Romancing the Pirate 01.5 - Beneath The Water's Edge

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “Virgin? No, Captain. Just we hadn’t many occasions to be intimate.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “A fortnight before we set sail.”

  ’Twas plenty of time to be intimate with a newly wed wife. This Dobie chap was a dolt.

  “Certainly you must see what a flagrant position you have put me in. Are you married, Captain Blackthorn?”

  Ah, trying to postpone the inevitable with useless prattle. “Circumstances of my occupation have kept me from the betrothal post.” That and losing the woman he once loved to a wrongful accusation. All those promises of a wealth, status, and family flew away on a blustery wind after his discharge from the Royal Navy. He was innocent and she refused to stand by him. Staring down her nose at him, she turned him away and never looked back.

  He was in no mood to blemish the evening with buried transgressions. “As long as you’re staying in my cabin, you’ll need to rid yourself of your modesty. You’re bound to see me unclothed at some point.”

  “You are a rake, plain and true.”

  If she only knew how much her delightful, pouty scowl spurned him on. She was a spitfire under that propriety. He’d like to see more of that side of her. “My trousers, Elyssa.”

  She tipped her chin up and straightened her back. “Very well, Captain Blackthorn.” Defiance leavened her tone. And he liked it.

  She dove headlong into the task, deftly loosening the laces. Not breaking eye contact, she quipped, “Would you like for me to pull them off, too?”

  “But of course.”

  Her nostrils flared and her jaw clenched. What sport to anger her. He was having a damned good time.

  In one brisk swoop, Elyssa yanked his breeches down. She gasped as he sprang free, eye to eye, he was completely erect. And why not? He’d been aroused by her the moment she wrapped those sweet lips around her first forkful of meat and grew steadily stiff since.

  Elyssa popped up, redder than a rose in full bloom.

  “There now. ’Twasn’t so terrible, was it?”

  “’Twas worse.” She rubbed her hands quickly up and down the front of her skirt in a fit of nerves.

  He chuckled. “So you say, but I think you quite enjoy seeing me naked.”

  “Pardon me if I vehemently disagree.”

  She could disagree till the sea dried up, but he knew better. He saw the unmistakable glint of lust in her eyes. Granted it had been brief. All the same it was definitely there.

  “Enough ogling, lass.”

  Her mouth fell open in disbelief.

  “I’m ready for my bath.”

  She huffed, snatching up the rag she had used on herself the night before. He stepped into the shallow basin and sat down. The warm water relieved the stress cramped in his lower back. His muscles reminded him just how long ago his last relaxing bath had been. Since Kingston, with a voracious, bawdy doxy named Frannie. Blackthorn doubted Elyssa would show him the same unchaste ministrations as Frannie. Nevertheless, anticipation bubbled inside his chest as she knelt beside him and lathered a chip of soap in the wet rag.

  He was a wicked man, for sure.

  Elyssa made hasty work with the rough, knotty rag scrubbing him clean. She scoured over his shoulders and back with a little too much force. Any harder and she’d scourge his flesh right off. Scents of floral perfume assailed his nose. Criminy. The lass used the fragrant soap of the Frenchwoman. She’d have him smelling like a foppish milksop. Devilish girl.

  She made her way around to his collarbone, rubbing him from his neck down. He relished the feel of her soft hands kneading into his muscles rougher than necessary. Damn, what would those hands feel like digging into his back as he took her. He’d best rid himself of lewd thoughts. You can’t sully the pawn, Bran. He grunted at the thought.

  She looked up and he held her in his gaze. Such a pretty face. For a moment, she paused. The heat from her hand seeped through the cloth. A mixture of innocence and temerity whirled within her eyes. He could wander around those brown beauties for hours. Why, he couldn’t fathom. Must be because he hadn’t been in port in two moons. Aye, he missed the touch of a woman, ’twas all.

  Her eyelids flickered, a wee smile graced her sweet lips, and she resumed scrubbing, slower, without trying to peel away layers of skin.

  Lathering up the rag again, the bar of soap slipped and plopped into the water. It came to a rest between his legs. Elyssa let out an adorable yip. Bless him, but this couldn’t get any better. He raised an eyebrow at her expectantly. Dare she reach for it? She wouldn’t, that he knew. But a man could wish.

  Quite by surprise, her hand zipped into the water. Tremors raced across his inner thighs with the skim of her fingers. Blimey! His reaction to her brief touch startled him. Damn, he hadn’t been that long without a woman’s touch.

  Poor chit. He didn’t think it possible she could turn redder, but she did.

  He smirked. “I could have gotten that for you.”

  She smacked the rag to his chest. Soapy water splattered into his face. “Not without suggestive quibble.” She returned to scrubbing his flesh.

  “By the way you bite your bottom lip when you look at me, I’d say you are not offended in the least. I’d say you are as attracted to me as I am to you.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She stroked the cloth over his chest, the rag scraping over his nipples. With her free hand, she rubbed the lather in circles. He daresay the lass was enjoying herself. The devil knows Blackthorn was. Her slippery fingers gliding over his torso and down his abdomen drove him mad.

  Never once did she venture below the water line. Didn’t matter. The lass had already bewitched him.

  He cupped her chin and seized her lips. Branding her, pressing into her mouth. Elyssa didn’t recoil. No, instead she returned his kiss. For that, he lingered. By thunder what the hell had come over him? Reluctantly, he released her. She tilted her head away, making a go of chewing her lip off.

  “Aye. You cannot deny it.” He grabbed her chin again and forced her to look at him. “You cannot deny me.” Clouds of desire in her gaze were blown away with the drop of his last word.

  “Deny you, I will.” She slapped away his hand. “You’d have me weak and take advantage of my position.”

  “I’ve no use for a feeble poppet. And you, dear girl, are not weak.” Anger crept from the crevices of his good temper. She’d made him hard as a shipboard’s iron cannon with her coy smile and deft hands. And, by saints, her mouth! “I’ve yet to take what is rightfully mine under the circumstances.” My bollocks are about to pop off and she claims I’m taking advantage of her. Bah! “But I think I’ll start now.”

  Blackthorn grabbed the back of her head and crushed his mouth to hers. She struggled, fought for purchase by pushing against his chest. Her wet hands simply slipped off. Stings to his flesh as she slapped his shoulders and face did nothing to dull the ire and passion surging through him. He mauled and fed upon her delicious lips. Only when she ceased fighting him did the fire within him cool to a simmer.

  He wasn’t done. Not yet. Her threaded his hand in her hair and gently yanked her head back, exposing the creamy pillar of her neck. He latched on with one lascivious kiss. So soft, so savory.

  A hushed cry broke his randy haze.

  He growled into her flesh. “What have you done?” He wasn’t sure if he spoke to her or to himself.

  His grip on her hair loosened and she fell away. Fear and hurt registered across her visage, even as she licked her lips.

  Anger domineered his mind. Not at the lass, but at himself. He slipped down below the water. He’d never forced a woman to kiss him before. Throes of passion were one thing, but handling her roughly was inexcusable. ’Twas her fault. He lost himself. He must regain control.

  Taking the soap, he finished bathing, scrubbing in all the places she wouldn’t dare go, cleansing his hair and body as if he could wash away the last few moments. He stood and stepped out of the basin, not caring about de
cency in her presence. Water fled from his body in torrents, leaving puddles in his wake as he crossed the floor to retrieve a towel from his locker.

  Elyssa, eyes downcast whilst he tugged on his breeches, stood on the opposite side of the cabin. Chewing her bottom lip. What did that mean? Damn but if he couldn’t read her. She cast some kind of spell upon him. He wanted her. He wanted her badly, and he couldn’t trust himself around her. He couldn’t chance tainting a ransom for her. A man of Samuel Montgomery’s status would not have a defiled girl mar his good name. He’d cast her out giving no claim or wealth on her behalf.

  Hell’s fury, if she wasn’t worth the chance.

  He had to remind himself she’d just lost her husband. Why did he think she’d readily receive him? Because he was more of a man than her late dolt of a husband. Nay—he couldn’t let jealous, unfounded reasoning muddle his mind.

  “I won’t apologize, not for kissing you.”

  “Nor will I.”

  Puzzled, he asked, “For?”

  She pointed to his neck. “Scratching you.”

  Blackthorn reached up and felt the slashes on his throat made by her fingernails. He hadn’t noticed them before, but now the gashes stung.

  He smirked, decidedly liking the burn. A war wound in a battle hinged in an uneasy truce. In three strides, he stood a breath away from her. He put a finger to her chin and tipped her face up to meet his stare. “You’d do well not to deny me.”

  “Threaten and punish me as you see fit, Captain Blackthorn.” She spoke as if merely imparting facts. No malice, no fear. As if the conversation was over a spot of tea. “I will grant you all you desire but those of the flesh. Not without a fight.”

  Oh, what a conquest the lass would be. Should he pursue the quarry. Which he would not. Bewitching as she was. With her magical hands, her heaving bosom, her parted, swollen lips. Shit! No, he could not trust himself around her.

  “Duly noted.” He didn’t bother with the laces of his trousers. He needed to get away. Now. He scooped up his tunic and retreated.

  CHAPTER 5

  Elyssa set aside yet another mended pair of breeches and stretched her cramped fingers. Seems the men on this ship were in a desperate need of a haberdasher. Their clothing was threadbare at best. She didn’t mind the task. Sewing kept her busy. Being busy kept her from thinking about him.

  If she hadn’t lost all sense of time, it’d been four days since Captain Blackthorn had left her in a state of wanton decadence. She had cursed him for it, too, and cursed herself for not being as offended or disgusted by his indecency. Quite the contrary. To see him in his glory, by God, she should be struck down, for he was magnificent. Elyssa was beside herself, not knowing how to handle bathing a formidable, dangerous pirate. She pretended desperately not to focus on the planes and ripples of his muscles under her hands, how smooth and divine he felt. Did he notice she had become distracted, not scrubbing but stroking his taut body instead?

  And his kiss! His kiss alone melted her insides. Never had she been kissed with such passion. She was completely governable, unable to make one coherent thought. Not until he spoke of denial and bullied her with threats. If there was anything she’d learned since becoming a seaman, it was not to let anyone bully her. The weak were targets for trouble. A man must hold his own and prove himself, lest he become a victim of cruel torment. Elyssa did her best balancing inconspicuousness and fortitude among the Maraville men. Even in the face of consequence, she would do the same with the captain.

  But, heavens, that second kiss. Of course she fought him. What else could she have done? He damn near attacked her. At first, she had been frightened. Afraid he would violate her. It didn’t take her long to understand just how possessive his rough kiss had been. At least that had been what she thought. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Four days.

  He hadn’t been back in his cabin at all. She wished he’d return—if only for another bath. She may well perish waiting. Nay, she was weary of waiting. She’d see the captain one way or another.

  A knock at the door drew her from visions of a naked, libidinous pirate.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Montgomery.”

  “Good afternoon, Mister Kipp.”

  Mister Kipp had been her only human contact since the captain left her to wither away. No longer embarrassed around the first mate, Kipp proved to be quite the conversationalist. He was rough around the edges, but he told fascinating stories and wonderful jokes.

  Kipp dropped an armload of woolen stockings at her feet. “More mendin’,” he said.

  “Criminy, Kipp. Why don’t you fellows chase down a merchant ship with clothing? You’re pirates, for pity’s sake.” She winked at him.

  “Ain’t nothin’ out here but a bunch of Frenchies. The boys would rather have their toenails ripped off ’fore they dress like a fop.”

  “You’re terrible.” She giggled.

  “Aye. That I be.”

  “Kipp, will you do me a favor?”

  “Now, lass. You know I can’t talk to ya ’bout where we’re goin’. And I already got a tongue lashin’ from the capt’n fer speakin’ to yer friend, Mac.”

  “I know. I’m sorry for that. But, it’s just—” Elyssa couldn’t believe what she was about to ask. Being cooped up in this cabin had made her delirious. “I’d like to speak with the captain.”

  “Not sure he be wantin’ to see ya, lass.”

  She had inquired more than once about Captain Blackthorn. Kipp remained tight-lipped, saying ’twasn’t his place to discuss the captain in personal matters. He did let it slip that the captain had been unusually cross-tempered, snapping at his crew like a termagant old maid.

  “I understand.” Well, no, she didn’t understand. She didn’t have any idea why he had shunned her like an infectious plague. “He might be interested to know about his log book.”

  “Oh no, Mrs. Montgomery, you didn’t.” Kipp grimaced, his brow crimped in worry. He locked his hands behind his neck and shook his head. “By God, lass, what were ya thinkin’?”

  Elyssa’s stomach suddenly churned with her salted pork breakfast and a lump of sickness that she had made a terrible mistake. She pressed on regardless, passing a glance to the chamber pot. “I think he’ll be pleased with what I found.”

  “Why don’t I just forget ya told me this,” Kipp said. “Aye, ya said nothin’ ’bout the Capt’n’s books.”

  She needed him to deliver the message before she changed her mind. “Please, Kipp. Just tell him I wish to discuss his ledger.”

  “I warn ya, lass. He’ll be hoppin’ mad. I’d keep the table between you and him, I would.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  ’Twas good advice. Elyssa planted herself behind the desk and anxiously waited for Captain Blackthorn. The minutes ticked off. She was beginning to think Kipp didn’t relay the message.

  She had sunk into his chair just as the door crashed open. Elyssa couldn’t get to her feet fast enough and banged her knee against the table.

  “You are a brave little chit.” He spat out the words and kicked the door shut. Malice roiled from him, filling the room thick enough she could breathe it.

  “I—”

  “If not stupid.”

  He towered at the edge of the desk, stalking around to reach her. She distanced herself by moving around the table with each step he took. “But—”

  “Cross me, will you?”

  “No.” Thank God for the desk. If she survived Captain Blackthorn’s wrath, she would thank Kipp for the solid counsel. “Listen—

  “I will not listen to a no-good, prying bit of fluff.”

  Prying? Bit of fluff? How dare he! Anger flushed over her. “What would you have me do, Captain? You’ve left me to my own devices in here for four days. Four days!”

  “You’ve no right nosing in my desk.”

  “I’d been searching for paper to write my father a letter. Humph. And you thought I’d sit here like a good little girl and mend stockings all day?
Maybe you are the stupid one.” Uh-oh. The words tumbled out before she could stop herself.

  He was too fast. In a blink, he had her by her arms. His fingers dug deep. Fire burned in his darkening eyes. “A spiteful tongue can be removed.”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  The curl of his lip twitched, his frown unfastened one stitch. Though his grip slackened, he did not let her go. She took the brief respite to her favor.

  “I’m not used to spending so much time alone. And though it is a paltry excuse, my curiosity got the better of me.”

  “Which has gotten you into dire straits.”

  “Please. If you’d just let me show you what I’ve found.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you are terrible at arithmetic.”

  His grip tightened once again and he pulled her close to his scowling face. “First you trespass upon me, then you pry into my business, and now you are insulting me. I’ll not suffer a moment more from the likes of you.”

  “Best I point out this flaw now so as to protect your profits later. You are also miscalculating your cargo’s worth. And the men you’re doing business with know it.”

  His pupils widened as his gaze bore into hers. She hadn’t meant to goad the beast. But she didn’t entirely regret it. She should be fearful of him. Instead, his ire, his harsh handling excited her. Reckless, that was what she was.

  “If you release me, I can show you how much more profit you can make on the cargo in your hold.”

  He tilted his head suspiciously. “Why would I believe this?”

  “You forget I am a shipper’s daughter. I managed my father’s books for years. And I can double your revenue.”

  “Is that so?”

  That got his attention. He let go of one arm, but kept his grip tight on the other. She suspected he would not let her forget who controlled her. Pulling her back behind the desk, he forced her to sit. The captain opened a drawer, retrieved his logbook, and flipped to the page of his last entries.

  “Show me.”

  Elyssa explained that the cost of some goods had increased, in part due to the rise in cargos being lost to pirates. His pert chuckle to her statement died within the irony. He’d been away from port long enough his figures were not accurate with the rapidly changing market. The captain bent over her shoulder to get a better look at the book. His breath landed upon her shoulder sending warm chills along her neck, down to her breasts, and beyond. Her head spun with his musky scent. She willed herself to concentrate on her finger sliding down the crisp page of his logbook.