A Pirate's Command

by Meg Hennessy

  “Whom you had to escape.”

  “Then a revolutionist.”

  “Whom you despise,” he whispered. He knew she wanted compassion, but they were both straddling a very thin line. One misstep could render them enemies or lovers. He knew her passions, her needs, and that only he could fulfill them. “We are like gunpowder and flint, Colette, alone harmless, but together we ignite each other. Our passion is lethal and dangerous for both of us. If that is not true, then fall on that bed and I will prove otherwise.”

  He continued to walk her backward until her knees locked with the bed. She sank to the silk and wool coverlet he had put on board for her and lowered herself to the bed. He pulled his weight over her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and caressed the back of his neck. He kissed her with more determination than ever, to convince her of the hopelessness for either of them to think they could exist, live a life, without each other. For they could not.

  Her lips parted under his; her breath mingled with the rapid pace of his breathing, hot and full of desire. She parted her legs under him and dug her fingers into his back as if to hold him in place. Her desire for him only fired up the flame he tried to put out, ignore, deny himself.

  This wasn’t for him, he tried to redirect his thinking. His whole purpose was to torture her with the passion he knew she had.

  He pulled her gown up and slid his hands to the inside of her legs and continued upward until he spread her legs apart. He kissed her at the apex of her legs, that glorious juncture that gave him so much pleasure. Holding her hips in his hands, he slid his tongue inside her, gliding back and forth, savoring the taste of her, as sweet as he remembered.

  Colette groaned, moving her head from side to side as he teased her passion to respond. She opened for him, her heat rivaling his. He grew hard, throbbing with wanting to drive himself into her, claiming what he knew to be his—seven days left.

  It was not the time.

  He ran his hands along her inner thighs as he disengaged and pushed to his feet. She remained silent but watched him with those deep green eyes.

  “Buenos noches, Colette.”

  He turned to leave, not wanting to consider staying and finishing what they had started.

  “Because it is not day thirty-five?” Colette asked, her voice low and breathless. “Why? Why thirty-five?”

  “Thirty-five months, a day for every month you were with me.”

  “I wounded you deeply, Donato.”

  “You didn’t wound me, Colette.” He turned and faced her. “You destroyed me.”

  Donato slammed the door behind him, funneling through the hanging hammocks to the liquor cabinet in the map room. He poured himself a glass of stiff, well-aged whiskey, needing to wash the taste of her out of his mouth, his mind, for his body still lingered in her bed, between her legs.

  His plan had been to make her suffer with want of him until she begged for release, but in the end it was only he who suffered every night in want. He had been a fool to think he could manage the close quarters with Colette and still come out the victor.

  He headed for the stairs, and as expected, two men had waited, then followed him to the main deck. The men exchanged glances but they never said a word, for they were his men, loyal to him. In spite of the freedom cause for which they fought, he was still their lord and master. Donato was their superior simply by his birthright.

  A revolutionist, she had called him. And he was exactly that.

  He had fought too many wars, too many enemies, in the name of the monarchy and nobility. He had watched men, like those on his ship, bleed and die for their country in which they had little rights. Donato believed a man should forge his own future, governed by laws, not monarchs.

  America had proven men could take charge of their own destiny. Born poor, die rich. It was possible in America; could it not be anywhere else in the world? Like Spain?

  He loved his country, but loved his freedom more. And it was the freedom of his countrymen, the ones who fought and died on the battlefields, that he sought to protect.

  Colette called him a revolutionist. What had her father been but an American revolutionist to free his country from the monarchy of England?

  The Spanish constitution would succeed, Donato was confident. He contributed gold, and plenty of it. Every cent he had stolen from the French corsairs had gone right back to Spain. But this time, arriving in Spain, he’d have to put his politics aside. He had a wife and son to protect.

  She had looked at him with complete horror tonight when she’d learned what he was, but that would be nothing when she learned the truth about the night she had been abducted.

  He glanced around the main deck looking for a sailor known for his musical talents. Seeing him lounging near a cannon for the night, Donato walked over to him. He started to get up when he saw Donato approach. Donato motioned for him to stay sitting, but he needed to stop his mind from spinning so quickly. “Pablo, play me some music.”

  “Si, Su Excelencia, of the mother country?”

  “No, Cuban. I believe our own flavor of music to be superior to Spain.”

  “Si, Su Excelencia.”

  Donato stood at the bow, which was cutting deep through the water. A light spray shed over his face with each dip in the waves. The night was quiet. The moon reflected off the rippling seawater and brilliant stars sparkled overhead to assist in his navigation. By his calculations, if he had gained at all on Rayna’s ship, he’d know in the next few days.

  If not…

  It was a ruse, no doubt. Just how much did the crown of Spain know? Was he a man marked for death? Would he die a revolutionist? The king had put many to death who disagreed with his politics. The high finances of Rayna’s voyage proved they wanted him back. But he didn’t know why. With his son held hostage, Donato had no choice but to fall into their well-set trap.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Colette had tossed about her bed for most of the night and rose at dawn, exhausted but unable to sleep any longer. Her leg had burned with every turn she made, and no position was pain-free. She was washed and dressed before the sun had risen. Much seemed unsettled today. More so than yesterday, she needed to feel fit to face Donato.

  She had made him sound the horrible man last night when she had learned of his politics. When in truth, her own father had been a revolutionist for America and had fought in the war against Britain. That was how he and her mother had met, in France, when he traveled to Paris with Benjamin Franklin during the war.

  Colette loved her father and had tremendous respect for him and never would have thought him evil for revolting against tyranny. But it hadn’t been like that in France, at least from her point of view, as a five-year-old child. Her fears from so long ago had haunted her entire life and now threatened to destroy perhaps the only love she’d ever had.

  The seas were calm in the dawn’s light, and she knew Donato was most likely at the helm. She hoped to engage him in a conversation that did not include a touch, a kiss, any hint of passion, for they were, as Donato said, dangerous for each other. Donato usually took a midmorning break to eat and check his navigations. She thought to join him this morning and create a new partnership that might get them through this without testing their passion but instead, celebrating their mutual love for their child.

  She had made arrangements with Donato’s cook to ensure they would have privacy while he ate in the stateroom. The cook made Colette promise not to bring a pistol, which she did…reluctantly.

  She glanced at the clock and it was already half past eleven; Donato should arrive shortly. Fried bread and fruit paste with a choice of coffee and juice were already on the table. Captains ate well, she mused, after having choked down dry biscuits every morning since they had left the island.

  The hatch opened, and she heard Donato come down the stairs into the stateroom.

  “Colette.” He wasn’t at all surprised. “My cook tells me you wanted to dine in private this morning.”

&n
bsp; “So much for secrecy.”

  He smiled, then motioned to the table that had the food set out. “Join me. I know I will be fascinated by what you have to say.”

  “You mock me.”

  “No, only intrigued by your attempt to, ah…woo me into something.” He had taken a chair without waiting for her. “I apologize for my manners, but my time is limited. Join me.”

  Colette lowered herself into the chair opposite him. She wet her lips in preparation to speak. “Donato.”

  “Are you not going to eat?” He waved toward the door, and the cook came out and started to fill both plates.

  “Oui, I will join you, but I direct our discussion, for I called this meeting.”

  “Meeting?” he repeated but amended when she narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course.”

  The cook filled their plates with a salted meat stew and a bowl of pudding. For most of the journey, the food had been tolerable and rations small, but this morning, the cook had prepared a delicious meal. A menu that could have only been authorized by Donato.

  He refused the coffee and drank wine, raising his glass in a toast to her before taking a sip. She reciprocated, waiting to begin what she had decided would be the best course of action.

  “And what do we toast, Donato?”

  A bright smiled eased out across his tinted skin. “You and me.”

  “As a team?” Pushing him into the discussion she wanted.

  The smile disappeared but a mischievous sparkle reflected in his eyes. “As lovers.”

  Her mouth opened slightly as she drew a sharp breath, angry not over his words, but for the image that sprang into her mind, a very pleasant image. But having spent the entire night alone in bed after Donato had stormed out of the room, she had to do something to change the communication between them.

  They both wanted Enio back, that was a given. But the attraction between them could be toxic, and after he had proved her inability to resist him, would there be a cure?

  Donato noted her silence before taking another drink. “Day six.”

  “I would like to talk of this, Donato.”

  He had just taken a mouthful of bread lathered with fruit paste and nodded that he understood. “A deal was made.”

  “I think we should acknowledge our differences and have an understanding of who we are and that our future is not the question on this voyage, but that of our son.”

  “But that is incorrect, Colette.”

  His comment left her surprised, for she did not expect it. “It is not incorrect.”

  “You have attached yourself to me closer than my shadow, and it is not about us?”

  “No, it is for the sake of Enio.”

  “Si.”

  He dropped his attention to his plate, seemingly unconcerned about the conversation at all. Her attempt to negotiate a treaty of some sorts had been lost the moment the cook had betrayed her and informed Donato of the special breakfast. She pushed her food around her plate for a second, then decided to eat, offering nothing more in conversation except polite table talk. She had abandoned her plan to reason with him, until he spoke on the subject.

  “Colette, what is it you need to say?”

  She jumped in, not wanting to lose the opportunity. “To acknowledge we are different people.”

  “And go our separate ways when we get Enio back?”

  “Oui.”

  “But he will live with me. Where, Colette, will you be?”

  She swallowed hard, feeling her plan unravel. “We will face that decision when we have Enio back.”

  “That decision has been made, Colette. I respected the boy’s need for his mother and kept my distance for more than a year, but now I will have my son with me.”

  “Then we are at an impasse.”

  “Only if you wish to live elsewhere.”

  Her heart paused through a missed beat. He had never said he wanted her back. In fact, to her brother he had made the point of saying that he didn’t. But the inference was there. Would he say it? Would he say he wanted her back? She held her breath for what seemed an eternity, and he said nothing more as if he read her mind and was determined to continue this slow, agonizing, torturous game of lovers and enemies.

  She tossed her napkin on the table and pushed out of her chair. “I will not live without my son.”

  She started for the cabin, making what she thought would be a dramatic exit until her leg gave out. She grabbed for the table, pulling dishes down atop her. Donato was on his feet in an instant and caught her before she hit the deck. He swept her up in his arms and started for the cabin. “I will be fine. I am fine,” she protested.

  “Si, cariño, you are.” Donato carried her into the small cabin and deposited her on the bed. He then sat down on the edge of the bed near her feet and started to unlace her boot.

  Colette silenced her protests, for he would not heed them, and deep down she longed for one of his massages that always washed away the pain.

  He pulled off the boot and tossed it to the floor. His hands felt warm against the cool skin of her ankle. His fingers worked the muscles around each small bone, then her calf.

  “And we are to ignore this?” he whispered.

  She inhaled, knowing what he meant because she felt it, too. His hands worked the long muscles of her leg, massaging, rubbing the pain away.

  She sighed, feeling the ache ebb, as always happened with his touch. She closed her eyes, allowing her body to relax under his ministrations. His hand slid upward and caressed the back of her knee. She fought her reaction, not wanting to desire his touch, yet luxuriating in every movement of his hand.

  “Donato,” she whispered.

  “And this, are we to ignore this?” His other hand swept up her other leg, circled to her core, then back again. With each circle, he’d brush across her hub of desire with a light touch of his fingers. Her breath caught in her throat.

  He rose from the edge of the bed and lowered his body over hers, his weight heavy, crushing, and welcome. His hair, loose and wavy, framed his face and fell forward to sweep across her cheek. He touched her lips with his, just a light touch, a tease.

  She inhaled the scent of him, the pure male musk that wafted around their joined bodies. What a fool she had been to think she could in any way separate herself from this man. She had loved him on the island and had pined for him while in New Orleans, and now craved him on this dangerous journey. The reality was, she had failed to return to her old life in spite of her attempts. She had been reunited with her family, but her heart had remained with Donato on the island, waiting for this moment.

  “But Donato,” she said breathlessly, unable to draw enough air to harden her voice, “you won’t let me mend your heart. You are afraid I will hurt you again.”

  “Perhaps, tesoro mío.” He ran his tongue along her lower lip.

  “You call me your treasure, yet have made it clear you wish not to have me back.”

  He kissed and nipped at the hollow of her throat. She could barely breathe, never wanting this to end.

  “I have made nothing more clear, but are we to ignore this, Colette?”

  “I cannot think, you confuse me.”

  “I touch, you respond, why are you confused?”

  “About how you feel about me. I am no more than a pawn for vengeance for taking Enio…and your heart.”

  He brushed her lips again with his, lingering long enough for her to taste the wine on his breath. “I have my vengeance every time I touch you and you respond.”

  “Then you will grow weary of it, and what happens when your game ends?”

  He laughed. “I am most weary, but not of you. I would never grow weary of you.”

  “Do you speak of reconciliation?”

  “Do I? What of you? We have been here before, Colette, you in my world. What about when we return, when Jordan comes again. For he surely will. Who will you be then? The dutiful sister who has spent her life nurturing others, working in hospitals, orphanages, and cha
rities, but never giving to herself? Or the woman who wears beautiful gowns, a sparkling peineta in her hair, diamond baubles in her ears, and surrenders her body to the music and…me. I have to know, who is the real Colette? Because I love one but not the other.”

  She allowed her arms to wrap around his shoulders and arched toward him, wanting every touch, every kiss to radiate to her soul. “And of you? Who do I get, the pirate or Your Excellency?”

  He laughed softly, nuzzling deep into her neck. “Hopefully neither.”

  “You want me.” Colette tilted her head to kiss him, allowing her desire to surface as her fingers played with the muscles of his shoulders that moved with his arms. “Say it.”

  He chuckled, knowing her game. “For you, cariño, I will say it. I want you.”

  Release raced her heart so fast, she nearly gasped. “I am so sorry I took Enio from you.”

  “I know that.” Donato brushed her lips with his until the kiss became complete. Colette tightened her hold on him, splaying her fingers through his thick black hair. Parting her lips for his kiss, a surge of energy whooshed through her body as if to say, here is where you belong. She spread her legs for him to comfortably sink in between them, her heart matching the beat of his.

  He kissed her lightly again and pushed from the bed. “As much as I would like to stay in this bed fit only for one, I have to get back on deck.”

  A cool breeze wafted over her body, and she felt naked with Donato no longer there. She pushed herself to sit off the side of the bed and glanced up at him.

  “For the delicious meal, merci.”

  “No las merezco.”

  Colette smiled from his Spanish response. “What language will Enio speak?”

  “Spanish.” He leaned down and tenderly kissed her forehead.

  “I think not.”

  He sighed. “Ah, the battles yet to come.”

  “He will speak both, and English.”

  “A scholar. Is this what you wished to discuss?”

  She nodded. “Not the outcome I expected, but I am pleased.”

  “We get Enio and return as a family, regardless of what Jordan wants?”