by Tamara Lush
I hold up a hand. “Oh no. No. I try to avoid pirate events. Sorry.”
He winds all of his fingers into my hair, and I wonder why he’s still touching me. “Please? Just for me? Please?”
I feel my cheeks get hot. He used to say please in that tone of voice when we were in bed. Sometimes he liked to beg, too, especially when I would tie him up during one of our many games. I paw around in my purse and slip a pair of dark sunglasses over my eyes. “Yeah. Um, I have to get up early tomorrow. I have things to do. I can’t go to the pirate party.”
Rafa removes his hand from my hair, resting his arm behind me on the back of the bench.
“What things? Do you have a date? Is it Mark?”
I make a pfft sound. “No. I don’t have a date. And what do you care? I’m…busy. Diana’s baby shower is coming up, and I need to help organize that. And a million other things with the paper.”
He’s close enough that his clean, beachy cologne mixes with the scent of a blooming jasmine bush nearby.
“Bueno. Come with me tonight to the party. As friends.”
I sigh, and he stifles a chuckle.
“Por favor?” he whispers, smiling his sweetest smile. The one that used to say, I know you want to kiss me because you think I’m adorable.
I stand up. Hands on hips, I stare down at him. At least he’s not looking at me with the anger from last night. Maybe he does merely want to be friends. Maybe we’ve turned a corner and reached a truce.
“Stop begging. Fine. I’ll go. You do know we need costumes, right? I have an old outfit or I can borrow something from Diana, but I don’t know where we can get you something this late.”
“Oh, Brittany’s already arranged that for me. She’s got pirate connections.”
“Of course,” I mutter.
13
Plundering and Pillaging
“Diana, what kind of costume is this?”
I shoot a skeptical look at my friend. My alleged friend. The mother of my soon-to-be godchild. She beams at me with the innocence of the Virgin Mary, but I know her heart is filled with the sin of a thousand prostitutes.
I’d pleaded with her to help me get ready for the party and figured it would get her mind off Scott’s layoff. Diana also loves pirates. Plus, I didn’t want to be alone with Rafael in my house for fear I’d throw myself at him when he walked in the door. The way he played with my hair on the park bench made me long for something more. And since our kiss, I was certain that my desire flashed in my eyes like the neon that adorns the Art Deco hotels on South Beach.
Bold, bright, and obvious.
But now I’m rethinking everything, beginning with Diana’s judgment. I hold up a slip of satiny red fabric, turning it under the light of my living room lamp.
“What the hell?” I squint at the getup. “Were you once a go-go dancer and didn’t tell me?”
Diana runs a pudgy hand over the bodice. “I think this one’s called ‘Sexy Swashbuckler.’ Don’t you remember? I wore it last year. Scott loved this outfit. Said it was the hottest I’d ever looked at a pirate ball.”
I grimace and sigh. Diana wants me to wear a totally inappropriate red halter dress with black and gold accents. The velvet corset body laces up with gold ribbon, and the red satin skirt with a black taffeta hem is short. Really short. The entire uncomfortable-looking ensemble also has a black brocade vest, a belt, and separate red, puffy sleeves that attach to the wrists and upper arms with elastics.
“It’s pretty skimpy. And ridiculous. Did you bring any other options? Something less slutty?”
Diana shakes her head. “This is perfect for you. The red will go great with your dark hair. You’ll be the hottest wench at the party.”
I scrunch my eyes shut as if I’m in pain. It’s difficult to avoid pirate events in St. Augustine. Usually I dress up halfheartedly when pressed into attending one of the city’s many parties. Tonight, I’d intended on wearing an androgynous steampunk pirate outfit from last year, with its long skirt and high neckline, but had forgotten about the massive red wine stain on the sleeve that I’d never properly cleaned.
Diana, on the other hand, was all about the pirate fashion parade. She bought multiple new outfits each year, each more risqué than the last. I slowly open my eyes and give another distasteful look at the outfit.
“Don’t be such a prude, Justine. Lord. I wish I was going tonight. I’ll never be able to wear a sexy pirate outfit again.” Diana sighs and rubs her belly.
“You could’ve gone as a pregnant pirate,” I grumble.
“Pirates didn’t get pregnant.”
With a resigned eye roll, I take the dress into the bathroom and struggle to pull the ensemble over my body. It’s a touch too tight.
“Crap, I look like a stripper pirate,” I wail, emerging from the bathroom and standing in the living room. “Or is it a pirate stripper?”
“Ooh, that’s good, right? You want Rafael to see you at your sexiest.”
I tug the skirt hem lower. “No. That is not what I want.”
The dress accents everything I want to hide: my breasts, my legs, and all the curves in between. All the things Rafael used to love. Making things worse, I’m taller than Diana and the skirt is dangerously close to being a micro-mini. No way can I go anywhere with Rafa like this. The last thing I want is to appear as though I’m trying to look hot for him. The skirt’s so short I need a pair of boy shorts because if I move slightly in any forward direction, I’ll flash my ass to the world. It’s not that I mind sexy outfits for others; most of the women go all-out in skimpy pirate outfits. I simply don’t want Rafa to see me in so little.
Hmm. Or do I? I turn my body to and fro in a full-length mirror in my hallway.
“The outfit also comes with a hat and a sword.” Diana points to a shopping bag on the floor.
“I’m not wearing a damned hat or carrying a stupid sword.”
“Fun stealer.”
I groan as Diana fiddles with the ties, straps, and belt on my costume.
“You could wear thigh-high stockings. That would look even sexier.”
“Bless your heart for trying to be helpful, but no. Rafael loves lingerie. I don’t want to tease him any more than I already will in this outfit.”
“When did you become a nun?” Giggling, Diana adjusts the corset straps, and I suck in my stomach.
I gasp as if I was kicked in the solar plexus. “Holy hell. Could this be any tighter?”
“It’s perfect. Deal with it. There. Now you have a heaving bosom. The boots are in the bag.”
I gulp breaths from the top of my chest and plop down on the sofa to pull on the boots. They’re black and come above the knee. It’s the biggest workout I’ve gotten in weeks, trying to breathe while trussed like a Christmas ham in the corset and shoving my feet into the boots. Out of breath, I totter to the kitchen, the three-inch heels making clicking noises on the hardwood floor of my bungalow.
“I need a drink. Thank God my dad isn’t alive to see this.”
Diana chortles while pouring wine for me and orange juice for herself. “Yeah, Edward would have had a stroke if he knew his daughter, the publisher of the family’s newspaper, was going out in public looking like a poontang pirate prostitute. With that Cuban guy on her arm, no less.”
I cringe at the word poontang. “You are so vulgar.” I sip my wine. “Yeah, my dad never did take to Rafael.”
“That’s a polite way of putting it. You know, I loved Edward. He gave me a career. But he was never happy that you fell in love with an immigrant. Too bad he didn’t live to see what Rafael turned into.”
A chill went down my spine thinking of the fight Rafa and I had in my bedroom last night.
“My dad would have accepted him if Rafael had done the right thing and asked me to marry him,” I say, a hint of defensiveness in my voice.
“Well, whatever. The past is like your ass. It’s behind you. Rafael obviously still has feelings. Anyone with eyes can see that. Relax and h
ave fun in your sexy little outfit. God, I wish I was you tonight. Scott and I haven’t had sex in two weeks.”
“Sex is not on the agenda tonight. Or any night.”
“Sure. If you say so. Here’s to sex and love and newspapers. Do what you need to do.” Diana touches her glass to mine.
I take a big gulp and shoot Diana a skeptical glance. “Are you implying I should sleep with Rafa for investing in the paper?”
Diana shrugs. “You’re both single, right? Do what you feel comfortable with. You’re in an unusual situation here. It could really benefit you in many ways. Benefit us in many ways.”
“I can’t believe that my best friend is suggesting I sleep with a man to save my business. You’re pimping me out. You’re a pimp. A pregnant, wannabe-pirate pimp.” I cackle.
“Well. Not quite. I’m saying that you might fall back in love with him and save the paper. Or have fun for a few nights and save the paper. Wouldn’t that be the best of all possible endings to your story? You guys ended so horribly.”
With a groan, I stomp into the bathroom with my wine to throw on some makeup and try to tame my wild hair. I’m finishing the glass when I hear Diana squeal from the living room.
“Justine, my God. He pulled up in a black Tesla. And holy shit, he looks even hotter as a pirate than he does as a businessman.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes at my image in the mirror. Then I reapply my lipstick. I’m not going to hurry to please Rafa, who will surely sigh with impatience once he finds out I’m not ready. Punctuality has never been my strong point, which always exasperated Rafa when we were together.
But he’s in my house and in my city now. Let him wait.
Several minutes later, when I walk into the living room and see him standing near my sofa in his costume, I let out a little gasp.
Of course, he looks like a sexy pirate. He is a damn pirate.
Somehow, he’s managed to don an outfit that fits him so well it could have been tailored, complete with a black jacket, leather chest belt, a blue fabric sash, and brown boot covers. He even has the right amount of stubble on his chin. His five ’o clock shadow makes him appear even more delicious. And perilous.
He is plundering my heart.
I try not to look underneath his jacket at the ivory-colored shirt, which is open to the navel to reveal his smooth skin, a sculpted chest, and the ridges of his six-pack abs. Jesus.
“Are you going to the party with your shirt open like that? Can’t you button it? You look, I dunno. Indecent.” I rub my forehead, attempting to shield my eyes from his scorching hot body.
He laughs. “I’m a pirate. Pirates aren’t decent. This is the way it’s meant to be. There are only two buttons down here near my belt.”
I glance at him again. Rafa flirtatiously points in the direction of his crotch, and I avert my gaze to his face. He responds with a slow sweep of his eyes, from my breasts to the boots on my feet. A corresponding warmth spreads through my body, and I know this is going to be a long damn night.
I catch an eyeful of his hard nipple in the open shirt and realize that I’m damp between my legs.
He is pillaging my body.
“You make a beautiful pirate, Justine. The boots are giving me the feels in certain places.” Rafa strides over to me in his own heavy footwear, his belts and buckles clinking along the way. He swoops down to kiss me on the cheek, one hand cupping my neck. I freeze the moment I breathe in his spicy cologne. Did he just say giving me the feels? Rafa used to be a teensy bit dorky when I met him, sexy-adorable dorky, and it’s shocking to notice that quality is still inside him somewhere, buried under all that Miami polish and flash.
He grins, kisses me again, and murmurs something in Spanish about how gorgeous I am. An arrogant, I-know-you-want-me demeanor immediately replaces his geeky words. I snort out loud.
“Oh my God, you two look like you’re in the opening moments of a high-quality porn,” Diana blurts as she holds up her smartphone. “Can I get a photo? Or maybe shoot a little video?”
I shoot her a shocked glare. “Diana!”
Rafael chuckles. I could kill them both.
He circles my waist with his arm. “Sorry, but I don’t share Justine. Or perform with her. But you can have one photo. Okay, take it now.”
He pulls me roughly toward his hip, and I squirm my upper body away from him. He leans toward me and tugs at my hair so my head tilts back, my neck an offering to his lips.
I would have fallen on the floor from the feeling of his mouth on my skin had Rafa not been holding me so tight against the stirrings of his erection. I recall that this was the way we used to be: playful and sexy. Before things went to shit.
“You guys are so great together. Perfect, it looks like the cover of a romance novel. See?” Diana holds the phone out to Rafa, who gently draws me upright.
“Oh, text that to me. I don’t have many good photos of me and Justine together.” Rafa recites his phone number, and Diana turns away, face buried in her phone.
I swat his arm. “You had plenty of photos of us. Did you burn them?”
“Actually, I’m lying. I still have all of our photos.” He leans in and put his lips to my ear. “All. Of. Them.”
My face flares red, and I turn toward the door. Shit. I had hoped those photos, the ones we’d taken in our wildest moments, were long gone. Hopefully destroyed. It’s interesting, surprising even, that Rafa hasn’t gotten rid of them out of spite.
Whatever. I can’t dwell on the past. I need to maintain this casual camaraderie until Rafael figures out whether to invest in the paper. Keep everything simple and professional. It’s better than fighting like we did after my ill-advised invitation into my bedroom. No way I’ll make that mistake again.
I usher the two emotional traitors out of my house. Diana drives off, and when Rafa and I reach his car, he unlocks the passenger door for me and holds it open. I struggle to toss my purse on the seat, hold my skirt down, and not flash my underwear as I climb in. I fail.
Rafa slides into the driver’s seat, grinning. Why can’t he stop smiling?
“Did I ever tell you that some of my ancestors were Spanish pirates? That they were mercenaries, roaming the Caribbean for treasures for their own benefit, not for the Spanish crown?”
I laugh for the first time tonight as he starts the engine and accelerates down the street, Spanish rock music coming from the speakers. “You? Descended from mercenary pirates? That’s impossible, Señor Menendez.”
14
The Indecent Proposal
“Okay. Ready to go? Remember, I have plans tomorrow.” I tap my foot against the terra cotta-colored Spanish tile on the balcony of one of the city’s nicest hotels. Fortunately, it’s not the hotel where Rafa’s staying, which mercifully means the universe is giving me a break and not tempting me into falling into a nearby bed with him again.
Still, two hours into the pirate party, I can’t take any more. The schmoozing with the local officials, Rafael’s intense politeness with everyone he meets, the way he grins at me from across the room and attentively makes sure I always have a champagne in my hand—it’s too painful.
Everything makes me remember how fun and easy he is to be around, even with his slight bossiness. He’s really quite charming, a fact I’d exiled from my memory. Take the way he walks down the street: always with me on the inside, away from traffic and pedestrians, as if he’s protecting me. Or how he asks if I’m hungry when a tray of appetizers pass or if I need to use the ladies’ room if we happen to be near one.
This, us, is only temporary. Which makes his kindness agonizing. So why not cut the night short and leave me with my misery and my memories?
Rafael flashes me a glance after I plead again to leave. “There was once a time when you were annoyed when we couldn’t spend several hours together, do you recall?”
“I do. But those days are gone, Rafa.”
“It’s a beautiful night out, Justi. Too beautiful and too early to go home
. Just relax.”
I watch him scan the six cabanas circling the hotel’s rooftop pool. Gauzy white canopies drape over the cabana beds.
“My feet hurt.” I try to appear bored in hopes he’ll get frustrated and bring me home.
Rafa grabs two glasses of champagne off a tray from a passing waiter and hands both to me.
“Wait no—” I protest.
Rafa touches the waiter’s arm with the back of his fingers.
“Excuse me. May we rent a cabana?”
I let out a low, strangled groan.
“There’s a wait of about an hour, sir,” the waiter replies.
Rafa takes a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet. The waiter nods and motions for us to follow, and I do, reluctantly. The waiter stops at a cabana and parts the almost sheer, white drape. Rafa hands him the money as I roll my eyes and plop down. Why does he want to prolong this night?
Rafa climbs onto the bed after me, propping himself on pillows as if he’s relaxing in his own bedroom. He pats the spot next to him. “Come, Justi. Chill a little, please. A few minutes.”
I hand him his champagne and sit against a cushion, as close to the edge and as far from Rafa as I can be. We lie in silence for a bit, and admittedly the lounge bed is like a comfy cloud. My muscles ease and I realize how tense I’ve been all night. Each cabana has a cluster of electric candles on a shelf at the head of the loungers, casting a gold, flickering light across his flawless skin. The fact that he’s so arrestingly handsome makes every second difficult. I blink in his direction, unable to stop staring at him.
With a small, almost bashful smile that shows his white teeth, Rafa sets his champagne on the chaise’s ledge, then turns on his side toward me. I watch him tuck and adjust his shirt, and I swear he wants me to see more of his chest. I fight back a little grin.
He undoes the final two buttons of his shirt, his muscles and skin practically beckoning me in the candlelight. I hear the strains of jazz coming from inside, and the night turns heavy with sensual promise—exactly what I don’t want.
