“A kiss.”
“No.”
“No? My support and protection for a mere kiss. My, you do guard your favours fiercely.”
She couldn’t even considering kissing the man who was sitting leisurely by the table, his features lit with amusement at her expense. It was inconsiderable. She’d never kissed any man, let alone someone like him—a seducer, a pirate.
“I am starting to wonder whether I should be hurt,” he said, but she could tell there was absolutely no hurt in him at all. She was amusing him. “The offer stands. Think upon it.” He got up and left, leaving her alone again.
Gemma huffed when he’d gone. He was right, it was not an overly onerous price, but it was still not something she could conceivably bend to. Logic stated that she should kiss the man and secure passage back to London. Surely the perils she faced traversing the Caribbean on her own outweighed—by an astounding amount—the perils of a kiss.
She also recognized that he’d left her a bundle of uncertainty to deal with; things that would plague her mind every moment throughout the rest of the day—and she was pretty certain he’d done it on purpose. He was toying with her.
“You will sleep in the bed,” he said with frustration as the stubborn woman refused to comply with his orders. She would win a battle with a mule. “I am not beyond man-handling you into the bed.”
“We have a bet,” she stated forcefully. He could see her eyes flash with anger.
“And the terms will not be broken, but it is cold and you will catch your death sleeping on the floor. Have you no sense?” He considered the stubborn set of her features and he was starting to wonder if he was better off with the girl who was cowering in the corner. He could fully see how she managed to commandeer a ship now; she would have just bluntly refused to step down when they pleaded with her. Surprisingly, he found her stubbornness and challenge oddly arousing, which may not be a good thing in his current stark naked state. He needed to resolve this before it went on and her challenge would have a clearly visible effect on him.
“Either you will get into bed and sleep there of your own volition, or you will sleep with my arm around you the entire night, snuggled in nice and tight. I prefer the second option, but I will leave the choice to you.” Her narrowed eyes were shooting daggers at him and then she huffed. She strode to the bed and got under the blankets, fully dressed.
She was faced away from him when he got into the bed, so far to the edge she would likely fall out during the night. Looking over her back, he could see the tense set of her shoulders. He couldn’t help but to chuckle. This is the creature that had bested him, the one who took risks, faced down danger and handled the pressure like it wasn’t there. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met—a shrew by all accounts. And he was going to seduce her. He always liked a challenge.
Chapter 8
Gemma woke early the next morning, the light coming through the windows was gentle but clear in the chill of the north Atlantic dawn. The bed was warm and welcoming; it had been a much more pleasant sleep than the cold hard floorboards. The man lying next to her generated enormous amounts of heat, making the bed almost too warm for her inside her dress.
Turning to look at him, she saw that he lay on his belly with his arms underneath his pillow. Her gaze strayed over the muscles across his shoulders and back, as far as the blanket would allow. He had scars—keepsakes from fights and previous battles, and underneath there were faint marks. She didn’t see them at first, they were well healed and faded, but as she paid closer attention, she saw that they covered most of his back. She hadn’t seen it before, but she knew what they were—whipping scars. Someone had whipped him at some point and from the looks of it, very severely or more than once. She couldn’t imagine someone whipping him; he seemed too large and forbidding to ever have such a thing imposed on him.
He faced away from her and she couldn’t see his face, but she did wonder what he looked like in peaceful sleep. She still didn’t know his name. They’d never been formally introduced; actually not informally either.
He turned over, exposing his chest. Still not used to such nudity, Gemma’s breath caught at the sight. But she couldn’t help her eyes from taking it in. There were scars on his chest as well, not whipping ones, but still an assortment of scars. She suspected one of them was a musket shot, but she was no expert.
“You are welcome to explore,” his deep voice said. His eyes still closed, and if he hadn’t spoken she wouldn’t have known that he was awake, and seemingly aware that she was studying him.
Gemma scrambled out of bed and got assaulted by the cold air outside of the warm blankets which quickly seeped into her dress. She should have brought the wool one, she hadn’t even thought of it at the time.
“It is cold today,” she said.
“It will be a sunny day.”
Gemma would welcome a bit of sun, it felt like it had been too long since she’d seen any.
“Are you going to keep me in this cabin constantly?”
“Do you want me to take you up on deck?”
“I can’t spend the entirely voyage in this room, I’ll turn mad.”
Opening his eyes, he turned to his side; his head perched on his elbow. “You don’t have permission to roam the ship, but I will take you on deck for a while.”
“Thank you,” she said and seated herself by the table. “What is your name?”
He considered her for a while before answering. “James. Most people call me Jack, but it’s James.”
James did not seem to suit him in Gemma’s book—Jack was better, a suitable name for a cur and a pirate. Now that they had that established, she didn’t really know what else to say.
“And this is your ship?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had her long?”
“Are you trying to get to know me, Miss Montague? If that is the case, you should come back to bed and you will get to know me in a much more meaningful way.”
Gemma ignored him, suddenly finding a clock very interesting. She should have given him one of her scorching, chiding looks, but they seemed to have absolutely no effect on him. Although, she realized that it was interesting that he pushed her away each time she asked any personal questions about him.
“When did you become a pirate?” she continued, deciding not to be dissuaded by his attempts to steer her toward topics he knew would confront her.
“I was twelve when I first came to serve.”
“You were no more than a boy,” she said, slightly shocked.
“No. And I have been a pirate ever since. They might have used a more genteel term at the time, but make no mistake about it, I’m a born and bred pirate—a bad seed even before. And I will die one.”
Abruptly stepping out of bed, he revealed his nudity fully yet again. Gemma surmised that she would just have to get used to it. He walked over to the corner where he performed his daily grooming and she watched as he prepared the soap; spread it across his cheeks and neck before bringing the sharp blade to his throat.
She wondered how he didn’t cut himself with the movement of the ship, and for a second wished the ship would sharply jerk. Then she undid the wish as she realized that she would then be at the mercy of his crew, who on the whole may not see the bounty of her dowry as sufficient incentive when split over so many.
“Does it not bother you that you are seen as a scourge and that you will never be accepted by anyone? Surely you must want more than this ship and the company you keep here?”
“No.”
“So you live here?” she said looking around the cabin again. It seemed much smaller now that she knew it served as a permanent abode.
“More or less.”
Getting information out of him was difficult, she conceded.
“I feel confined when I’m on land,” he finally added. “I have become too accustomed to the freedom of the sea.”
Gemma didn’t really see the freedom so much as the lack of it. “What about f
amily, you cannot raise a family on a ship, surely?”
“Family and piracy do not go well together,” he said as he dressed. “If it’s not a sacrifice you are prepared to make, then this is not the life for you. And if you wish to come onto deck, you best come now or miss your opportunity.”
Gemma got up and walked ahead of him when he indicated for her to move. The air was crisp and salty outside, the sun was shining on the deck making it look golden in the early morning.
Gemma looked around as he urged her up on the quarterdeck. “She is a beautiful ship,” she admitted.
“Yes,” he said. “Built by the Dutch. She’s been mine for the last five years.”
“I don’t dare ask how you came about her.”
“I think you know how.”
Gemma felt the chill of the air lick her skin, her dress served little protection. It would be fine when they travelled further south, but this far north, it offered her little comfort out of doors.
“But I warn you, I will not take lightly any attempts to commandeer my ship, Miss Montague.”
Gemma stared at him. “You can’t seriously think I would take your ship.”
“Pirates are known to steal from anyone, and you have a proven habit of taking over ships.”
“I am no pirate.”
“Are you sure? Women pirates are not as rare as you’d think.”
“You can rest assured; I do not want to steal your ship. The only thing I want is to get back to London as soon as humanly possible.”
“So you are ready to kiss me then?”
“What? Here? In front of all the men? Maybe I would prefer to steal your ship after all,” she said and crossed her arms.
He smiled wickedly. “I dare you to try.”
That was one challenge she would not be taking on. Not only was it a ridiculous notion, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to sail a ship across the Atlantic. And she was certain she didn’t want to make an enemy of the man in front of her. His dark eyes were considering her even now and it made her intensely uncomfortable. Actually, she already was his enemy and he’d sailed across the world to steal her away, and that was just for taking his intended target away from him. Steal his ship and she wasn’t sure anything would stop him from hunting her down and she didn’t dare think of the purpose. The thought sent a frisson of discomfort running down her spine. It would serve him right, but she was too sensible to engage in something like that.
Although she wasn’t being completely sensible by refusing to kiss him, it would be prudent thing to do all things considered. She just couldn’t imagine it; it seemed like such an outlandish prospect. Somehow she didn’t think him capable of the gentle sweet kisses on the garden bench like she’d imagined for herself and her first real kiss. No, she was going to have to do it, but luckily it didn’t have to be today; there were many, many days before they reached the Caribbean and she needed to secure his help to return her to where she belonged.
Chapter 9
Turning over, watching the sleeping pirate in the morning light, she’d only been in his bed for a few days, but she was starting to get used to the idea of someone being beside her—not that she would ever get used to having him beside her. His stomach was flat planes of hard muscle, his body so foreign compared to hers. She knew they fit together somehow—his phallus came inside her or so she’d been informed. It was an alien concept, one that was both challenging and engaging.
And she would have to kiss him. She would be caught in his arms, locked in place as his lips were on hers. It was a scary proposition and one she needed to consider carefully. Now would be the worst possible time; he was undressed, and although she was dressed, it would be all too easy for him to roll on top of her, pin her down to keep her at his mercy. The thought made her breath catch. No, the best place to do it would be on deck, in sight of other people. This might keep him in check if he was tempted to give in to his baser nature. Then again, that may not be a good idea either. The entrance way, she concluded, that was in between both places, it was somewhat public, but it was also more likely they would be unobserved.
Now she just had to choose the time; it had to be a period where his ardour would be the lowest. Not the morning, she concluded, the warmth of the bed would be too recently in memory and certainly not at night.
“Are you studying me again?” he asked. Gemma closed her eyes. How did he know—his eyes weren’t even open?
“No!” she said indignantly.
“You really have no gift for lying.”
“I was just contemplating.”
“Contemplating,” he repeated. “Anything I can help you with?” He opened his eyes and languidly rolled onto his side.
“Strategy.”
He laughed—a deep sound from his chest. “And what points of strategy has your mind occupied?”
“The points of the day when you would be most distracted.”
A smile spread on his lips. “Only when you are with me.” He didn’t touch her, which was good, because she would shoot out of bed like a dart if he tried. But his eyes held promise.
“That was sweet. Not quite a thousand pounds worth of sweet, but a commendable effort.”
“If you come closer, I will show you commendable effort.”
Gemma suddenly felt that the cold morning air was less confronting than the pirate in front of her. She slipped out of the bed.
Jack watched as she went. He’d pushed her too far, which took very little. He had to accept that he was not as well-skilled in seduction as he’d thought. Conceding the point, he admitted that his seduction technique was by practise, crude—nothing more had ever been required before. Then again, he’d never really dealt with prudish English ladies before—by choice.
But every time she challenged him—gave him that stubborn look, he felt it in his breeches. There was definitely something to a reticent female who required more of a chase. Or perhaps it was just the after-effects of her defeating him.
It truth, he was a little lost in how to proceed from here. He approached this in the same manner he planned an attack on his quarry—using their strengths and weaknesses to his advantage. Her curiosity was undeniable; she watched him, but if he pushed too far, she would withdraw like a frightened doe. Normally, he had little patience for such behaviour, preferring to find easier quarry—quarry that came to him, ripped his clothes off and got to the hot and heavy end of it smartly. He also knew that her current doe-like qualities were not the core of her character; he saw that when they argued—she was neither timid nor changeable.
“You don’t understand the pleasure I could give you,” he said partially out of his own frustration. “I can make your body sing with delight. Make you forget everything, but the heaven that exists in this bed.”
“Laying with you would be heaven, would it?” she said with sarcasm, but he could tell that she wasn’t entirely convinced of her own dismissal. He might be inferring the last part, but he also knew her curiosity must work against her. A girl like her, a reader and a student, it must grate that there are things she doesn’t know.
It was with complete vexation that he realized he was hard. He’d talked himself into the state and now he was stuck here without any relief. He flopped back onto his pillow with a groan and tried to think of the most unpleasant things he could think of—British gallows, disapproving English matrons. Although that led his thoughts back to the disapproving shrew in front of him and further thoughts of him thrusting all of his frustration into her sweet, small body. Not working.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he said.
“No, your activities and occupation will be the death of you.”
“Not what I was referring to, but before long, it might be a preferable outcome.”
She was right though, his activities would be the death of him; it was only a matter of having an unlucky day. He’d put off having such a day for a long time, but he knew its presence was lurking. Piracy hadn’t been a career he’d explicitl
y chosen; he’d just fallen into it—needing somewhere to go and a Captain of questionable reputation had been amenable to taking on a young gawky lad. And that had been it; he’d taken to the life well and it had suited him. He’d done many things in his time and in his youth he’d been driven solely by anger. He’d always wanted to go further, take more risks and reap higher rewards.
He’d readily agreed to make piracy his profession and passion. Even the violence in the profession hadn’t bothered him when he was young; there had always been someone who’d held him back, steered the course. But as he’d aged he developed the more tempered vision needed to lead, and captaincy was a natural outcome for him. He wasn’t driven by angry emotion as he’d once been, and he was starting to wonder at the sacrifices at the decision he’d so readily agreed to. Cool profit was the only thing that drove him now, and the terror and fear he caused in people held little pleasure, they were just a mere by-product.
Then the day had come when he’d been engaged by a slip of a girl and had come away with his tail between his legs and a damaged ship. He’d expected a normal day, with a run-of-the-mill boarding. He hadn’t expected what he got.
It had made him a bit of a laughing stock, but he wasn’t so young as to be greatly affronted by the teasing of his peers. Yet he had chosen to deal with it; had sailed half way around the world to fetch the creature. Even some of the men questioned his actions. His reputation had to be restored, but there was also the thrill of something new, something different. He’d been seeking bigger prey, larger conquests and going after a man-o-war was daring, as was stealing one of the toffs’ women. She, without a doubt, belonged to the class of men who controlled the Royal Navy. If they ever found out what he’d done, they would hunt him with zeal he’d not seen before. Sailing into London and stealing one of their women out of her bed was the highest of affronts.
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