But was this beautiful merman asleep? Or dead?
She wiped beads of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and studied the froth of hair on his chest for any signs of life. Yes! It suddenly felt as though the mercury climbed fifty degrees on the scale with each rise and fall of the wide chest. He was alive. A living, breathing replica of a Michelangelo sculpture.
Why was he lying there? As though knocked in the head, she winced.
The annual “Pirates in Paradise Festival” had begun a few days ago. The two-week event never failed to lure the very best from all ends of the earth. A quick inventory of the man’s clothing combined with the whisper of liquor wafting from his body told her that he’d most likely been victimized by a bottle of rum. This beautiful archetype surely took the prize for most original costume. He was drenched in seawater and the fine white sand glittered like diamonds off his bronze skin. The long-sleeved red shirt clung to his body and was adorned with wide white ruffled lace along where the buttons might have been. Esa couldn’t tell if there were any buttons as the shirt hung open from the waist, exposing a broad, hairy chest and a six-pack that would leave any hot-blooded female thirsting for the entire keg!
The faint waft of sweet buttered rum tickled her nose hairs. She swallowed, forcing her suddenly ravenous eyes passed his manly chest and down his body. She gasped. The high-waisted black pants were sopping wet and rather snug, outlining a generous bulge and strong thighs before disappearing into black leather boots mid-calf. Long black hair hugged the saturated sand speckled beard and shirt collar. A gold signature hoop decorated his left ear.
She’d never been attracted to bearded men before, but there was something about this one, a magnetic quality that stole her breath away.
While she sat smoldering with lust amidst the hot sand, admiring the man’s virile form she noticed ravenous eyes parted slightly. A roguish grin spread the width of the dark stranger’s dangerous face. In a voice that was felt as much as heard he purred, “Avast! Surely I’ve arrived in heaven, for the good Lord has seen fit to bless me with the sweetest of angels.”
Esa flinched, startled by his words. He was French? The language of love. She never tired of hearing it and in fact had the reason she’d taken it in high school. The richness of his thick accent did nothing but stir the insatiable craving that had risen within her.
Guilt erupted in gooseflesh all over her body. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks to a rosy hue. The man smiled and her heart took flight. Full, velvety lips covered perfectly straight white teeth. Her voice lodged in her throat. His eyes reminded her of the expensive chocolates her father gifted her with at Christmas and on birthdays. He smelled of the ocean breeze.
She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there gawking at the engaging foreigner, or how long he’d been watching her gawk at him, but it was past time she should be going. Pulling forth her rusty knowledge of the amorous language, she started, “I beg your pardon sir—”
The rest of her sentence was lost as strong arms yanked her atop that powerful chest before satiny lips claimed possession of her open mouth. His skilled tongue slipped inside, ravaging, challenging hers to a duel as old as time itself. She should have fought the spontaneous, deliciously delightful and spine-tingling advance. But she didn’t…couldn’t.
The exotic kiss was nothing like she’d ever experienced. It was brutal yet sensual, giving and taking in a harmony she’d not known existed beyond Hollywood; causing heat to rise to dangerous levels between her thighs. Sid had certainly never kissed her in such a manner that made her toes curl!
The stolen kiss may have lasted even longer if the man’s bold hands hadn’t begun to brazenly travel the length of her exposed flesh. Esa reluctantly forced herself to come to her senses and jerked free of the hypnotic grasp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her lips burned as though branded by fire and felt swollen from the sweltering kiss as she naturally reverted back to English. She gaped at him when her eyes were able to focus again, the taste of salt and remnants of booze strong and fascinating in her mouth.
Could his grin be any sexier? Any more dangerous? God help her, the man reeked of the promise of endless ecstasy!
His knowing eyes looked at her as if reading her every carnal thought while his skilled tongue slowly raked his lower lip as if to collect the lingering sweetness. Also reverting to broken English, the arrogant pervert beamed in surprise, “You’re English, no? Forgive me, my buxom beauty—”
“Just keep your hands to yourself, buster! And you can cease with the pirate bit—”
“Pirate!” He popped forward so quickly Esa went sailing onto her backside again. “I’ll kindly ask ye not to use that bloody title when you address me wench! I am a privateer. I received my Letters from the King himself—”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Jees! You’re really into this stuff aren’t you? Er, if you’ll excuse me.” She came to her feet and began brushing the sand off her person. “I’ve got things to do.”
It figured. She meets a guy that literally knocks her off her feet and he turns out to be a freaking psychopath!
Oh well, not that it mattered anyway. She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, or a one-night stand, no matter how tempting he may be. She should feel shame at her wanton behavior toward this stranger. Sid was the man she loved, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She didn’t even know this God’s…er, the man’s name!
“Mmm,” the heartthrob purred dreamily, his eyes taking in her every visible curve as though he were docked before a grand buffet. “Is this Heaven?” he asked in that knee-weakening accent, peeling his eyes off her person to take in his tropical surroundings. Resting casually on one elbow, his hungry gaze settled on her once again.
He gaped at her through the eyes of a barracuda, and just as lethal, she was certain. “‘Tis a far cry from the burning fury of hell I’ve come to expect.” The rogue’s humor only added to his irresistibility.
Esa couldn’t help but chuckle. Was he serious? “You’re kidding, right?” When his brows furrowed as if he were insulted she continued, “You sir, are in the Florida Keys. Key West, to be precise. Aye?” She didn’t really want to join in his charade, yet she couldn’t resist. Lucky for him he’d had the good fortune to be born beautiful, because the dark golden honey was off the charts when it came to weird!
“Florida?” He sat up, dark brows forming a ‘V’ in his confusion. “Florida? Are ye certain? Am I not dead?”
“Dead?” She laughed. “No, you’re not dead. Although I must admit, the thought of killing you had crossed my mind a few minutes ago.” She gifted him with a radiant smile. He returned the smile and her heart gave a thud.
Don’t look at him, just get your things and get as far away from this man as your weakened feet can carry you!
The rogue seemed to be undressing her with those beautiful ravenous eyes. “What manner of dress is it ye wear, lass? In all my travels, I’ve no seen the likes before. Why do you bind ye breast like so? Though I’m no complaining, ‘tis nice to see the merchandise ‘afore payment is rendered.”
Esa felt a different kind of heat rise to her cheeks. Her hand lifted to slap the smugness from that face, but something stopped her. What else was he suppose to think the way she’d allowed him to loiter somewhere between first and second base?
With a heavy sigh, she looked down at her white bikini. Breast bound like so? Nice to see the merchandise before payment is rendered? What the devil was this gorgeous freak about? He was taking the celebration to the extreme. “Give me a break, what else would I wear to the beach? Unlike you, I’m not here for the pirate festival—”
“Pirate festival?” Only then did those smoldering dark eyes break away from the attentive buds pressing hard against the bikini top to meet her gaze.
“Yes, pirate festival. Look mister, I don’t have time to play games with you. It’s been er,” she stammered. What had it been? Fun? Erotic? Frustrating? Satisfying? Earth shaking?
All of the above. She finally settled on, “quite the experience, but it’s high time for me to be moving on. Enjoy the rest of the festivities. I’d be careful sleeping so close to the shore next time. You could have been shark bait!” She smiled and turned to leave but was halted by his next words.
“Tell me lass, do ye know a man by the name of Keats? The damned turncoat has stolen my ship!”
The blood drained from Esa’s face and pooled in her feet. How dare the bastard! Just who in the hell did he think he was? Nostrils flaring, she turned on the slanderous foreigner. “What do you mean, stole your ship? My father has his own—”
“Ye father?” In the next second, Jacque was on his feet and towering her, his own nostrils flaring. Although Esa couldn’t see through the wiry hair protruding from his jaw, she was sure a muscle twitched anxiously. Bitterness shot like daggers from his eyes. “State ye name wench!”
His height alone was intimidating. He was every bit of six-foot-six. A stark contrast to her five-foot four and a half-inch frame. What was with this guy? Did he know her? Her father? How? Surely she’d not forget a face—hell, a body—the likes of this one! “Esa.” She held his heated glare. “Esa Keats. What do you mean—”
“Keats! Merde! You are his daughter?” The man was even more beautiful full scale. He ran his hands through his sand-speckled hair and released a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t know the swine had a daughter!”
“Swine? Now see here, mister—”
“Lafleur, Jacque Cherif Lafleur.” He swirled a hand in the air while bending his body slightly forward in a low bow. “At ye service.”
Esa opened her mouth to reply, but the name triggered something in the database of her memory causing her to breathe more easily. She laughed out loud, much to his annoyance. The exotically eccentric fellow was pretending to be the infamous pirate turned privateer—turned pirate again—Jacque Lafleur! He’d not known her name was Keats. How could he?
The notorious corsair was rumored to be quite comely according to the history books. She could faintly muster an image she’d seen while in school, though it was nothing close to what stood before her this very minute! Indeed, she mused, allowing her eyes to roam his Herculean physique.
Keats was the real LaFleur’s first mate. She always remembered as he shared her last name. Perhaps if the infamous pirate had taken his first mate’s advice, history might view him differently. Keats was promoted to Captain after LaFleur’s mysterious disappearance. Why anyone would want to pretend to be the murderous thief was beyond her scope of imagination. He may be gorgeous, but it didn’t say much for his character.
Esa shook her head, battling the urge to laugh out loud. “Are you an actor? What’s your real name?”
He looked at her as though she were the one a few eggs shy of a dozen. “My real name?”
“Phfffft! Come on. Enough with the charade. My name really is Keats. Honest!” She held up her right hand before adding, “Do you do anything else besides go around kissing strange women and pretend to be a pirate?” When he didn’t answer, but looked at her as though he were the big bad wolf and she one of the three little pigs, she thought it was better to change the subject. “Well, if you are an actor, I have to admit you’re very good.” At more than dramatizing, she was tempted to throw in.
There went that undeniable twitch again beneath the beard, accompanied by the flaming nostrils. His tone was cool and deliberate when he spoke and caused a chill to run down her spine. “Ye delicate tongue appears to be as treacherous as your father’s. Perhaps I should put it to better use?” With a sultry stare, he advanced on her and she sidestepped her way around him.
Oh enough of this already! “Well, Mr. LaFleur, I really must be going. I’m sure you’ll find some willing soul to play pirates with you soon enough.”
Jacque grabbed her wrist and held it firmly. “I’m afraid I cannot allow ye to depart, lass. At least not until ye take me to your father.” He grinned wickedly, closing the distance between them with one step. “If then.”
The man was insane! No doubt about it. A crazed lunatic escaped from the nearest mental institution. “Let go of me!” Esa tugged her wrist free and the deranged psychopath, thankfully, made no further attempts to restrain her.
“My father is dead. Do you hear me? Dead!” She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking nor the tears from welling in her eyes. “I’m tired of this little prank of yours. If you come near me again I’ll call the police, do you hear me?” She started to leave again, but the look in his eyes kept her there.
He looked stunned. It reminded her of the time when she’d gotten separated from her father in a crowd during a Fourth of July celebration. She’d never been more frightened, more devastated by the thought of never seeing him again.
“Keats is dead? How? What of Rupert? Thomas?” His expression bespoke genuine shock and concern. If this man was an actor, he was damn good. “Can ye not take me to someone aboard the Sainte-Anne, lass?”
There was something hidden beneath those mystical childlike eyes that spoke directly to her soul, telling her this was no act. But it had to be, unless… Was the beautiful man truly insane? Did he honestly believe what he was saying? He sure as hell looked like a believer.
Don’t do it Esa, the voice screamed inside her head. She had her own issues and needn’t concern herself with some whimsical playboy looking for naught but a good time.
“Where are you staying?” Perhaps she could unload this unclaimed baggage at his hotel and get on with her private pity-party. Did he have friends or perhaps a girlfriend waiting somewhere? The little green monster known as jealousy pinched her heart and caused a jolt of surprise to rise in her chest. Why should it bother her if the great pretender had a girlfriend? Oh for heaven sake, she must be the one losing her grip on reality.
“Staying? The Sainte-Anne is where I’ll be staying, once I take it back from those unruly scalawags!” Vengeance oozed from the core of his sensual being. He was a man on a mission. And sexy as hell when he was riled!
The Sainte-Anne? Was that a ship? Hmm. She vaguely recalled seeing a large schooner anchored in the harbor just down the beach a ways. Of course, she could see it clearly now with its colorful streamers and huge red, yellow and black sign welcoming mates and maidens to the annual Pirate Festival. Surely he’d seen it too. All right, she’d play along, if it got the troublesome buccaneer out of her life once and for all.
Pointing in the opposite direction from whence she was headed, Esa forced a more amicable tone into her voice. “If you walk straight down the beach a few miles, I think you’ll find your ship in the harbor there. Nice to meet you, have a nice life, good-bye.”
“Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle. Godspeed,” he called cheerfully.
He resembled a wolf, Esa mused, as she turned to wave a final farewell. A large very French, overly famished wolf. Jarringly fascinating, ready to attack and devour its unsuspecting prey at the first sign if weakness. And if she didn’t heed her inner warnings and leave soon, she might just offer herself up as sacrifice.
But what a way to travel on to the pearly gates, taking her fill in whatever havoc this fantasy pirate might conjure up.
“Will ye not come with me and help scrape the barnacles off me rudder?” He flashed a sinful smile.
Damn, how could anyone look that good? She rolled her eyes and silently prayed her knees would cease their quivering. “Very funny. Good-bye, er, Mr. LaFleur.” God help her, but the outlandish counterfeit corsair left a heart stopping affect in his wake!
Jacque’s boots stayed glued in the sand, compelled to watch the voluptuous sway of Esa Keats saunter down the beach. The exquisite wench intrigued him. But he knew her type well. Possessing all the magnificence of a tigress, with just as deadly a bite. Like a raid of the finest, the most bountiful Spanish Galleon, it was best to board the coveted vessel, take what ye desired and get out. Dissolve into the horizon.
At the same time, she wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met. S
he smelled of the islands sweetness, of fresh coconut and citrus. Her soft feminine laughter was like music to his ears.
When she’d stood over him, he’d shamelessly admired her generous curves, the rousing vision seared forever in the library of his mind. And, why not? In all his mortal life, he’d never seen a wench strut about as she did, a haughty peacock advertising her highly desirable assets so publicly, so proudly. And if she honestly didn’t want the attention of every man possessing a pair of seeing eyes, why did she prance about so indiscreetly? In his opinion, the saucy wench was asking—no begging—for trouble.
And, he recalled with a mischievous grin spreading his lips, his mother had often said trouble should have been his middle name.
So why had she acted so insulted by his kiss?
Only when Esa was no longer within his field of vision, did he notice the vast change in his environment. His mouth fell open. The beach was very different from what he remembered. Buildings stood tall against the blinding sunlight where before, there was naught but open terrain, with perhaps a few huts scattered about.
And the people! Not only did they dress in an array of bazaar fashion, they swarmed like clusters of bees amongst the strand in a leisurely manner, even as to appear recreational. Incredible.
Most of the wenches were dressed like Esa, or undressed, as it was. Some people sprawled practically naked atop multihued coverlets in the hot sand while sipping colorful drinks from tall glasses via foreign objects protruding from the rims.
Usually the hair-raising, fearless Captain, there was no denying the terror that crept into his bones at that moment. He tried to shake it off, but the dreadful feeling loomed over his heart like a fatal wound as he staggered down the shore in search of his ship.
What was that frightful noise? Music? It wasn’t like anything he’d heard before. He wasn’t even sure if one could even classify what he was hearing as music. Were it not for the instruments strumming to a steady beat in the background, he might feel tempted to summon a guard to help the poor soul screeching his throat out.
Corsair Cove Page 2