Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

  “But I can. Mick is quite habitual with his haunts. Jezebel will visit Madam Monteverdi’s shop, dragging him along. He’ll act bored, but secretly enjoy watching her play with the scarves and hats. She’ll haul from store to store, ending up at the Orange Tabby for a meal, then the Barmy Cock for drinks.”

  She tilted her head, fascinated with the details. The commentary wound down and she shook her head. “You know him terribly well. You know both of them. How?”

  “Spies,” he said. “Now, since I have you until tomorrow. I want to show you a special place. I’m sure they won’t miss you on the Quill. Too excited about the party tomorrow. Come with me?”

  Emily sighed. “Might as well. It’s getting hard to lie to them. At least if I’m with you, I don’t have to try. You are certain he can find something for me to wear by tomorrow? It seems like everyone is flooding the dress shops. I was surprised to see this one empty.”

  “Most of his work is special order, and the madness is in the back room right now.” He would address why she was lying to the extent that it burdened her. Later. Once they were at his retreat.

  ***

  Why did finding herself following him into the hills above Tortuga bring her peace? She’d actually been relieved to see him. The conflicts between the person she once was and the person now living in her skin quieted with him nearby. When he led, she trailed behind, with questions badgering her brain.

  Good thing she’d left Janey in the store near the docks, shopping for jingle-jangles, as the bosun termed them.

  Emily paused and took a deep breath. “Alan? Will Mr. Reibe tell Janey who I left with? She was going to join me after doing some shopping near the docks.”

  He turned to study her, offering a hand as they approached a steep step. “No, every shopkeeper knows to keep my business quiet. He’ll say you left, still searching for your blouse.”

  “Good. They never ask me where I am or who I stay with. I’m thankful, but I don’t understand. Aren’t they curious?”

  She would be.

  He shrugged. “I’m sure they are, but sailors treasure privacy. If they want it for themselves, they learn to be circumspect with others.” He paused before continuing; his hand touched her cheek. “Captain Jezebel has sources, Mrs. Pawes. She knows you meet a lover. It depends on how observant her spies are, whether they have identified me.”

  “Oh, shit.” She shivered. “If Jezebel knew wouldn’t she throw me off the ship? Or tell Mick? Warn me?”

  “Captain Jezebel is an intelligent woman. She’s been here over twenty-five years, and Mick means a great deal to her. She wouldn’t risk him. She obviously considers you intelligent enough to make your own decisions.”

  “If she knows it’s you, then she’d keep Mick away. I get that.” Her uncertainty made it difficult to enjoy the scenery. They’d climbed quite a distance. She noticed how the streets emptied into valleys that trickled down like streams to the port below. She expected trees, but the slope they climbed ran up a rocky area.

  “Is this the lie that concerns you?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter to them, Emily. I am no danger to them. I am not their enemy.”

  “Mick.” She spoke his name with some reluctance. “He was the first to befriend me. He found me when I woke up and didn’t know where I was. Because of him, I ended up on the Quill. I owe him honesty, Alan.”

  “No, you owe him the same as Jezebel owes him when it comes to me. To keep him safe from his personal obsession. Finding me would only bring him in reach of my curse.” He smiled slightly. “The single person you hurt with this lie, as you term it, is yourself. Let it go.”

  She met his eyes and read comfort there. He wanted her to trust that he knew what was best with all of this. She wanted to believe him, but it battled with old messages regarding lies. Lies were always the wrong path to take. She’d always prided herself on being truthful. To be honest, truthful to the point of lacking any real tact. But this was different. She thought it was different. With a sigh, she looked up the path. “How much farther?”

  “Not far. There is food, shelter. My secret retreat, Mrs. Pawes.”

  “Seemed like a fairly public path.” She tilted her head at him, a sudden suspicion grew. “You screwed with the tailor, didn’t you? Manipulated this entire scenario. Is my blouse there? I need to get it back, or I’ll be wearing breeches with it instead of a skirt.” She turned to head back.

  Sure, it was nice to know she was wanted, but his single-purposed mind kept interfering with things she’d set herself to do. Like find the portal and regain her sanity. Return to Vallejo.

  His arm swept around her. “Yes. I made this happen. But it’s part of my curse. Events fall to my advantage. Do you truly regret my interference? I am part of your destiny. Give me this night. One more night and from tomorrow forward, it is your move.”

  “Unless your curse dictates events, Captain Silvestri.” She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling the full weight of her fifty-three years. Gods, how she wanted to lean back into his embrace and give up. Would one more night hurt?

  He kissed the top of her head, then gazed into her eyes. “Come with me, and I will devour you—serve your body as a feast to mine. All I have done in the past, I will do once more. We will continue this voyage of sensual delight. You will grow hoarse, shouting obscenities into the night.” His hand rose to cup her right breast; one thumb brushed the piercing.

  She quivered and felt his touch sink through her, straight to the juncture of her legs. Heat pooled; her nipples ached as they hardened. Her lips opened, and she moaned at the pictures he’d painted in her head.

  More than desire dictated her agreement to go with him. She wanted to sleep in his arms. To feel the mysteries she could not define. Sensations that were terrible with sweetness and warmth.

  No, one more night would not hurt.

  She nodded, eyes locked on his.

  For a moment, she detected relief. His shoulders sank a fraction of an inch, his eyelids relaxed. He swept down, bending his head to capture her lips and press home his advantage. A hand rose to squeeze her breast even as his tongue pushed into her mouth to claim her attention. All rational thought disappeared. He lifted her into his arms, released her mouth, turned and continued up the hill.

  If she was insane, she was going to enjoy it.

  He’d been right; it wasn’t far. Not ten minutes later, he set her down in front of a small building, set into a rocky crevice. She looked around while he opened the door. Turning, she surveyed an incredible view. He’d chosen a site with an impressive vista. Directly downslope from their climb, at least two miles away, the city of Tortuga sprawled.

  She wasn’t a historian, but she seemed to recall that the historical island was small, round and nothing like where she stood. Haiti should be in view, but it wasn’t. The bay where this city rested was broad, a near perfect crescent with horns close to meeting. She assumed that guaranteed a safer harbor, hard to attack.

  Though with vampires about, she doubted attack was a problem.

  To the right the island spread to another shore of the Caribbean. Maybe that was the beach where the Quill anchored the day Tink led her over the peninsula. Was it one of the crescent horns of the bay?

  Looking that direction, another island barely showed in the distance.

  “Where is that?” she asked Silvestri. He stood at her side, joining her in contemplating the view.

  “Jamaica. An extremely clear day. Normally it wouldn’t be visible.”

  “Where is Haiti? I’ve never looked at a map while on the Quill. I guess I should have.”

  “I’m not familiar with that name.” He gestured past the city. “That way lays Hispaniola, a Spanish settlement.”

  “Maybe the French never colonized here.”

  “The French?” He chuckled. “No, the French have colonies, but small and sparsely populated. They tend to inhabit areas already civilized, like St. Marteen.” He turned. “Now, come see my hideaway.”

 
She followed him into the simple home.

  ***

  He waited for her to say something about how plain it was, to compare it to his cabin on the Immortal . But she said nothing, just wandered around the one room, lightly touching items.

  She paused to read the titles on the books. Most were volumes of fairy and folk tales. He’d collected them over fifty years of sailing. Was that a smile dancing across her face? She chuckled, stopping to extract one book. He knew that one.

  “Where in the world did you find an illustrated Joy of Sex?” She shook her head. “Evidently a lot of interesting things fall through the cracks between my world and yours.”

  “Many more than you can imagine.” He pulled a chair off a hook on the wall and sat. “Emily, there is more here than from only your time and world.”

  She froze, set the book back and slowly turned to face him. Groping for the bed, she sat, staring at him. “Other times?”

  “I once met a man who hailed from the year 2250. He claimed to be a historian seeking accurate information regarding the formation of a Caribbean nation, which stretched from the Bahamas to the island of Barbados. He seemed quite surprised to find no political movement toward that end.” He watched her digest the news.

  Her hand shook slightly, brushing at her shaggy hair. He quite enjoyed how long it grew. But he imagined the length took some getting used to for her. He took a moment to imagine that thick luxurious mane down to her waist, shining in the sun. It would glow in the moonlight, the silver standing out from the dark, nut brown. If she stayed, he’d see that.

  “How will I ever find my way home if there are so many possible portals?” She spoke so softly, he wasn’t sure he heard her.

  But his fantasy of her remaining at his side took the hit. He abruptly stood, knocking the chair back. He stalked to the bed, stood directly in front of her, and stripped off his shirt. He tossed it to one side and worked the buckle of his belt. He’d make her forget about any portal!

  “What are you doing?” She scooted away from him. “We only got here, I’d like to clean off the sweat, get some food.”

  Interesting how she tried to deflect her desire, even while her eyes followed his every movement. She licked her lips when he cast off his belt.

  “There is a spring outside. I’ll feed you afterward.” He jerked his boots off, leaning over to almost touch her, his bare chest inches from her face. With a final wiggle, he left his breeches on the floor, turned and walked out the door. He heard her snort, and then the patter of her ragged sandals on the wooden floor as she followed him.

  Ten minutes later, they stood under the small waterfall, lost in kissing, touching, holding.

  She’d laughed when first spying the small pool and waterfall. Her comment made little sense to him, but the water feature delighted her. And that was enough to make him smile.

  “A real bit of cinematic license! A private shower provided by nature—it’s so Disney!” She stripped quickly while he walked into the water.

  It took him years to expand the pool to its present size. First, he’d removed the larger rocks, carried sand up from the beach, built a retaining wall, and directed the water to flow down the other side, away from his cabin. Smoothing the large rocks lining that side, sitting near the pond, rubbing one stone face upon the other until they carried no rough patches took the most time, but provided the most comfort. The stones faced the sun so they grew almost hot. He’d created a relaxing place to recline after the cool of the water, even planted a small bit of soft grass that ran nearly to the pool.

  One of those folk tale books in his library showed a place like this. An enchanted pond where a beautiful woman kissed a frog and became royalty. He wasn’t a frog. But Emily was the first woman he’d ever brought here. Her smiles and laughter made his heart soar with pride.

  He pulled the hair back from her face; the better to layer kisses down one side and up the other. Her small hands clung tightly to his hips. The water swept away the sweat and with it his uncertainty of bringing her here. He admitted, her approval meant a great deal to him. His sanctuary.

  The light filtered through the overhanging ferns and caressed her face.

  “Emily Pawes.”

  “Hmmm?” She opened her eyes to meet his.

  Time stood still. His heart took a leap of faith. Here in the sun, far from the chill of the lonely Caribbean he sailed, he found home in the deep wood warmth of her eyes, and he spilled his heart. “I love you, Emily Pawes.”

  Glacious couldn’t hear, couldn’t follow him to this place. Her domain was the sea and cold places. He might say those words, mean them, and her ice cold eyes wouldn’t sharpen, set their sight on this warm woman in his arms….

  Emily’s eyes widened and her mouth gaped. With the sparkle from the waterfall spilling down her face, he couldn’t tell…was that a tear? Her hands dropped from his hips, then she brought one to touch his face. “Oh, dear, Alan. Captain? But…what if you aren’t real? What if none of this is real?”

  “What if my being real isn’t important?” He fought to keep his heart light. What counted is that he said the words to her. She would know, no matter what happened from here forward. She would know he’d said I love you and he’d meant it.

  He went to his knees, pressed his lips to her belly and moved lower. She’d know how real he was, he swore she would.

  ***

  This place and this man—they were parts of a Technicolor dream that couldn’t be real. She was Snow White or some twisted bit of a fairy tale. An obscure story Disney would never film. An old woman and an enchanted waterfall, a world full of daring pirates. This wasn’t real.

  Oh, God. What was he doing?

  He lifted one of her legs, draped it over his shoulder, took his hands and spread her for his mouth, sliding fingers inside her. She shuddered, hands gripping his hair, aware of every stroke of his tongue, every nip of his teeth, each breath he took.

  His hands, his fingers!

  “Fuck! Fuck! God damned, fucking shit. Hell…hell…hell! Cock sucker! Fu-u-u-u-u-u-u-uck!”

  Alan broke through every wall she’d ever built, clung to her when she fell to pieces and folded into the water. Sweeping her into his arms, he smiled, touched her lips and walked with her to a smooth rock, the size of a small table. He set her down, gingerly.

  It was impossible to catch her breath, and she gasped, staring into the sky. The deep heat of the rock sank into her back. Slowly, she relaxed.

  Why didn’t he fuck her? He could have done anything.

  He did. He told her he loved her. What did that mean? He isn’t real. He was only a figment of her imagination. He…no, she made him up. Right? She turned her head toward where this figment stood.

  Under the waterfall, he posed rinsing his hair in the water. Its silver cascade fell to his ass. His concave, old man, skinny ass. She snickered. “I made up a dream man with an old man’s ass?”

  Her body hummed, drew to attention when he turned slightly. His strong, sinewy arms, painted from the decades of Caribbean sun, made her think of sculpted tree limbs. His thighs…. She swallowed, felt her nipples tighten.

  Without even thinking, she sat up, staring at him. He continued to turn toward her. He was erect, one hand dropped to his belly. He had a slight softness there. It made him more believable. A glistening trail of silver hair spiraled down to his prick. His fingers were spread. She took a breath and felt it sink to her toes.

  She hadn’t made him up. A sudden clarity flew about her mind, wiping it clear of the fear that she was mad. A small thread of logic tried to tangle her thoughts and she ignored it. If she was mad, this was the most glorious madness of all. Of life itself.

  She slid off the rock, her feet anchored on the sandy bottom, but when she stood, her body overbalanced and almost stumbled.

  “Emily?” He quickly closed the distance between her. “Are you…?”

  He stopped when she closed her hand around his cock. She looked up into his sapphire eyes and
only nodded. She set a hand at his chest and pushed him to lean back upon the rock she’d vacated. He didn’t resist, merely allowed her to direct him. She let her free hand trail up his chest, following the silver trail. Slowly, she bent and kissed the pierced nipple, sucked it into her mouth and hummed.

  He gasped, and the sense of power this gave her steadied her purpose. He’d touched her every way possible. He’d swept her away with passion and a personality that she held no defenses against. And no regrets.

  Save one.

  She didn’t know how to do the same to him.

  But she was going to try.

  ***

  He accepted that she couldn’t believe in his reality. No yet, although in his heart, he judged she wanted to. He’d met many people who walked through portals into the Kraken’s Caribbean, and some did go mad. The terror of that possibility kept her from accepting this was more than a delusion. He’d be patient and she’d find her way to him.

  Fifty years of walking his own world burdened by a curse schooled him in patience—and resignation.

  The rushing water barely cooled his blood as he inhaled through barely open lips, tasting her again and again. He smiled at the memory of her curses. How odd that profanity took the place of other softer phrases, other thoughts and feelings. His heart knew she held more depth; that it anchored all the way into her bones, her blood and her breath. When he studied her eyes, they spoke softer words.

  He turned to glance her way and froze. Her eyes studied him; her fingers absentmindedly touched her pierced nipple. He remembered the sharp cry she’d emitted when his needle pierced that wonderful, dark nipple, the same instant she’d melted around his cock. She’d been a woman totally immersed in passion and lust.

  But he glimpsed something different this time. He tilted his head, a fierce longing…yes! She radiated with fierce longing. For him? Did he dare believe that?

  Did he dare to trust? He allowed her to take charge and move his body to her bidding. To lay him upon the rock, to kiss and suckle at lips, neck, to forge a fire path down his torso. And he stayed passive, keeping his arms limp, though it killed him not to seize her. She flattened his hands, left no doubt in his mind that she wanted him to act as though bound. He trembled at the fantasy. No one ever dared tie him down.