Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

  He sighed. “I did not mean to see you reduced to terror. I am sorry.”

  “Yeah, Okay. But what are you doing here?” She relaxed against him. “Damn it. I’m glad to see you. I didn’t know who or what was happening. Janey told me about being attacked by white slavers and though I know they wouldn’t want me, being old, but my imagination took off.”

  He listened while she rattled on about being old and wrinkled, even called herself a worthless hag. Rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and fell back on the bed, taking her with him. She shrieked when he rolled over and pinned her to the bed.

  “Uh! My arms!”

  He raised himself, taking his weight off her body. “In a moment. Now, you are not old. You certainly carry some wrinkles. Everyone does. Your breasts are not droopy, and you are enormously desirable.”

  She snorted at him and he growled, darted down and covered her mouth with his. He took his time, savoring the feel of her fighting him, and finally growing soft and complacent. He raised his hand and squeezed her breast, hard.

  Her body arched toward him. Satisfied, he raised them both back to a sitting position and bent to untie her ankles. “You are not a dried-up, useless hag. You seem fixated on youth, and that truly must stop.”

  She shoved him back with her feet. Not hard enough to be considered an attack by his curse, but hard enough to show some displeasure. He glanced up at her. “Don’t push my curse, dear Emily.”

  “It must be handy, when you do dastardly things, to toss your curse at your victims. ‘Oh, hurting me will only hurt you more!’” She parroted him with derision, eyes open and eyebrows raised. “And does anyone ever say, ‘so worth it’?”

  She kicked him in the face.

  He fell back, feeling the stir of his curse when she struck him. He whirled and caught her when she overbalanced and fell from the bed. A moment slower and her head would have struck the deck. He clutched at her, heart beating fast.

  She wiggled out of his grasp, pushed herself away. Propped against the drawers supporting his bed, she glared at him.

  He smiled, never betraying the rush of terror she’d given him.

  He took a breath, let it out slowly. “No, no one has ever said that. Until now.”

  She snickered.

  “Emily, dear.” He surveyed her sweaty and tattered visage. “You need a bath. I’ll have one prepared.” Climbing to his feet, he left her on the floor. “Stay down, safest place for you right now.”

  Turning away, he spoke with authority, his voice level and carrying no lilt. “Do not attempt to engage my crew. They are more loyal to the ship than to me. We have tonight and tomorrow before the Quill looks to retrieve you. Let’s make the most of it.”

  “I’ll need my hands to bathe!”

  “You’ll have mine.” He chuckled at her silence and set about giving the orders necessary to see the ship leave port and a bath prepared for his guest. His spies reported she’d purchased the small silver ring Mama Lu made certain intercepted her path. He reached into his pocket and fondled the lovely gold one the magic woman gave him. They’d reach a calm bay by the dawn, and she’d be ready.

  CHAPTER 13

  Once the initial adrenaline spun down, Emily felt her body give up. He’d stirred her with that kiss, making her go limp. After her near fall, she tried to enjoy knowing where she’d ended up. Not aboard a slave ship, not heading for the Middle East, but sitting aboard Silvestri’s ship. The uncertainty of being kidnapped disappeared. He wasn’t going to keep her; he’d spoken of a time limit. He’d be back and she wondered what he planned this time. She’d never been courted before, and for lack of a better word, she recognized this bit of drama was his attempt to court her. Even if the goal of that courtship was nothing more than some damned good sex. She could live with that.

  She stretched her legs and surveyed her sandals. Damn, the stitching was giving way again.

  Tevas were sturdy, but nothing was meant to be worn every day for months on end. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she would need to purchase some shoes. Some real pirate boots might impress the locals at the next pirate festival, once she returned to her California.

  Would she ever attend those again? After being here?

  Maybe.

  She’d be able to laugh at the things that the enactors got wrong and marvel at the things that ended up dead on. If anything she observed here was truly right. Truly accurate.

  A hot shower would be nice.

  And a pizza.

  Closing her eyes, she shifted to make her hands more comfortable. She thought about pizza, the tart bite of good tomato sauce, the crunch of sourdough crust and the burn of red pepper flakes. Her belly grumbled and her mouth watered. But it served to keep her distracted while the fussing continued in the front of the cabin. She’d seen the sailors enter, ignoring her as they carried in a large tub and filled it with bucket after bucket of water.

  She drifted into a nap and woke to Alan lifting her to her feet.

  “This shirt is hopelessly stained, don’t you agree?” he asked.

  His eyes glittered in the light of several newly lit lanterns. The flash of a knife struck her eyes and she heard the fabric of her shirt being torn away. She opened her mouth to object, but shut it. He was right. The dyers seemed to take particular delight in seeing her dingy white shirt splattered with off-colored dyes. It galled her to hear them mutter derisively about some batch of dye, then nonchalantly fling it in her direction. Once she’d caught one actually wiping his hands on the back of her shirt. It was useless to object, so she’d borne their derision without making a fuss. It was just a shirt and they were going to show her how to dye things! Ha.

  “Ah, a new corset! But nicely light and flexible. I thought I felt something odd.”

  “Don’t cut it off, please. It took a lot of searching to find a modern bra that fit me, so my not-droopy boobs wouldn’t droop.” She glanced down at the bra. “You unhook it at the back, Alan.”

  Fighting would waste time. She’d rather in be the bath she’d noticed when he’d lifted her. An old fashioned copper tub with clouds of steam rising from the water.

  She couldn’t wait.

  He carefully examined the bra after he’d removed it.

  She was glad she’d found one without straps. He might have discarded her objections and cut them away otherwise, since he seemed determined to leave her hands tied.

  Tossing it to one side, he remarked, “Quite ingenious.”

  “Well, the leather bustier got too hot.” She stopped talking when he knelt and pulled the tie of her breeches open. They were too large for her. She figured she’d dropped nearly twenty pounds since arriving. Not for lack of food, but lack of junk food as well as all the exercise. She didn’t mind the loss. Not at all.

  He let them drop to pool at her feet and leaned back to rest on his ankles, eyes roaming up and down her body.

  She sighed, her body reacting to the examination. Even his eyes warmed her to the point of boiling.

  He was certainly spry for a man his age. He shot to his feet, shaking his head, and led her to the bath.

  She balked at stepping into the clean water.

  “Wait! Let me wipe some of the grime off my feet first!”

  He paused. “That is what the bath is for.” He spoke slowly with a studied emphasis, as though she were an idiot.

  She grimaced at him. “Yes. And I’m going to be lying back in a tub of grimy water if I don’t at least wipe them off first, barbarian.”

  “Fine, no need to be touchy. I’d never thought of it much. Always assumed the grime rested at the bottom of the tub.” He congenially babbled on, hauling a worn towel off a nearby chair, dipping it into the water and washing her feet.

  The gesture totally undid her. Her fingers flexed behind her back, wanting to bury them in his head of silvery hair and hold him with a tenderness she found surprising.

  A man washing her feet was a new experience.

  He took such care. Making sure s
he was balanced against a nearby vertical beam, lifting her feet one at a time, slowly wiping, rubbing. She watched, mesmerized. He completed freeing her feet of grime all the way to the flesh between her toes and lifted his eyes to meet hers. He smiled as his gaze dropped to gaze upon her pussy, less than a foot from his face.

  She gasped when he surged to his feet, lifted her and, with a single step, gingerly deposited her into the steaming water.

  “Jesus!” she gasped. “Hot!”

  “Isn’t that the idea?” He chuckled. He pulled the chair closer and proceeded to use a fresh cloth to lather up a rough bit of soap. He paused, stripped off his shirt, and then, proceeded to scrub her clean.

  He was intent and she appreciated the attention. The dyers were frugal with water, and though she saw their steam baths, she wasn’t allowed their use.

  Shitheads.

  “I wish you’d undo my hands, Alan.”

  “You’ll splash me, and I’m wet enough.” He drew back and winked at her. “For now.”

  “What if I give you my word?” she asked.

  “The word of a pirate? Have you any idea how little that is worth?”

  “I’m a pirate? Hey, I’m only staying with pirates…and fucking one…and…oh, well. I guess I’m a pirate. How the hell did that happen?”

  His scrub cloth hit her side, and she flinched.

  “What is that?” he asked, suddenly quite serious.

  “Oh, a bit of pirating adventure,” she explained. He moved to the other side of the tub and urged her up.

  He jerked the knots loose from her wrists and moved her arm away from her side. She flexed her fingers, and gently moved her shoulders, easing the tightness. He’d left a lot of room between her hands, but it still wasn’t a position she’d been comfortable in.

  “Someone did a good job with this.” His fingers were gently, probing the cuts and ragged edge of the one wound requiring a few stitches. “How did it happen?”

  “We took a cloth merchant and things got a little dicey. I knifed someone in the back, but he got a shot off at me. The ball smashed into a chair instead of me and I got hit by the splinters.”

  He grunted. “You knifed someone in the back? I doubt that.”

  He helped her sit again and studied her face.

  She smiled crookedly. “I threw my knife into his back, honestly. He held Jezzie with a pistol, trying to drive us off.”

  “Is he dead?” His brilliant blue eyes appeared black in the scant light. She swallowed at the anger there.

  “Uh. Yeah. Not me—one of the crew did it. He didn’t even know I was there until my knife hit.”

  “I imagine he didn’t….” His head bowed and a shudder ran through his frame. “I thought the Quill’s captain more sensible than to pirate against a well-armed crew.”

  She raised her voice in protest. “They weren’t well-armed! The captain hid a pistol. We bested them! We were already loading the cargo when this happened. A bunch of superstitious Frenchmen.” She stopped. She was not going into detail about Mick’s role or what Jezzie told her. She looked away. “We took some lovely cloth. I left a piece for a blouse at the tailor’s in Nassau.”

  He listened to her go off on another topic, knowing she’d left out something significant. He’d find out later.

  Seeing her wounds shook him. He might have lost her without warning, no chance to see her again or tell her anything. He knew Captain Jezebel took care with the ships they raided, researching their armament thoroughly. A French merchant ship should have been easy prey. And for cloth, of course. With the celebration on the horizon, everyone was excited and looking for new clothing. Jezebel would be able to sell what the crew didn’t keep for a bloody fortune. Especially if she left it a little late. The scramble to outdo each other always brought out the flash and sparkle on Tortuga.

  Saying nothing, he shifted his position and helped her wash her hair.

  What would the world say, seeing the feared Captain Alan Silvestri washing a woman’s hair? Or her feet earlier?

  Hell, the world wasn’t here. She was.

  And he liked washing her hair. It filled his hands, thick and luxurious. He wondered what it would be like long, drifting over his body as she rode him.

  Fuck. The bath was over. He dunked her under the water with little warning. He couldn’t stand it any longer. She came up sputtering, and he tossed her another towel and paced back to the bed.

  Tossing his clothing aside, he shoved the covers back and settled onto the clean sheets, watching her attempt to ignore him. He wasn’t fooled.

  ***

  The cabin was warm enough. She lingered over drying herself, completely aware of his eyes following her every movement. Her body, already fired up by his hands in the bath, did not appreciate the time she took. But she knew once she fell into that bed, there’d be no talk.

  Well, not talk of much sense.

  And she wanted to ask about a few things first.

  “How did you know I’d be here, Alan? Your Quill spy keeps you informed on every crewmember’s plans?” She rubbed her hair dry. It was growing too long, but she wasn’t certain about having anyone here cut it.

  He didn’t reply, and she spun away, heading for the door.

  “We’re already at sea, Mrs. Pawes. Not to mention my crew would find your present state of undress quite entertaining.”

  His droll voice signaled, perhaps, a willingness to talk?

  She turned back to him. “How did you know I was here?”

  “You don’t think the dyers changed their minds for a few ledgers, do you?” He laughed.

  Emily narrowed her eyes. “You set this up?”

  “I am quite determined in my pursuit of you.”

  “Yeah, well. Next time you can pay them enough that they sincerely help me.”

  Should she have told him that? He rose, his long legs dangling to the floor, then he stood and walked with deliberation toward her. The look on his face made her take a step back.

  “Alan, they showed me enough. They only…what?”

  He put a hand on her face. “You are concerned for them?”

  “I do not want to be responsible for you camping on their doorstep for a week. I’ve heard enough about how your curse works. And I take on enough pointless guilt. Alan, what are you going to do?”

  He stroked her cheek with his thumb, eyes locked on hers. He lifted her other hand and set it on his erect cock, letting the towel fall to the deck.

  “I’m going to take you to bed and fuck you.” He bent, seized her lips with his and pressed tightly, making clear his intentions. His cock leaped in her hand.

  It proved difficult, but she pulled free, lingering just a moment to run a thumb over the weeping tip. His kiss ended and she stepped away. Her body nearly shrieked in disappointment.

  “No, what are you going to do to the dyers?” She turned her back and bent to pick up the towel. He grabbed at her hips, pressing her against his cock.

  He ground against her and her cunt wept with want.

  “Alan,” she whispered.

  “No, I won’t go after them. I’m disappointed in them. But I shouldn’t be. Their trade is their religion. The religious are always idiots. They aren’t going to benefit from this, Emily. Grant me the opportunity to make it clear to them. When I pay for something, I expect goods to be delivered.”

  “How…?” She lifted up and leaned against him. His hands rose to cup her breasts. She moaned, rapidly coming undone. “How do you do this to me? Why?”

  “Because…I want to.” He whispered those words. She wondered at the pause , if it meant anything. What would he have said?

  Because she let him?

  Because she was desperate?

  Because…?

  He squeezed her right breast, the nipple between demanding fingers. “This one. I have the ring.”

  She sagged.

  He swept her into his arms and strode to the bed. Instead of setting her onto the sheets, he set her back on he
r feet. The deck was smoother than she’d expect wood to be. No danger of splinters. She stood, confused as he returned to the bed. Reclining quite deliciously before her, he patted the pad next to him. “Your choice, Mrs. Pawes.”

  She waited, raising a hand to cup the breast he’d nearly bruised. His eyes burned her. She fought to catch her breath. “You have the ring?”

  “A perfect gold loop.”

  Shit.

  “I found a silver one. When I reached St. Marteen. A street vendor pushed it at me. Alan, I don’t understand this magic. This level of coincidence.” Her voice trembled, no matter how she fought to keep it even. She turned away from him, her eyes scanning the cabin. “Where is my bag? Did they take my bag?”

  A sense of panic rose in her. Everything she needed to make the books was in her bag! And her knives! Did they keep her knives?

  “Mrs. Pawes, I am rejected in favor of what? Your bag? It’s at the other side of the table.” This time he sounded wounded, even bored.

  She scurried over to the shadows, hauled her bag up onto the table. “My knives?” She shot a glance at him. “Get over it, Alan. I’ll be there in a minute.” One by one, she set her supplies out. And near the middle, she found a small box. She pulled it out, set it down. “My knives! They took my knives?”

  “No, I put them away. You’ll have them when you leave the ship.”

  Oh.

  She ran her free hand through her hair, returning to the bed. He lay back, staring at the ceiling. One hand rested at his cock, stroking it idly.

  She set the box on his chest.

  Clearing her throat, she tried to make it clear that no matter his intentions, she wasn’t going to go along with everything he planned. “You scared the shit out of me. Hired thugs to kidnap me, nearly drowned me in a tub, and offered me no food.”

  She watched as he lifted the box, examined it, and slowly removed the silver ring she’d bought. She wasn’t sure why she bought it, what she intended. She wasn’t even considering the outrageous idea of piercing his nipple.

  He said nothing in response as he examined the ring, set it back into the box, and tucked it away. Instead, he turned on his side to watch her. Again, he patted the mattress.