by Sea Fires
“Your muscles, yes. At least most of them.” Miranda bit her bottom lip. “However, if you feel uncomfortable—”
“Nay, ‘tis fine. I’ll do it. That is, if we can study Spanish at the same time.”
“Certainly we can.” Miranda settled into the chair and positioned the parchment in front of her on the desk. “I think we should begin with some simple questions, don’t you?” She glanced up. “You can disrobe.”
“What type of questions? Do you mean take off everything?”
“You wouldn’t be nude otherwise, would you?” Miranda asked logically.
“Right. And you did say you wished me to pose for you in the nude.” Jack yanked his shirt over his head.
Miranda waited. He toed off his boots, and her mouth went dry. She had to force herself to remember she was doing this for science.
When he reached for the waistband of his breeches, Miranda squirmed in her seat. She searched her mind for a Spanish phrase to teach him, but the most illogical thing had happened. She couldn’t remember a thing.
Miranda looked down at her sketch and grabbed up the charcoal; but her hand was damp, and it slipped to the desk top. She heard the whisper of fabric against skin, and her lashes lifted. He stood before her like a golden god. She could barely breathe.
“Well, go ahead and draw,” Jack commanded. He had never before done anything so stupid in his life, and if his men found out about this, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Draw...? Oh, yes, draw.” Miranda swallowed and clutched the charcoal. Determined, she bent her head toward the parchment and began to sketch. She could do this... she could.
But each time Miranda glanced up to follow a ridge or plane with her eyes, her concentration slipped a little more. Until finally she could do naught but shut her eyes.
“Is something amiss?” Jack resisted the urge to cover himself with his hands. He was trying to stand here and let her draw him—to not think about his state of undress—but he couldn’t. And as he watched her work, watched the curve of her cheek and fine crow’s wing hair at her temple dip forward when she bent over the parchment, he couldn’t stop wishing she were unclothed as well.
Miranda pushed away from the desk. “ ‘Tis the light. It’s not sufficient for me to see.” She glanced up. “I mean, I can see.” Her eyes drifted, over Jack, widening when she noticed his arousal. With a jerk of her head she looked away. “It simply isn’t bright enough for me to sketch.”
With that she edged around the desk, her back to Jack, and began sorting through the papers there. “Oh,” she said. “You can put your clothes back on.”
She was as embarrassed as he, Jack thought. Except, he wasn’t embarrassed anymore. Silently he moved up behind her, smiling when her gasp of breath accompanied his touch. He pressed against her, sandwiching her body between him and the desk. His arms stole around, her, crossing over her chest, and he bent to nuzzle her ear. “You didn’t teach me any Spanish,” he said, before nipping gently at her lobe. “For instance.” His hands crept up. “What’s the Spanish word for these?” They closed over her breasts. His thumbs drew delicate circles around her tightened nipples.
Miranda moaned and leaned back into his hard body. “I doubt you need to know that.”
“ ‘Tis possible you’re right.” His mouth skimmed down the side of her neck, taking tiny love bites as he went, and Miranda leaned her head to the side, allowing him better access. “Then, what about this?” One hand slid down between her legs.
“Jack.” Miranda could, barely catch her breath. “ ‘Tis daytime.”
“I know.” He bunched up her skirt in front, sighing and rubbing his hardness into her buttocks when he felt the smooth warmth of her naked thigh.
“Oh, Jack.” Miranda arched, driving herself more firmly into his palm. His fingers wove through her tight curls, then delved deeper. Miranda’s strength abandoned her. Her knees buckled, and she would have slipped to the floor if not for the strong arm binding her to the captain.
“Lean forward.”
“What?” The question was a low moan. His finger stroked her, driving any semblance of reasoning from her mind.
“There.” With one swipe of his arm, Jack sent charts and papers flying. Miranda was quivering too near the brink to question when he gently pushed her forward. Cradling her cheek on her bent’ arm, Miranda lay across the desk.
Standing behind her, Jack ran his hands down the slender sides of her rib cage. When he reached her hip, his fingers fanned, then dipped down to flip up her skirts.
His manhood throbbed, hot and heavy, pulsing as he leaned into her. Controlling the urge to slam into her, he caressed her rounded flesh. He kneaded, then slipped lower, gently spreading her entry. His penetration was slow and deliberate, and Jack thought he’d lose his mind before he was fully sheathed in her.
She was so hot and tight, so unbearably sensual, that he hesitated before resuming his thrusts. When he could stand it no longer, his body moved. He grabbed her buttocks, digging his fingers into her, and arched forward.
His movements became frantic, spurred by his own lack of control. She called out his name, and Jack leaned over her. “Give me your mouth,” he groaned, brushing her hair aside when she turned her face toward his.
His open mouth covered hers. His tongue speared into her, and he held her while she climaxed. The tightening of her flesh around him ignited his own long, searing release.
When Miranda opened her eyes, she was face to face with the pirate, their heads resting on the hard oak desk top. She hadn’t noticed till now how hard and uncomfortable it was. But she forgot her discomfort when his golden lashes lifted and he smiled at her.
His grin deepened. “God’s blood, I don’t know what came over me,” he whispered, before levering himself up. He gave her bottom a teasing pat before lifting her around to sit on the desk.
Miranda shifted her skirt down around her ankles. Her heart was still pounding in her chest as she tried to catch her breath. “What... what did we do?”
Jack’s laugh made Miranda flip back the long strands of hair which had come undone. Intently, she peered at him.
“We made love.” Jack chuckled, brushing a kiss across her swollen lips before reaching for his breeches.
“But... but it wasn’t like before.”
“Ah, Miranda, there are lots of ways.” Jack slid his arms into his shirtsleeves. “And I intend to show you as many as I can, but first I need to learn some Spanish.”
Miranda sighed. “Say it again. This time let it roll off your tongue.” She turned toward the pirate and demonstrated.
This attempt was as poor as his last. Jack leaned his head back against the bulwark. “God’s blood, why can’t they just speak the King’s English or Celtic. I have little trouble with them.”
“Or Indian,” Miranda reminded him. “I heard you speaking with the Indian in the forest, and I had no idea what you said.”
“Nafkebee is Cheraw. I learned the language when I was a lad, before the Spanish came.” He frowned. “I don’t know why I can’t seem to pick up this heathen tongue.”
Miranda settled down on the window seat in the captain’s cabin. They’d been working at this for nearly an hour, ever since they’d made love, and were making little progress. “ T’would not be so much of a problem if you’d only allow me to accompany you.”
“M i r a n d a.” Jack drew out her name in warning.
She threw up her hands. “You wish to go ashore at a Spanish settlement and find your sister when you do not speak the language, nor do you look particularly Spanish. And even if you did, and sought out de Segovia, he would probably recognize you.”
“I doubt that.”
Miranda glanced up. “You’ve changed so much since your sixteenth year?”
“In actual appearance nay, but there is naught the same about a free man and a slave. De Segovia will not know me until ‘tis too late.”
“For you or him?” Miranda sighed when her comment ea
rned her a stormy scowl from the pirate. “You are being stubborn.”
“Me?” Jack jumped to his feet. “You’re the one who stowed away and won’t give up this crazy notion of coming ashore with me.” Shutting his eyes, Jack forced himself to calm down. She was exasperating—no question about that. But he’d known that from the beginning, and he seriously doubted he’d ever change her.
“I shall think on it,” Jack assured her, before settling back in the chair. “Now, may we continue with the lessons?”
Miranda cast him a sideways glance. “You’re considering taking me along?”
“I said only that I’d think on it,” Jack hedged. “How would I inquire of the whereabouts of a young woman in Spanish?”
Miranda told him, but she didn’t believe for one moment that he was honestly contemplating taking her with him. If she knew anything of the pirate, he was not one to change his mind so quickly.
She listened as he stumbled through another Spanish phrase and made up her mind. Regardless of what she had to do, she was going ashore with him
The Sea Hawk dropped anchor late in the afternoon in a secluded cove on the east bank of Anastasia Island, across the bay from St. Augustine. After trimming the sails, most of the crew lazed on deck, drinking or snoozing, or grumbling to each other about the heat. Thinking of the coming events, though none would admit it.
Below decks, his full length stretched out upon the bunk, Jack’s thoughts drifted in the same direction. If Nafkebee’s information was correct, by tomorrow the blood of Jack’s parents would be avenged. Unbidden, the scene of horror at Port Royal invaded his mind, and he shuddered.
“ ‘Tis something wrong?” Miranda shifted, swiping hair from her face and elbowing herself up beside him.
Jack rolled his head to glance at his wife. She looked thoroughly debauched and seduced, her raven curls tumbling down across her bare shoulders and her eyes glazed with passion.
A fissure of guilt snaked through him.
Not that he didn’t find the sight of her delectable. Not that, though he’d made love to her twice already, the feel of her soft breast swelling against his shoulder didn’t cause stirrings in his groin. Not that touching her, tasting her, being one with her, wasn’t starting to become as important to him as breathing.
But all that aside, he was in his cabin for a reason. And that reason was deceit.
And blast his worthless, pirate hide, he didn’t like deceiving her. Even knowing it was for her own good, he didn’t like it.
“Nay.” Jack realized Miranda watched him, her intelligent eyes searching his face, and he reached up, touching her cheek to reassure... to distract.
“You are so beautiful,” he said and shut his eyes against the bitter taste the words left. Not because he didn’t find her beautiful, but because he knew why he said it.
Miranda’s lips brushed his in a fleeting kiss. “You’re beautiful, too.”
Jack slitted open one eye, amused despite himself. “This isn’t an attempt to persuade me to pose for you nude again, ‘tis it?”
“No.” Her sparkling laughter made him smile. “I think I will leave the drawing of nude men to others.”
“ ‘Tis an excellent idea. Though if I recall, the afternoon was not a complete waste.” His grin was lecherous as his hand skimmed down her body.
“Hmmm.” She appeared thoughtful, with her rounded chin resting in the cup of her palm. “That was the day you showed me there were other ways to—”
“Aye.” With Miranda he was never certain what she would say.
“You’re an excellent teacher,” she said, her eyes twinkling when his expression nearly beamed with pride. “I never would have guessed ‘twas possible to stand against the door and—”
Jack silenced his wife with a kiss. He’d made love to her pressed against the door, when he first came below. He’d caught her just as she was ready to leave the cabin to go on deck. And he couldn’t have her doing that.
The kiss left them both breathless and dazed, and Jack was thinking less of his plan and more of the woman he’d married when he lifted her to lie sprawling on top of him.
Her blue eyes met him, questioning at first, and then, they brightened. “ ‘Tis another way, isn’t it?”
“Aye, Miranda, yet another way.”
Her legs spread with only the slightest encouragement from him. If he was a good teacher, she was an excellent student. Jack was continually amazed and thrilled by his passionate wife.
His hands rode her hips, settling her on his swollen staff, and she arched back, accepting all of him. Her breasts tasted sweeter than honey as he raised his head to suckle them.
All thoughts save those of her deserted him as the passion mounted. She rode him well, her knees pressed into his sides. He caressed her stomach, then lower, using his fingers to send her soaring. And when she did, she took him along on the wild, untethered flight.
Pulling her down to him was instinctive, as was gathering her closely in his arms. It was only when she squirmed that Jack realized how tight was his hold. Relaxing his muscles, Jack lay her gently on the bunk beside him and pulled up the sheet to cover them.
Night shadows crept across the cabin, but Jack made no attempt to light a candle. Instead he murmured softly to her. “Sleep now. I know you’re tired.” After he’d done all he could to make her so.
Her sigh brought another pang of guilt. “Jack.” Her voice was thick with sleep. “Are you going to take me with you when you go ashore?” He’d hoped she wouldn’t ask, but knowing Miranda, he’d expected— and prepared— for the worst. “Aye,” he whispered. “Now sleep, for we depart first thing in the morn.”
She snuggled closer. “I’ll be able to help. You’ll see.”
Jack made no reply to that. He lay beside her, his body tense as he waited for the moon to appear through the transom windows. Then he carefully inched away from her and slid from the bunk. He soundlessly gathered his clothes, which like hers, lay in disarray on the floor. She made no move to awaken as he lifted the latch on the door.
Once in the passageway, Jack pulled on his breeches, then hurried toward the hatch and the crew that waited for him to lead them ashore. He’d lied to her... twice. She would not be going with them; he never intended she would. And they were leaving tonight, not with the dawn. It galled him, those lies, because he cared for her, cared for her deeply. Too deeply to allow de Segovia to harm her.
Chapter Eighteen
The first thing Miranda noticed when she awoke was that the space beside her in the narrow bunk was empty. Poor Jack, she thought. He’d seemed so nervous last night. It must have interfered with his sleep.
She took a moment to stretch, her hands clasped above her head; then she swung her legs over the side of the mattress to the floor. It was barely dawn, but she hurried with her toilette, brushing her hair and twisting it high on her head in coils. Lately, with just the pirates to see her, she’d taken to wearing her curls down, simply tied at her nape with a ribbon. But that wouldn’t do today. She wanted to appear like a fine Spanish lady.
The gown she chose was the best she’d brought with her, a silk mantua with a brocaded stomacher in a vivid shade of emerald green. After fastening the gown, wishing all the while Jack would come below to help her, Miranda added a lace fontange and mantilla, and decided she was ready.
It wasn’t until she was on deck that Miranda suspected something was amiss. True, the morning watch between four and eight bells was rarely busy on the pirate ship, but today should be different. Today the pirates planned to go ashore. Except, Miranda had a suspicion they were already there. She didn’t need to check the longboat’s cradle, but she did.
The boat was gone.
“There ye be, yer ladyship. Hope yer feelin’ more the thing.”
Miranda swirled around at the sound of Phin’s voice. “You’re still here?”
“Cap’n decided I should stay aboard seein’ how me shoulder ain’t completely healed.”
Miranda took a deep breath. “When did the rest of them leave?”
“Beginnin’ a mid-watch.”
Midnight. Jack had left the ship around midnight. Not long after they’d made love.
Miranda tried to keep her mind on the problem at hand, but his deceit kept clouding her logical thinking. He’d lied to her before, true enough. But she’d expected it then. She’d known he was a pirate who cared naught for her, so she’d understood, if not condoned, his deceptions.
But things were different now—at least she’d thought they were. Apparently the difference was in her mind alone.
Miranda fought back a feeling of sadness. “You mentioned something about my feeling better?”
“Aye. The cap’n said ye were under the weather and couldn’t go ashore. Said ye were upset by it and not to disturb ye.”
“I was.” Two could play this game of lying. “Last evening I felt faint, but today it’s gone. I’m fine—except...”
“ ‘Cept what? Ye ain’t ailin’, is ye?”
“Oh, no.” Though she knew she didn’t have a choice, Miranda disliked lying to Phin. Now Jack would be different. She wished he were here right now so that she could tell him all manner of untruths. “It’s just that I’m worried. If Jack gets caught, it will be my fault because I was ill and couldn’t go with him.”
“Don’t ye concern yerself ‘bout the cap’n. He can take care a hisself.”
“I know that’s usually the case. But he counted on me to translate for him and— Phin, do you suppose you could take me into town? Or just ashore? I would feel so much better if I were with him.”
It wasn’t easy convincing Phin that he should take her. But as she rapped on the plank door, Miranda decided it hadn’t been exactly difficult either. She knocked again, harder this time, and thought she heard someone scurrying about inside.
While Miranda waited, she glanced about. The street was narrow, and she felt the need to flatten herself against the walls of coquina rock when a donkey pulled cart rumbled by. She swatted at the dust thrown up by the wheels and pounded on the door this time.