by Mariah Stone
Damnation. How could I have so completely lost my mind that I forgot someone was about to enter?
Slowly, I stop the kiss and lean back, my eyes still on Samantha. She is panting, her lips red and swollen from the kiss, her eyes dark and shiny, her cheeks flushed. I want to see her like that as I make her mine.
But I must not. Not now, not ever.
I turn to the governor. There is another man standing beside him.
“Forgive me, monsieur, for this display,” I say. “In France, we do not mind passion. Your study offered us a refuge.”
The governor scans the room, and I realize the box I had taken the cricket box from is open. I shift to it from view and close it behind my back.
“Matrimonial happiness,” the governor says. “Quite delightful.”
“The window,” Samantha whispers, and sweat covers my back. “The curtain.”
She walks towards the window saying, “Excuse me, gentlemen, I need a moment to compose myself.”
The governor’s companion is following Samantha with his eyes. The lust on his face cuts my gut like sabers. If we did not need to disappear with the box, I would not have forgiven anyone that stare. Not at any woman. And especially not at Samantha. That is how I was raised, and even being a pirate does not change that.
“Governor Richardson,” he says, “I quite understand the marquis.” He turns to me. “You have a most beautiful wife, sir.”
He makes a little bow at me, and I am ready to launch myself at him. Samantha reaches the window and pretends to study the garden, then takes the curtain and draws it a little to cover the shards on the floor and the broken fragments in the frame. I exhale and instruct myself to calm down.
“I do have a beautiful wife,” I say through clenched teeth, as Samantha rejoins me. “Now, if you’ll forgive us, we will leave you.”
I like the sound of her being referred to as my wife, being mine, more than I care to admit. My hand on the small of her back, I swallow as sweet flames lick my palm. As I guide her towards the exit, the governor says, “While you are here, Marquis, would it not be a good chance to speak of the sale?”
I stop and turn to him, flashing a polite smile. “Forgive me, monsieur, I do not wish to abandon my wife at the ball. Let us enjoy your hospitality, and I will speak with you of the sale in the days to come.”
The governor cocks his head. “Quite so.”
I give a small bow and hurry Samantha out of the room.
“Quick, let us be on our way,” I say, escorting her through the busy ballroom, out the doors, through the garden and out the gates.
The governor’s house is a twenty-minute walk to the beach where Mr. Killian, the quartermaster and my most trusted man, has hidden a boat for me. Holding hands, Samantha and I run there, down the dusty road that curves through the dark sugarcane fields. The air is fresher here with the sea breeze. My veins sizzle with the joy of victory, just like when I was a boy riding a grown horse for the first time, wind against my face.
The hunt is almost over. Then I can leave this restless life and settle down.
Now that the goal is closer, it does not fill me with the lightness of satisfaction I had wished for. No longer would I roam the seas. No longer would I be captain of my own vessel. I would be someone else. My chest and limbs tighten, and my throat itches.
The road twists into soft, white hills of sand, and the crash of waves breaking against the land reaches my ears.
“You were exquisite, Samantha,” I whisper. “I could not have wished for a better fake wife.”
She laughs. “We were both great in there. I’ve never felt such a rush. Never had such an adventure. There’s no one I’d rather have lived through it with than with you.”
The dunes open up to the beach, which glows gray against the vast blackness of the ocean and the sky. We walk slower now. I separate from Samantha and walk towards the bushes and a fallen palm tree.
As I get closer to the palm, doubt scratches in my chest like an angry cat. What if the crew succeeded in their mutiny while I was away? What if the boat is not there? My gut is twisting as I separate the bushes with my hands.
I see the boat. Relief lightens my chest.
Now all I need is the cricket box. Then I’m free.
Free from her.
Why does the thought taste bitter in my mouth?
I turn to her. The breeze is playing with the soft curls that have fallen free from her hairdo. She’s watching me with a half smile.
“You want the box now, don’t you?” she says. “There’s your boat.” She nods with her chin to the bushes behind me. “All you need is the last piece of the puzzle. And all I need is the jade necklace. We were a great team back there.”
My eyes fall to her decollete, the soft curves of her breasts that the dress is hugging, and my lips burn to brush against them, to lick her skin, to see how smooth they are, how soft.
I swallow. “I do need the last piece of the puzzle.” I stretch out my hand. “The cricket box, please.”
She raises her chin, the corners of her lips curl up higher.
“Why don’t you come and get it?”
Oh, I want to.
But if I do, I do not think I could stop.
“Samantha,” I say, and my voice is a warning.
She looks like a fox who just had a whole pen of fresh eggs, her eyes sparkling in the night's darkness.
“It’s yours, James,” she says, and her voice is a soft feather that brushes against my skin. “Just come and get it.”
Something deep in my gut melts. “As you wish, madame.”
I hold my hand out and slowly dip two fingers between her breasts. They are warm, and her skin is so smooth my fingers are thawing like ice on a hot stove.
Dear Lord, the need for her whirls and roars in my veins, sweet and mind-altering. The box is under the tips of my fingers, below her breasts. I pinch it and tug. The journey back up brings me more torture because she is so obviously enjoying it. Her head tilts back, her lips are parted and dark and inviting. Her half-closed eyes are watching me. My fingers slide up, and she licks her bottom lip, then bites it.
I sense she wants to moan but is holding her breath, and I want her to release the moan more than I have wanted anything in my life. My fingers stop midway and stroke the deliciously soft skin of her cleavage.
And there it is. The sweet moan of pleasure escapes her lips as she closes her eyes. The sound sends a burst of fire through my blood, setting me ablaze like dry gunpowder.
I am hers. I cannot take another breath until I kiss her.
Until she is mine.
I remove the box from her breasts and put it in the pocket of my waistcoat, then circle her waist and draw her to me. She gasps as I pull her tight against my chest.
Wrapping her arms around my neck, she kisses me, and I sink into the sea of her scent—sun and coconut and her. Her lips are a soft, luscious heaven; her tongue probes and caresses mine. She is my undoing.
I devour her, claim her. Let her know her mouth is mine.
She is mine.
I dip my tongue into her mouth and meet hers with broad strokes, earning myself another moan, deeper. I caress her body, my hands sliding up and down her back, her shoulders, her arms. She is so pliable yet firm. She answers me with the same heat. My hand slides into the silky softness of her hair.
With my other hand, I dip into her decollete and release one breast. She gasps, and I break the kiss and look down at it. It is perfect in its milky softness, the nipple dark against her fair skin.
“So perfect,” I murmur and take it into my mouth and suck. Her fingers run through my hair and she moans.
“Oh God, James,” she sighs.
Her voice…her words are like rum spilled into a flame. I want her. I am burning for her. I am living for her.
Then part of me sobers up.
If I do not stop now, I shall not stop at all. And in that case, I risk everything. After only a few hours with her, my wh
ole being burns for her, needs her. Never have I felt anything like that, not even for Anne.
I cannot allow this.
She might be the end of me.
I stop and withdraw, still leaning over, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Her hands rest on my shoulders.
“Are you all right?” she breathes out.
I straighten and look at her. She is the goddess of the sea, her face flushed, her lips round and red, one breast seducing me all over again.
I swallow, hoping that the fire in my breeches will calm down.
“I cannot claim you as mine, Samantha,” I say. “I cannot.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Why not? It’s just sex. I want you and you want me. We got your box. Let’s celebrate!”
I will not tell her the truth. The truth will only reveal too much about how I feel. And I need to forget her. Damnation, it will be difficult as it is. If I have her, I am afraid I shall not be able to let her go.
“You are an unmarried young lady. I cannot compromise you more than I already have.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “What?”
“You are a lady—”
“I am no lady!”
“Well, not in title, but you are of a good family. Of a good upbringing. I cannot ruin you.”
She gapes. “I am already ‘ruined,’ James.”
Chapter 9
Samantha
* * *
James shakes his head. “What?”
I’m fuming. I’m tired of his withdrawal. I want him, and I know he wants me. I’m no damsel in distress. I’m a New Yorker, a twenty-first-century woman and a free sexual being. If I want a man, he always wants me back. My breast still hangs out of my dress and embarrassment fuels my anger. I tuck my boob back into the corset.
“I’ve had enough of you pulling away,” I say. “First in the garden and now here… Here’s the truth, James. I am from the future and can have sex with whomever I want, whenever I want.”
There, I said it. He looks at me as though I’ve just spoken Mongolian.
“From the future?” he says.
I sigh. “Yes, James. I was born in 1989. I live in New York. And I was on a vacation in the Caribbean with a friend, Lisa. Who I am desperately telling myself is still back in the future.”
His eyebrows knit together, his lips tight. “Do you take me for a fool? You try to seduce me, then say you are from the future? What next, Samantha, do you intend to kill me and take the boat?”
I straighten up. “Of course I’m not going to kill you.”
He grabs me by the arm, his face right next to mine, and my stomach knots.
“Leave. Before I am the one doing the killing.”
I swallow, my hands and feet drain of all heat. Do the people he raids feel this, too? I’d give him anything he wanted if I was on a ship he was raiding. It’s strangely exciting, and the area where he holds my arm burns.
“I’m not leaving.” My voice is quieter than I intend it to be. “I’m coming with you. All I need is the jade necklace, then I can travel in time back to the future where I belong. Then I’ll leave you be, and you’ll never hear of me again.”
He lets go of my arm and takes a step back. His jawline hardens, and his head tilts down as he looks at me from under his brows.
“Look,” I say, “if I was lying, would I have picked such a ridiculous excuse as time travel? I already had a perfectly believable backstory.”
He snorts. “Perfectly believable?”
“Well, more believable. Think about it. My outfit.”
“Could be a strange fashion choice.”
“The things I know about you.”
“Did you not say Cole told you all that?”
“My strange way of speaking.”
He shakes his head, but I can tell he is not convinced in his own denial. “What a laughable explanation,” he says.
“It’s not. That’s how I know so much about you. Lisa and I took a guided tour in a pirate museum, and our guide told us about you and Cole.”
With arms crossed over his chest, he looks like he’s trying to process everything I’ve said. When he opens his mouth to say something, I interrupt him. “Do you realize you would have been hanged if you didn’t go with someone to the ball tonight? You’d never have gotten this box. You’d eventually go back to Bristol, to your family, and there you’d be hanged for piracy.”
His nostrils flare. “This proves nothing. Any pirate is in danger of being hanged.”
“True. But I also know you haven’t had a successful raid for a couple of months, and your crew is close to staging a mutiny. Cole wouldn’t know that—you haven’t seen him since the Spanish treasure ship fiasco.”
He frowns. “You could have picked that up when you were held in the brig.”
Damn it. He’s an even a bigger rationalizer than I am. I growl in desperation. I, who could sell water to an ocean.
“I do not have time for your tales,” he says. “The governor might have discovered the absence of the box and could be searching for us. I advise you to go and hide while you can.”
I take a few steps towards the blackness at the end of the sand. The wind brings the scent of the ocean. I know what to do. “I bet you can’t even open that thing,” I say.
“What?”
“The box. It’s a puzzle.” I turn to him, and his eyes narrow. “They aren’t easy to open. That’s why Cole hid the clue there, because he knew it would keep the secret safe for you.”
His face straightens, and he looks at the box in his hands. “You are lying,” he growls, turning it this way and that, fiddling with it, trying to find a lock, an opening. Something.
“Damnation!” he roars, then throws it to the sand and runs his hands through his hair. He turns away from me and walks a couple of steps, then kicks the sand.
He looks at me. “Let me guess. You know how to open it.”
I raise one eyebrow.
“How?” he says.
“My grandpa collected Japanese puzzle boxes. Some Chinese cricket boxes have the same principle. I’ve been playing with them since I was a child.”
“I can just smash it with a rock and break it open.”
Oh damn. Yes, he can.
“What if the clue is damaged?” I say. “What if it’s not even on paper?”
James snarls like a wolf. He closes the space between us, takes both my upper arms and shakes me slightly. His eyes practically glow with dark-violet fire. “If you are lying again, I swear to God—”
He breaks off and stares at me.
“What?” I breathe out.
He lets me go without saying another word, turns around and looks for the box on the ground. When he finds it, he hands it to me.
The moment the box is in my hands, he takes out his pistol and points it at me. “One wrong move and you’ll find out.”
As much as I don’t want to admit it, a slight chill slithers through me. There’s something about a gun waving in your face to highlight the seriousness of the situation. I doubt he’ll shoot me, but fear still washes over me like a cold wave.
I look at the box and turn it in my hands. I’m pretty sure I just need to slide the side panels and it will open. But if I just open the box, he’ll ditch me. “I’m not going to help you,” I say and hand it back.
His expression is priceless. His mouth practically falls open. “What?”
“I’m not going to help you. Unless you help me.”
His lips tighten. “Let me guess—the jade necklace.”
“Exactly. The way I see it, either I help you and you get your treasure, minus the necklace, or you have nothing at all.”
He lets out a long breath and lowers his pistol. “What would stop me from taking the coordinates and leaving you here?”
I take a step towards him and put a hand on his chest. Even through his vest, I feel his strong heartbeat, and it’s racing. My heart begins to accelerate together with his. “Because I want you to giv
e me your word.”
“I am a pirate, madame. My word is of no significance.”
“Oh, but it is. Your word to Cole is. Your word to your crew is. I want you to give me that same word.”
The muscles in his jaw are jumping and his eyes are burning with fury.
“Let it be so,” he says.
“So if I help you get the coordinates, you will take me with you and give me the jade necklace?”
“Yes.”
“Your word?”
He closes his eyes for a moment. “Yes, woman, my word. Now please, hurry.” He looks back at the dunes. “Someone might have spotted us leaving the ball. They may have discovered the broken window.”
Despite his earlier threats, I’m excited to spend more time with him, and, frankly, to help him. There’s clearly still enough of a gentleman in him not to hurt a woman, especially since he’s so worried about ruining me.
I look at the box in detail. I’m not an expert by any means. When I was a small child, the boxes had seemed completely impenetrable to me, and I had been fascinated to watch my granddad move the panels through a series of slides and moves and get each box to open. It always seemed as if he had performed a small miracle. When I was old enough, he taught me how to open them myself.
The precious, bittersweet memories burn my eyes. Well, Grandpa, time for your legacy to help me.
“Hurry, Samantha.” James glances at the dunes again.
The box in my hands looks like a thick compact-powder case. On one side, slightly lighter wood repeats the dark form of the box. A Chinese dragon carving decorates the other side. I feel the box with the pads of my fingers, scrape the wood with my nails looking for any gaps between the panels. Finally, one of the side panels shifts under my finger. The change is so slight, I almost miss it. I press, and it moves more. A slide, and it comes off completely. With shaking fingers, I hand the free panel to James.
I probe the panel next to it. There’s the slightest movement, and I push to slide it off. Now two sides of the hexagon are off. It’s dark, so I cannot see much. James takes the box from my hands and peers inside then turns it over and shakes.