by Shana Galen
would have been little more than a fish in a barrel.
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But Cutlass hadn’t given La Sirena opportunity
to think of doing anything but escape. He hadn’t
shied away from a direct confrontation, ordering his
cannons to fire even as she could see La Sirena’s men
looking at her across the expanse of water between the
ships. That had taken guts.
But it had paid off for him. They were now paused,
making repairs to the ship’s rudder and sails, but they
would be after La Sirena again before the dawn. She
found, as she worked to repair a damaged shroud,
she was almost excited about the prospect of another
battle. She’d been escorting merchantmen too long,
she decided. It was foolish to look forward to an event
which very well might kill her. And yet, she always felt
a rush when she heard the call to “beat to quarters.”
She knew she’d surprised the captain and his master
gunner when she’d fired the cannon. But what did the
crew expect her to do? Sit and embroider handker-
chiefs? No, if they went down, she went with them.
The gun deck was where she was needed, and that was
where she’d been.
Now she could see some of the men eyeing her with
a grudging respect. No one had objected when she’d
asked Mr. Jackson, the ship’s carpenter, how she might
be of assistance. He’d only paused a moment before
pointing out the damaged shroud. It was an easy task,
but she knew she’d have to earn the men’s trust before
they gave her anything more substantial to do.
She looked up, frowned, and shook her head. And
why should she want to earn the trust of a crew of
pirates? They’d kidnapped her and were taking her
God knew where.
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She should hate them. She did hate them.
And yet when Mr. Jackson gave her another task,
she set to it with alacrity. It was only when the quar-
termaster, Maine, found her several hours later, she
realized how long she’d been working and how late
it was.
“Miss Russell?”
She turned and saw the red-haired man behind her.
So strange to see an Englishman, all stiff and formal,
aboard a privateer.
“Yes, Mr. Maine?”
“The captain has requested your presence in his
cabin, miss. Would you care to accompany me?”
Though it was phrased as a question, she knew it was
no request. He offered his arm, and she stood, aware
her muscles ached and protested.
She rolled her shoulders and tried to work some of
the stiffness from her back before nodding to Maine
and following him.
“Mr. Maine,” she said, walking by his side as they
arrowed for the stern and the captain’s great cabin.
“How did you come to serve under Captain Cutlass?
You’re obviously a former subject of His Majesty’s
Royal Navy.”
He squinted at her over his shoulder. “That
obvious, is it?”
She smiled, noncommittal. From the corner of her
eye she spotted Percy working to repair sails damaged
by cannon and grape shot. He didn’t see her, too
engrossed in his conversation. For a moment her heart
tightened, but she didn’t know if it was because he had
made other friends so quickly or because she had not.
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“I suppose the easy answer is the pay is better on
the Shadow. I grew tired of being paid a pittance or
nothing at all for my hard work. I have a wife and a
child to support.”
Raeven blinked and tried not to look shocked.
But truth be told, she was shocked. She had never
considered pirates might have families.
“Do they live in England? Your wife and…”
“Son. They live somewhere safe,” he said.
She waited for him to continue then realized he
had said all he would on the subject. Apparently, she
could not be trusted with even the name of a city.
Did the man think she would run to England at the
first opportunity and seek out his family to denounce
them as—what? Relatives of pirates? Did he think she
wanted his family arrested?
Yes, in fact that was probably exactly what he
thought, and who could blame him? She had done
nothing but threaten this man’s captain and his ship
since the first time he’d seen her. If she were in his
place, she’d want to protect her family, as well.
He led her down the ladderway to the great cabin,
knocked briskly on the door, and at Cutlass’s “Come!”
opened it for her. She stepped inside, and Maine closed
the door behind her, leaving her alone with Cutlass.
He was seated at his desk, his head down. She
stepped forward and saw he was studying charts. He
had a magnifying glass and was staring at the print it
enlarged. He didn’t look up or speak, and if her own
father had not done the same thing a hundred times,
she would have thought Cutlass did not realize she
was there.
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“You know how to fire a cannon,” he said, moving
the magnifying glass a fraction of an inch and studying
the result.
She nodded, realized he couldn’t see, and added,
“I do.”
“Mr. Jackson tells me you know how to mend a
shroud, furl a sail, and swab the decks.” He leaned
close to the chart and squinted.
“Of course. I’ve lived almost all my life on a ship. I
know how to do everything.”
“You’re not one to sit idle.” Now he looked up at
her. “Are you?”
She’d forgotten the effect of his direct gaze on her.
She’d forgotten how handsome he was, how effort-
lessly seductive. His mouth was turned in a sardonic
smile, his black hair fell disheveled about his face and
shoulders, and his cobalt eyes seemed to disrobe her.
He looked every inch the pirate, and why that should
make her heart thump in her chest was beyond her.
She hated pirates.
He leaned back, drawing her attention to the
breadth of his chest and the vee of bronze flesh at his
open collar.
She hated pirates.
He raised a brow, and she realized he was awaiting
an answer to his question. Of course, she couldn’t
remember the question now. She’d been too busy
admiring his impossibly blue eyes to pay much atten-
tion. Now she wondered what it would be like to
touch her tongue to the bronze skin of his neck. She’d
felt his skin on hers before. He was always warm, hard,
and a little rough.
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“You didn’t have to do that today.”
“Hmm?” She blinked. “I mean, pardon?”
He smiled. Was it her guilty conscience, or was his
smile knowing? “You seem distracted, Miss Russell.”
“I’m tired,” she said immediately. Then his words
registered. “And when did I become Miss Russell?”
“When someone has my respect, I show it.”
Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “Is this
a new ploy to get me into bed?”
He burst out laughing, making her face heat with
embarrassment. “No. Why? Is it working?”
“Of course not.” But she was already seduced by
him. She had the feeling if he but crooked his little
finger, she’d come running.
But he didn’t know that, she reminded herself. He
thought she hated him. And she did. Hate him. Only,
she wanted him, too.
He was smiling, probably still thinking about
getting her into bed, so she cleared her throat. “What
have I done to earn your respect? I did nothing the
other members of your crew weren’t doing.”
“Yes, but you aren’t a member of my crew.”
Weary of standing before him, of feeling his direct
gaze, she moved aside and studied one of the paint-
ings on the wall. “No, but I’m not a member of
Jourdain’s crew either, and frankly, I like my chances
with you better.”
“Smart girl.”
She glanced over her shoulder, narrowed her eyes
at him. “You’re certainly full of compliments.”
He rose now, moved toward her. “I told you, you
earned my respect.” He was standing at her side and
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put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.
“Don’t think I did any of it to earn anything from you.
I’m in this to save my own neck.”
“And see a noose about mine.”
She turned back to the painting, not trusting herself
to lie convincingly when he was standing so close. She
could smell him, the scent of sea and sand and clean
air, and she could feel him, the heat of him. He was
like a fire burning bright beside her.
“What’s this, ma belle?” He leaned close, all but
burying his face in her hair. “Am I to assume from
your uncharacteristic silence you don’t want to see a
noose about my neck?”
She leaned away from him. “Don’t do that.”
His hand was on her waist, drawing her back.
“Do what?”
“Put your face in my hair. My hair smells bad.”
“On the contrary, ma belle, it smells as it always does.”
She looked at him, couldn’t help it. Immediately, she
regretted the action because she was drawn in by those
blue eyes. “What do you mean, ‘as it always does’?”
To her surprise, he drew a lock of it through his
fingers, put it to his nose, and inhaled deeply. “Like
cherries,” he said. “Did you know that?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. His hand was
still at her waist, and now he turned her to face him,
turned her into his arms. It was a small movement
really. She was halfway there already. “You’re a beau-
tiful woman, Raeven. Desirable. But I’m sure many
men have told you so.”
She nodded. It didn’t feel like arrogance to admit
as much to him.
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“I’ve known a lot of beautiful women.”
She raised her eyebrows. “If you’re trying to seduce
me, you’re sailing in the wrong direction.”
He laughed. She loved how he was always laughing.
He did it so lustily, the sound starting in his chest and
seeming to reverberate throughout his body. He
wrapped a strand of her hair about his finger until she
bent her face close to his. “Give me a moment. Now
what was I saying?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve known many beau-
tiful women…”
“Ah, yes.”
She could feel his breath on her face. He’d been
drinking wine again. She could smell its sweetness.
“But I was going to add—before I was interrupted—
I’ve known very few women who impressed me. You
impress me.” His lips were so close to hers, his last
words had their mouths brushing together. “When I
saw you at that cannon…”
She wasn’t certain if he was speaking to her or
kissing her. She only knew she was trembling. She
wasn’t cold. Could one tremble from desire?
“When I saw you, I had half a mind to grab you
and take you right there.” His hand moved down
from her waist and cupped her bottom. She could
feel its warmth, its sureness in the way he pulled her
body closer to his.
“No, you didn’t,” she whispered. “I saw you. Like
any good captain, you were focused on the battle with
a single-minded intensity.”
He looked into her eyes, and she saw wonder there.
“Now it’s my turn to ask. Are you trying to seduce me?”
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Yes. “No. I recognize leadership when I see it. You
had no more thought of bedding me at that moment
than you did of eating a roast of mutton.”
“Perhaps that’s true,” he finally conceded. “But the
thought came to me shortly thereafter.”
He lowered his lips to her ear, nuzzled it enticingly.
She began to tremble more violently.
“Raeven, I want you,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted
you from the moment I pulled that ugly cap off your
head in the tavern in Brest. I want you more now—
more than I think I have ever wanted any woman. But
if you say no, I’ll leave you in peace.”
She drew back, gazed into his eyes. There was
passion in their depths, but behind it was also control.
He meant what he said. This was her last chance.
A small part of her still resisted him, the part of her
still loyal to Timothy. Another part of her yielded to…
whatever it was between them. She’d wanted Bastien
the first time she laid eyes on him. Somehow she’d
known, even in her haze of rage, he could give her
pleasure no other man ever had.
She opened her mouth to tell him to take her, but
the words would not come. There had been only
one other man: Timothy. How could she betray
his memory by giving her body to this pirate, to
Timothy’s murderer?
“I see the war within you,” Bastien said. At some
point in her most private thoughts, he’d become
Bastien to her. “Which side is winning?”
“Yours,” she said. “But I feel disloyal and… and
wanton.”
He grinned, and she felt
as though she should be
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angry he was all but laughing at her. But all she could
think of was his smile. It was infectious.
“Well, far be it from me to discourage any wanton-
ness on your part, but I’ve always thought life was for
the living. We can’t guess what someone who’s gone
from us would want. I like to think your fiancé would
want you to be happy. But then you knew him, and
I didn’t.”
“Would you want me to be happy if our positions
were reversed? Say you had been my fiancé and
Timothy killed you. Would you want me to share
his bed?”
He laughed. “Merde. You have me there. I’d want
you to kill him.” He touched her nose with a finger
then kissed that same spot with his lips. “But there’s no
reason you can’t bed me and then kill me.”
She shook her head. “You know I’m never going
to kill you.”
“I know.” He kissed her lightly. “I’ve known it
all along, but I didn’t think you’d realized it yet.” He
kissed her again, and she found her lips, her body,
responding without even meaning to.
“What else do you know?” she whispered, wrap-
ping her arms about him and digging her hands into
his thick hair.
“You’re going to make love to me.”
“Have I realized that yet?”
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the
berth. “I think you might have an inkling.”
Her head was spinning, and she didn’t know if it
was because she had forgotten to eat or because he’d
scooped her up so quickly. She suspected it was a bit
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of both and also because her heart was pounding in
her chest. He put her down gently, keeping his hand
behind her head, so as soon as she touched the pillow,
his mouth was on hers and his body was pressed
against hers.
She felt herself responding immediately to his
warmth, to his touch, to everything he was she
shouldn’t want.
Pirate. Rogue. Seducer.
She pulled him hard against her, buried her face
against his neck and licked the swath of bronze skin
she’d been eyeing earlier. She could feel his strong
muscles and taste sea salt and something indefinable
but definitely him, something definitely masculine.
He made a sound low in his throat then pulled
