by Koko Brown
“Are you drowning?” the sleepy rumble of his voice drifted across the room and touched her.
In more ways than one. “Go to sleep, Britannia.”
“Yes, mistress. Anything you command.”
“The answer’s still no,” she calmly declared with a finiteness he shouldn’t mistake.
“Don’t be shy with your feelings,” he drawled.
Lèsè couldn’t prevent the smile curling her lips no more than she could staunch this persisting attraction to him.
“Good night, Mr. Flynn,” she said barely above a whisper.
SIX
“This is the fastest route to Aus-trahlia?”
Christian nodded. “From Europe, yes.”
She eyed the map, one of a dozen laid open on the table. Pushed toward the opposite end were several porcelain bowls containing vestiges of their evening meal. Before they could finish, she’d pressed him into service as her personal maritime professor.
Under normal circumstances, Christian would’ve balked. A big man, he savored every meal. No one came between him and food unless they didn’t want to live to see the sunrise.
But overnight his world had changed.
No longer the first mate of the Dorcas, he’d awakened a prisoner in a small empty cabin. He’d tried his boundaries and found the stairwell guarded by one of the muscle twins.
Bored out of his mind and unsure of his future, it took a concerted effort not to pounce on the petite pilot the moment she walked through the door. In turn, he’d given in to her request without much fuss. Also, it didn’t hurt she’d asked so nicely, batting those long lashes at him and smiling so prettily.
While her fingers traced the Drake Passage, Christian slyly assessed her, from her smoldering dark eyes and full lips downward in a leisurely appraisal. Once again, she wore a cropped jacket this time in a beautiful emerald green and a pair of cream billowy trousers belted low. Every time she moved, her belly button winked at him.
Stop looking! But he didn’t or more like he couldn’t as steam seemed to slowly rise from his collar. Nothing else in the room, hell the whole damn boat, could arrest his attention from the seductive pilot. She was the sole focus of his lust.
She leaned down on her elbows and he was suddenly seized by an intense attar of lemons. A sizzling jolt of acute awareness wrapped around his cock. The fragrance evoking memories of last night when she stood before him like Venus rising from the sea.
With a suppressed sigh, he locked his hands behind his back lest he do something stupid. Like reaching out and plucking the braid off her shoulder, winding it around his palm and using it to pull her into him. After all, he was only an object to her–a thing for her temporary entertainment.
No rationale could explain this feeling of carnal lust bombarding his senses. But ultimately decorum and pride prevailed, but for precautions sake he kept his hands safely folded behind his back.
“And you’ve traveled this route before?”
When she cocked her head to look at him, candlelight caught and shimmered on the sun-kissed tips of her carelessly braided hair, framing the perfection of her face in a sultry halo. Christian felt his fingers flex involuntarily. She was undeniably breathtaking. And he was a fool for feeling anything but contempt for her.
“Only twice,” he said in a clipped tone fueled by self-reproach.
The dark eyes meeting his were studiously inquisitive. “In almost twenty years at sea you only took the voyage twice?”
“The junket would try any sailor. High wind speeds, frequently rough waters, stuck in the doldrums. Not to mention an encounter with an iceberg or two. And if you’re really lucky, possibly a cyclone. Not seeing land for weeks on end.
“Add in a foolhardy captain attempting to break a record circumventing the world it was a never ending journey through hell. By the time we lurched into the Thames we had less than half the original crew.”
“Did you break the record?”
Christian didn’t find her question callous. Any sailor worth their salt would be naturally curious.
“We broke the current record circumventing the world in six months and 3 days. That record held for less sixteen months.”
“The things you must have seen,” she didn’t attempt to hide the jealousy inflecting her tone.
“And the riches untold,” Christian sardonically added. “We returned with enough sheep’s wool to fill two warehouses.”
Of course, he left out he’d made enough money on that perilous journey to put a down payment on the estate waiting for him back in East Sussex. His little slice of heaven would not be used for leverage even under threat of bondage.
“Sorry I didn’t have a tale of Spanish gold to dazzle you with.”
She shrugged. “Everything has value. But freedom of choice, being the captain of one’s destiny, is priceless.”
“Even human flesh.”
During the flux and flow of teacher and student, Christian came to admire his pupil more and more. Pragmatic leaning, she was an astute learner with an intelligence most men did not possess. So it was no surprise when he learned she’d earned her current promotion at the tender age of seventeen. Her vulnerable leader Madame Singh prescribed to what was good for the goose was also good for the gander and the gosling ideology in that gender nor age had any influence on one’s membership in the infamous Red Fleet only complete loyalty. Over the years, either through foolhardy risks or a sharp business acumen, she’d amassed a sizeable goose egg. How else would she be able to go through a half a dozen sailing vessels like torn stockings–some in exchange for swifter junks others to replace those destroyed in storms or fire fights.
When she talked of her favorite hideaway, Xisha, a string of tiny remote islands in the South China Sea, her demeanor took a complete turn. The veil fell and her words were filled with such a passionate intensity–so animated and carefree–he secretly wish he could sail the enchanting archipelago with her.
But something inside him thawed when she spoke of her love of the sea. In her words and imagery, he found a kindred spirit. Her lust for life as fascinating as her natural beauty. In close quarters, she moved with a languid cat-like grace. Amazing how something so small and unassuming, hid a merciless buccaneer a barely leashed force. This knowledge should have disgusted him. Instead he found himself repeatedly contemplating what kind of lover she would be.
He’d been told he was an exceptional lover. And it had nothing to do with the thickness of his cock or even technique. Through experience he’d learned a healthy dose of altruism and patience could foster a woman’s good graces or win their hearts.
Would seducing the little pilot be advantageous to his well-being? The key to his freedom? Even if he had the proclivity to try such a foolhardy endeavor, he only had a few days to put such a plan into action.
Christian studied her delicate profile. Could he pretend to be the most ardent of lovers? A most devoted Romeo she would loathe to part with.
She suddenly stretched her arms over her head baring a trim waist.
“Time to retire.” Yawning, she stretched her arms over her head. An unladylike gesture but one that had the power to sway his resolve. “My head spins with all this information.”
“My head is spinning as well,” he parroted, eyeing her trim waist toasted golden by the sun.
“Tā mā de…damn it!” she cursed, harassing the red frog ties lining her cropped jacket. “These ties will be the death of me.”
You will be the death of me, mused Christian, dropping his hands to his sides. He shook his fingers as an irrepressible excitement, brought on by her undressing, strummed through his veins. The only thing hard about his deceptive pursuit will be his cock.
Mesmerized, his gaze followed the sway of her slim hips as she stomped to the door. Unable to look away, he watched her open it and bark orders to one of the ever present goons posted in the hallway. Christian groaned as one of her manservants shuffled inside with two buckets in each hand. Like the nigh
t before, he set them aside before preparing his mistress’ bath: setting the water basin on the floor and pulling out dry sheets, sponges, her favorite oils.
It seemed as though he’d committed to his plans ages ago, so true was his stride.
“We will share the bath.” Despite the softness of his inquiry, it sounded more declaration than question.
Like a true adversary, he quickly took advantage of her inaction. His talent at seduction well honed, he raised his hands and swatted hers out of the way. With a dexterity born only from experience, he tackled the fastenings of her jacket.
Her silence registered in his consciousness as though she’d spoken to him, given him permission to proceed. The knowledge made his prick swell, a sharp jolt of lust overshadowed reason, and he impetuously considered taking her back to England once he escaped. But even as the ludicrous notion filled his addled brain, he shoved it aside. He could no more make a pirate a wife than a whore. Ironically, she was both. Plus, he had no need to press a woman into conjugal bliss. When he took a wife–he most sensibly noted as the momentary craving passed–he wanted her to want him whole-heartedly.
With freedom as the only end game, he stripped her coat then let it drop to the floor. Unchecked, he barreled ahead fingering the thick, leather belt circling her hips. He worked the buckle but found himself fumbling. He couldn’t be blamed. Her pert nipples were puckering as if soliciting his favor.
She placed her tiny hands over his, and he found himself rocking toward her. Bullocks, man! Pull it together.
“You don’t have to.” Her gaze from under the inky black lace of her lashes was unruffled–a stark contrast to his inner turmoil.
“But I am your companion,” he said, his voice thick with self-discipline. Her breasts were barely a handful but they made his mouth water. “I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t see that you remove your clothes before taking a bath. Even if that includes removing them myself.”
“How selfless of you,” she drawled, adding levity to an otherwise tense situation.
Smiling, Christian tugged at her belt and the strap loosened. Unfettered, her pants had nowhere to go except down, sliding over her slender thighs and pooling at her feet. Crouching, he followed their descent. Her scent, a mixture of sunshine and lemon, surrounded him. Fragrant, organic and mind-numbingly sensual her natural perfume bombarded his senses.
“Give them up,” he commanded, moving her with a gentle pressure on her ankles.
“My turn.” She snapped her fingers at him.
Standing, he smiled at her cheerful impudence. “Your turn?”
“You undress me and I’ll undress you. You wash my back and I’ll wash yours.”
“Then what will we do after that?” he softly asked, a multitude of options all involving the use of her bed flitting through his head.
“Maybe I’ll give you a hundred and one orders and you will have to fulfill all of them.”
“And your first order should be.” His gaze lifted. “Asking me to kiss you.”
Her eyes widened. “You wish.”
“Aye. I do very much.” An essential gravity underscored his words. He could hear his pulse beating in his ears. And for a flashing second an absolute silence fell between them even the sound of the waves hushed as if the sudden tension had sucked the impetus of them.
“But not right now,” a lazy smile curled his lips. “The water grows cold.”
Her smile melted into a pretty pout. He almost felt pity for her but this was how the game was played. Dangle the carrot, snatch it back. Cultivate anticipation. Build a longing so inescapable she’ll be begging him to take her.
Of course, his bravado faded a moment later when she touched him, the warmth of her hand like a crashing wave. Unlike her own garments, she divested his with a disconcerting competence that made him somewhat rankled. But with each pop of a clasp or drawing on a string, he reached a point where nuances of resentment lost out to more basic urges.
Too bad those urges couldn’t be managed as he heard a small, breathy “Oh,” as his swelling cock jutted from a nest of wiry curls.
“My apologies.” Acting as if ashamed of his rampant display, he grasped his cock, and squeezed, turning the bulbous head a bright pink.
“No apology needed for something you can’t control,” she said in a strangled murmur.
“Like those?” Christian dropped his gaze to her peach-tinted nipples.
“You’re a very virile man…and it’s been a very long time for me.”
“Then allow me to remedy that,” he softly replied, willing his voice to a calmness he wasn’t feeling.
“I want a companion not a lover,” she retorted.
“Companion…lover…just a matter of semantics.”
A contrary spark flashed in her eyes. “Not in my book. Lovers leave unsavory entanglements. And you and I is one I cannot afford. Plus, we’ll be parting soon.”
“All the more reason to throw caution to the wind and fall into each other’s arms.”
“No.” Matter settled, she stepped into the wash basin and began unbraiding her hair. “Now be a devoted companion and grab a bucket or have I frightened you away.”
His smile flashed white. “You couldn’t keep me away.”
SEVEN
And so it went in the course of the evening, a tenacious game of advance and retreat a delicious entertainment. The object of his desire demolished his hopes at progress with a flurry of evasive maneuvers not withstanding a charming diplomacy and enchanting putdowns.
Being on the losing end should have hurt more than it did but the past hour had been productive. In his mind, a precursor to his next move. And there was no better time than the present.
After their bath, she’d quickly retreated to the bed where she now sat drying her hair. Poor thing probably believed he’d given up. After all, her last setting down had been rather harsh. She hadn’t raised her voice or anything, she’d simply planted her elbow in his stomach when he’d attempted to wash her sweet cunt.
Christian smiled to himself. He’d deserved the set back. The lady had not invited his advances. He’d assumed too much from her impropriety. A lesson learned and one he’d adhere to if he wanted to curry her favor. From now, on he would play the game within a game.
Animated by a sense of adventure, Christian closed the distance between them.
“Would you like my help?”
She flipped her hair back. The wet ink-black strands stuck to her shoulders and the drying sheet wrapped around her body. She met his gaze and her dark eyes twinkled. Her mood had obviously improved.
“I thought you’d given up.” She smiled, her pink lips parting to reveal pearly white teeth.
“Give up on you? Never.”
“My loyal companion?”
“Down to the quick.” He spread his arms as a concession. “Is there anything that you require of me?”
She sat for a contemplative moment studying him, then she said, “Comb my hair.”
Christian stared down at the ivory comb she thrust at him and found himself flushed with excitement. As she pulled a stool over to perch on, he drew in a deep, calming breath. He was only combing her hair. It wasn’t an invitation to her bed, the thought of which wrecked his unreliable composure.
He sucked in another breath. This time he held it until he settled himself behind her. Careful not to touch her, he kept his legs spread wide.
“Start from the ends then work your way up.”
“Aye m’lady.”
“I’m no lady.” she corrected him.
“And I’m no gentleman.” He gathered her hair in his hands, his gaze lazily surveying her. “Maybe we’re a match made in the stars. I think the poets would call us star-crossed lovers.”
“Star-crossed lovers,” she scoffed. “You and me…the pirate version of Romeo and Juliette? I plan to live until I’m eighty.”
“Will you ever settle down one day? Be a wife, have children?”
“You mean
settle for a life of boredom, shackled to an ungrateful husband, getting fat from having his crumb-snatching bastards?”
“Or maybe you will find a man who will love and cherish you. One who’ll make you eager to carry his babes.”
She covered her mouth and feigned a protracted yawn. “Sounds boring,” she mumbled.
“There’s nothing ignoble about being a wife and mother.”
“No there isn’t. It’s just not in my future.” She placed her arms on his knees, triggering that part of him that urged him to drop his hands and caress her creamy shoulder. Before he could act on this nagging compulsion, she suddenly pinched the meat of his lower leg.
“Now. Less talking, more combing,” she commanded.
Christian pulled the comb through her hair, reveling in the feel of the shimmering strands. With each stroke, he felt an intrinsic tingling in his fingertips.
“Mmm…that feels wonderful,” she purred. Her husky tone spiked in his brain triggering images of passion filled nights and days spent under sun-dappled sheets. Balls quivering with a growing need, Christian gazed down at her.
Her eyes were half lidded, her lashes inconveniently shielding her gaze, her slender arms loped over his knees. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip as she melted into him. Her slight weight pressing against his legs.
Bullocks! She rung his bell like a hammer striking an anvil, the sensation charging down his nerve endings with such intensity he briefly shut his eyes. The discomfort between his legs only increased. In search of relief, he shifted his seat to accommodate his swelling erection. Only finding a bit of respite when her arms dropped to her sides.
Limbs humming with lust, he managed to eke out her request. For how long, he couldn’t quite ascertain.
Queer.
How could something so intimate be a soothing balm? So much so, he loathed to stop. Silently, he raked the comb through her hair, eventually provoking an otherworldly luster which made her hair appear blue in the candlelight. So committed to his task, he didn’t notice the slump of her shoulders. On the other hand, he was certain the desire that had clawed at his insides had not faded. The urge to wind her hair around his fist, use it to drag her up against him for a kiss, raged like a caged Bengali tiger.
