Spice Box; Sixteen Steamy Stories
Page 177
He turned to look into her eyes. “He? Mick?”
She snorted. “That ain’t likely! No, Captain. I remember, years ago, I told ’bout doing good ta the younger Kraken? The elder must have found out, and the tides turning. He’s working for you. To pay you back and reclaim what Glacious steals from him.”
He studied her, trying to put together what was clear to her, but still a mystery to him. A good turn?
Mama Lu laughed. “Such a small act of kindness. You don’t recall it? How often did you find young Kraken, tangled in a net? Climb down ta the waterline and….”
“…cut them free. Yes, I recall now. My crew thought I was mad, but said nothing.” He did remember. He didn’t believe in eating Kraken or killing them. But the elder Kraken wanting to pay him back? Was that possible? Kraken were hunters, not inclined to mercy. How was that woman, out of time and place, a part of this? “Wait, her mirror. The one that wasn’t a mirror at first?” He lifted a hand and rubbed at his head.
“Yes, I think so. Alan, you’ve served Glacious for nearly fifty years. You done the time. The trick is to get away from her influence without surrendering the rest of your life.”
He swallowed and took a seat, a spark of hope kindled in his heart.
“I need time to unearth it, Captain. Time to figure it up. And you need to take advantage of what the Kraken gives, without leading that ice bitch straight to her. Keep new sailor Pawes close, and see what you can divvy from her. He chose her and must have a reason for doing so.”
“She sails with Mick and the Quill. She isn’t my sailor, Mama Lu.”
“He must be part a’ the picture. And she be safer there than aboard the Immortal. It’s going to be a fine dance, looking for a way to free you—might take some sacrifice. You gotta be ready, if you want to sail without that curse.”
“You tell me what I need to do, I’ll do it,” he said.
“Aye. And you’ll enjoy it, boy-o. She’s a saucy one. I can smell her all over you. That must have been a rewarding night. You’ll need more rewards like that. You seduce her, while I search for answers.”
He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You always make the nicest suggestions. I have an appointment with a galleon, fresh from Panama. After, I’ll find the Quill and rendezvous with Mrs. Pawes.”
“Not too often! But enough.”
“Aye, enough.” And maybe a little more.
And once he was free, a whole lot more.
CHAPTER 8
She didn’t share her nocturnal adventure with anyone on the Quill. She thought about it, but the idea of trying to put it into words…. Well, I was accidentally blinded by vampires and he…uh…saved me and we accidentally...sorta…well….
Tink met her on deck, furious. “You were supposed to wait for me! You stupid bitch! I wasted hours looking for you.”
“I hadn’t gone far. The woman at the bathhouse directed me to a clothing store.” Emily tried to cool off the angry woman. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Worry, me? Oh, I wasn’t worried.” Tink stared at her a moment, then shrugged. The sailor was like that, always showing a blank face to the world. “What if you’d been hauled into an alleyway, robbed, raped, chained to a bed.” Emily went white as Tink went on and on, listing the hair-raising dangers Tortuga harbored.
“I didn’t know.” Emily shook her head. “I met good people, and they kept me safe. Especially after it got dark. I didn’t think I wanted to go wandering around after dark. Damn, those streets are confusing!” It wasn’t all her fault. Fuck it!
“You have no idea what dangers lurk in Tortuga. We aren’t the most popular ship! Lots don’t like women with a command.” Tink slid close to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Pawes, Mick found you and brought you into the lighter climes of the city. There is a lot of darkness in those streets. And last night was the full moon.”
“Yeah, someone told me about the vampire stuff.” Resentment rose, and Emily pushed Tink’s arm away. “If Mick hadn’t found me, I’d be fine! I am an adult. I’ve been around a long time. I can take care of myself!”
She knew it was a lie, but Tink was such a know-it-all.
Tink gazed at her with disdain. “Sure, you can take care of yourself. You’ve got no fighting skills, and you’re out of shape, with almost no muscle tone. You’d probably be run down like a rabbit by hungry hounds. Tell yourself you’d have been just ducky. I know better. And you owe Mick so much, stupid bitch!”
She stalked away, and Emily thought about her night with Silvestri. Even if she had the courage to speak up before, no way was she going in that direction now.
Nope, she kept quiet. Resigned to making the best of the strange situation she found herself in, she prepared for life in a fantastically confusing Caribbean.
She took Tink’s word seriously and learned to load, shoot, and care for a pistol she got from Mick. He’d lent it to her to carry when they sailed into port to gather supplies, barter, and collect information. Tink taught her how to fight with a staff. Emily, being so short, found it wasn’t the best choice for her. She took up knife throwing after one of the sailors offered to show her the techniques. And she practiced constantly.
She must be some sort of coward, preferring a weapon she could toss from a distance. She’d have a chance to run. But she was good at both throwing and running, so it was a win-win situation.
“Once you’ve thrown one knife, you need another ready. And you need to learn close fighting,” Davis, her instructor, explained to her.
She hit targets quite skillfully, but in close quarters she shrank away and wasn’t aggressive enough.
Tink proposed she needed to be scared more or pissed off. The quartermaster balanced on the rails one day and taunted Emily during practice. The insults got nastier and nastier. Davis circled her, watching her reactions to the taunts. It made it difficult to battle the man.
And Emily grew more and more furious. She kept her eyes on Davis, something he’d taught her. When his eyes drifted to her bust at one of Tink’s more pointed comments about being a washed up old lady with drooping boobs, Emily shrieked, “My eyes are up here!”
“Not as interesting,” Davis replied.
She dove at him, and for the first time offered him some real challenge. Tink laughed while he disarmed her. For a moment, she panted, catching her breath. Tink snickered and set Emily off.
“You bitch!” She might be older, but she was fast. She rushed the quartermaster, and with a splash, they both tumbled over the rail and hit the water.
Once the ship came about and fished them out, Captain Jezzie called them into her cabin. “Tink, you made your point. No more taunting Pawes.”
“Squirrelly bitch,” Tink said, stripping out of her soaking clothes and kicking them aside to wrap herself in the towel Jezz handed her. “She needs to get laid.”
Emily wrapped her arms around her soaked shirt and snarled.
“Pawes, you’ve been on the ship three weeks now and you pull your share. You work the lines, you mend the sails, help out in the galley.” The captain tilted her head. “But Tink is right. You need to get laid.”
“Oh, fuck off! What is with this crew? Nothing but overactive libidos! You all think a cock is the answer to everything!” Emily rolled her eyes, disgusted at the constant poking about why she wasn’t dragging one of the hands off to her bunk.
“You want a woman? Fine. Hell, Tink tends to swing both ways.”
Emily faked a gag and backed away. “Everything isn’t about bed partners!”
“Well, it’s often the answer on this ship. But fine, it’s not about sex. You’re mastering a few weapons. That will come in handy. What about a hobby? The tip money Sam shares with you when we’re in Tortuga is good, but you’re going to need more. A superior set of throwing knives isn’t cheap.” Jezzie sat at the table and poured herself a drink.
“A hobby? What, like basket weaving?” Emily shivered.
“Get out of those wet clothes. Use
the blanket. No, not basket weaving. Unless you’re good at it?” Jezzie raised an eyebrow.
“No. I can’t weave worth shit. I took a class once, and I suck at it. I have no artistic talent to speak of.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Well, I did create some nice blank books once. I liked hand stitching the binding.” She let her shirt plop to the deck with a splat and kicked off her shorts. Her skin was getting quite tanned, she noted.
Is skin cancer a problem here?
“Blank books? To write in? Those would be worth trade goods. What would you need?” The captain of the Quill seemed interested, so Emily sat down, made out a list, and also promised to stay out of trouble.
In the next two months, her fighting skills grew sharper. The close knife fighting got better, but not great. She did need to be angry, it seemed. When the ship visited different ports, she used her funds to purchase what she needed to bind paper into books, and within a month, she was making money.
That came in handy to make her cabin more like home.
And she looked at the deckhands. But no touching. Even when sexual frustration grew. Because the dreams drove her crazy.
Always him. His hands, his lips, his skin, whispers, curses and, the best of it, or worst of it, his cock.
She asked about him in ports, obliquely, only to be told he’d been there the week before, or was expected the week after. Not that she cared.
Three months, she thought. Twelve weeks since she found herself in this crazy world. She wandered a beach, somewhere in the Bahamas, considering that going insane wasn’t too bad. This world didn’t have the discomfort she was certain flourished in the real Caribbean. No bedbugs, no weevils in the food, no nasty ants or biting insects. Unless they were here, but left her alone?
She didn’t know how it worked. They’d anchored for a few days, along a perfect white sand beach, with pale turquoise water. It was insanely divine. Part of the crew hunted for pigs. Some built a fire, some set up shelter, or gathered water. Jezzie granted her permission to hunt for plant dyes for the book covers. She wanted to try something new to make them more attractive.
At the last port, Mick had helped her find a pistol to purchase, which she carried, loaded and ready to fire. The new throwing knives were also strapped to her belt. And she carried water, bread, and some fruit.
“This isn’t a big island, Pawes,” Mick informed her. “You start walking along the beach one way, and when you reach the cliffs, turn inland and you’ll end up back at this beach.” He pointed her toward the north. “If you want to explore inland, keep the ocean to your right. There is fresh water.”
“Do I need to worry about the pigs?” she asked, thinking of wild boar with fierce tusks.
“They stick to the thicker woods, to the south, where Tink hunts. Keep a sharp ear out and climb a tree if something sounds off. They’ll wander away. You aren’t tasty enough!” He grinned at his joke.
“Yeah, this tough hide of mine will protect me.” She snorted and turned her attention to the north.
She carried a large basket with a stack of paper inside, intending to find leaves or flowers and see if they’d transfer color to the paper. She didn’t know if it would work, but she had to try. The dyers in town wouldn’t share their secrets.
Damn, she was tired. Her dreams grew more and more intrusive over the past few weeks. At first, she’d dreamed about that night in Tortuga once a week. She’d take out the pin he’d left her and examine it, wondering what those dreams were all about. Some weeks, she was convinced he’d known who she was the whole time and the entire seduction was about using her to taunt Mick. Somehow.
She couldn’t figure out how.
Other times, she about convinced herself that their meeting and wild night of sex were nothing more than an incredible coincidence.
Yeah, right.
What was it about this man? And why didn’t the hunger she felt for him transfer to the men on the Quill? Several made it clear they’d enjoy bedding her, and she kept saying no, ignoring the invitation.
She snarled, thinking about Tink and her big mouth. The quartermaster didn’t believe in privacy. The night before, she’d been snooping and found the bone dildo Emily purchased three days earlier in St. Barthélemy. The tall freak stole it and brought it out at dinner. She’d actually nonchalantly set it next to her plate, daring Emily to rise to the bait. There were days Emily hated Tink.
Emily responded by standing, taking her plate, and pouring it over Tink’s head. She’d picked up the item, tucked it into her belt and left the cabin. Later, she’d asked Davis about how to put a lock on her cabin door.
“She’d pick it, luv. I’ll help you devise a box she can’t easily open for what you want to keep private. Will that do?” He’d been one of those who made it plain he’d join her in bed anytime she gave him the nod.
But she didn’t want him in her bed. She didn’t want anyone in her bed, despite the ideas her body tormented her with. Her lustful flesh only wanted Captain Alan Silvestri. Villain.
Her thoughts turned from the sex when she spotted a flowering shrub that might work for dying her paper. She’d been wandering for an hour and was ready for the break. She shook her head and wiped the sweat from her forehead, then examined the pink blossoms. It was a hot day with little wind.
***
He watched from the tree line, hidden in the shadows. He squatted, thinking about the last visit with Mama Lu. A frustrating visit, since she offered him little. He’d turned a sizable cut of the galleon treasure over to her for research.
His spy reported on the Quill’s whereabouts and routes, and Alan followed them, making certain the two ships never met. He heard about the quaint books Mrs. Pawes peddled. He actually possessed several of them and admired the intricate series of knots she used to bind the sections together. A large book would be handy for the ship’s log. And Sam’s wife appreciated the one he’d brought her, for the sketches she was fond of making.
Why was his favorite newcomer wandering away from her shipmates and collecting bits of leaves and flowers?
He considered her course and cut across the peninsula to intercept her. He feared she’d panic and dart away, or raise an alarm if he even approached her. After all, he was a stranger to her. He could have walked past her in a crowded city, and she’d not even know he was the man who spent that delightful night with her.
Setting the trap for the galleon, luring them in, and stealing away their cargo was diverting. Helpful, considering his nights returned to hot dreams and a constant replay of their one night in Tortuga.
Those visions made the nights more bearable. At least he knew the woman wasn’t a phantom, sent to torment him. He used those memories, having no shyness in regard to relieving his hunger. His hands didn’t compare, but at least using them allowed him to sleep. And the occasional cooperative whore eased his physical demands.
But a night with a pleasure woman never lasted long.
When his spy reported a stay on the Caicos, he knew what island Mick would head to next. It was time for a second visit to Mrs. Pawes and her alluring attributes. Pity it wouldn’t be on his ship, but the great bath would be a sweet substitute. He looked forward to showing it to her. Yes, the cool waters and secluded haven would be the perfect place to sample her sweetness again. At this time of year, the large bath would be full, probably overflowing. It would be a divine place to swim, to bathe—to seduce her.
He waited less than an hour for her to approach his shelter.
***
The dark pink flower was perfect! She hoped it was vivid enough to transfer some of its color to the paper. She carefully collected a handful of petals, noting they turned her fingers pinkish.
“Perfect.”
Dropping them into a paper envelope, she cautiously folded it to keep from completely crushing the blossoms. She’d stop her search for the plant dyes in another hour and work with them to color as many sheets of paper as possible.
“What are you doing?”
She dropped the envelope and spun, not believing her ears. Her hand went to the pistol at her belt, but she didn’t pull it.
What the hell? The man from the mirror? The Hollywood pirate? But the voice was Alan’s!
He held his hands open, slowly rose from a crouched position, and nodded at her. “Delighted to see your eyes have returned to full function.”
“You?” She blinked. “How?”
“Well, I brought the ship. It’s anchored on the opposite side of the island from the Quill, no worry that Mick will fly into some unreasonable action and endanger himself. I am assuming you know my identity. You have asked about me across the Caribbean. I’m quite flattered.” He took a step toward her.
She took a step back. “No, don’t. I didn’t ask about you because I was interested. What do you want, Silvestri? What are you planning? Villain!” She drew her pistol, held it steady.
He was not going to use her.
Damn, she wished he’d use her.
No, that wasn’t what she wished!
He took another step, and she straightened her pistol and cocked it. “Don’t come any closer.”
He tilted his head at her. “It’s quite dangerous to fire on me, dear Mrs. Pawes. My curse tends to see pistols explode or malfunction. I’d rather you not need medical care. I have other plans for the afternoon.”
“Yeah, that curse. I really believe that.” She tried to keep her voice steady and her hands firm on the pistol. But he looked so good! She fought to keep from letting her eyes roam up and down his body. She hadn’t seen him that night. She’d only felt him. Damn, he was a good-looking man.
His hair wasn’t a plain gray—it was nearly white. A lovely, snowy shade that fell in wavy strands nearly to his elbows. His sleeveless shirt, the color of caramel sand, revealed muscled arms, dark and wiry. And his eyes—such a deep shade of blue. Gazing into them reminded her of the Mediterranean Sea. “Sapphires,” she murmured, and only after hearing her voice did she realize she’d spoken aloud.