The Buccaneer

by Donna Fletcher

  He pounded into her, her body's impact causing the door to creak. "I think," he said between heavy breaths, "I prefer madness."

  His tempo increased. Catherine clasped her arms more firmly around his neck and buried her head against his shoulder.

  "Lost," he murmured. "I could lose myself forever inside you."

  His words were enough to explode her into a thousand sparkling lights, their tingling warmth cascading like rain over her sensitive flesh until fading away and leaving her utterly replete.

  Lucian felt her shatter and his own body responded. He burst hot and wet, spilling himself within her again and again, shuddering when his final burst faded to a sweet numbness.

  He continued to hold her. He needed to hold her, needed to feel her damp, satisfied flesh against his. Hear her uneven breathing, know without a doubt that he had brought her to complete satisfaction.

  Why? His thought urged. Why was his need to possess her so overwhelming? Why couldn't he get enough of her? Why did he always need to touch her, feel her silky flesh, wrap himself around her and within her? Why?

  She satisfies you like no other.

  The thought jolted him and he eased her off him. Her legs trembled when she attempted to stand and his arm circled her waist to steady her. She rested against him, seeking his strength, trusting him.

  He lifted her into his arms, receiving no protest from her; he carried her to the bed and settled her upon the clean white sheets.

  Her arms dropped from around his neck to her side and her eyes drifted closed.

  His glance strayed over her naked body. Her lips were puffy from his hungry kisses, her nipples red from his playful bites, her woman's bud swollen with pleasure.

  He had marked her well and she belonged to him, no other — not even her stepfather, Randolph Abelard. She was his and his alone.

  He ran his fingers through his long hair and silently cursed his strange emotions. This need to possess her, to love —

  He stood, glaring down at her sleeping comfortably. Love had nothing to do with his feelings. Passion and lust were the emotions that drove him to behave so insanely.

  Pure lust was the culprit. And once he filled himself, once he drank too often of her taste he would —

  Love.

  The word echoed in his mind, threatening his sanity.

  "No," he said quietly, and shook his head while he settled himself over her, thirsty once again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Catherine stood on the balcony outside of Lucian's bedroom, contentedly glancing out over the island. She had been here two weeks and those weeks had been blissful. From the moment he had lifted her out of the longboat and placed her on the shore, she had realized why Heaven felt like home to so many interesting and diverse people.

  The island reached out and welcomed you regardless of age, manner, or station in life. The white sand felt warm and comfortable beneath her feet, the trees so strange in shape and size swayed in a balmy greeting, and the inhabitants themselves smiled and reached out with open arms.

  Catherine smiled and hugged herself, the blue silk robe cool against her naked flesh, the extreme opposite of Lucian's hands, hot and demanding only thirty minutes before.

  Life had been good these last two weeks, too good. She had met many of the residents of Heaven, each having a horror story of their own and each thanking the Lord above for Lucian's generosity.

  One man, short, brawny, and fixed with a permanent smile, couldn't say enough about Lucian's kindness. On a visit to the local market square, where the islanders bartered their produce and wares, he had captured Catherine's ear. He had held her attention and caught her sympathy when he explained that he had lost three fingers as his punishment for pick pocketing back in England. He had been near to death when he had landed on the island and if it hadn't been for Lucian's orders that he be taken care of, he would have died.

  Lucian saw to it that he had shelter and food until he could care for himself, then he was told that thievery wasn't necessary for survival on the island, nor was it acceptable behavior. If he was caught stealing he would be put off the island. The man had smiled broadly and winked at Catherine, informing her that he had been smart enough to realize he had found paradise and had no intention of ever leaving. He then had handed her a small, strange fuzzy fruit and told her to enjoy and God bless.

  Catherine had learned much from her visit to the market. Heaven was paradise to its inhabitants and Lucian was the man responsible for creating it. And he had created beauty in a lush jungle.

  The size and magnificence of his home had surprised her. An open carriage, highly polished and well maintained, had driven them from the market square up a winding hill road to emerge at the most beautiful home Catherine had ever seen.

  A circular crushed-shell driveway with a spouting fountain in the middle greeted visitors as the driveway wrapped around to the entrance of him home. Gleaming white and two stories tall, it stood proudly with full-length windows whose shutters were thrown wide open allowing the island breeze to drift through the entire house. A balcony ran the full length of the second floor. Bamboo chairs with bright print cushions and tables with pots of flowering plants decorated it tastefully. On the front veranda numerous pots overflowed in a riot of colors and wide-back bamboo chairs begged visitors to sit and relax.

  And that was only the outside, inside had been equally shocking. Lucian had blended native comfort with English charm. The outcome was simply breathtaking.

  Rosewood furnishings with bold native prints at the windows, ceramic vases and plates from foreign ports, highly polished ceramic tile floors of intricate design, brass fixtures, paintings with gilt frames, and numerous windows open wide to welcome the sun and the warm island breeze.

  Lucian had taken care to create his home strictly for his taste and comfort. He had accomplished that most successfully.

  "I have brought breakfast for you, Catherine."

  Catherine turned with a warm smile to greet Zeena, Lucian's housekeeper, though the term seemed inapplicable when used in reference to the attractive woman.

  "Thank you, but I would have joined Lucian shortly."

  Zeena placed the silver serving tray on the bamboo table out on the balcony. "Lucian is occupied and requested that you not wait to eat."

  Catherine had come to know and respect Zeena in the short time since their acquaintance. She had learned Zeena was a woman of few words and offered only that information which she felt necessary or that she felt concerned you. So evidently she assumed that whatever occupied Lucian at the moment was of no concern to Catherine.

  "There is fruit, tea, and hot biscuits. Sit and eat."

  Catherine didn't argue. She was hungry and Zeena's size and elegant poise was intimidating. She slid in the chair sinking into the comfort of the bold green-and-yellow print pillow that cushioned the bamboo seat. She reached for the silver teapot and stopped as Zeena’s hand grasped the handle.

  Her fingers were slim and graceful. But then everything about Zeena was graceful. She carried her five-foot-ten-inch frame with confidence. Her rich dark complexion was flawless, her beauty unmistakable.

  Her shiny black hair was kept braided and pinned like a thick rope up along the back of her head and secured at the top with a lovely ivory comb. She wore the rich colors of the island in a sarong that wrapped around her body, detailing every perfect curve and slipping over her shoulder before knotting around her waist.

  Her speech was articulate, her manners impeccable, her bearing regal. Catherine swore nobility ran through her blood. And the very best part of her appearance was the obvious love that she and Santos shared.

  "You spend much time daydreaming," Zeena said, and lowered herself gracefully in the chair opposite Catherine.

  Catherine had learned that Zeena was never invited to join anyone, if she wished to favor someone with her company, she did. The decision was hers and no one else's. One was honored if she joined one and accepted it as such. "I have much
on my mind."

  "It is obvious that your thoughts weigh heavily." Zeena relaxed back in the chair, crossing her long slim legs. "What troubles you?"

  Catherine shrugged, spearing a juicy piece of melon. "Many things I have no control of."

  "Intelligent women control their lives," Zeena stated. "You are intelligent; therefore it must be your heart that rules at the moment, causing confusion and uncertainty."

  Intelligent. Zeena believed her intelligent.

  A smile spread across Zeena's face. "When I found love all rational thought vanished. I was not accustomed to such contrary emotions. It seemed I opposed myself. It was most puzzling and delightful."

  With her pleasure in Zeena's compliment banished to the back of her thoughts, she anxiously sought to appease her own concern on the subject of love. "How did you know you were in love?"

  Zeena laughed. "A hard question even for the most intelligent person to answer." But Zeena attempted to offer her opinion. "Love is an elusive emotion, much sought after and hard to maintain. But then, how can one hold onto something so fragile without causing pain?"

  Catherine felt the truth of her words.

  "Don't look so sad," Zeena scolded. "Pain brings understanding and growth and all things must grow and mature. Even love."

  Catherine shook her head, the challenge of Zeena's words confusing.

  Zeena reached across the table, covering Catherine' hand with hers. "You are young, like the love you feel. Let yourself mature with that love and you will gain much. I did."

  Catherine smiled and squeezed Zeena's hand. "Your love for Santos shines in your eyes."

  Zeena laughed gaily. "Santos is impossible, wonderful, infuriating, enriching—" She stopped abruptly, her laughter settled, her voice soft. "He is the love of my life. His breath is mine, mine is his. I love him to the depths of my soul."

  Her declaration moved Catherine to near tears. "Will you marry him?"

  "If he wishes. If not—" She shrugged and stood, her long body stretching to a confident stance. "We are married in our hearts. I need no paper to tell me what we both know. Our life and love we will share forever. But this is acceptable to me. It may not be enough for you."

  Catherine pretended ignorance, for she had on occasion fantasized of marriage to Lucian. "Why would I think of marriage?"

  Zeena smiled gently. "Love also shines in your eyes."

  o0o

  Lucian read the letter again and then stared across his massive desk at Santos. "He wants her returned."

  The coldness in Lucian's voice made Santos shiver. "What does he offer?"

  "A handsome sum." He dropped the letter on the desk and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he thought.

  "He has no knowledge of your wealth or he would not have extended such an offer."

  "This means he knows nothing about me."

  Santos nodded. "Unless —"

  "Unless what?" Lucian snapped. He didn't care for surprises. He had trained himself to always be prepared.

  "Unless a political friend makes him aware of your involvement with the Crown and your petition."

  "My petition concerns Lucian Darcmoor and is no way connected with Captain Lucifer. The court has been petitioned to return the Darcmoor lands to me since I was mistakenly pronounced dead. Having survived my ordeal on foreign shores I wish to return and resume my duties as the Earl of Brynwood. No one is aware that most of those years were spent as the pirate Captain Lucifer."

  Santos disagreed. "A man with political power can uncover many hidden secrets."

  "Or bury many of his own," Lucian countered, and stood, walking to the doorway that opened onto the veranda from his study.

  Santos moved to join him. "What will you do?"

  "Abelard's name still isn't completely cleared and will remain blemished until I provide the documentation proving otherwise."

  "And will you?"

  Lucian folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame. "When I am ready."

  "And Catherine? Will you return her as he requested?"

  Lucian narrowed his eyes. "He did not request. He demanded that I return his daughter safe and sound, and promptly."

  "A mistake," Santos said, shaking his head.

  "A big mistake. He is in no position to give orders. He may make a request or better yet beg for her return, but demand? Lucian shook his head slowly.

  Santos attempted to calm his captain's mounting anger. "He's upset and most likely frightened for his daughter. He isn't thinking as rationally as he should."

  "Defending the enemy?" Lucian asked, his stance rigid.

  "Justifying his actions. What would you do if you discovered Catherine was being held by a pirate?"

  His response was instantaneous. "I'd go out and hunt the bastard down, and then kill him."

  Santos was surprised by his vehement tone. "Then you can empathize with him. He seems to care deeply for Catherine and love can—"

  Lucian turned on Santos like a rabid animal. "Love? Abelard doesn't know the meaning of the word." He stepped out onto the veranda, pacing back and forth, raking his hair with his fingers. "He cares for no one but his precious self. At the moment he is probably more concerned by the problems this inconvenience represents. If he cared at all for his stepdaughter, he would have acted calmly, thought the matter over, and approached me with respect. Instead he demands I return her or else. Or else!" He repeated with fury.

  "Lucian," Santos attempted, but Lucian ranted on, ignoring his friend.

  "Abelard is a fool if he thinks I'll return her to him. He's a bigger fool for not attending to his fatherly duties and seeing that his daughter was protected and safe from harm." He stopped his pacing and shook a finger at Santos. "Well, she's safe here and here is where she will stay until I say otherwise."

  "Is she safe here?" Santos asked.

  Lucian threw his hands up in the air. "You sound like Zeena. Her questions always have an underlying meaning. Say what you will, Santos."

  Santos glanced about, intending his question for no one but Lucian. "Catherine is no longer innocent, is she?"

  Lucian dropped into a nearby chair, the soft cushion collapsing from the weight of him. "I should tell you to mind your own damn business."

  "But you won't," Santos said, sitting in the chair next to him.

  "You were right," Lucian said, turning to look him directly in the eye and admit his mistake. "She was a virgin."

  "So your plan is in motion. You will destroy Abelard emotionally, politically, and then financially."

  "Perhaps, I'm not certain, though one decision is clear."

  "What's that?"

  "Catherine will remain here with me — indefinitely."

  "Abelard will never agree to that."

  "I don't recall seeking his permission on the matter."

  "He will protest."

  "It will do no good."

  "Will you inform Catherine of her father's demand?" Santos asked, although the answer appeared clear.

  "No." Lucian stood and leaned his hand on the white veranda railing, looking out across his land that seemed to stretch on forever. "Catherine and I have matters to settle."

  "Be careful, Lucian," Santos warned.

  "Don't worry, my friend, I will not be as foolish as Abelard and allow my emotions to rule."

  Santos shook his head as he walked to the open door. "What I worry is that you will foolishly not listen to your emotions and instead allow revenge to guide you."

  Lucian swerved around, holding his hand out. "I have waited years to have Abelard in the palm of my hand."

  "You have something much more fragile and important in the palm of your hand. Be careful you don't crush it."

  Lucian turned his back on the sound of the door closing. He held his hand out over the railing and stared down into his empty palm.

  Catherine fit comfortably in his palm, her breast full and heavy to his touch. He loved the feel of her, so warm and responsive. Her
nipple would pucker, she would moan and arch against him and beg to be stroked.

  And he would stroke her. Bloody hell, how he stroked her silky flesh, every blasted inch of her. He charted her body as he did the sea, noting every welcoming channel and depth and the extent to which he could sail her.

  "Lucian."

  His name anxiously spoken brought a smile to his lips and he turned, holding his hand out to Catherine.

  She took it, fitting perfectly in his palm, and Santos's warning rang clearly in his thoughts.

  "What is it you want, angel?" he asked, drawing her up against him, needing her body pressed to his. She looked exotic in the pink-and-red sarong that wrapped snugly around her body, outlining every curve and mound. The simple garment excited him beyond control.

  Catherine blushed, making her response unnecessary.

  He laughed low and wickedly. "I did not fill you enough this morning?"

  "You cannot ask me what I want," she said, her face buried in his shirt, hiding from him.

  "Why?" he asked, attempting to catch her chin and force her to look at him, but she eluded his grasp, burying herself against him.

  Her reply muffled, he grew irritated and gripped her shoulders, pulling her back away from him. "What the devil did you say?"

  Her blush barely faded before another tinge painted her cheeks.

  Lucian held her firmly. "You may turn as many shades of red as you wish, but you will answer me."

  Catherine bravely raised her head and blurted out, "I always want you."

  "Always?" he asked, wanting to hear her say it again.

  "Always," she agreed softly, and reaffirmed it with a nod.

  "Does your body ache now for me?" He needed to hear that she did, for he bloody well ached and throbbed and hungered for her.

  "As soon as you turned and smiled at me, I ached for you."

  "And you searched me out?"

  She smiled and he released her, taking her hand in his but keeping a safe distance between them.

  "I searched you out," she agreed, "but it was to see that you kept your promise to me."