am.”

  Don’t listen to him. She shivered as the tails of the shirt rode up the length of her body in a sweeping brush of cotton on skin. She dropped the shirt to the floor.

  “Just the two of us naked and alone.” His voice charmed and tempted. Damn him.

  Catherine stepped into the tub. “Your first mate is recovering from his illness,” she blurted, eager to change the subject. She sank into the tub so fast, water splashed over the sides.

  “Is he?”

  “Aye,” she breathed.

  “How’s the water?”

  “Mmm.” She relaxed back, savoring the all-encompassing warmth.

  “I don’t need my sight to imagine you leaning against the rim, your shoulders just above the surface, a pleased smile on your face.”

  She growled low in her throat. If only he would stop talking, she might enjoy her bath.

  “Your hair is growing damp, and your skin is taking on a rosy glow as the water touches you, caresses you.”

  Glancing down, she noted her pinkened skin, the water washing over her breasts in a tantalizing dance. A need she’d long suppressed swept through her from her chest to her belly. She clamped down on those dangerous feelings. She was supposed to be abusing him, not the other way round. “Be quiet, or I’ll run you through with my sword.”

  “I’d much rather run you through with mine,” he suggested, his voice a sexy rumble that made her shiver.

  Oh! She dunked her head in the water, eager to drown out anything more he might say. Giving her hair a good scrubbing with the soap, she could only hear the scrape of her fingers along her scalp. Bliss. She rinsed, then retrieved the soap again and ran it over one arm.

  “How does my soap feel against your skin?” he asked, a smile in his tone.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. How did he know? Enough of this. Her eyes sprang open, and determination straightened her spine. He wouldn’t best her. No, she’d take up the challenge. “The texture is rough, but the scent is clean,” she responded. “It feels good as I slide it over my neck and shoulders, now the length of my arms… Mmm, my chest and belly.” Did her words affect him as much as they did her? Her breasts ached. His silence was encouraging. If nothing else, she’d put his taunts to rest, at least for the moment. She added a soft groan for good measure.

  She could see no discernible effect on him. No, wait. A slight flare of his nostrils. She sighed and tried anew. “You were right. My hair is damp, dangling and dripping onto my bare shoulders.” She lifted her leg, sending water trickling back into the tub. “Now to clean my legs, one at a time, thoroughly, from my toes to my thighs.”

  Watching him closely, she detected no reaction. Damn. Then again, he was a well-trained competitor, one who would hide her effect on him even if he had to bite off his own tongue to distract himself. “Are you jealous?” she asked him.

  “Of what?” he responded, his voice strained.

  “Do you wish you were in this tub with me?”

  He said nothing. No teasing. No glib remark. Smiling, she rose from the tub and grabbed up the towel. Perhaps it was time to discover just how much control this man had.

  …

  A rush of water. Cloth rubbing against skin. The padding of bare feet across the floor. Dear God. Catherine was heading toward the bed, toward him. Taut with anticipation, Thomas waited for a sign she was close. There. The clean scent of soap, mingled with the warm and alluring aroma of woman. The mattress beside him dipped, and he could feel her shiver.

  “The air is cool,” she whispered, her breath hot against his cheek. “My skin is covered in bumps…and peaks.”

  The sultry rasp of her voice sank into his skin and rushed straight to his groin as he imagined the peaks she spoke of. Stiff, rosy peaks he yearned to taste and tease.

  She trailed her fingers over his stubbled jaw, down his neck to his chest. “You thought to taunt me,” she breathed, “but who is in control now?”

  The bedcovers moved lower, baring more of his chest, then his abdomen, almost to his erection, which threatened to throw off the rest of the bedding on its own. Perhaps he’d been foolish to taunt her. After all, he was the one tied to the bed. But in his defense, he’d enjoyed every minute. Until now. Now his body conspired against him, especially when he imagined how she must look hovering over him, scantily clad, still damp from the bathwater. Maybe her torturing skills weren’t as poor as he’d originally thought.

  Her hand strayed to the side of his pelvis, exploring him in leisurely strokes. She was close. So close, her breath tickled his lips. Ah, the memory of those lush lips, soft and full. He couldn’t stop himself… He needed… Thomas pulled against the ropes securing his wrists to the bed and lifted himself up, intent on capturing her lips with his. When he met nothing but air, he uttered a foul curse and dropped back onto the mattress. Wicked woman!

  She untied the knot at the side of his head and removed the blindfold. Her eyes glowed with satisfaction, and a smug smile adorned her lips. Anger burned deep inside his chest. He should have been able to resist her. Instead, he admired the way her damp shirt clung to her breasts, his cock stiff as a marlinespike. This would stop, and it would stop at once. “Let me guess. If I tell you where I’ve hidden the cross, you’ll spread your legs for me?” He cocked a brow and raked his gaze over her. “Or maybe you’ll spread them without such information.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened, and she slapped him across the face. A hearty smack that made his cheek sting. “Don’t ever talk to me in such a way again,” she bit out as she rose to her feet. Her eyes flashed with anger and a hint of something more. Hurt? She turned her back to him and hurried to dress.

  He had the urge to apologize for his caustic words. An urge he thrust aside. He was a prisoner here, and as such, he had every right to use whatever means necessary against his captor. He had no reason to feel guilty.

  Then why do I?

  Someone rapped hard on the door. Catherine quickly donned her boots and strode across the room. Barnet stood outside, scowling as if he’d been wronged.

  “I’ve heard tell that you’re bathin’ the prisoner,” he shouted into her face. “Tell me the rumor is false.” The quartermaster looked past Catherine to the tub, and his features darkened all the more.

  Catherine shook her head. “He was not the one in the—”

  Seizing her by the hair, Barnet jerked her head back, and Thomas yanked against his ropes, to do what, he wasn’t sure. “Your hair is damp,” Barnet growled. “You took a bath with Glanville in the room!”

  She pulled her dagger from her belt and settled the tip against Barnet’s belly. “Let. Go of me. Now.”

  Barnet glanced at his offending hand as if surprised at what he’d done. He released her. “Catherine—”

  “You are not my brother, husband, or father,” she ground out. “What I do is of no concern to you.”


  “I only care about your well-bein’. It’s obvious somethin’ is goin’ on between you and him,” Barnet said between clenched teeth.

  Catherine raised her hand to stop him from going on and tucked her blade back into her belt. “Yes, I bathed with him in the room, but he wore a blindfold.” She moved to the bed and lifted the cravat. “See?”

  Barnet’s features softened to some extent. A pity. What would Barnet do to Catherine if he knew the whole truth of what had transpired during her bath?

  No doubt, he wouldn’t have to worry about being under her control anymore. Of course, then he’d have to contend with Barnet. In comparison, he’d much prefer Catherine. Her voluptuous curves came to mind. Yes, much preferable.

  As if Barnet had heard his thoughts, the quartermaster settled a glare on Thomas. “It’s time I handled this interrogation. He should have confessed the location of the cross by now.”

  Catherine rolled her shoulders back as if readying for a fight. “No, he’s my prisoner.”

  Barnet’s scarred lip thinned. “Your methods are soft. This can’t go on. We’ll be in London two days hence.”

  “But—”

  “Or have you forgotten your son so soon?”

  Catherine stood motionless, stunned.

  “You have till morning. Then your prisoner is mine,” Barnet snarled. “We have no more time to spare.” With that, he turned and walked away, the discussion at an end.

  Catherine stared after him for the longest time, then sighed and shut the door. “He’s right.” Her dark brown eyes sought his. “You need to tell me where the Ruby Cross is. Now.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or Barnet will hurt you, badly.”

  “I’m not afraid of Barnet or pain.” In fact, the first ship he commissioned once he sold the cross would be named Barnet in the quartermaster’s honor.

  “You’re a fool. Is the cross worth your life?” she asked in earnest. “If you give him too much trouble, Barnet will kill you when he’s through.”

  Thomas shrugged. “He won’t kill me if he wants the cross.”

  She threw up her hands with a look of disbelief. “It’s me who wants it. Not him.” She turned to pace the floor. “He has a temper. If he gets angry enough, he will kill you, and then neither you nor I will get the cross.”

  “So be it.” He’d faced challenges his whole life, and he’d be damned if he’d back away from this one.

  “You don’t mean what you say. No object, no matter how valuable, is worth your life.” She worried her lower lip, and it almost looked as if tears glistened in her eyes, but they were gone before he could tell for sure.

  Why would she cry? Because of the cross? Unlikely. She seemed too pragmatic to weep over a lost relic. She hadn’t appeared frightened of Barnet, despite his actions, although maybe she should be. “If anyone has a reason to worry about Barnet, it’s you.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?”

  Was she blind? “It’s obvious he’s infatuated with you. And if he’s a man with a temper…”

  Catherine shook her head. “We’ve been friends for years.” Although a flicker of unease crossed her face.

  The way Barnet looked at her wasn’t as a friend. “Your husband is gone. Perhaps he wants to take his place.”

  She waved the thought away. “He knows I have no interest in him. Tell me. Where is the cross?”

  “After days of being bound in my own cabin, why would I tell you now?” She’d clearly lost her mind.

  Her gazed bored into him. “If you don’t, I’ll tell your employer, Gordon Lamont, you’re using his vessel for your own personal pursuits, shipping and selling priceless antiquities.”

  His stomach clenched. “He won’t care.” Would he?

  “I doubt he’ll be getting a share of the profits…and he is a man of business.”

  Which had been the main reason he hadn’t bothered to ask permission. “I’ll take the risk.” Besides, Catherine couldn’t contact Lamont before they reached port. She was no threat at this very moment.

  She must have realized the same thing judging from her frown and the way she scanned the cabin, searching for something. “What are you afraid of?” she mumbled. “Apparently not death.” She speared him with a look. “The death of a loved one. Everyone fears that.”

  Somehow he couldn’t take the comment seriously, not from her. “Are you threatening my family?”

  Catherine looked away, rather than answering. Just as he’d thought—she wouldn’t hurt an innocent. Her attention returned to him, and anger flared in her eyes. “Don’t look so smug. I could always threaten your manhood.”

  And here he’d thought she’d been coming to like his manhood. Still, when she approached the bed with a determined expression on her face, his balls itched and sweat beaded on his forehead…until she reached toward the table and retrieved the pocket watch his father had given him. The lump forming in his throat was about the same size as the piece she dangled in front of him.

  “How much does this watch mean to you?” she asked.

  He swallowed. “It’s only a watch.” Although one of the few gifts his father had ever given him, it wouldn’t hold him back. Perhaps he’d get another soon, when he showed his father a newly acquired ship.

  “You don’t care if I destroy the piece then.”

  “No.” He nearly choked on the word.

  She opened the lid and set it on the floor, then raised her foot, her booted heel ready to crush the glass and all that lay beneath.

  Thomas held his breath. He would have other watches, other displays of pride from his father.

  “You’re sure?” She stared deeply in his eyes as if somehow she knew how much the damn watch meant to him.

  He nodded once. He could do no more.

  She brought her foot down hard and he winced, waiting to hear breaking glass. It didn’t come. Cursing beneath her breath, Catherine retrieved the watch from the floor and closed the lid, then slipped it into the pocket of her breeches. “No sense destroying a perfectly good watch.”

  Relief washed through him, and with it, gratitude. How stupid. Grateful to his tormentor. Tormentor. Ha. Catherine was too soft for this kind of work, and although he was glad for it, he had a feeling she would pay dearly for her failings. The true test for them both was surely yet to come.

  Chapter Five

  Catherine awoke in a daze to a slight tug on her wrist. She’d fallen asleep? Last thing she remembered was singing a horrific discordant rendition of Greensleeves, her voice becoming so hoarse her throat ached as she attempted to keep Thomas alert and annoyed enough to spill his secret. The annoyance part worked. The keeping him awake part… She’d even failed to keep herself from falling asleep.

  Her other arm was raised far to the side and over her head, and something rough encompassed her wrist. She opened her eyes with a start. What in God’s name…?

  Thomas leaned over her, still unclothed, and tied the rope around her wrist to the bedpost. He greeted her with a dazzling smile, those green eyes of his glinting in the lamplight. “Good morning, lovely.”

  “I don’t understand. How?” She spied his wrists, rubbed raw from his escape.

  He pressed down on her encumbered arms and bent close. “How does it feel to be the one in restraints?”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she croaked out. She should be frightened—he could do with her whatever he wanted. No, he wouldn’t hurt her. Somehow she was sure of that fact. Humiliation was much more likely, and of that she had no fear. She lived in the Rookery of St. Giles, the most squalid district in all of London. A place of sickness and filth, open sewers running through the streets, with prostitutes and reprobates walking the alleys at all hours of the day and night. She had no pride left to damage. “I have nothing you want. There’s no need to torture me.”

  He chuckled, his face relaxed, almost gleeful. “Ah Catherine, you truly don’t understand torture, do you? Some of us do it simply for amusement…o
r revenge.”

  Her throat grew tight, and her mind raced through all she’d done to him. She’d never caused him pain. No food or water. She could survive that, and she wouldn’t have to for long. Thomas was outnumbered. As soon as someone came to the cabin, he’d be recaptured and she would be free. What else? Terrible singing…and… Thomas’s eyes smoldered, scorching her from the inside out. Oh Lord. She had taunted him with her body, with her touch. She’d stripped him naked. Just the thought of him doing the same made her pulse leap and her skin tingle. “You’ll be caught soon, so take heed. There will be repercussions for whatever you do to me.”

  Her heart stuttered a beat. Once Thomas was a prisoner again, Barnet would have a go at him. By tonight, Thomas might be dead. “Tell me where you’ve hidden the cross,” she whispered, knowing full well she had no authority to make such a demand.

  Thomas’s grin only widened. “The sun won’t rise for several hours. Plenty of time for me to have some fun.” He bent forward and his lips took possession of hers in a leisurely kiss that savored and teased. This certainly didn’t feel like torment. He tasted warm and masculine. Her mouth moved with his and their tongues entwined. In the span of a minute, all trace of leisure dissipated, replaced by a frenzy of desire and need.

  His hands traveled from her arms to cup her face before heading lower to cover her breasts. Even through her shirt, his caresses melted her insides and had her gasping for breath. He plucked at her nipple, his groan warm on her lips, and she arched into him, craving more. Her body welcomed his exploration as if it had waited for this moment since they’d met. His erection, hard and thick, pressed into her thigh, and she pulled against her restraints, desperate to move closer, to feel more of him. She whimpered when her arms couldn’t obey.

  “Ah, God,” Thomas moaned as he tore himself from her and raked a hand through his hair. His breathing ragged, he sat back and stared at her. Never had she felt so vulnerable as this moment with his fiery gaze boring into hers. He shook his head. “I’m not sure who’s torturing whom here.” He slid off the bed and strode to the armoire without another word.