Esa gulped. Lord help her, but the man filled her with the most primitive desires. She pried her eyes from the living sculpture and hurried into the bathroom, and locked the door. He was a magnet with lungs that sucked her in from every angle. Did she really think she could be on a boat—were it the size of the Titanic—with this Herculean sex-god for two weeks and not submit to her escalating attraction toward him?
Did she honestly want to try?
Think of Sid, that small voice shouted. He wouldn’t be happy about her leaving, but then again, he didn’t have to know every detail of her whereabouts. She didn’t know where he was every hour of the day. It wasn’t like they were married, yet. And she’d already told him they needed time apart. Hopefully, being at sea for a few weeks would help her sort out the mixed feelings she’d begun having in regard to their relationship.
Jacque LaFleur could do as he pleased. Hell, she couldn’t think of any reason why they would even need to see one another before they reached Guadeloupe.
Her spirits lifted somewhat. Esa showered and pulled the oversized nightshirt back on before making her dreaded way back to the safety of the bedroom. Holding her breath, she peeked out the bathroom door and released the breath she’d been holding before taking a step into the living area. Thankfully, Hercules was still asleep, as evident by the soft snores coming from his direction. He looked as innocent and harmless as a kitten in his slumber.
As she crept past the table, past the credenza and past the plush leather chair, she couldn’t help but wonder about his life. Did he work out daily—all day, to maintain that bulging physic? How long would a person have to study a pirate’s perilous ways before they could mimic them to perfection?
Time-travel. He almost made her a believer.
Once again her father’s voice echoed in her head, “To believe the unbelievable, to allow one’s mind to see that which the human eye is blind to, is the fundamentals of genius.”
To believe the unbelievable.
Jacque’s claims went beyond belief. And if she were to buy into his remarkable story, then that entailed believing all that the history books said about the mysterious swindler. Closing her eyes, she tried hard to conjure up the only picture she’d ever seen of the infamous buccaneer. It had been in a social studies book, but too shaded a memory to be of any real help.
Yet, the same feeling caressed her now that had come over her the first time she’d seen him. A man not easily forgotten, in any century: tall, dark and dangerously handsome. She’d felt an eerie connection to him, a bond built from the loneliness that leapt off the page. And, if memory served her correctly, Jacque LaFleur was quite the flagrant playboy. Indeed.
“Hmmm, I wonder,” she murmured. A thrill of excitement rose high in her chest as she dashed the few remaining yards into the bedroom and eased the door closed. Snatching her laptop from the nightstand, she flopped onto her belly along the bed and rubbed her hands together in anticipation before typing: Jacque LaFleur.
“The hour of truth,” she whispered through a sinister grin as she awaited feedback. Wow, there were a few hits, so she clicked on the first one. “Eureka!” she squealed when a page popped up with a generous amount of information on the life and mysterious disappearance of the deadly pirate.
The mysterious disappearance.
A chill jarred her to the bone. She covered her mouth with her hand and scanned the first paragraph, growing more frigid with each passing word.
Why would anyone willingly pretend to be such a wicked man? Wicked, yet interesting. Why would such an educated man turn to piracy?
“Ah, here we go,” she breathed, reading the compact history. Kidnapped at the age of twelve and held briefly by a band of brigades, LaFleur developed a longing for the freedom of the open sea. Trained as one of the elite Royal Guard, he thwarted his duty and shunned the king before setting out to claim the vessel that held him captive some ten years before.
He renamed the ship the Sainte-Anne and continued his pirating until his mother’s death, when he seemed to have had a change of heart. LaFleur received a full pardon from King Louis and was given his Letters of Marque prior to his treachery of the Royal throne.
She scrolled further down the page, read some more, scrolled down a little further still, and froze.
“My God.” She nearly choked, gaping at a familiar image on the screen.
It was him.
The handsome figure staring back at her was none other than the beautiful Greek God in the next room, bulging biceps, swashbuckling boots, tattered beard and all!
The brunt of her findings reared up to slap her face and sent an unnerving ripple through her soul. A scream climbed high in her throat but she stifled it, for surely that would bring the toxic hulk bursting through the door.
Her heart hammered in her chest in the same manner a heard of wild stallions might pound the terrain in a flight of fear. Get hold of yourself Esa, that voice urged. He may be dangerous, hell, a cold-blooded killer in fact, but he hasn’t hurt you, at least not yet. There’s a perfectly rational explanation for this.
She just had to figure out what it was.
Be rational. It couldn’t be the same man. No way. Time-travel just wasn’t possible.
She glanced back at the picture and shivered. Although nothing more than a black and white etching, the likeness was so uncanny it caused gooseflesh to spread the length of her body.
Unless a person had an identical twin, there’s no way two people could look so much alike. It was him. The truth of it stabbed at her stomach like a sharp knife, twisting painful until she felt like she would actually be sick.
If not time-travel, how? Was he immortal? That notion was even more preposterous than the previous one. She reflected on the stranger’s virginal reactions to everyday life in the 21t Century. How could that be feigned?
Detective Burk’s words invaded her thoughts, “I just can’t understand it; the man has no ID, no green card, no social security number, no criminal record, just a rare ruby and what can only be assumed as genuine Letters of Marque, signed by King Louis himself. How? Where did he acquire them? Nothing’s been reported as lost or stolen.”
Her heart gave a hard thud as she recalled her answer. “Perhaps they are his.”
Torn with emotion, Esa rolled off the bed and snatched the waste can. She was going to be sick, no doubt about it. It was all too much to take in. If the man on the screen was the same as the one sleeping in the next room that could only mean one thing.
She’d invited a murderer into her midst.
Even worse, not only was her new roommate and travel companion a fearsome pirate, he’d been given a legal pardon via Letters of Marque making him formally a fearsome privateer.
A pirate with a license to kill.
Six
How had an 18th Century pirate arrived in her time? By what means, what possible reason could there be? It was downright mind-boggling. Could there really be a gateway to other centuries beneath the sea? A wave of nausea came over her but she was able to tame it this time.
Still, her mind refused to believe what her troubled soul had already accepted. Perhaps the man had seen LaFleur’s picture somewhere and noted the striking resemblance and thus, set out to make a living off the uncanny fluke. Not that it mattered. She was going to sever all ties with Mr. Whoever-he-was and go back home.
Why did she have to be so nosey and look him up in the first place?
Curiosity killed the cat. She shuddered at the thought. Should she fear for her life? Yes, definitely. Just being so damn close to him conjured frightening imagines of plunder and pillage, rape and murder. The lofty raider reeked of mischief and mayhem.
Jekyll and Hyde, that’s what he reminded her of, a dual personality. Like day and night. She’d seen both sides of the calloused soul in the next room. Cold and calculated on one hand while warm and charming on the other.
If she were foolish enough to set sail with him, to fall prey to his wondrous love spell, tho
se long primed fingers could easily snap her neck, long before she realized what the beautiful rake was up to. Best to steer clear of any potential conflict. She’d wait until they were in the lobby, surrounded by people—security guards—before she dropped the bomb informing him that she was backing out of their agreement.
After pulling on a pair of white Capris and a black designer T-shirt, Esa glanced in the mirror. Damn, her makeup bag was in the bathroom. Well, she’d just go without makeup today.
What was she thinking? She needed to collect it if she planned on taking it home with her today. She’d just opened the door and steeled herself to make her way back to the bathroom when she noticed the cold-blooded killer was awake.
She faltered mid-stride. Good grief, she groaned as feminine hormones sprang to life. Her breath came hard and fast. Relax, he hasn’t hurt you, he has no reason, so long as he thinks you’re going to help him.
The mystical time warrior was watching her through lazy eyes, making him all the more irresistible and sexy. Forcing a steady, civil tongue, she attempted a nonchalant smile. “Good morning Jacque, sleep well?”
He stretched, causing his well-muscled physique to tighten in all the right places and her internal thermostat to skyrocket, but she resisted the urge to fan the back of her neck.
He’s a treacherous murderer—or pretending to be one. Either way, he was dangerous. Just act normal.
“Aye, Cherie. ‘Tis far more agreeable than the flea infested hammock I’m accustomed to.” He gifted her with a rugged smile, causing a dry lump to form in her throat.
Damn he was good.
Esa closed her eyes and silently vowed not to surrender to her animalistic lust. He’ll take what he wants and slit your throat when he’s through.
She swallowed. It was hard to remember he was as perilous as a blind man in a knife fight when the rich, sleepy tone of his voice nearly brought her to her knees.
Everything about him screamed danger, warned her to pack up her belongings and get as far from this magnificently packaged devil as she could. “Ah, if you need to use the bathroom, er, I can wait.” Her voice sounded strained, though he seemed not to notice.
“Much obliged, mademoiselle. I’ll be takin’ ye up on that offer as my bladder may quiver ‘til it bursts.” With a playful wink, he made a start to lift his naked torso from the sofa.
She spun round and heard a low rumble from behind. Even the man’s chuckle possessed a sinister quality! He grew quiet and her muscles tensed for she felt his eyes sear the length of her backside. She considered darting for the safety of the bedroom when his magnetic lips parted, having the effect of a bucket of cement on her feet.
In a raspy sleep-filled tone that made her want to peel off her clothing and tackle him to the floor he purred, “I do believe ‘tis the finest booty ever to lay me eyes upon.”
Esa’s mouth formed a big fat O. Her cheeks burned as if she stood before a roaring fire. “I wouldn’t think an 18th Century pirate would refer to one’s backside as a booty. I thought that was a term reserved for treasure.”
The sofa creaked and she knew he stood not more than a few yards behind her. A quick glimpse of his reflection on the television told her he’d not bothered to cover his nakedness. She squeezed her eyes shut against the forbidden image. Surely the screen elongated her view. She dared not open her eyes to clarify for fear the burley bear might be standing right in front of her, ready to devour her.
“Privateer,” he corrected. “I owe my newly acquired vocabulary to a pair of, er, pirates I encountered yesterday. The manner of speech, the style of dress in your time is a bit of a shock, even unto one the likes of me. As for ye booty…” She could feel his eyes devour her bountiful derriere once again. “There is no finer treasure in the world, to be sure.”
The door to the bathroom gave a moderate thud as it shut and Esa unleashed her pent up breath, grateful the man hadn’t seen the deep blush she knew stained her cheeks. She turned to find his clothing, as well as the blanket, still strewn on the plush carpet. Did the man know no shame? She gave a snort. Of course he didn’t, with a body like that, why should he?
She was glad she wouldn’t be accompanying him to Guadeloupe. The risky voyage would prove to be a lengthy, nerve-shattering trip if the man continued on parading about in his birthday suit at every opportunity!
A slew of colorful adjectives spewed from the bathroom, snapping her attention toward the door. Approaching with caution, she cocked her head as to hear better. “Jacque? Is everything alright in there?”
“How the devil do ye work this blasted spigot?” came his testy reply. What, he’d never taken a shower before?
Not if he were the real Jacque LaFleur.
She had the sudden urge to laugh. Some fearsome bandit. He couldn’t even win a battle against a spigot! With a self-indulgent chuckle, she shouted at the closed door, “Jacque, do me a favor and grab one of those white towels hanging on the rack and cover yourself. Then I’ll show you how to use the spigot, okay?”
“Avast, me buxom beauty, I’ve no quarrel with ye seein’ the family jewels.” His tone was playful. Too playful. The kind she could quickly grow comfortable with. Hell, she could almost see that damnable twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
“Just do it, please?” Must he toy with her? He would make this very difficult, and enjoy every second of her discomfort.
An arrogant snicker echoed inside the bathroom. “Aye, lass, ‘tis done. Ye may enter.”
Esa squinted and opened the door, peeking inside until her eyes found their target. The sight of Jacque wrapped in the small towel was nearly her undoing. He’d obviously fiddled with the faucet—spigot as he called it—for water trickled down his face and dribbled off the scruffy beard and down the froth of dark hair on his massive chest.
She swallowed the barbed lust in her throat. Good grief. Were it possible, he was even sexier wet. It took every ounce of strength she could muster, but Esa finally peeled her eyes from the man’s flawless frame, but not before he noticed the hungry look that seemed to have taken up residence therein. She didn’t see his triumphant expression as she proceeded to demonstrate how to operate the shower.
“And that’s all there is to it!” Finished with the lesson she turned to leave him to his shower.
God give her strength, as the red-hot thug wasn’t going to let her get away that easy. He blocked her exit with a bulging mass of towel-clad flesh and a sexy grin, though true to his word, he did not put his hands on her. She meant to avoid his hypnotic gaze by glancing at the checkered floor when her eyes captured a rather odd black mark on his leg, mid-thigh, though she dare not allow her wanton eyes to linger too long.
“Is that a tattoo? It looks like a butterfly.” A rather peculiar tattoo for a tough pirate. She made the mistake of looking into his face.
Smoky, lusty, menacing eyes spoke to her in a mating vow as old as lust itself. The more she stared into his hypnotic trance, the weaker she became, the further she fell under his spell.
“Ah, my sweet confection; fond of butterflies are ye? Perhaps ye’d fancy a closer look, aye?” The roguish half-grin sent her libido sailing off the chart. Her knees rattled as if the earth itself shook beneath her.
The need to flee the humid procreation trap before she yielded to her ever-growing lust exploded in a nervous laugh. “Get out of the way, Jacque.” Had she said that aloud? She couldn’t be sure. She thought she had, but he sure as hell wasn’t moving.
She may as well be trying to shift the Lincoln Memorial for all that the man remained fixed in place. He stepped toward her with feline grace. Feeling as though she were a marked doe, Esa backed away until she was pinned between the shower door and Jacque’s persuasive physique.
Hands pressed firmly against the glass door as though not to tempt himself, with a lazy deliberation he lowered his face and hovered a mere centimeter from hers.
“Jacque,” Esa squeaked her only protest in a throaty whisper. She could almost feel the tickle
of those wiry whiskers, though they never touch her. Yet the heat from his face, his breath caressed her and ignited the unforgivable flame of passion deep inside.
Resigned, she closed her eyes and slightly parted her lips in anticipation of his toe-curling kiss.
But still his lips did not touch hers. The torturous swashbuckler ever so gingerly skimmed the surface of her face with the intimate, erotic warmth of his breath, causing the most delightful sensation to surge through her veins. His beard barely grazed her highly attentive skin and caused the V between her thighs to ignite and drum to an ancient beat.
His erection gently brushed her midriff and a soft moan escaped her as he finally ended the sensual torture by claiming her eager mouth in an untamed kiss. She melted like hot wax beneath him, having fallen too far beneath his carnal trance to be concerned with the promise she’d made to herself just moments ago.
This guy could write a book on the art of kissing!
So enwrapped in the splendor of the moment, neither of them heard the knock at the door until the bothersome noise grew loud enough to thunder throughout the plush suite. Who in the blazing stars could that be?
“Leave it be, Cherie,” Jacque urged, feathering hot kisses along her impressionable neckline. She complied without a scuffle, until the impatient hammering grew too loud to be ignored.
Reluctantly, Esa broke the kiss and edged her way free. “Mm, better turn the setting to cold, Jacque!” She whisked past the frustrated corsair and hurried to the door to identify the timely intruder. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank whoever the persistent stranger was, or strangle them!
Corsair Cove Page 9