Defying a Pirate

by Camille Oster

  Atlantic sailings were not the most exciting, but there was an edge of risk because if something went wrong, if they met a devastating storm, there would be no hope. No-one would rescue them and there was no safe harbor to withdraw to. But the day-to-day sailing was uneventful.

  Jack stayed on deck most of the morning. He needed the space and the air, and couldn’t be cooped up in his cabin for long. He surmised that he might have to make an effort and let the girl on deck more—she would be terribly bored in his cabin. He would bring her out for a while this afternoon—not long because he knew his men were curious about her.

  Cook’s appearance on deck signified it was time for the midday meal—time to battle with his little hellion again. He normally ate with the men, but he had a guest he needed to tend to.

  He found her in the entranceway just outside his cabin. “I didn’t give you leeway to roam the ship.”

  “I am not roaming; I am waiting for you here.”

  “For what purpose?” he said strongly. First she had defied his order, but also she was not safe outside of his cabin. He obviously needed to make that clear to her.

  She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Your offer, to make sure I return to London unharmed...”

  “In exchange for a kiss,” he said with some confusion as she stepped toward him and leant up. She was reaching for a kiss, he realized. Her lips touched his slightly for a second, the touch startling him. The lightest sweetest of kisses and she tasted like honey and summer.

  Snaking his arm around her back, he pulled her to him as he took the kiss and deepened it. His body flared to life as his tongue explored her mouth. He couldn’t quite understand the effect it was having on him, although her small firm breasts against his chest had something to do with it.

  He felt his arm meet the wall behind them with force, giving him better access to her body as he could form hers more fully to him, feeling the whole length of her. He wanted to consume her. Her mouth held such sweet promise and he couldn’t help but feed on its nectar. His whole body seemed to vibrate with aching need as his tongue leisurely explored the warmth inside her mouth.

  Groaning, he withdrew when he had to draw breath; he wasn’t ready to leave the moist heat he’d found, but he let his lips explore the column of her neck. Her scent was affecting something very deep in him as he pressed his body to hers. He was hard and every muscle in his body strived for contact with her. He wanted more, he needed more.

  He sought out her lips again, but she kept them away from him. The kiss was over and he wasn’t ready for it to be. Hot heavy breaths told him how starved of air his body was. He wondered at ignoring her clear sign of ceasing, taking what his body so desperately wanted. It would break their bet and his word, but he was in desperate need. There was also the issue of her not wanting it and the damage he would cause if he forced her. He placed his lips on her forehead and kissed her brow, lingering a while longer with their bodies this close, before he stepped back.

  She was avoiding his eyes; he could see that she was shocked by the kiss. Closing his eyes, he forced his ardour to cool. He wondered if it had been her first kiss—he’d bet it was—certainly the first in that fashion. He hadn’t anticipated his own reaction, his whole body held an unbearable tension that gripped his insides. If he checked, he would be certain his hands would be shaking with it.

  He wondered if she had any idea how lucky she was that he had the control over himself that he did. Then again, a kiss had never challenged his control like this.

  “The meal is served,” she said unsteadily. She stepped back toward the door to the cabin. She’d been right to insist on the kiss out here, if he had been anywhere near the bed, this would have ended very differently.

  Chapter 10

  Gemma could still feel the kiss on her lips and nothing she did would shake it. It has been sweet and tempting, and scary. She hadn’t known a kiss could be so intimate and so very confronting. He’d plundered her mouth and she’d felt all of his body, every hard contour of it.

  She was disturbed how easily they could have slipped into further intimacy. It had happened in a flash and she could have quite easily seen the path to where her dress was less of an impediment to his roving hands that she’d thought.

  Worse was that, there was a strong urge in her to continue, to let him continue in the direction he’d been going. She wanted to see where it went, wanted to explore the feelings that were invading her body. The idea of being enveloped by him, completely open to his presence, was enticing. It felt like tempting a force that was larger than her, and seeing where the wild ride got her. It was lodged in her mind now, but it was also lodged in her body, which hummed with tension she didn’t understand.

  They didn’t speak at all during the meal. Gemma had lost much of her appetite, but she continued eating because she didn’t dare not to. He left without a word and she finally breathed out the air that had stubbornly stayed in her lungs, robbing her of breath. The heat in her body refused to leave and it was getting cumbersome as the day went on. Her dress seemed to restrict her breath, clinging to her body with its weight and restriction.

  “What have you done to me?” she asked when he returned. Her body hadn’t dissipated the heat even with the incredible cold she knew had settled.

  He stared at her for a while then came over and reached his palm to her head. She jerked away from it and eyed him suspiciously. He stopped before continuing and placed his hand on her forehead. It was deliciously cool, drawing out some of the ache in her head. She was almost sorry when he withdrew it.

  “You have a fever.”

  She stared at him trying to take in what he was saying. “Is this what happens when you interrupt things?” She wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying, but wanted to know if what they’d done earlier was responsible for this.

  He laughed. “As much as I want to say yes, the truth is no—you have a fever—a bad one by the looks of it. Have you any cuts or injuries?”

  She shook her head, but was confronted with thumping pain as she did so.

  “Well, as we are on a ship, you are strictly confined to quarters and I will chuck you off if you defy me.” He said it lightly, but not enough to forgo the fact that he was deadly serious. “Can’t have you infecting the whole ship. I have no physician to bleed you, I’m afraid.”

  She tried to make herself comfortable in the chair, but it was the most awkward chair ever built. She hadn’t noticed before, but it was glaringly obvious now. It was hard and angular and she couldn’t get comfortable.

  “You should lie down.”

  She wasn’t about to take his advice. She still wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t something he’d done to her and she wasn’t going to put herself on the bed where he had better access to her. And why was the ship swaying so oddly?

  “You better drink some mead,” he said and placed a tankard in front of her. “More restoring than wine.”

  She didn’t know whether she should follow his advice—he was a pirate after all, and he had kidnapped her for whatever nefarious reason. But she was incredibly thirsty and did before long succumb to her thirst.

  The girl slept very fitfully that night as her fever set in. She wasn’t lucid in the morning and needed care—and there was only him to do it. He could have ordered someone else to, but he knew he wouldn’t trust anyone else with her care.

  It was hard enough for him as he stripped her out of her dress, dragging the material off her limp arms. Her shift clung to her curves as the fever dampened her skin. He got to see every one of her small, delicious curves, more so when he applied water to her shift to cool her raging body down. Her cheeks were flushed and her deep pink lips were parted as she drew cool air into her body. Steam almost rose from her forehead when he placed a compress on her brow. Her shift had run up her slim, well-formed thighs, revealing her smooth pale skin. He knew she was very ill, but it was nothing short of an erotic sight. He would not take her in such a state, but he wa
s a lout enough to think about it. Then again, he didn’t think any man would be unmoved by such a sight.

  It was a severe fever, one that could end up taking her life. He hoped not and he was surprised how strongly he wished for her to live. He’d seen many people die of wounds as well as diseases, and he wasn’t normally moved by such events; it was just a part of life. He didn’t pray under any circumstances, but he wanted her to live.

  He also knew that people lived out their fears, and the things that preyed on their minds while feverish like this. She, on the other hand, would fluctuate between amusement and deep worry. The word pirate was mentioned every once in a while during her worried phases. He couldn’t quite describe why that pleased him, but it did. He liked the fact that he existed in her mind and that she thought about him.

  He also felt bored when she wasn’t there to argue with, which was strange as this was how he normally lived. Not normally one who needed company—being quite comfortable in his own company. Also, inane banter about nothing drove him up the wall. Worse was the prolonged discussions on how lovely his things were; he’d been stuck with that once and he’d chucked her off the ship—taken a detour to a small fishing village and thrown her off the ship when they got close enough that she would swim. She cursed in language that almost made his men blush.

  His dealings with women had been patchy. He’d had a string of paramours, who’d taken and given as they’d wanted to. It wasn’t hard to tell if a woman was interested in him, they made it plainly obvious. Some he would even find naked in his bed when he returned from whatever port they were in. Sometimes they just wanted passage and amusement during it, other times they wanted to stick around for a while, but before long he’d the urge to wave goodbye to them as they pulled away to sea.

  He didn’t hate women; he’d known men who did. He just didn’t necessarily respect all of them. There were some he respected greatly, and some he would never dare cross. He knew full well that they could be more vicious than any man, and this was the part of the world that drew the most vicious people.

  He ate at the table alone while she lay in bed fighting her fever. He tried to feed her some ale throughout the day and to change her compress, but there was little else he could do; she would either fight it or succumb to it.

  She sought out his heat in the evening when he lay down in the bed and he had to check his own resolve as she wrapped her warm body against him—her heat forcing him to sleep without a blanket. Still, there was something very nice about her clinging to him like she needed him; he didn’t usually like it. Perhaps it was the expectant eyes looking at him throughout that made him uncomfortable, but right now, she was more or less unconscious, so he didn’t feel the weight of expectation that he normally did.

  Gemma woke up feeling like she’d had her insides turned out. Trying to swallow, her parched throat was soothed by odd tasting liquid being slowly poured into her mouth. She had trouble making her mouth function enough to sip it down. Dry lips chafed as she moved her mouth. Her head felt like it was being pounded by something big and nasty. She tried to open her eyes, but the light was too bright. Everything hurt.

  “You’re actually looking marginally better,” said a deep voice she couldn’t place.

  All she could manage in response was, “Ugh.” She couldn’t imagine feeling marginally worse—her back ached, her head ached, even her knees were excruciatingly painful.

  A cold compress appeared on her forehead and she shuddered with the temperature difference.

  “At least you’ve stopped swearing.”

  “I was not swearing,” she croaked out of her parched throat, still unable to open her eyes.

  “Like a sailor.”

  “You lie,” she accused and was met with a chuckle.

  “Defending your honor again, Miss Montague?”

  The fact that this person referred to her by her formal name meant that this was not someone she knew. Forcing her eyes open, she focused on the man sitting next to her. “Oh god, I thought it was a nightmare.”

  “Maybe you died and this is hell,” he grinned. Gemma was half set to believe him. “And speaking of nightmares, you are spared from being confronted by the sight before me.”

  Confusion gripped her for a moment before she realized he must be speaking of her. No doubt she looked absolutely terrible, but there was nothing she could do about it. Oddly, the comment bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She told herself that she didn’t care in the least what she looked like in front of him, but it wasn’t entirely true. The thought followed her into sleep.

  “You need some strength,” a voice said, waking her up with a start—to be confronted with her nightmare again. He was there sitting by her on the bed and she could smell food. It turned her stomach with nausea, but she was also hungry.

  As he moved to put his arms under her, she went to object, but had no energy to carry it through. He lifted her out of bed without any effort and walked her over to the table. Gemma felt oddly safe in his arms, which was insane, because she had probably never been in a more unsafe place. She could feel the muscles of his arms and chest moving with each step— solid and strong, and warm.

  He placed her down on the chair in front of the served meal, and he tore some meat with his fork and put it on her plate. She picked at it and put it in her mouth, but she didn’t have the energy to chew, much less deal with a fork, so she just used her fingers while feeling very elegant.

  “I am taking you up on deck. Your fever has broken and some air will do you good.”

  There was no way Gemma could walk; she was literally weak as a kitten. After she chewed some meat with her sluggish jaw, he came around the table and lifted her up again. Her head lay against his chest as he walked her out of the cabin and out on deck where he took her up the stairs to the quarterdeck, wrapped in a blanket.

  He was right, the air felt wonderful as did the strengthening sun on her face.

  “How long was I out?” she asked while her eyes were still closed. It took too much energy keeping them open.

  “A few days.”

  His body felt so strong as he held her. He smelt like leather and whiskey with something underneath that must have been just him. It was not unpleasant in combination with the salty air.

  “You are a lucky girl,” he said.

  “How exactly?”

  “It is a rare occasion that I will play nursemaid to anyone.”

  She didn’t know what to say. There was something in her that responded to the idea that she was special enough that he would do something he normally wouldn’t do—a stupid instinct, but it was there whether she acknowledged it or not. Holding her didn’t seem to bother him at all and he held her here like she was something precious.

  Checking herself, she reminded herself there was no point of letting her mind get carried away with idiotic notions. He had a purpose for her in his mind and he was just taking care of her so she would be there to fulfil it. The fact that he’d kissed her and she’d responded like she was made for it was incidental; he would kiss anyone like that and probably did for all she knew. She could not lose sight of how things were; she would be extremely foolhardy if she did. He was a pirate for god’s sake. What was she even thinking? It must be the sickness preying on her mind.

  Chapter 11

  Gemma recovered slowly, sleeping a great deal in the process. She had no idea where the fever had come from, but it had been powerful and it left her weak for many days.

  James the Pirate insisted that she take fresh air every day and he would carry her if she couldn’t walk on her own. She felt it was a good milestone when she could get there under her own power—only able to move slowly. He had to carry her back.

  She found a looking-glass and discovered how shocking she appeared—pale as a ghost and her eyes were huge and dark. She dreaded to think what she’d looked like before if this was what she looked like somewhat recovered.

  She ate as much as she could force down, knowing it wo
uld get her strength back sooner. She hated being in his debt and hated every time he had to do something for her. He didn’t seem to mind and she suspected for the sole reason that she hated it so much.

  It was noticeably warmer now and the grey skies were giving away to sun. They were still out in the middle of the vast ocean and they’d seen nothing for days.

  “So what do you expect of me when we get there?” she asked as she stood on the quarterdeck supporting her weight on the rail that ran beside her. She actually loved the feeling of being up there, the wind in her hair and the sun on her face. She could see what a man such as him could see in being at sea; it was just the other parts of his profession that disconcerted her.

  “To be doting,” he said and came to stand behind her. She could feel his presence. He was close but they weren’t touching.

  “So the perception that I am doting will make up for the fact that I defeated you at sea?” she asked. “Doesn’t that sound a bit ridiculous? Who is going to believe that?”

  He pulled a cluster of her curls slightly, not painfully, but enough to let her know he was there, enough to tug her head back slightly. As if she wasn’t aware of his presence already. He didn’t like it that she referred to his defeat, she noted.

  “You’d be surprised. Believe me, it will be effective.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and stroked them down her arms. Stilling herself, she didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “And you will have to let me do things like this to you, to show our bond.”

  “And my subjugation will negate your defeat?” she asked as he ran his hands down across the bare skin of her lower arms. The touch made her skin prickle with goose bumps. His hands were warm and firm. There was something comforting in the action; it was something a lover would do—a husband. She would lean back and feel his body and strength behind her and he would wrap his arms around her. An action she could not take because he was neither of those things.