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. There didn’t seem to be any other way to find out. 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.
“Yes, you like sapphires?” He took another step forward.
She flinched, pulling the trigger. The pistol simple fizzled. He moved faster than she thought possible, grabbing the pistol and flinging it away seconds before it gave a loud pop and broke apart into several pieces. He reached for her and her recent training broke through the shock.
She kicked him, twisted, and managed one step away before he snagged her arm and hauled her close, her back to his chest.
“Kicking when you wear sandals isn’t terribly effective.” His voice rumbled near her ear.
“Yeah. Well, how about a heel?” She delivered a backward kick straight to his crotch.
He folded, and she wrenched free. Spinning, she drew a knife, threw it and took off running.
Chapter Nine
She kicked him! Fucking bitch kicked him! And it landed close enough to bend him double. But folding in half meant the knife missed him. If he moved fast, he might stop his curse from finding some way to get her into more trouble.
What a woman! He pulled himself erect with a grin and stretched, adjusting himself as he recovered. Snatching her knife free, he took off after her. She wasn’t a quiet runner. The sound of snapping branches and rustling greenery left no doubt where she’d passed.
Her stride was no match for his.
What did she mean, sapphires? His mind played with possibilities while he followed her path. He bent to pick up one of her sandals, a strap ripped loose. Even better, one bare foot should slow her down. Ten feet further, he stopped, tilted his head, and listened.
She’d gone to ground.
“Mrs. Pawes, please do come to your senses. I have no intention of hurting you, and I have no nefarious plans toward Captain March.” He scanned the greenery, searching.
“Mrs. Pawes….”
“I don’t trust you.” Her voice came from a thicket—dense shrubbery, where one great tree reached toward the canopy roof.
“What have I done to earn your distrust?” He stepped to one side, head tilted. He held up her sandal. “Yes, left me vulnerable to a heel kick, but you’re down one shoe.”
“I like bare feet.”
“I like your bare feet also.” He raised his eyes, her voice floated above him. He surmised she wasn’t at earth level. She was speaking softly. It was difficult to pinpoint her location in the thick foliage. He circled the thicket. “Mrs. Pawes, I have dreamed of you.”
“Fuck.”
That one word made him laugh. A sudden shower of leaves fell around him, and he looked up in time to reach out and catch her.
“Let me go!” She struggled in his arms.
“No,” he said. He seized her flailing arms and trapped both wrists in one hand. He took a step to the tree and pressed her against it, keeping her secured between his body and the trunk. He raised her wrists and let her legs drop, making sure she didn’t have room to knee him.
She took a breath to scream and he kissed her. He’d wanted to do that since seeing her earlier. He pressed tightly to her long enough to feel the tension leave her body and to make one light foray with his tongue. Pulling back with care, he examined her. Eyes a bit out of focus, mouth open while she took one deep breath after another. He released one wrist and she lowered it to the level of his arm, her fingers brushing against his bicep.
“Let me go, please.”
“If you swear to stay calm, and not run away. I am not here to hurt you. Give me your word, and I will release you.” He gazed at her, waiting.
“I promise. No more running.”
“No more throwing knives or kicking.”
She looked away a moment, then slid her gaze back to him. “Can I curse?”
“Of course. You wouldn’t be Mrs. Pawes if you didn’t curse.” He let her other wrist go and took a step away. “Now, here is your sandal. It’s a simple repair. Where is the other?” He’d noted both her feet were bare.
“I kicked it off to climb.”
“Well, find it. Walking on the sand without shoes is easy; hiking through the inland will leave your feet bloody. Give me your word that you will stay here, and I will fetch your basket.”
“You know where it is? You can find it?” She spun, arms gesticulating. “I have no idea where I came from.”
“I know this island. I won’t be ten minutes.” He stopped, studying her for a moment. He changed tactics, attempting a humble plea. He needed her to stay and trust him. “If you stay, I have a pleasant surprise for you when I get back.”
“Uh huh. Bet you do. Go on. I’ll find my sandal and stick around. I want my stuff.”
He left her slowly circling the tree, eyes on the ground as she searched for her missing footwear. The thick brambles made it a bit of a challenge. Good, she’d be busy.
It took less than ten minutes. The basket was heavier than he would have thought, but after examining it, he understood. She brought enough supplies to keep her provisioned for the night, if need be. The thought made him smile.
He found her perched on a mossy rock, examining her broken sandal. “You’re right. I can fix this with one of my needles, back on the ship. Good thing because I don’t have a second pair.”
She appeared remarkably calm, considering her furious reaction of earlier. He’d like to think it was the kiss, but doubted that.
“Where we’re going will tear your feet to shreds. Stand,” he directed her. To his surprise, she rose without argument. “Odd, I expected more battle.”
“I’ll fight later. Right now you have my basket. And…I want to talk to you.”
“Good.” He tossed the basket to her and swept her up in his arms. “You can’t walk until we fix that sandal. I can do that at the bath.”
She’d frozen, no doubt expecting him to drop her. Clutching the basket to her chest, she slowly relaxed. Clearing her throat, she said, “You’re quite strong.”
“Yes, I work the ship. And you have lost weight.”
“I have. Working the ship is proving to be more exercise than I’ve ever known.”
“Too many of the portal walkers are thin. Good to know that not all of you are starving.”
She glared at him, surprising him with her lightning shift in temper. “Oh really? What is that? Some backhanded way of saying I’m fat?” She kicked out in a display of anger.
He stopped walking and stared down at her. “Fat? You’re not fat. Damn, you travelers are fixated on weight issues. You are perfect. And I like how your hair is growing out.”
“Didn’t like it short? Was it too masculine for your romantic sensibilities?”
He rolled his eyes. “There is no pleasing you. Now, don’t move—it’s tricky here.” He took several careful steps down a steep slope. The sound of running water grew louder. They were close to his goal.
She’d grown quiet. He turned a corner, rounding a large mossy boulder, and she softly asked him, “What were you dreaming? I mean, you couldn’t be experiencing anything like me. Why did you mention it? Just trying to distract me?” He quite enjoyed it when she babbled.
“I’ve been dreaming of you, dear Mrs. Pawes. Always of you.” He turned and gently set her
down on a grassy area to protect her feet. She stared out at the bath, speechless. He took advantage of her preoccupation, hauling his hamper of goodies from its hiding place. He spread a blanket and set out the small feast he’d brought.
She eased her basket down, still gazing at the placid water.
He found Emily without words, a wonderful experience. Spreading his hand he explained, “This is the large bath. It’s over twenty feet across. The waterfall to the right is fed from a spring at the center of the island. It is quite a fortuitous geological feature. The autumn storms have seen it overflow and continue down to the beach. This is the larger bath of Bath Isle.” He took a seat. At his side was a line that trailed into the water. He reeled it in.
“There is a smaller, I assume?” She was still mesmerized by the lovely pool. He thought her appreciation charming. A smile grew on her face with each passing moment.
“Yes, I’m sure the Quill crew is enjoying the smaller. The string of smaller baths receive more sun, are warmer, and cascade one from the other. Mick always preferred the pool.” He heard a soft clank and reached for the bottle at the end of the line. Ah, nice and cool.
She turned when he uncorked the bottle.
He held it out to her.
Turning the label, she read it, snickering. “French champagne? Isn’t that unusual to have here, now?”
“There is nothing unusual here. Come, sit. I have bread, cheese, and fruit.”
“A picnic? You brought me here for lunch?” She went to her knees, lifted the bottle and took a sip. “Okay. What the fuck. Why not?”
He chuckled. “You do have a filthy mouth. Have you no other swear words that cross your lips?”
“You’re a shitfaced son of a bitch.” She thought a moment before continuing, “A cockeyed, ass-kissing poser.”
“What is a poser? And quite impressive language.”
“Get me drunk, and I’m extremely foul. A poser is someone who fakes a persona. The Hollywood pirate.”
“Explain, please.” He continued to unpack the food.
“Hollywood is a city where no one is what they seem. Where dramatic stories are told by actors who sell the role so completely, they lose track of who they actually are and begin to buy into the idea that they are all that. I first saw your picture in my mirror. You were posed against a railing. I thought your costume full of flash and glitter. And you were older than most of the pirates Hollywood sells to the public.” She took another good swallow of the champagne, washing down the bread and cheese he’d handed to her.
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