Through the Maelstrom

by Rebekah Lewis

  The few friends she had helped her through the times when people—in general—overwhelmed her. Perhaps that's what she'd do for her birthday: pay it forward. Taking a deep breath, Serena steeled herself for the inevitable horror of talking to people she didn't know. The karma for the good deed should turn her luck around at least.

  "Okay, everyone, okay. Break it up. Captain, eh, Morgan here will be back tomorrow. He has to go feed his parrot." Serena grabbed the pirate's arm and tugged despite protests from the crowd that there wasn't an actual parrot. The thick leather of his jacket was soft to her touch, his arm firm and warm beneath it. She shivered, but not because she was cold. Just the opposite. He didn't budge, and heat rose into her neck and face. She hoped she hadn't done something that would come back to embarrass her. She hated public embarrassment. Didn't handle it well, much to her friends' amusement.

  Instead, he stared at her hand and then his gaze slowly traveled up her arm to her face. Eye contact hit her like cannon fire—a sharp strike wrecking her resolve and leaving her bare as the world around them splintered away into the farthest depths of perception. As though he experienced what she had, his lips parted. Then a sly grin tipped up the corner of his mouth and she gulped while harsh, cold reality came pouring back with rapid intensity. He definitely had the swashbuckling rascal appearance down, and Serena feared she wasn't as immune to it as she hoped.

  "Oh, my God. That look," a woman from the crowd said, breaking the remnants of whatever spell had tethered Serena and the pirate momentarily together. "That right there. Pillage me, pirate man. Pillage me hard!" Giggles and scandalized gasps from the crowd pulled Serena free of her inertia while a little boy loudly questioned what pillaging meant, to many awkward chuckles.

  "Right," Serena added when the man didn't play along. Her heartbeat thumped rapidly in her chest, and her breaths quickened with panic the longer he and all those people had their attention focused on her. "You can either come with me or stay with them. Your call." She had to escape the crowd before she started hyperventilating and embarrassed herself further. She was making a damned fool of herself. He hadn't needed her help, and she had made an assumption she wouldn't again.

  The pirate regarded the women and children with a sneer, only appearing to recall their presence when he turned to seek out what pulled her focus from him—which created more of an excited ruckus in the crowd than before. He leaned down to grab a dirty old sack and draped it over his shoulder before gesturing for Serena to lead the way. She turned, headed toward the corridor she'd come from without waiting to see if he followed.

  She could hear the crowd behind them start to disperse, and once they rounded the corner, alone, Captain Morgan drew her up short. He took her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing them lightly. "I must thank you, love, for the daring rescue."

  Flutters erupted in her abdomen and she shivered. He had an English accent, but it was also influenced with inflections of the Caribbean islands. A cacophony of dialects within one deliciously masculine timbre. Great. Now I'm one of the pirate worshipers.

  "Any time." She yanked her hand free of his and uncomfortably fiddled with a lock of hair. "Look, you may want to work on your whole spiel before tomorrow or they'll eat you alive."

  Captain Morgan scowled. "What devilry is this place? A gargantuan ship full of cannibals?"

  "What?" He had to be joking, but his horrified expression prompted her to add, "Oh, no. No. I didn't mean they would literally eat you alive. I mean figuratively, as in a figure of speech." Serena waited for him to laugh, fake punch her shoulder and say, "Just kidding." He didn't. Damn. He is really into character now that he isn't being mobbed. Must have stage fright.

  The pirate slid his hot gaze down her body, taking in her exposed thighs beneath her denim shorts and lingering on her floral halter top where it flirted with her midriff. He licked his lips, and Serena had to glance away and gulp air. Why hadn't she worn pants and a sweater? Never mind the ninety-six-degree weather.

  The hall was narrow, and he took up way too much of it. Her room was near the end of the topmost deck, and the urge to run started appealing to her. A man had never looked at her with so much raw hunger, and she didn't know how to act like she hadn't noticed. She certainly wouldn't encourage him and make him expect things she wasn't willing to give. Well, being willing isn't the issue. Actually acting on it is. Which left her with no other option but retreat. Safer that way. No embarrassment or awkward conversations.

  Meeting new people had always been hard for her, especially men. All the witty things she would say in a normal conversation wouldn't come to her until she replayed it in her mind later. Once she knew them for a while it became easier, but she sucked at flirting and she couldn't even hold eye contact for long, unless she was spitting mad. Anger gave her more backbone than she usually possessed. A blessing and a curse, depending on the circumstance.

  "Wench," Captain Morgan said, taking a far-too-bold, lingering glance at her chest. "Did I die and arrive upon a vessel of debauchery as a reward. Is this the afterlife?"

  Serena sputtered. Is he using pirate pick-up lines? Seriously? Furthermore, was he hitting on her? Of all the comebacks she could think of, the best she could manage was, "Did you call me a wench?" When he blinked in reply, she sighed, rolling with what she had, as weak as it was. "Of course you did." Waving her hand to shoo him away, she added, "Go debauch elsewhere. I'm going to bed. Try to get it together before going back out there among that crowd. Goodnight."

  She turned her back to him and made a hasty retreat, perhaps shuffling away a tad too quickly. Becky Ann would be appalled by her behavior. When Serena told her the pirate actor kind of hit on her and she ran away unmolested, her friend would kick her ass. She knew Serena was a failure at picking up men, but she wouldn't have let her flee like a frightened doe.

  In fact, it was probably a godsend Becky Ann had gotten sick because she would have locked the two of them in a maintenance closet until satisfied they'd hit all the bases and at least one home run. Her best friend was extremely comfortable with sexuality, too much so when it came to her method of matchmaking. It was exhausting dodging her friend's ideas of a good time when she sent them her way with a cocktail and a devil-may-care smile.

  As Serena fumbled in her pocket for the keycard, she peeked over her shoulder and squeaked. Captain Morgan had followed her and waited a few feet away with an almost expectant gleam to his eye. He raised a golden eyebrow and crossed his arms when she failed to unlock the door. "Open the cabin door, wench. I am weary, but have enough stamina to see to you properly first."

  The implication in his words hit her gut, releasing butterflies that fluttered in varied directions. All that made her female went on high alert—preparing, hoping, longing. Ah, shit. She'd screw this up. "The hell?" That was her, screwing it up. "You're not coming in. This is my room. Go find your own." He was being creepy, wasn't he? So why did her breathing deepen at the thought of letting him into her room?

  It could never happen. She couldn't seduce a man if she tried. Lack of confidence, feeling foolish...good ol' anxiety.

  The pirate shook his head. "I shall bunk with you until we dock. Perhaps you can solve the mystery of this...ship." He gestured around him.

  Was he for real? "Um, how about...no." Mystery? What mystery? Her body and her mind were on two different wavelengths. At least her mind had sense, and it was telling her to close herself in her room and lock the door. This man was dangerous, but not because he was a fake pirate. She was attracted to him, and she hadn't set out to hook up on a cruise—no matter what Becky Ann had to say.

  The pirate seemed to consider this, scratching the stubble on his chin, showing off the multiple silver rings which flashed in the lighting. Both ears were pierced with small gold hoops. She'd never really been into men with piercings, but they suited him. "I savor the chase, love. I can wait all night." His knowing smirk implied that he knew good and well she desired him. Pity for him it wouldn't matter
.

  "I'm not playing at anything." Had her voice sounded as husky to him as it did to her?

  He invaded her personal space, placing a palm against the door and caging her against his body. Serena's breath caught and he raised his other hand to brush her hair away from her face in a gentle caress. She trembled as he mumbled, "You are." His hands were rough, big, warm. What would they feel like against her naked body?

  No, she couldn't think about that.

  The scent of ocean, sweat, spiced rum, and something she didn't recognize filled her senses, and she could almost believe he had boarded from a pirate ship to take anything and everything he wanted—her. She scrunched her nose. "What's that smell?"

  Taken aback, Captain Morgan retreated and lifted the lapel of his dark brown jacket to his nose, taking a whiff. "Gunpowder."

  Images of him firing the pistol tucked into his sword belt at villainous pirates flittered through her thoughts. Of cannons booming, wood breaking. Splashes as bodies tumbled over the sides of a tall ship sporting an ominous black Jolly Roger. Things she shouldn't find attractive, but somehow did. Too many movies. "Right. I didn't hear any guns going off. Only fireworks. Can we drop the pirate act, Captain Morgan? You can be out of character around me. I won't tell your boss." Maybe he'd get in trouble for breaking character like the actors at theme parks.

  The pirate frowned, all teasing gone from his features. "The name is Christophe Jones, and I'm no captain. There were no blasts because your vessel was nowhere near when mine sank under fire." Christophe crossed his arms again and muttered, "Not even sure how I came to be aboard this..." He glanced around warily. "...Behemoth." In a way, he appeared a bit worried. About the size of the ship?

  Did the crew bring him aboard and put him to work as a pirate to pay his passage after he survived a shipwreck? That was absurd. He should probably call the labor union when they docked. "I'm really sorry to hear that," Serena replied, not knowing what else to say about his odd comments. "But I'm still not letting you in my room."

  Christophe smirked at her once more, placing his hands possessively on her hips, pulling her closer. Despite her discomfort as the object of his attention, desire flashed through her. Was this rush of excitement and lust what passion felt like? She'd been intimate with boyfriends in the past, but somehow this seemed different. Because he was dressed like a pirate? No, she was never big on the idea of roleplay. She couldn't put her finger on what it was about him that made him so...interesting.

  "I'll make it worth your while." He reached one hand into a pouch tied to his belt and pulled out two old looking coins. "Payment in advance."

  Her brain didn't comprehend the purpose. "Payment for what?"

  Christophe brought his lips down on hers roughly, almost as though he'd believed he'd never kiss a woman again and wanted to make the most of it. His tongue tasted like Caribbean rum and her head swam. He trailed kisses across her cheek and she tugged him closer, not believing what was happening and wishing it would never end. That way she wouldn't have to retreat and break the spell. Then he whispered, "For your services, of course."

  Chapter Two

  The gorgeous half-naked wench ripped herself out of his grasp and slapped him across the cheek. Christophe's head whipped to the side and the prickling sting seared his flesh. Momentarily stunned, he cupped his cheek and gawked at her. A woman had never struck him before.

  "Oh, don't give me that look. Sexist jerk." She flung his coins at him and they smacked into his chest before clinking to the ground as she unlocked her door with a strange white square and slammed it shut behind her. Frowning at the absurd key she had used, he listened as a latch skid into place. Christophe rubbed his accosted cheek as he could do no more than stare at the wood that concealed her from him.

  How peculiar. Clearly, by the state of undress the women were in, this was some sort of brothel ship where the women were offered safe passage with their bastard children. He'd seen men around too, obviously clients or crew. Where else could he be? The other explanation was he'd died and now was in a hell filled with partially dressed women who didn't want him in their beds.

  No, the women on deck had wanted him. The one he desired didn't. Before he was pressed into the service of pirates, women adored him. He'd not had a large amount of time to spend wooing or bedding in the past year, but on the few occasions he had visited a brothel, he'd never seen the reluctant fake smiles other men oft received. He wasn't a hideous ogre who mistreated women or ignored their desires, so what had he done wrong tonight?

  Christophe regarded his surroundings and then shuddered. One moment he'd been crashing into a swirling whirlpool, and the next he'd found himself lying on the deck of an enormous vessel, dry as a bone, with far too many people around him, fireless torches brighter than any flame, and odd clothing and phrases confusing him. He'd been bombarded by strange questions and flashing bursts of light and overly enthusiastic females in similar states of dress as his coy temptress. Nothing had made sense, even when he'd regained his footing on deck. Then she'd put her hand on him.

  His heart had skipped a beat the instant he took in her beauty. Her dark brown hair framed a heart-shaped face with the most kissable lips he'd ever laid eyes on. The chaos around him had diminished, blurring away to nothing. Everything that seemed wrong about the ship had fallen to the back of his mind and only she seemed important. Knowing her, tasting her... He could worry about his strange circumstances later, if only to be in her presence for a little while longer. When she led him toward her cabin, he'd been so confused, so eager—hell, he still was. Perhaps he'd been mistaken as to her occupation, and he had offended her by besmirching her reputation.

  He didn't even know her name.

  Reaching out, he placed his palm on the door, considering calling her back out so he could apologize for any slight he'd unwittingly caused her. Perhaps he'd been too bold. Judging by her reactions and body posturing, she was skittish but hadn't been unaffected or lacking in desire.

  That left him with a dilemma since he didn't know anyone onboard except her. With nowhere else to go, seeking out the captain would be the next course for information, but how did he explain his appearance? How did he convince the man he meant no ill will? He collected his coins and memorized the numbers beside the woman's door. She puzzled him, and Christophe enjoyed problem solving. He'd apologize for his unfortunate misjudgment and win her affection, at least for the remainder of the voyage.

  "Sir, you're not a member of the staff." Behind him, a man in a crisp white uniform scrutinized him from head to toe. "I'm going to have to ask that you remove the costume and cease pretending to work for the cruise line." He didn't seem threatening, but his voice sounded authoritative. "Is that a real pistol?" The man stepped closer. "I need you to come with me."

  Christophe spared one more glance at the closed door and shrugged. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, and the man seemed concerned—rightly so to find a strange, armed man who didn't belong there—but not hostile, which was surprising. That a weapon was not drawn on him meant one of two things: this ship didn't encounter violence often or at all, or they were way too trusting. Needing answers of his own, Christophe waved a hand for him to lead the way and followed.

  A niggling sensation on the back of his neck tempted him to glance behind him one last time. The wench stood in the doorway, but she retreated the moment their gazes connected. He smiled wide.

  He wasn't done with her. Not at all.

  ***

  Serena quickly closed and locked the door a second time before leaning against it and squeezing her eyes shut. He'd thought she was a prostitute! He'd tried to pay her with dingy old coins for sex. Like she wasn't even worth real money? Maybe he was joking—still in character. She shook her head. He'd been touching her like he'd expected she'd consent to that awful line of his.

  That kiss. She groaned, comfortable in the solitude of her room to do so without criticism of any source. Serena brought her fingertips to her lips and
could feel the memory of his there, the softness, the warmth. The tickling coarseness of his stubble against her chin. Gah. Her body had been a live wire until he'd ruined it by calling her a whore. Maybe the proverbial bucket of ice water had been a good thing. It definitely was. She didn't know him and had no desire to sleep with someone she just met.

  Musical chimes pierced the silence and she jumped. Pulling her cell phone from her back pocket, she hoped the call connected through the ship's Wi-Fi properly since the regular signal was a no go. It was shoddy at best, though wonderful to have the option at all. Welcome to the twenty-first century. Upon answering, Serena smiled in relief at how clear her friend's voice sounded.

  "I'm so sorry I missed your birthday!" Becky Ann's voice wavered. "I've been on boats before. Maybe I wasn't drunk enough. Remind me to get plastered on the island for the trip home. I should be fine then."

  She was happy to hear from her friend. She'd visited her several times during the day, but it was lonely back in the room without her. "It's okay. I'm glad you feel better."

  Becky Ann continued to chatter. "I can't wait until we dock in Bermuda tomorrow. I'm going to make the most of the dry land while I can. Too bad we didn't have an extra day on Nassau." Abruptly, she changed the subject. "Please tell me you've at least had a conversation with a man while I've been out of commission. Don't tell me you secluded yourself in the room while I was trapped in this boring place."

  She scoffed. "Of course I did." Truthfully, Christophe was the only one. Becky Ann didn't have to know that small detail. "I was too afraid of being thrown overboard if you caught me hiding in the room." Like I'm doing now.

  "And why do I feel like you're lying?" Becky Ann gasped. "It wasn't a bartender was it? That's cheating. If they work for the cruise it doesn't count. You should be ashamed, young lady. I don't care that you're twenty-eight, I'll bend you over my knee."

  There was no doubt in Serena's mind that Becky Ann would carry through on that threat. She'd once warned her if she didn't start dressing in more than jeans and over-sized T-shirts when she went into public that she would tickle her until she peed. Serena returned home from the grocery store one afternoon wearing comfortable clothes and was ambushed when she opened the door. She hadn't peed her pants, at least. She'd made it to the bathroom in record time.