She stayed and watched for a while, before emerging farther down the beach, her pistol at her waist, no doubt loaded. Like him, she probably only had one ball, which made his useless and hers unspent. Any sudden movements and she would draw. He doubted she would shoot him, but he wouldn't put it past her to do it by mistake.
"It seems whenever I have food, you appear," he said, sitting back on the log he'd moved for his own comfort. He placed his arm out along the log and looked as relaxed as he could. She stood uncertain, evaluating him. She'd retrieved her boots during the day and clearly she was hungry, her eyes shifting between the roasting pig and him. "What have you got to trade this time?"
"Nothing," she said.
"I'm sure you can think of something."
She stood for a moment shooting daggers at him and he wondered if she really was considering robbing him. It would be an impressively bad idea. They would have another of their chases. In the dark this time. He half wouldn't mind. His gaze wandered over her shape. Comely legs, her waist cinched, with the pistol handle coming out of the top of her breeches, her sword at her side.
"I'll let you go into the cave first," she finally said.
He looked unimpressed, hoping for more of an exploratory concession, but knew she would never offer that, even if curiosity dogged her. She was not going to commit to something she couldn't cut and run from. "Fine," he said. There was little point haggling over concessions, when he knew he wasn't going to let her starve. "It isn't ready yet."
Looking awkward for a moment, she moved closer and sat down, her legs tucked under her. The light from the fire danced over her features, making her look golden. His fingers itched to touch her. He remembered how soft her skin was. "You have Guildford's eyes."
"So I am told," she said curtly.
"Not a happy reunion?"
"He is a despicable man."
Christian had to concede. There was nothing soft and lovable about the man. Hardly an ideal father figure. "He is a hard man."
"All men here are hard."
"Even your Lieutenant Havencourt?"
"He isn't my lieutenant."
"Really? What is wrong with the man?"
"Nothing is wrong with him," she said. She defended him, Christian noted.
"I was speaking rhetorically."
"Big words for a pirate."
"Big boots to fill for a little girl."
He sat forward again and shifted the pig around, grabbed some more wood to lay on the fire. The girl watched his actions.
"I'm not a little girl," she said when he sat back again.
"Hardly a woman." He watched as her mouth formed into a tight line.
"Why are you so obsessed with my chastity?"
He smiled. "Because it's there and you protect it."
"Maybe because you make out that losing it to you would be the worst possible outcome."
"I didn't say you protected it with anything close to rationality."
She blushed deeply and looked away. Her lips parted slightly and he felt a rush of heat flaring through him, but knew that he couldn't do anything about it. With her, she needed to initiate when she was ready and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. She rejected him when he pressed her, and it had served quite a blow to him. Then there was the actual blow. Anytime he got close to her, she pushed him away.
He hadn't really been in this position before, wanting someone so guarded against him. He didn't quite know what to do, but here she was, sparring with him again. This whole challenge had been more about them sparring than anything else, but then she always seemed to return to him, like now. She didn't have to sit here, verbally tussling with him, but she was.
Chapter 27:
* * *
Pressing her hand down on her stomach, she tried to suppress the hunger. The roasting pig smelled so incredibly delicious, she could hardly focus. Then there was Christian, whose eyes watched her with equal hunger. Shivers of dread and tension tingled down her spine. Dread might not be the most apt description, but her whole body felt on edge, making her seem clumsy and awkward.
He moved so smoothly, completely assured in what he did when he tended to their roasting meal. She watched his hands and fingers as he rotated the spear.
Please be ready soon, she pleaded silently. "You've done this before."
"Done what?"
"Roasted a pig."
"I am fond of eating and do so whenever I can." He softened a bit. "Sometimes I go hunting with my crew on an island, and roast a pig like this, drink rum and just have a good evening. There are quite a few with feral pigs."
"You like being a pirate."
"I like the life it affords me."
"Aren't you worried they will hang you one day?"
"They probably will, but the life I lead here is better than any honest life I could have in Europe."
"Genoa," she stated.
"Yes. There is little for me in Europe and the kind of work I'd be given back there, I will probably have a longer life here, even if I end up in the gallows."
Clara couldn't imagine him swinging and found the idea repulsive. He was too… beautiful to be destroyed such. Beautiful wasn't the right word, but she couldn't think of another. He was handsome, but it was more than that. He was the embodiment of life—virile and strong, knowing exactly what he wanted. And part of what he wanted was her. She looked away again, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks. He'd said as much, regretted that she had given him the clue. While she wanted to think he was just toying with her, somehow she suspected he'd spoken the truth. He'd wanted her over the clue, which was the single-minded focus of his existence at the moment. She didn't know how to react to that—someone like him, with all his strength and assurance, wanted her.
He shifted again and she watched him, noting she didn't react at all with fear. Against all possible rationality, she trusted him. He was her competitor. How did that make sense? Maybe because throughout all their dealings—well, most of them—when it came down to it, it was intimacy he sought, not to subdue her. Initially she thought he was just trying to intimidate her, but this afternoon, she didn't think he had been lying when he’d said he’d hoped she'd chosen the intimacy over giving him the clue. But then what kind of person places such a choice on someone, she told herself, trying to muster her anger.
The worst thing he'd actually done to her was kiss her. Heat flared down in her belly thinking of the kiss on the other side of the island. It had been so sensual, so full of promise.
"Here," he said, holding his hand out to her, a piece of meat within it. She hadn't even noticed him starting to carve, had been too busy thinking of their recent dealings. Her hunger surged forward and she took a bite. It was hot, but she didn't care, and it was utterly delicious, succulent and tender. She finished the piece he'd given her and waited for more.
"There is plenty. No need to rush." She watched as he ate a piece, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor. A flare of tension stole through her, and it had nothing to do with fear or dread, more of anticipation. He was on his knees, his legs parted in the sand as he savored the meal he'd created. Her eyes roamed down his sides and the narrow, tight hips that had been so intimately close to hers earlier that day. Embarrassment crept up her skin, but she couldn't stop looking.
She needed to get a grip on herself. She was grateful for the meal he provided, but she needed to get a handle on the direction of her thoughts. Yes, he was attractive, devastatingly so, but that did not mean she had to lose control of her faculties.
He handed her another piece and his fingers were warm as they touched hers, as well as causing an uncomfortable feeling surging up her arm. He alternately cut a piece for her and a piece for him, until she was completely sated, unable to take any more. It felt like it had been days since she'd had a proper meal, and now her hunger was appeased.
She watched as he ate some more. There was enough left over to feed them tomorrow and probably the day after. Who knew how many days they
would be here? Suddenly she wasn't sure she minded. For a while it seemed like this challenge would never end, but now—they were probably coming to the end of it. One of them would win and this dynamic they had developed between them would end. "What will you do if you lose the challenge?"
"I won't."
"But say you did. What would you do?"
"I won't."
"You're really not much for contingency planning, are you?"
He looked at her, then sighed. "I would sail to find some bounty somewhere. Plot some way of unseating you."
"You would not give up?"
"Never entirely. I would bide my time."
"For what?"
"I don't know. Are you strong enough to run Tortuga Bay? Your father does so with an iron fist that keeps everyone in line—by means of fear."
The familiar concern flashed through her mind. Was she enough? Was she strong enough—ruthless enough? "They had continually told me I'm not strong enough to even start this challenge and I've proven them wrong every step of the way."
He considered her for a moment, but didn't argue, which she appreciated. Like him, she had nothing to go back to, but without winning this challenge, she had nothing to stay for either. She wasn't sure she would do what he did, chase down ships and board them. There wasn't much else to do in these parts, other than piracy or whoring. Neither of them sat well with her. There had to be some place in the world for her. She would find it if she had to. "Would you do this even if you had a choice?"
The light of the fire reflected in his eyes and he nodded. "There is nothing in this life that doesn't appeal to me."
"You're stealing."
"From a gravely corrupt system. It bothers my conscience not a bit."
"Do you have a conscience?"
"Barely," he smiled, flashing his white teeth. It really was a handsome smile, conveying more than a hint of wickedness. She could imagine the sisters from the convent, “You stay away from that man”, they would say. “He is the worst sort—a scoundrel, a seducer. The most un-Christian of men.” Sadly, none of those things seemed to repulse her at the moment—and he wanted her.
Suddenly she felt very conscious of herself, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Here they were, their hunger sated and sitting in the darkness, the fire providing the only light in a vast expanse of darkness. It felt like it was the only thing that existed in the world. There was no noise other than the drone of the waves, as if the whole world had fallen away.
Clara shook herself to get rid of the strange notion. It was too scary to think there was nothing else, even if it felt that way.
"Did you know you were Guildford's daughter?"
"No. If the sisters knew, they never told me. I thought I was an orphan. Never in a thousand years would I have thought my father was a pirate."
"What did you think?"
She smiled. "It's silly really." He waited for her to continue. "In my mind, I hoped my parents were a nice couple, but something tragic had happened. I imagined a carriage accident. I had concocted such an elaborate story around that. I even had some notion in my mind what they looked like. My father was handsome and righteous, and my mother was beautiful, and they loved each other and me." He lay down on his side and kept quiet until the silence drove her on. "So very far from the truth where my father is a cold-hearted bastard, who hated my mother and has complete disregard for his own child."
"Not completely. He did retrieve you for this challenge. For a man like Guildford, that is a concession."
"Including me in a challenge I have absolutely no skills for."
"Still, you seem to have done well for yourself."
"Out of sheer spite," she said and he laughed, a lilting and deep sound. Clara smiled, realizing how ridiculous it all sounded. Looking down at the sand, she wondered yet again if she was doing the right thing being here. Maybe she should have just turned around and gone home on the next ship, but she couldn't have lived with the impressions she would have made of herself.
Sighing deeply, she dismissed the heavy thoughts from her mind. She was tired of feeling unworthy all the time. She had proved she wasn't. She was here in the last leg of the last challenge and in the running for winning the whole of Tortuga Bay, and doing so starting without a single one of the necessary skills. It was quite a feat and she needed to recognize that.
She swallowed and her mouth felt dry. "Have you any water?"
"There is a stream about forty yards in," he said, pointing into the jungle.
She looked over into the blackness and groaned, not wanting to tackle her way through dense vegetation in the darkness.
"Come," he said, getting up. "Your head will ache tomorrow if you don't drink." He walked toward the tree-line and Clara got up, following him. Yes, Clara, follow the big, scary pirate into the dark. But then, the big, scary pirate wasn't in reality any more threat in the dark than he was by the soft light of a fire.
She ran to catch up with him, somehow feeling more secure in his company as he waded through the vegetation, until they reached a small fresh water stream. The moon light intermittently shone through the canopy. She could see it now that they were away from the fire and her eyes were growing accustomed to the dark. He bent down and scooped water up, bringing it to his mouth to drink. This island really did provide everything they needed, didn't it?
Clara crouched down and did the same, taking the cool, sweet water, letting it parch her thirst. Taking her fill, she stood, but tripped, sliding down into the water. She didn't quite fall over, but reached out and his hand was there to steady her.
"Careful," he said, his voice sounding deep and disembodied in the dark.
"No harm done." She let him pull her up onto the stream's bank. Suddenly, she had stepped up close to him, closer than she'd been all night. Mere inches away, really. He didn't move and neither did she, but something shifted. She felt like she should say something, but nothing came out. He hadn't let go of her hand and there was a strange current between them that killed every word in her throat.
He tugged her hand, bringing it behind him, pulling her forward. She was about to object when she realized he was reaching down for her. Her breath stopped, and it felt as if her heart did too, when his lips lightly brushed hers. If he could see her now, a deep blush burned up her cheeks.
Not stopping, he kissed her again, lightly, a mere touch of his lips. It was utterly sweet, sending delicious sensations down her spine. She hadn't known kisses could be so light. His other kisses had been more forthright, taking as opposed to asking. He sighed and stepped closer, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek as he kissed her again.
She really should be objecting, but she couldn't bring herself to, being too curious and too mesmerized by these feather kisses. The next kiss was a bit firmer, pressing his lips to hers. His scent filled her nose and the taste of him lingered on her tongue. It was heady and complex, and she just couldn't describe it. It certainly wasn't unpleasant.
His lips shifted over hers, like he was savoring her. Together with his chest that pressed to hers, a riot of sensation was stirring in her body, coiling down deep in her stomach.
A hand moved down along her neck, drawing her closer. She couldn't stop, couldn't pull away. It was too compelling. The tip of his tongue ran across the seam of her lips and she shivered with the hot deliciousness it stirred in her. Tentatively, she parted her lips and his tongue snuck in. She felt like she was being consumed and she couldn't muster an objection. The predator was bearing down on her and she was welcoming it.
His hand shifted over her shoulder and down around her, clasping her to him. She felt the whole length of him against her, her breasts pressed to his firm body. Shifting his head, he pushed deeper into her mouth, his tongue stroking hers. It was the most decadent, heady thing she'd ever experienced.
Pulling back, she felt his breath on her lips, heavy and sweet. She didn't want him to stop. Warm lips moved down her cheek to her neck, sending spears of unn
erving sensations swirling down her body.
Whatever she imagined, it wasn't like this. This was… She couldn't describe it. It was compelling. His deep groan reverberated along her skin, which felt like it was on fire. His hands moved lower and pressed their hips together, and she felt the anatomy the girls at the convent had spent many hours in the dark discussing.
Tension wound unbearably tight inside her. She didn't mind. In fact, she felt driven to know where this led. He reached for the tie that laced up her shirt and started to draw it out. Clara blinked and fear started to assert itself, but he kissed her again, distracting her from what she was agreeing to. Those kisses turned her head, made her forget everything, and even seek for him to see her.
His hand traveled into her open shirt and cupped her breast. Before him, no one had ever touched her such, her nipples tightening painfully as his thumbs stroked across the sensitive nubs, sending shooting heat down into her belly. The heat was uncomfortable and she felt like she needed to move to escape it, but moving only made it flare more fiercely, and she couldn't stop.
Stepping back, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing all of his chest and the smooth skin she had admired against her own will. "Touch me," he said, his voice gravelly and strained.
Tentatively, her hand moved up his arm and across to his side. His skin was warm and she felt the muscles move underneath. Energy ran up her arm, compelling her to keep going. He kissed her neck and her eyes swam closed with the stirring storm of sensations. There was more than this, she knew—he came inside her. She couldn't quite imagine, but wondered if that was even better than this. How could anything be better than this? She hadn't even known her body could react like this.
His arms wound around her back and he pulled her firmly to him, pressing all of her to him. Moving her, he laid her down on the ground and positioned himself above her. She felt the weight of him and he kissed her again, pressing his mouth to hers, mesmerizing her with deliciousness, his tongue seeking deep into her mouth again.
A Pirate's Ruse Page 16
