by Jayla Jasso
He continued to study the billowy clouds rolling furiously above. The wind had picked up quite a bit, and the front of his shirt clung tightly to his chest with the force of it, his sleeves whipping about his arms with the sharp gusts. Soon it would begin to rain; he needed to go down to his cabin to ensure all the windows were closed and everything secured in case things got a little rough tonight.
Thoughts of the cabin brought thoughts of Jolie. He felt an overwhelming, irrational need to protect the English girl from any harm or misfortune she might face. She was such an intriguing combination of innocence and intelligence, compassion and wit, introspection and curiosity. She had no idea how she affected him or any other man, and yet she seemed to know exactly what to do or say to inflame his senses, even with the simplest of gestures—the way she combed her hair, the touch of her petal-soft lips on his cheek…
“Gabriel?”
Marcano whirled around, startled. It angered him that he had been too absorbed in his thoughts—of her—to hear her climbing the ladder to the poop deck. If she’d been a pirate he might have been dead by now, he thought irritably.
“¡Cielos!” he swore. “What are you doing up here, muchacha?”
She stood clutching the balustrade for support. “I—saw the lightning and thought—”
“When you see lightning, jovencita, do me the favor of staying inside the cabin!”
“I couldn’t sleep, and I wanted to see the storm.”
“What do you mean to do to my men, coming up here dressed like that?” His glare moved pointedly down to the nightgown which peeked out from under the edge of his cloak, and below that, her bare ankles.
“It’s so late, it seemed silly to change back into my evening gown,” she said, her tone a little slighted. The wind plucked at the edges of the cloak and at the hem of her nightgown. “No one is here except for you, and you’ve seen me in less.”
Ay, sí. Far less. He braced himself with one hand against the balustrade as the brigantine pitched to one side. “You should not be out here, Jolie.” He was thinking of the Englishman possibly sighting her through a spyglass from the docks, but couldn’t say that to her. “This storm will break soon.”
“May I stay up here with you to watch just for a moment? I want to see a storm at sea.”
Marcano muttered another oath, then scanned the decks below to see if anyone were out and about. The few hands on deck looked to be occupied with trimming sails or scurrying about performing other duties. “All right,” he grumbled, motioning her closer. “Come stand over here behind me.”
Jolie hurried across the swaying deck to grasp the balustrade near him, turning to clutch the railing behind her back. She peered up at the magnificent storm clouds illuminated in the moonlight. A magnificent bolt of lightning streaked down like the branches of an inverted tree, encompassing the entire eastern sky.
Marcano counted the seconds until they heard the thunder. “It’s two miles to the east. Moving quickly toward us.”
Jolie smiled up at him. “I think there is a kind of intense beauty in storms.”
Marcano gazed down at her face, the desire to crush her in his arms and cover her lips with his almost a physical ache. Various strands of golden-brown tresses escaped her braid and blew softly across her face in the force of the wind. He forced himself to look away. He had to get control of his emotions. She would have to come to him for that type of kiss; he didn’t want to provoke the same reaction as Luis had.
The brigantine pitched heavily to the side in the choppy waves. Marcano pulled the girl against him as the deck lurched under their feet. She stumbled, grabbed his arms, then caught her footing and looked up into his face. Her dewy-soft, pink lips were parted, and he could envision slipping his tongue inside, tasting, seeking, exploring…
“It isn’t safe up here, muchacha. I am taking you below.” He pulled her with him to the ladder. Jolie climbed down and waited on the quarterdeck for him to follow. Once there, he took her arm and led her to the door of his foyer, and as rain began to pelt the open decks, they ducked inside. Marcano pulled her into the cabin and secured the door. Without stopping to light a candle, hurried to close the window above her cot. That done, he moved to the bay windows across the back of the cabin and latched them, and then shut the window over his bunk. Rain spattered against the glass panes and pounded on the balconies outside; lightning flashed, filling the cabin with pulsations of white light followed by ear-shattering claps of thunder that seemed to jar the entire brigantine.
#
Jolie waited patiently as the captain went about the cabin taking heavy items down from shelves and securing loose papers and books, hoping he would stay and keep her company for a while. She pushed her rain-sprinkled hair back from her face; most of it had escaped the loose braid in the wind. She unhooked the closure on his cloak, slid it from around her body, and hung it on the hook at the end of his bunk.
“Jolie.” Behind her, his voice sounded strained. “Do you mind? Seeing you in this state of undress is beginning to torture me. I am a healthy, red-blooded Spaniard, muchacha.”
“Oh, yes—Forgive me. I didn’t think you were taking much note.” She moved toward the cloak, but had to back up against the side of the bunk for support as the brigantine swayed.
He took two long strides to stand directly in front of her and braced one hand on the upper rafter of the bunk behind her head. When he spoke, he was so close that his breath fanned her forehead. “Oh, I definitely am taking note of you, Jolie. Tonight there were plenty of beautiful women around, but none of them affect me the way you do.”
Affect him? Was he jesting, or did he simply mean to trick her into admitting he affected her as well? She didn’t know how to respond, so she stared up at him, heart pounding, waiting for him to do or say something more. Willing him to do or say something more.
In a gentler voice he asked, “Am I frightening you?”
Outside, lightning flashed and a peal of thunder caused her to flinch. She blinked up at him, utterly confused as to how to respond.
He touched her cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers. “Jolie, I would never hurt you knowingly or intentionally. I swear it.”
She swallowed. A flash of lightning revealed a rivulet of rainwater running down the side of his face. She longed to reach up and brush it away but could not muster the courage, especially with him saying so many confusing things.
“I don’t think I’m frightened of you, Gabriel,” she said, hoping he would kiss her or do something to assuage this desire building inside her.
He studied her face in the shadows for several seconds. At length, he backed away and straightened to his full height. “I want you to be certain,” he said, then left, closing the door securely behind him.
Jolie stood rooted to the spot, immobile, not breathing.
The door reopened. “Stay in this cabin until I return or I will throttle you, muchacha. I mean it.”
When the door closed again, she sank down onto his bunk and snuggled against the pillows, pressing her face into their softness. They smelled of his soap, and she pressed her lips onto one of them, imagining it was his face beneath hers.
#
By the time the worst of the storm had blown over and Marcano was able to turn the brigantine over to Guillarte, it was well past two in the morning. He stumbled across the quarterdeck wearily, heading for his quarters. He wanted to bathe, slide beneath the covers of his bed, and dream the rest of the early hours of the morning away. He had managed to quell most of his steamy, lustful thoughts of the English girl, and he hoped to get to bed without seeing her in that infernal pink nightgown again.
He opened the door to his cabin and slipped inside, closing it gently behind him. Before he could stop himself, he glanced across the darkened cabin to her cot, where she was—
Missing! I told her to stay in this cabin, dammit.
He hurried to the cot to get a closer look. The covering on it was completely undisturbed. He was str
iding across the cabin to check the door to the rear balcony when the sight of a feminine figure in his bunk halted him. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Miracle from heaven, there she rested atop his coverlet, curled into his pillows, her back to him. His heart began to pound. His angry fear was quickly replaced by relief, which was then replaced by a sudden surge of hope. Could he take this to mean she had come to him willingly, ready for his lovemaking? He stood over the bunk, staring down at the curve of her hip outlined against the nightgown, faintly visible in the dim moonlight. His feverish gaze slid down her leg to the place where her shapely calf peeked out from beneath the silk, down to her delicate foot, then back up to the cascade of silky hair spread across his pillow, her pale, rounded cheek almost hidden from his view by her shoulder. Santa María, she was beautiful.
He turned to strip himself of his clinging, sweat- and rainwater-soaked shirt as quietly as possible. He sat down at the table to tug off his boots and set them gently aside before peeling off his leather trousers. Untying his hair, he rose to find his soap and towel and slipped out the back door onto his balcony to bathe.
The wind had died down quite a bit, and a gentle shower of rain fell across the expanse of black waves. Marcano washed up as quickly as possible, eager to return to the cabin to ensure he hadn’t been dreaming that she was there in his bunk waiting for him. He scrubbed himself vigorously with the soap, not wanting to leave any trace of the grime and sweat of the day on his body, should she care to explore it with her sweet little hands and lips. A rush of adrenaline shot through his veins at the thought, and he threw the bucket down into the waves and drew it up with more energy than he’d realized he still possessed tonight.
After bathing, he toweled dry under the overhang out of the rain and gingerly reentered the cabin, taking care not to startle her. When he neared the side of the bunk, his heart leapt at seeing her peacefully sleeping form still nestled there. He stood studying her for a moment, considering how to manage the situation just right. She lay on top of the covers, so he couldn’t very well slide under them, and if he presented himself completely naked and in full view, it might be too much for her inhibitions. He decided to wrap his damp towel around his hips and begin from there.
He seated himself on the edge of the bunk carefully, never taking his eyes off Jolie’s sleeping form. She shifted slightly, making a soft noise in her throat, and he leaned closer, reaching out with an unsteady hand to smooth her hair along the pillow. He stroked her soft cheek lightly, then grasped her shoulder, gently rolling her onto her back to face him. She still didn’t open her eyes, so he traced the outline of her full lower lip with the tip of his finger. Her mouth parted beneath his touch and before thinking, he leaned over with the intention of tasting her lips. He managed to stop himself inches from her face. What if his unexpected kiss reminded her of Hauste’s abuse?
He backed up, peering down at her face, lovely and relaxed in sleep. He should wake her first, he decided, and allow her to make it clear just what she meant by coming to his bed like this. He grasped her shoulder again and shook her gently.
“Jolie, wake up, querida,” he murmured, reaching up to pat her cheek. “Jolie, wake up.”
Her eyes opened; she lay perfectly still, blinking in confusion at his bare chest for a second. Her gaze traveled up to his face. “Am I dreaming?”
He smiled. “I hope not.”
“What am I doing in your bed?”
His smile faded. “You did not come here to—to, ah…?”
“I must have accidentally fallen asleep here. Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rose up on her elbows, and Marcano shifted backwards on the mattress to give her room. Disappointment crashed in on him heavily, making him feel as if he needed air.
“Yes, I woke you so you could return to your cot,” he muttered lamely. He moved farther back and waited for her to get up.
But Jolie didn’t move; she just stayed there staring at his naked torso. She gazed down at his naked thighs below the edge of the towel, then back up to his face. “Ah… How is…how is your wounded arm?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s fine.” Go to your cot. Now. Please.
“Would you like me to massage it again?”
“No.” Damn it, he wanted her to touch him as a lover, not as a nurse.
She still didn’t budge from his bed. She glanced at the porthole over the bunk, then back at his face. “Is the storm over yet?”
He looked away, toward the opposite wall. “The worst is past. There is no need for fear.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“No, of course not.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
He searched for an appropriate answer. “I can’t right now.”
“Why not?”
“Please go to bed, Jolie,” he begged tiredly.
Instead of obeying, she sat up and scooted toward him, then closed her eyes and leaned forward to press her warm, soft lips against his chin. He froze. Undaunted, she backed up a little, opened her eyes to focus on his face for a second, and leaned forward again to press a kiss to his cheek.
Marcano gripped the coverlet under his palm. This was worse than being seduced by Jezebel herself. He held himself still, waiting for her to move back. She finally did, but only to brace herself with a hand against his bare chest, and concentrated resolutely on his mouth. A soft groan escaped his throat as her supple, earnest lips touched his.
Marcano reached up to cup her cheek with one hand. He tilted his mouth sideways a little and gently rubbed his lips against hers, then moved his hand around to the nape of her neck and threaded his fingers into her silky hair. He held her head in place with that hand so his lips could more fully mold against hers. She sighed against his mouth and pressed closer, sending chills over his spine.
The tantalizing rubbing back and forth of their lips was not enough; he began to kiss her open-mouthed. His tongue glided over her lips, slowly tracing the upper and then the lower lip before he fit his mouth hungrily over hers. He encircled her waist with one arm to draw her closer to his chest, but her knees were in the way. She raised herself up to a kneeling position on the mattress and scooted forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her small waist and lifted his head to kiss her. When she eagerly bent her head down to meet his kiss, her hair spilled over his face and shoulders, causing his skin to prickle everywhere it touched.
He pulled her sideways into his lap and slid his hands into her silken hair to hold her steady while his lips continued to taste hers. Jolie sighed with obvious pleasure and wound her arms eagerly around his neck. Marcano would have been amused by her inexperienced enthusiasm if he wasn’t so inflamed by it. He stroked her lips with his tongue, grateful for every second of kissing her without her seeing Hauste’s face. When she moaned against his mouth, he gently probed between her lips with the tip of his tongue. Her lips parted for him tentatively, and he stroked inside, ever so lightly.
She shuddered in his arms, and he tightened his embrace in response, enjoying the weight of her soft buttocks on his thighs. He deepened his gentle assault on her mouth, seeking, until at last she realized he wanted to taste her tongue. She allowed him to find it; he stroked and teased her tongue with his, kissing her hungrily.
At length he dragged his mouth from hers and trailed heated kisses across her cheek to her ear. She clung to his neck, her breathing labored. As he nuzzled her soft earlobe and jawline, she pressed her warm face into his neck, inhaled deeply, and uttered a shuddering sigh.
He drew back a little, his own breathing rapid as well. “Am I frightening you?”
“No, Gabriel. I’m not scared of you in the least right now,” she breathed, snuggling against his shoulder and neck.
“You don’t understand what I need right now, Jolie.” His throbbing erection, pressing insistently against the backs of her shapely thighs, however, understood perfectly well.
“I know about the intimacies of men and wo
men.”
“What Hauste showed you was not true intimacy.”
“I know; our housekeeper, Vera, told me the full details of what happens when you, ah...”
He studied her face. “What did this woman tell you, exactly?”
“She told me everything, I swear it. I know what to expect.”
“Are you sure?” he asked softly.
Jolie swallowed. “Sort of. Mostly.”
Marcano gazed down at her swollen lips, and groaned inwardly. This was wrong; it was taking advantage of her situation, and he knew it. He knew what he must do, but doing it would be the most difficult task he had ever faced. He stroked the hair away from her face with an unsteady hand and caressed her cheek. He exhaled slowly, painfully. “Jolie, I cannot take your virginity right now, like this. You will soon meet eligible gentlemen, perhaps in Spain, perhaps somewhere else in Europe. Your beauty and charms will win over any man who lays his eyes on you.”
“But I don’t—”
“Let me finish,” he cut in. “I will tell you the truth about me, Jolie. What that pirate said is true. I am the bastard son of a nobleman and a whore. My mother died in childbirth when I was born, and another prostitute who knew who my father was left me on his doorstep. He was not without compassion and took me in, but he refused to give me his name. They gave me my mother’s name instead.”
Jolie stared at his face as he continued. “I grew up despised in my father’s house by my stepmother and my half-brothers and sisters. As I told you before, my father’s wife made certain I received nothing from his estate after his death. Not only am I without a mother or father, but I have no home or property to offer you, much less the honor of a respected family name.”