Through the Maelstrom

by Rebekah Lewis

  "She's not a whore either," she said dryly, feeling the need to protect her friend's virtue, despite the way she could come off promiscuously. "Look." Serena stood and wrapped her towel protectively around herself. Though she wore a clingy tankini, Christophe had done a pretty fair job at maintaining eye contact. She, however, couldn't do the same. Eye contact was an issue for her, especially with attractive men.

  Which is how she came to acknowledge how interesting the sand was on the beach. Beige with hints of browns and even shades of pink the island was known for, but it was more noticeable near the water. "First impressions go a long way." She'd finally found her voice again, not loving the squeak to the end of her sentence. She cleared her voice before she continued. "It's clear to me that you saw me as a one-night stand waiting to happen, payment or not, and I'm not that person."

  He nodded. "Aye. You wish to be courted properly, and I've come to do so. I've procured a midday meal." He held his hand out to her, and she couldn't do more than stare at it like she'd never seen a man's hand before. "Shall we?" Touching him wasn't a good idea. She could walk without making skin-to-skin contact, and would be all the better for it.

  Biting her lip, she turned so he couldn't see the yearning that shot through her. How she wished she could be more extroverted. To take a man's hand freely, act on desires and steal kisses of her own.

  What was she thinking—that would not happen with this guy. Besides, what did he say? Courting? Who said that anymore? Now he wanted to fully freaking date her at the tail-end of a cruise? Did he really think she would fall for this spiel and tumble into bed with him anyway? She started to laugh, nervously, and had to ass-plant back on her chair to keep from doubling over.

  "What ails you?" He crouched next to her and skimmed the back of his hand against her forehead. His brow was furrowed as he frowned down at her.

  Great, now he thinks I'm batshit crazy or ill. Serena pushed his hand away. "I'm fine. Did you really think that would work?" It was a shame he had to be so attractive. That wisp of stray blond hair at his temple tickled her face in the breeze, and she clenched her fingers together to avoid the impulse to brush it behind his ear. She'd have trouble not thinking about him, about this whole situation, when she returned home.

  She wiped her laughter-tears away with her index finger, and then he snagged her hand and brought that digit to his lips. She jerked, and he wrapped his left arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him as she forgot how to do anything more than gawk. Get it together, girl! His tongue was hot on her finger as he licked the moisture away. Why is that so sexy? Why did she have to find him attractive at all?

  "I seek to beg your forgiveness, love." As he spoke she nearly nodded, but snapped out of it.

  "I'm not your love." Her voice hadn't sounded breathless...had it? The corner of his lips twitched. The bastard knew he'd affected her. Damn.

  "Yet." It hung in the air between them—which technically wasn't a lot of space, so it crowded her out.

  Serena shoved him back and tried to stand. "Ever." It sounded weak, even to her.

  Before she could react, he scooped her up into his arms. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck instinctively, clinging lest she fall. The towel she'd wrapped around herself as a barrier tumbled to the sand. His hands were on her bare flesh, under her knees and where the tankini had ridden up over her waist.

  His touch burned her, but in ways that forced her to stay completely still so she didn't arch into it like a cat receiving a good stroke. She continued to gape at him, debating if she should hold tighter or fight. As if her dilemma was written all over her face, his grip tightened. He caressed her thigh above her knee with his thumb and she gulped.

  "We shall see," he remarked. Then the barbarian actually started to walk off with her.

  She came to her wits and attempted to wiggle out of his grasp, which only made him laugh and hold her closer. She kicked her feet, and he smirked down at her.

  "Put me down!"

  Christophe shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Cease your struggles. You'll exhaust yourself."

  "But..." She peered up at him, at his stunning eyes and chiseled face. A slight cut was healing across his jawline, barely visible behind his scruff. Without realizing why, she reached out and traced it with her finger. His golden stubble was coarse, but the skin beneath it warm. His breath hitched.

  "I frighten you." His gaze dipped to her lips, and Serena's cheeks heated in response.

  But not from embarrassment. She hated that he could read her so easily. Hated not being outgoing. Hated being afraid of looking foolish or saying the wrong thing. Hated that it mattered to her how people saw her. She didn't care what anyone thought, not really, but it affected her nonetheless. It could be so crippling, disparaging—burdensome. "I can't go with you." Her voice sounded meek, even to her. "It would be rude to ditch my friend."

  Christophe glanced back briefly and chuckled. "I think she'll manage."

  Serena checked on Becky Ann and found her making out with some guy in the waist deep water. There went her scapegoat. "But..." She was running out of excuses, and the part of her actually curious about what he was up to refused to let her totally freak out and cause a scene. Besides, scenes brought attention to her. Witnesses that would be on the cruise for the rest of the trip, remembering her acting like a crazy person.

  Christophe held her tighter against his chest—his rock hard, very masculine chest. Serena swallowed, realizing she was good and caught, and her best friend was letting it happen. Probably thought she was doing her a favor.

  "You will allow me to correct the slight I committed?"

  All Serena could do was stare at him. What if it had been a horribly bad pirate joke? Could she forgive him and find out why he was so hell-bent on spending time with her? "Do I have a choice?" His grin was knowing. If she said no, she had the feeling he'd keep walking anyway. "How do I know it's safe to go with you?" Was she really having a don't-talk-to-strangers moment at twenty-eight? Stranger danger!

  Danger was right. She was in danger of her hormones bursting into little horny flames and consuming her. When was the last time a man had touched her like this? She didn't think her exes had ever picked her up either. It made her feel so dainty and strangely feminine in a time where feminism frowned on such frivolities.

  Christophe halted mid-step. "I'd never harm you, but your resolve against me, aye, that is in peril. I will penetrate that wall, and when I do, you'll be wanting me to do so."

  The word penetrate maneuvered its way through her pores, sinking deep. Her toes curled and all she could do clutch the collar of his shirt and try not to react.

  She was failing horribly.

  Chapter Four

  Silence stretched, tense in the hot climate of the island. Inside the building, a metal instrument whirled around like a horizontal windmill from the ceiling, creating a manmade breeze. The rush of cool air was appreciated, but did little to alleviate the equally intense heat of Serena's scrutiny. Christophe had taken her to the location Mrs. Baker mapped out for him the night before after buying him some strange clothing which made him uncomfortable. It was lighter, had strange fastenings that opened and closed on metal teeth, and the footwear...the strange slippers would not hold up the way a good pair of boots would.

  Mrs. Baker and her son were to arrive soon to help explain his circumstances to Serena—because there was no way she'd believe him. He scarcely believed it himself, but for the clear advancements of ships, lighting, and devices, not to mention the changes to the island itself. Unless the entire ship full of people, newspapers, pamphlets that read like colorful books, and the natives of Bermuda were in on a grand jest. Nothing was as it should be. He'd been on this island a number of times, but everything had changed, even though landmarks and beaches appeared the same. Which meant time had passed, and a lot of it. There was no other explanation.

  If he had traveled through time, all he could do was adapt. It could be temporar
y, but he didn't have a way to know for certain. He could either allow himself to panic at the changes, or adjust. As he had with the life of piracy, adaptation was the better option. He'd observe, note the change, blend in as well as he could. He'd survived the past year doing that, and he'd do the same now. Only he wouldn't be doing it alone.

  A woman delivered platters of food to their table. Christophe had ordered the catch of the day and really didn't care what he ate so long as he could be near the siren who had called him to her time. If they were truly fated by the stars, two souls to form one whole, then she must be fighting extremely hard against her own desires, and they had to mirror his own. His craving for her put his body in complete turmoil. All the sweeter it would be when she gave in to him. Even now, her gaze sought the exits to the building. There were but two, both behind him on opposite walls. If her breath didn't catch when he touched her, lips parting when he moved close enough to take her mouth with his, then perhaps he would believe her fear of him was more than a nervous reaction.

  Christophe had never been a big believer in love or fate. Sinking into a maelstrom and appearing on a ship a few hundred years later made it difficult to disbelieve in the possibility of either. His attraction to Serena was different, stronger, than any he'd felt toward other women. He'd scarcely given her friend a second glance, and she'd been behaving scandalously. A man with only one objective would have chosen the friend. While Christophe wouldn't oppose a tumble in the sheets with Serena, that wasn't the primary reason he'd followed her back to her room.

  There had been something about her that soothed his turmoil when nothing made sense. She'd anchored him when confusion had overwhelmed him among the crowd of strange people that appeared all around him when he should have been gulping in seawater and suddenly wasn't.

  Was he tethered to her now?

  With or without Serena's assistance, he would find his way in this strange new world, but he really hoped it could be with her. Adaptation didn't have to be painful; it could be quite pleasurable along the way.

  "Why are we here, Christophe?" Serena hadn't even picked up her utensils. A salad sprinkled with cooked chicken sat before her, untouched. She'd barely even looked at the glass of water she'd ordered. Fickle female. Perhaps she was skittish about eating in front of other people. He'd known others who suffered the same affliction. Give him time and she would feel at ease to be herself, to eat how she wished, and take from him all she desired.

  He smiled. How did he explain things to her? We are fated? You pulled me through time? Instead, he said, "Do you believe in destiny?"

  She paused in folding a napkin across her lap—an action far too distracting given the clothing she wore that covered her most intimate places yet left nothing to the imagination—and blinked. "Destiny? Are you here to Yoda me or something? That's pretty lame as far as pick-up lines go."

  "Yoda?" Christophe frowned. He had no notion how one Yoda-ed and wasn't sure he was doing it. How long would it take to learn the strange phrases Serena and people of this time used? "I don't understand that phrase, love. The two of us are from very different worlds. You're going to have to explain things to me."

  Serena snorted and sipped at her water. "I thought all men grew up on Star Wars and G.I. Joe? Is it different in England? Should I have referenced Doctor Who instead?"

  Why would the stars war with one another? He assumed it had something to do with childhood by her words, and he smiled at the thought of his own. "My governess never allowed for much play time. We learned arithmetic, writing, and history. Astronomy, regretfully, was not part of our lessons."

  She gave him a peculiar look. "Um, right... Governess?"

  Did they not have them where she was from? "She cared for me and acted as an instructor while my parents hosted society gatherings and kept the accounts in order. She traveled with us when my father took a governor position in one of the colonies since she was employed to care for my younger sister."

  "Colonies? You mean back in the States?" Her forehead furrowed as she considered his words. Mrs. Baker had explained some history to him, but he hadn't quite come to terms with most of the changes.

  "The States," he agreed, frowning. If the buildings were as large and advanced as the ship they'd sailed on, then he supposed they were much more than colonies at that point. "Is that where you hail from?"

  "Where I h—yes, I'm an American. Can't you tell by my accent? I mean, I don't think I have one, but I suppose I do to someone not from there..." She snapped her mouth shut, a rosy blush flared across her pale neck and cheeks. She cleared her throat and added, "So you were home-schooled by your nanny?"

  Setting his fork down, Christophe regretted that she'd changed the subject back to him. He'd much rather listen to her talk in her strange American accent. "Your odd phrasing mixed with tone imply this is an unsatisfactory revelation." He leaned back in his chair. "I came from good stock. My circumstances over the past year or so were unwanted, but should you have come to me instead, you would have wanted for nothing."

  If she'd have come to him, he would have been in a precarious situation in trying to return home without being apprehended by more pirates. Her life would have been in peril until they hit the mainland, away from ruffians of the high seas, and still would if she walked around dressed like she was... Christ, there would be rioting in the streets in an attempt to reach her, and not to court her. Shame struck him. They'd have assumed no different than he had last night. Women's fashion was much different in his time.

  "Starting over—again—is unfortunate, but in time things shall sort themselves out." They had to.

  She cocked her head to the side and studied him. "What are you talking about?"

  "Serena, I—"

  "He's from the past, sugar." Mrs. Baker leaned both hands on her cane beside the table. She was dressed in a long black dress with short sleeves, and a blue wavy pattern streaked from neck to hem in a thick, vertical band. He had been so engrossed with his thoughts and Serena that he'd not noticed her approach. She slid into a chair and waved at someone for service.

  Serena glanced at her and then back to him. "What's going on?"

  Mrs. Baker answered for him before he could come up with an explanation. "Christophe is a pirate from the eighteenth century. You're his soulmate, and something you did brought him through a vortex to be with you."

  ***

  Serena stared into the kindly, wrinkled face of the woman who'd joined them and couldn't decide if the lady truly believed what she said or if she was playing an elaborate joke. "Excuse me?" What the heck is a vortex? Like a science fiction portal? And he didn't know who Yoda was? Please.

  Christophe looked back and forth with wide eyes before sputtering, "Ah, Mrs. Baker. It's good of you to join us. Where is your son?" He tugged at the collar of his polo shirt and shifted in his seat. It should amuse her that he was uncomfortable for a change, but instead it irritated her more.

  Mrs. Baker, it seemed her name was, waved him off. "Josiah will be along shortly. He's working on gaining your clearance back on the ship. You'll find it is much harder to board than disembark. He's adding you to the manifest and will report your passport and ID as stolen after."

  Glancing back and forth between them, the words sank in. Serena laughed. "Are you implying he's a stowaway?" When neither of them joined her laughter—nervous or otherwise—she sobered fast. "Truly?" Did people still do that? And why were they telling her about it? She could be charged as their accomplice if the cruise line found out and pressed charges against him. No wonder he'd tried to seduce his way into her room.

  Christophe shrugged. "Not by choice, love. The way I arrived aboard yon vessel will not be easily proven."

  Heh. Yon vessel. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes while fighting to keep her face blank. "Right. Because I summoned you here with my witch's grimoire and now you have three days for me to give you true love's kiss before you sprout a fish tail and poof back to whence you came?"

  Mrs. Baker clucked
her tongue. "Sarcasm is not becoming, dear. Do not joke about such things. He's here, but the legends never tell if the travelers remain. These things do work in sets of three, and we must pass through the vortex again on his third night during the trip home." She picked up a knife and started buttering a roll she'd swiped from the basket in the center of the table. "There's no telling what will happen when we do, or what would guarantee his stay."

  "Vortex?" Serena hated that she was responding in all questions. It drove her crazy when people did that. "Don't tell me... The Bermuda Triangle is a time travel teleportation device for a mystical dating network. I suck at dating in my own century, so eTriangle threw a pirate at me. Do I look like the sort of girl that would want a thieving, dishonest, violent, probably-rapist, villain for a significant other?"

  Christophe lifted his right hand over his heart; although he demonstrated the classic gesture for a wounded heart, his expression made her think she actually had offended him. "Christ, that was hurtful. I wasn't always a pirate. In fact, I was forced into it. Furthermore, I have never raped a woman in my life."

  Good to know. "But you don't deny the rest of the accusations?"

  He gave her a crooked grin. "Only did what I needed to do to survive, move up in ranks to decrease the amount of eyes upon my person at any given time, and waited for the opportune moment to escape."

  She snorted. "I bet."

  Mrs. Baker smiled knowingly, leaned forward, and patted the back of her hand. "I knew you'd have a hard time believing him, which is why I came along and decided to drop the information out there to let it settle." She took a bite of the buttered roll and waited until she'd swallowed before adding, "I've been accused of matchmaking back in my day. It's quite extraordinary that the very night he escaped his life of piracy he ends up on our ship, drawn to you. He needed rescuing, and you were just the one to help him."