by Patti Berg
“You can’t go out in public,” Kate exclaimed, coming to a dead stop at the threshold.
“And why not?”
“You’re dressed like a pirate. People will stare.”
“’Tis no concern of mine what other people do.”
“Well, I care. I know too many people in this town, and if they see me with you, they’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”
His infectious laughter rumbled through the room. “Let them think what they will, Kate.” His hand tightened around hers as he pushed open the screen door.
“Wait a minute,” she said, tugging against his pull. “We can’t go anywhere without keys, and I need my driver’s license, and some money, and—”
He put a silencing finger to her lips, and a burning tingle raced through her insides. “You make too many excuses, Kate. Get your keys and the license you speak of, then meet me at the vehicle. There is much I want to see and do, and you are the only one I want to see and do these things with.”
His finger brushed lightly over her mouth, and just as abruptly as he’d stilled her words of protest, he drew his hand away and strolled from the house, letting the screen slam behind him.
Kate touched her lips, the place that still burned from his caress, and watched his resolute and powerful walk as he headed for the garage. She liked the movement of his long muscular legs, the power radiating from the wide set of his shoulders, and his hair, so thick and lustrous, hanging down his back.
A smile tugged at her mouth as she plucked her key ring from the rack mounted near the door. Being lonely was a far worse fate than spending the evening with a gorgeous, although possibly deranged, pirate.
Morgan was sitting behind the big green steering wheel, tracing the glass-fronted speedometer and the temperature and fuel gauges when Kate entered the garage. His eyes were bright with wonder, like a little boy with a brand new toy. “’Tis a beautiful vehicle,” he said. “I am most eager to drive it.”
“Oh, no. You’re not driving it anywhere.”
“I’ll have you know, madam, that I have captained the finest sailing vessels in the world, and until that blasted storm, I’d had nary a mishap. I have—”
“Move over,” she said adamantly. “This isn’t a ship and it isn’t a carriage. It’s a car. You’ve never driven one, you don’t have a license, and I’m not about to go anywhere with you behind the wheel.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking as if he was going to argue.
“Move!” she ordered.
His devilish laughter echoed through the garage. “Aye, madam. As you wish.”
He slid to the passenger seat and Kate took his place behind the wheel. Turning the key in the ignition, she watched the play of emotions on Morgan’s face when the souped-up engine roared. Worry lines formed between his eyes. His chest rose and fell heavily, and he gripped the edge of the seat as if the car was a ship bucking on a turbulent sea.
Unconsciously she reached across the empty space between them and put her hand over his. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”
“Afraid?” he said incredulously. “Nay, madam, you mistake my excitement for fear. I have ridden the fastest of horses, driven carriages over rutted English roads, but I have never been in a vehicle such as this. ’Tis fascinating…and daunting.”
She smiled softly, remembering her own fear-filled excitement the first time she’d driven a car. “When I was twelve, Joe—my husband—let me sit beside him and turn the steering wheel while he drove to the beach. I thought it was the most thrilling thing in the world. Would you like to try?”
“Aye.”
Morgan seemed to relax as he moved to the center of the seat, and without any instruction, he put his hands close to hers on the wheel, his arm brushing lightly against her breast. She sucked in a deep breath as a tingling sensation rippled through her chest and down to the center of her being. She’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to have a man touch her breast, even accidentally, and for one brief moment, she wondered how good it would feel if Morgan Farrell touched her on purpose.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. Concentrate on the fact that you’re giving him his first driving lesson, not getting swept up in foreplay.
“See where my right foot is?” she asked. He looked down, his gaze skimming the length of her body before it rested on her foot. “The brake’s on the left,” she told him, swallowing back the nervousness she felt with his powerful body pressing against her arm, her hip, her thigh. “The gas pedal—the one that makes the car go—is on the right. You have to touch them easily or else the car will jerk.”
He crossed one leg over the other and settled his right foot close to hers on the brake.
“Now what?” he asked, and when he tilted his head she could feel the warmth of his breath whispering over her cheek.
“You have to shift the car into reverse,” she said, and his strong, long-fingered hand followed hers, warmly closing over her knuckles as she touched the stick. She fought for control of her senses while she explained about park, reverse, neutral, drive, and low. Absently he drew lazy circles over the back of her hand, his callused thumb feeling more like velvet than sandpaper.
Hoping he couldn’t feel the trembling in her fingers, she finished her explanation, and then he squeezed her hand. “’Tis a simple concept,” he said, shifting nonchalantly into reverse, as if the emotion-packed interlude had meant nothing to him. “Now, do I put my foot on the gas pedal?”
She nodded, laughing inwardly at letting herself get caught up in the moment, and lifted her foot from the brake as he moved his boot to the gas. He touched the pedal lightly and the car rolled back an inch or two. A grin crossed his face. He drew in a deep breath, just like a first-time driver, and confidently pressed the pedal again.
The car shot backward, screeching out of the garage onto the crushed shell-and-gravel drive.
“Bloody hell!”
His foot flew off the pedal and Kate trounced on the brake, bringing them to an abrupt and jarring halt.
“I said you had to do it easily!”
“That was my intention, madam.”
“Well, you didn’t succeed! Now, try it again.”
She watched the hard set of his jaw as his teeth ground together in determination. Again he touched the gas pedal, his fingers tightened on the wheel, and he backed slowly and skillfully to the end of the driveway, moving his foot to the brake, and pressing it slowly when they neared the road.
Kate looked at him and smiled. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
“Never. What do I do now?”
“Look both ways, and if there are no other cars coming, or people or animals or anything else in the street, you back slowly onto the road, turning the wheel as you go.”
“Which way do I turn the wheel?”
“I’ll show you.”
He twisted, his hair brushing lightly over her bare arm as he looked into the darkened street. Again, she was conscious of every move he made, every touch of his body against hers, every breath he took. She was being silly. Morgan Farrell was more interested in her car than he was in her. She supposed that was the way it ought to remain, especially since he would be leaving soon.
Especially since she wasn’t interested in getting romantically involved with another man—even though Morgan Farrell was causing her to have second thoughts on the matter.
Pressing a foot on the gas, he backed onto the road, and Kate guided his hands as they turned the wheel.
“Now stop,” she instructed, and he braked the car gently.
“Put it in drive.”
He followed all her directions, and in a few moments they were moving along St. George, heading toward the center of town. They crawled at a speed of about five miles an hour, and Morgan’s eyes were in constant motion as he watched for other cars. He braked easily at stop signs, looked both ways, and crept like a tortoise across the intersections. She couldn’t help but smile. It was like teaching Casey how to ride
a bicycle or thread a needle—things that were new, different, and simple, but always a thrill the very first time.
“Where would you like to go?” Kate asked, guiding the steering wheel a bit to the left when Morgan veered too close to a parked car.
“I saw much of your city that first day I was here. I walked past cathedrals, taverns, and many a shop in my search for you. ’Twas all new and different, yet I saw these things through my eyes only. ’Twould be good to see them through yours, to know what you feel when you look at places that are familiar.”
“I never get tired of this city,” she told him. “I’ve lived here all my life, and even though everything’s familiar, I have special memories about most every place.”
“Tell me about them,” he said, easing away from the steering wheel and letting Kate take over the driving. He leaned casually against the passenger door where the wind blew through the open window, ruffling his shirt and hair. Breathing came easier for Kate with him sitting further away.
She parked in front of Flagler College, pointing out the fountain, the stained glass windows, the places where she’d hidden when she and other children had played hide-and-seek. She told him how she’d wanted to go to school there, to someday be a teacher, but that she’d gotten married right out of high school instead.
“All I wanted to do was be around children,” she said. “Lots of them. Joe and I had always hoped to have more.”
“Perhaps you will have others one day.”
“I don’t think about it much anymore. What I wanted was all part of another life, and that ended.”
He nodded, understanding evident in his faraway smile.
As they wove through the narrow streets, she told him about her childhood, about being taken in by Evalena, finding it easy to tell him about the rejection she’d felt when her mother and father abandoned her. “I don’t think my parents realized that love was more important man money or material possessions.”
“Perhaps they wanted you to have both.”
“I got more love than anything else from Evalena. She didn’t have any children of her own, but she knew what I needed. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up, and I wanted to give that same kind of love and attention to a bunch of my own kids.”
“Is that why you take care of other people’s children?”
“They brighten my day. I need the money, too,” she admitted. “I don’t need a lot of material things, but I need to make a living, and taking care of children is what I do best.”
Kate pulled into the parking lot near Castillo de San Marcos and stopped so the car was facing the lighted fortress. “I used to come here for picnics with my aunt, or to play pirates with Joe and his sister. He was fascinated with pirates—good ones, bad ones, it didn’t really matter. I guess he found them romantic.”
“And you?” he asked, smiling his warm and dangerous smile.
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she contemplated his question. “I liked anything Joe liked, but I’d never really understood his fascination—until now.”
Morgan’s smile deepened, and without saying a word, he climbed from the car, then came around to the driver’s side, opened Kate’s door, and took hold of her hand. “Walk with me,” he said, his voice low, almost hypnotic.
She slid out of the car and strolled at his side across the sweeping lawn that surrounded the centuries-old fort. “St. Augustine was much different in my time,” he said, walking slowly, his hands folded behind his back. “There were houses, of course. Many lined the streets as they do now. I remember wandering around the city at night, staying out of sight of the Spanish soldiers, and looking through windows to see and hear families laughing together over the evening meal. ’Twas the life I longed for but could not have.”
“Why?”
“I was a wanted man. My mother, father, and sister had died, and my family in England had disowned me. ’Twas not surprising. My grandfather had raised honorable sons, and my uncle could not abide what I had become.”
“Why did you become a pirate?”
He laughed, taking hold of her hand and squeezing it tightly, even when she tried to pull away. “You believe me, then?”
“It’s hard not to.”
“Then believe me when I tell you I had good reason to become a pirate.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“’Tis all you need to know.”
They stood near one of the swaying palms that lined the bank between the fortress and the bay. “The sea never changes,” Morgan said, as they looked at the moonlight shining on the waves lapping against the shore. “I sailed many times from Dover to Calais, but I was in my early twenties when I first crossed the Atlantic. I had never been at the helm of a ship before. I’d always been a passenger, but the first time I raised a sail and felt my hands around the wheel, I knew I’d found my home.”
His hand slid around her waist, and he pulled her close to his side, but his eyes didn’t leave the dark line of the ocean on the horizon. “I must find a way to go back, Kate. ’Tis where I belong.”
Chapter 9
Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been—
A sound which makes us linger;—yet—farewell!
LORD BYRON
CHILDE HAROLD’S PILGRIMAGE: CANTO IV
He’d wanted to kiss her. All the way home, as she’d driven the car and stared straight ahead, speaking nary a word, he’d wanted to kiss her. When they’d stood outside her bedroom door, he’d wanted to sweep his fingers over her creamy-smooth cheek and wind them through her hair. He’d wanted to draw her face close to his and capture her velvety lips.
But Kate was not a barroom wench whose affections could easily be trifled with. She was a lady of the first order, a woman of compassion, who stirred his senses as none other had ever done.
And he’d hardly touched her.
Morgan folded his arms behind his head and stared at the dark ceiling. In the room next door he could hear Kate stir, could hear the faint crackle of a wooden bed frame and the creak of a floorboard as she walked across the room.
Rising from the small bed that barely fit his body, he went to the window and looked to the balcony where he’d seen her sitting the night he’d arrived at her home.
She was curled up in a chair, her knees drawn up to her chest. He leaned against the wall and watched her in silence.
The moon shone on her honey-colored hair, where it hung about her shoulders and curled at the crest of her soft, lush breasts. A thin white gown edged in lace scarcely skimmed her body. Her legs were bare, and he wanted to touch them, to draw his fingers up their silky length and drive her to madness.
His loins ached at the thought.
But he would not touch her. Nay. He could not take her to his bed, love her thoroughly, and then walk away. ’Twould be too difficult to leave this woman—a woman who warmed his heart and enflamed his soul—were he to taste everything she could give him. ’Twould be wrong to ask her to give herself completely, to make her think he would stay.
A true gentlemen—even one who had turned to piracy—would not tamper with a woman’s heart, especially if it would shatter his own.
Kate watched the sway of the pines silhouetted against the dark clouds floating across a blue-black sky. She wished that sleep had come, but her thoughts had been too full of Morgan Farrell, and she’d tossed and turned trying to drive him from her mind.
She didn’t want someone taking Joe’s place. She didn’t like the idea of comparing a confessed thief, murderer, and scoundrel with her beloved Joe.
Resting her forehead on her knees, she closed her eyes and concentrated on thoughts of her husband, but the pictures that came to her mind were of a young boy playing pirate and making her walk the gangplank he’d rigged up in the backyard, a teenager giving her her first chaste kiss, and a young man with a childlike face asking her to be his wife, telling her about all the fun they could have.
And then Morgan’s face came into her mind.
Worldly. Rugged. Scarred by a cruel life that she imagined had been anything but fun. An older face. A wiser face.
With lips that she’d wanted to kiss.
Behind her, she heard the whine of a floorboard and turned. Morgan was standing in her doorway, the breeze wafting through his hair. His shirt was loose, hanging over his gray trousers. His feet were bare. His eyes were warm, and they searched hers, as if trying to know what she was thinking at this very moment.
But she didn’t even know herself. Confusion was all she felt.
“I could not sleep,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “I saw you sitting alone. I hope you don’t mind me joining you.”
She shook her head. “I often sit out here at night. Sometimes I read, sometimes I just wait till everything’s quiet so I can hear the waves hitting the beach.”
“If I were in my own time, I would stand at the helm of Satan’s Revenge, watch the stars, and plan my course for another voyage.”
“Was planning your next voyage what kept you from sleeping tonight?”
“Aye.” He walked to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing. He looked across the street at Evalena’s darkened house, and farther still, toward the Atlantic. “I long to be on the ocean again, back in a time that is familiar to me. But try as I might, I do not know how to go home.”
“I’ve thought a lot about it.”
He turned, a slight frown narrowing his eyes. “Do you know something I am not aware of?”
“I wish I did know something, but I don’t. It just seems that if you could go back, you’d have to do it the same way you came.”
He laughed. “I would rather forgo another hurricane, and I do not believe even my hard head could weather another blow from a falling mast.” He turned again to the railing. “Besides, I no longer have a ship to take me back out on the ocean.”
“You could take my sailboat.”