Romancing the Pirate

by Michelle Beattie

  “No, he cuts his ties and runs,” she said, and a coldness settled upon her that had nothing to do with the air.

  “Everyone has their own way of working through things.”

  “I’m not sure what to say to him.”

  Nate crossed his arms and ankles, studied Alicia.

  “Stepping in the middle of things isn’t what I enjoy. That’s Vincent’s territory. However, since I’m here and he’s not, I’ll offer you this. You can’t go wrong with honesty.”

  Alicia frowned. “That’s it?”

  Humor danced in his eyes. “No, but the other way is a slippery road, and I won’t be the man to go down it with you.” He came to his feet, walked to her. Before she knew his intent, he’d leaned down and kissed her cheek. “More’s the pity, too. Good night.”

  Not quite sure what he meant, Alicia nonetheless knew she’d been dismissed.

  She whispered good night and, holding her breath, slipped into Blake’s cabin.

  Her way was lit by a cluster of candles he’d left blinking on the table. Shadows were long and the room smelled of burned wax and rum. The floor was a mass grave of chairs, books, and whatever else Blake had been able to get a hold of.

  Alicia crept down as quietly as she could but she needn’t have worried. He was wide awake, propped up in the far corner of his bed with his legs sprawled all over its surface and a nearly empty bottle resting drunkenly on his thigh. He’d torn the tie from his hair and dark strands fell in dangerous disarray around his face. His shirt was unbuttoned and gaped open. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen his chest. There was no reason it should move her and yet seeing that expanse of gold skin made her fingers tingle.

  “I’m not so drunk, Alicia, that seeing you look at me that way doesn’t affect me.”

  She prayed the soft light would mask the flush that heated her cheeks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said and drew the blanket from her shoulders, busied herself with folding it until the corners matched perfectly. She set it on the bed next to Blake’s booted feet.

  The liquid swished in the bottle, followed by a loud swallow.

  “I’m beginning to suspect differently,” he muttered.

  Her gaze snapped to his. His brown eyes were black in a lean face that looked both alluring and alone. It was the second fact that had her ignoring the first and walking around the bed.

  He scowled. “Go away.”

  “I know what you’re doing; it won’t work.”

  “And what is it you think I’m doing?”

  “You don’t want to talk about your father and you’re trying to distract me.”

  His grin was slow and seductive, as was the pass of his gaze over her body. Both tripped her heart.

  “If I wanted to distract you, I could think of a much more satisfying way.”

  When she couldn’t find her tongue to respond, he chuckled, a sound as rich as the rum in his bottle. “Fortunately, the only thing on my mind tonight is finishing this.” He held up the bottle, then took a loud swallow.

  “Fine. We can talk about Jacob tomorrow.”

  Blake leaned forward, swayed slightly. “Did nobody ever tell you you’re supposed to listen to your captain? We’re not going to talk about him. Not ever.”

  “Blake—”

  “I said no, Alicia.” He grinned crookedly. “I’ve never been on the receiving end of that word before.”

  His hair fell over his brow and his smile was slow. No, she realized, feeling her own blood moving sluggishly through her veins, she didn’t imagine any woman would ever refuse a man like Blake.

  “You’re drunk,” she said.

  “Who me?” he asked, swinging his arms wide.

  Clearly he forgot the bottle in his hand and it smashed against the wall. Glass exploded and the last of the rum slid down the wall in amber tears. The bed was covered in shards.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No.” She examined herself, but other than a few pieces of glass on her trousers, most of it had spilled around Blake. He had splatters of rum darkening his pants and slivers of the broken bottle in his hair, near his hands, and—

  “You’re cut,” she said, seeing the angry line of red above his navel.

  He looked at it, shrugged. “Looks harmless enough.”

  “That’s because you’re too drunk to feel the pain. It needs tending. Here.” She offered her hand. “You need to get out of that bed so I can clean out the glass and have a better look at that cut.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “Be that as it may, the rest needs to be picked up before you cut yourself again.”

  “Just let—”

  “Take my blessed hand, Blake.”

  “You’re damn bossy considering this is my cabin.”

  She blew out a breath. “If you’d stop being stubborn and mule-headed, I wouldn’t have to be, would I?”

  “Women,” he muttered, but he reached out and clasped her hand.

  His touch was warm and strong, and it sent heat up her arm. His eyes widened and in them she saw the same expressions she knew were on her own face—wonder, desire, and a hint of fear. Neither moved. Awareness held her captive. Her heart skipped a beat, then leapt solidly behind her breast.

  She saw the glint in his eye at the last moment. He tugged on her arm and would have sent her sprawling but she managed to dig in her heels in time. Working in a blacksmith shop had its advantages, she thought, as she was able to pull him off the bed. He managed to make it to his feet and send a shower of glass tinkling to the floor. Swaying, Blake put a hand to his head and groaned. Gently, Alicia guided him to a chair he hadn’t destroyed yet.

  “Sit. I’ll get the glass out of the bed, then I’ll have a better look at your cut.”

  “I have a better idea,” he said and lay on the table, shoving the tray of candles perilously close to the edge in the process. “Let me know when you’re done.” He flung an arm over his eyes.

  “Don’t you dare fall asleep, Blake, or I’ll leave you there.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Wonderful,” she grumbled and yanked the sheets off the bed. “I’ll take the bed. Suits me just fine.” Bringing all four corners to the middle, she kept the pieces of glass inside the folds. She tucked the sheets into a far corner of the room and asked Blake if he had more.

  “Under the ladder, in the chest.”

  When the bed was put to rights, and Alicia was certain he wouldn’t be endangering himself by sleeping in it, she kicked more debris out of her way and went to fetch some water from the galley.

  “You’re alive,” Nate said when she stepped on the deck. “Does that mean Blake is dead?”

  “Not yet, but he may wish he was come morning. He managed to cut himself and I need to clean it.”

  “How much was left in the bottle before he smashed it?”

  Alicia paused, angled her head. “How can you be so sure it wasn’t me that smashed it on his head?”

  Nate grinned, leaned on the wheel. “Because I’d like to think you’d allow me the pleasure of witnessing such an event.”

  She laughed and felt a few knots in her shoulders ease. “I’ll keep that in mind. Can you spare a little more rum? I’d rather not risk any infection.”

  “It’ll hurt.”

  Now she grinned. “His own fault for behaving like a jackass.”

  “You’re a pleasure to have on board. Here,” he said and pulled her to the helm. “Mind the ship and I’ll get what you need.”

  Alicia felt the blood drain from her body. “What? You can’t do that! I know nothing of ships.”

  “You run a blacksmith shop, Alicia. And as much as that still amazes me, I have no doubt that if you can manage such a task, you can handle this ship. Besides, I won’t be long.”

  Before she could argue any further, she was talking to his back. Her hands clutched the wheel and she was envisioning all manner of catastrophes before her mind began to work properly. The wind was light, t
he sea calm. They were in the middle of the ocean—therefore, running into rocks was unlikely. Nate wouldn’t have left her to it if there were any chance of her destroying the ship. She took a deep breath and eased her grip on the wheel. She would have preferred, now that she was calm enough to think about it, to do this in daylight when she could really appreciate what it was she was doing.

  Though the moon and lanterns were bright enough, they couldn’t show her the horizon, the endless ribbon of blue. As Nate came up the stairs, holding a bowl and a bottle, she found herself wishing for another chance at sailing, one in daylight.

  “Thank you. I enjoyed it very much. I never would have thought to ask for such an opportunity.”

  She took the items from his hands.

  “Well, now you don’t have to, I’m offering. Tomorrow night. I’m sure if you tell Blake I’ve offered, he’ll be agreeable to the idea,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  “Well, then, I will. Good night, again.”

  Nate lifted the hatch. Her boots crunched on glass as she made her way to the table, where Blake seemed fast asleep. His breathing was low and even, and he hadn’t moved. Setting the bowl down onto a chair, Alicia took a candle and brought it closer to his cut. It wasn’t long, but there was a sliver of glass protruding from the cut. She normally kept her fingernails short due to her work, but they’d grown a little since the funeral and were just long enough to pull the glass out.

  Blake’s breathing didn’t break rhythm. She dipped the cloth in the water, not surprised to find it cold, and pressed it to his wound. He mumbled something, then all was quiet again. Smiling, Alicia pulled the cork on the rum and poured out a large stream directly onto the cut.

  “Mother of Christ!” he yelled and jolted upright.

  From directly above she heard Nate’s bellow of laughter followed by a soft tap as he closed the hatch.

  “Sorry,” she said sweetly, “couldn’t be helped.”

  Blake frowned. His breathing, she noted, was no longer low and even. “What the hell did you do to me?”

  “I cleaned your cut. You’re welcome.”

  “Hell, feels worse now than it did before.”

  Alicia crossed her arms. “Are you going to sleep on the table or are you going to bed?”

  He swallowed, blinked a few times. “Bed.” He swung his legs off the table, but when his feet hit the floor, his knees forgot their purpose and his legs buckled.

  Alicia threw her arm around his waist. “If you can’t handle your drink, then perhaps you should do it in moderation next time.”

  Blake swung his head around and nearly took them both down when he lost his balance and staggered. “I can handle my rum.”

  “Of course you can.” Grunting, Alicia managed to walk him to the bed. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he fell back and took her with him. She landed soundly on his chest, her hands on his shoulders. His breath hissed out, but when Alicia went to move, his hands tangled in her hair, keeping her there. His gaze suddenly sharpened.

  “I didn’t want you here.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m fairly certain I still don’t.”

  “I know.”

  The cabin grew warm and Alicia could swear his skin heated under her palms. Everywhere they touched burned. Her breasts pressed into Blake’s chest and she felt their peaks harden. Between her legs a strange but thrilling heat uncoiled. He watched her silently and steadily. She wished she could read his mind, hoped he wanted what she did. To touch and be touched in return.

  “Blake.”

  His hand clutched her hair, not painfully but enough to keep her from moving.

  “I don’t know what to do about you, Alicia. And my head’s spinning too much to think about it just now. I just know I can’t wait any longer, not for this.”

  He brought her mouth down to his and kissed her. Not chastely as she’d seen Charles kiss his wife, but with his tongue and his lips all working together to send her senses reeling. Her heart started pounding, her blood crashed in her ears like waves ramming against rock, and yet she yielded, gave Blake everything she felt in that moment.

  With one hand in her hair, he ran the other down her back, took the kiss deeper. Alicia sighed into his mouth, clutched his shoulders. Though he kept her solidly in his embrace, he rolled her to her side, slowly eased from the kiss so they could breathe. His eyes closed but his breathing was as ragged as hers. He threw a leg over her, buried his face in the crook of her neck. He moaned her name.

  And then he fell asleep.

  Ten

  Blake had never been one to ease from sleep slowly. He went from buried in layers of dreams to full alert. The problem was it wasn’t only his mind that awakened ready this morning. And through a tortuous twist of luck, he wasn’t alone.

  His arms were full of woman—considering their kiss last night, he could hardly pretend she was otherwise—and his senses were drowning in her. Silky hair tickled his neck where her head nestled and from it came the faint scent of oranges. Her arm crossed his bare chest, keeping him in place.

  He’d never imagined her arm banded across him would feel so right.

  As he held her close, Blake’s mind went through the events of the previous night. It wasn’t difficult to remember what had taken place. A headache drummed behind his closed eyes; his stomach smarted where the glass had cut him, and his throat felt as though he’d swallowed sand by the bucketful. He’d expected all of those things.

  What he hadn’t planned on was Alicia. He hadn’t planned on liking her. Hell, he’d tried hating her, had, in fact, managed it since he’d heard of her coming to live with his parents. But that all changed when he’d come to know her. He knew by the calluses on her hands and the strength in her arm when she’d made to slap him that she worked hard. She was fiercely loyal and stood up for her beliefs. His feelings about Jacob hadn’t changed, but Blake could appreciate Alicia’s unwavering support of someone who was dear to her.

  He wondered what it would take for her to support him that way.

  And that, Blake realized, was what was weighing on his mind. She’d slipped beneath his guard, and it wasn’t only because she felt so bloody good in his arms either. He’d come to look forward to having her on deck at the end of the day, so he could share a part of it with her, to see her face fill with wonder when she watched the sunset or the dolphins that frolicked in the wake of the ship. She’d come, in a disturbingly short amount of time, to matter to him.

  If only he knew what to do about that.

  He dared to open one eye and was rather proud of himself for not whimpering when it felt like someone smacked his head with an oar. Blackness prevailed outside his window; the lack of sound above suggested the majority of the crew had yet to awaken. It would allow him time to think without distraction. Alicia shifted, drew a deep breath, and snuggled in closer. The softness of her breast rested against his side.

  This time there was no withholding his whimper.

  If regret were gold, the ship’s hold would be bursting with it. Easing from Alicia, Blake tucked the blanket around her. Darkness prevented him from seeing her clearly, which was a blessing. His willpower only went so far.

  Buttoning his shirt, he fumbled around the chairs, feeling for his coat. Luckily he remembered where he’d left it, and the ruckus he made kicking aside last night’s debris didn’t last more than a few seconds. The bed creaked and Blake hesitated, but Alicia’s breathing remained even and he knew she’d only rolled over. It would be easy to go back, to slip in beside her and taste her again when his senses weren’t dulled by rum.

  He also knew—gauging from their previous reactions to each other—that if he gave in to the temptation of kissing her, it wouldn’t stop there. Because that wasn’t a step he’d take lightly, he shoved his lust aside and went above.

  The first thing he noticed was nobody was manning the helm.

  “Where the hell is Vincent?” he muttered. By the glow of lanterns, Blake made his way
around the cannons, over the rigging lines. The plump moon guided him around to the main hatch. Pale light and Vincent’s whistling poured from the opening. Pots clanged and the smell of tea rose to Blake. Knowing Vincent would be up in a moment with a hot drink in his hands, Blake went to the bow, sat, and leaned against the gunwale.

  At that level, even the faintest of breezes vanished. Around him curled the smell of damp wood steeped in sea-water. There wasn’t a smell he loved more.

  Except possibly oranges.

  His life had been wonderfully uncomplicated the last eight years. Not perfect, he’d admit. There were always trials involved in being at sea—sickness, boredom, fierce storms, and merchant ships who fought lethal battles to keep their wares. And, as Captain had reminded him earlier, he’d had a steady inflow of marriage proposals.

  Blake didn’t put much stock in those. When women flocked to him, flaunted their bodies, and whispered in his ear, he chose carefully. He’d steered away from the young ones, often slipping money in their hands even as he declined their invitations. Sure, there were a few who cried a sprinkle of tears over his ability to walk away, but usually within an hour or so he’d see them back among the crowded tables, smiling sweetly as they tried to lure away the coins that jingled in the sailors’ pockets.

  If only Alicia had slapped him when he’d kissed her. If only she wasn’t so damn sweet in her innocence. If only he didn’t want her with every breath he took.

  He thumped his head against the gunwale. What a damn quandary he was in. He gazed up at the stars, recognized a few constellations, and knew in a handful of days they’d be in St. Kitts. He’d be rid of Alicia. Dammit, shouldn’t it be what he wanted? Yet the thought left him anything but happy.

  He didn’t want her to go. And he wasn’t getting anywhere, he realized. Might as well keep Vincent company. He headed for the helm but stopped after a few steps, wondering why Vincent wasn’t singing or whistling. Vincent always made noise when he was alone. Nate figured it was because of all the sisters Vincent had been raised with; he was used to constant racket.