by Sarah Monzon
In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
Sigh. It didn’t matter that she’d read Pride and Prejudice a thousand times, those words would forever be swoon worthy. Okay, so Mr. Darcy hadn’t been the most eloquent of men in his first proposal to Elizabeth Bennett, but anyone could see how much he loved her. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, when he struggled against the feelings he had…
Whoa. Better stop that gravy train before it left the station. Any second she’d start to see similarities between herself and Austen’s timeless characters. Like how first impressions could color one’s view of a person. Or how feelings for a specific person could develop whether one willed them to or not. Chugga-chugga-no-no.
Unlike Darcy, her struggle would not be in vain. She would suppress her feelings. Most keenly the feeling of disappointment that she still hadn’t heard from Trent. Even her sense of vindication couldn’t lift her spirit. Then of course there was the humiliation that she had thrown herself into his arms under the pier. She’d let the smooth talking of an obvious womanizer get to her.
She turned the page in her book and resumed reading—the best way to escape reality for a few precious moments.
A shadow cast over the page of her book, darkening the words of Elizabeth’s retort. A regency version of a modern tell-off, in Summer’s opinion. The shadow didn’t continue on but stayed in place. Summer rolled to her side and looked up, her hand a visor over her eyes.
Trent. Her stomach rolled like a crashing wave. What was he doing here? A week of silence after a shared kiss and a promise that he wasn’t what she thought. Well, he had turned out to be exactly what she’d thought, hadn’t he. If only she could feel triumphant. She should be jumping up and shouting “I told you so” in his face. Instead she found herself being pulled in by the undertow of his presence.
She pressed her lips into a thin line. No way was she going to let him affect her again. She’d had a hiccup in her mental faculties when she’d kissed him, but now she was in control. They’d be civil, possibly even friends, but she couldn’t trust him with her heart to be any more than that.
She stared up at him, carefully wiping away any expression from her face. “I’m beginning to think you don’t own a phone.”
“The bill I get every month from my cell provider would beg to differ.” He pointed to her towel. “Mind if I sit?”
Her gaze flicked to where he pointed. An electric current shot through her body, and her stomach rippled with awareness. She needed to keep a safe distance—more than a measly three inches. The thin material of her bathing suit cover balled in her hand as she sat up. Shoving her arms through holes, she scooted to the far side of the towel and waved her hand at the other end.
Trent sat in the middle. Right next to her. The strong scent of his soap filled her nostrils and made her squeeze her eyes shut tight instead of rolling them into the back of her head from the deliciousness. But, man! He smelled so good.
Get it together.
She opened her eyes and stared…at his boots? Seriously? Who wore clunky black biker boots on the beach? Her gaze traveled up to his signature ripped jeans and V-neck T-shirt. Up to his lopsided grin and dangerously blue eyes. Her pulse quickened. She tore her gaze away, looking out across the ocean to the horizon. Better get her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm, or he’d never believe she was indifferent to him. And she had to be. For her sake.
With a deep breath she turned back toward him. “Why are you here? Wait, better yet, how did you know I was here?”
He propped his hands behind him at an angle to support his weight as he leaned back, his arm brushing and resting against hers. She sucked in a breath but refused to move away. It was all a part of the game. Only this time she wouldn’t play along.
“I’m a treasure hunter, remember?” He winked. “It’s my job to find precious things.”
A line. He’d used a line on her. Her nostrils flared as anger boiled in the pit of her stomach. Sure, he’d been charming before. He’d flirted and smiled past her defenses, but he’d never made her feel cheap. She sniffed. Precious indeed. As precious as all the other women he’d used lines on to pick up in the past. The backs of her eyes burned.
She jumped to her feet and ripped off her suit cover once more. Glaring down into Trent’s stunned face, she cut her hand through the air. “You know what? I don’t care why you’re here. Next time you want to talk to me, pick up your phone and call. That’s what you pay for, after all, isn’t it?”
Dropping the light fabric, she turned on her heal and marched to the water. When she was in to her knees, she shallow-dove beneath the surface and let the water wash over her.
***
Trent flinched. So that hadn’t gone well at all. He’d barely been able to get three sentences across before she’d stormed off. Hadn’t even had the opportunity to invite her to the family picnic yet. What had he said that she’d found so offensive? He searched his mind and replayed the conversation but came up empty. Shrugging his shoulders, he shook his head. Even with all his experience with women, he still didn’t understand them.
Summer’s head resurfaced, the sun glinting off strands of her red hair. His muscles began to relax, and he grinned. She was all spit and fire, hypnotizing him like a pyromaniac to a flame. One thing he knew for sure—there was definite heat between them.
He sat up, bent his knees, and leaned his chest against his thigh, his fingers working on the knot in his shoelaces. A few tugs and the boots slid off his feet. He peeled off his socks and wiggled his toes. What to do about his jeans? If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get down here, he would have thought to bring appropriate swimwear. Too late now. He rolled up the hem to over his calves. Glancing back out to the surf, he spotted Summer bobbing with the waves. Should’ve just left the pants rolled down. They were going to get wet anyway.
The water lapped at his feet as he neared the shoreline. A bit cooler on the Atlantic side than the gulf, but still warmer than some of the deeper dives he’d been on with the archeology department. Of course, with those he’d worn a wet suit.
Frothy water churned about his shins as he walked farther into the ocean. He pressed on past the push and pull of the waves, and stopped once he reached Summer’s side. She didn’t turn to look at him, but continued to stand in the surf, her hands out to her sides, palms down, rising and falling with the motion of the water.
While he was sure her ignoring him was meant as a rebuff, he could’ve stared at her profile all day. The smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks were too darn cute. He’d play connect-the-dots with them if he didn’t think she’d drown him for it.
His gaze followed the curve of her neck and stopped short at her shoulders. Her very stiff shoulders. The thought that he was making her uncomfortable didn’t sit well with him. This wasn’t the your attention is making me blush uncomfortable he was used to making women feel. No. This was a your very presence is making every muscle in my body tense uncomfortable.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, the saltwater stinging his eyes. “Look, Summer, I came here to tell you I’m sorry for not calling.”
No cracks in the stone profile. “I hadn’t expected you to.”
No, she probably hadn’t, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? “I wanted to. You don’t know how much I wanted to. I know you don’t think I can stick around, be true to only one woman, be true to you. That’s not the problem. Every time I picked up the phone…I just…I don’t know…” Where are all your smooth words now, Trent? He squeezed his eyes shut. Never before had he experienced such difficulty talking to a woman, and yet here he was, the woman he actually had feelings for right beside him, and he sounded like an idiot. He pulled a hand across the back of his neck. “You scare me.”
That got her attention. She looked at him, her eyes boring into his. “I scare you?”
He reached out and cupped her
upper arm, his hand gently sliding down and grazing her skin until her hand was in his. He pressed her fingers. “I’m scared of the way you make me feel.” His shoulders rose in a weak attempt at a shrug. “I’ve never felt like this with anyone before.”
Her eyes searched his, and the moment lengthened. He held his breath. Should he have laid it all out on the table like that? Why wasn’t she answering? Vulnerability ate away at an already record-low self-confidence.
Blessedly, she returned the pressure to his fingers, her muscles relaxing and the hard set to her face softening. “I believe you.”
His breath whooshed out as laughter tickled his throat. Was she going to give him a shot now?
“But, Trent…”
Uh-oh. Not a but.
“You’ve only proven my point. You don’t know how to stick around, how to talk about your feelings with a woman the way you have to, to be in a relationship. Maybe it’s because you don’t have the experience or maybe because it’s just not who you are.” She let go of his hand. “I can’t risk taking the chance of finding out which one of those is true.”
And he couldn’t risk letting her go without a fight. She’d see that he wasn’t going to walk away. All he needed was time. Time to prove to them both that he wasn’t the type of man she thought he was. That he could love her like no other man could.
“Do you have any plans for Fourth of July?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I’ll probably just watch the fireworks on TV.”
“My family is having a big Fourth of July picnic this weekend. Please say you’ll come with me.”
She visibly swallowed, and he could imagine how her mind must be racing. “But I just said—” Disbelief covered her face as she cocked her head. “You want me to meet your family?”
A wave beat against their legs and caused Summer to stumble to the side. Trent reached out and caught her around the waist. He left his hand there as he stared down into her eyes. “I know what you said. But we can be friends, right? Friends celebrate holidays together. Besides, you’ll love my folks. My mom’s a great cook, and you’ve never tasted an apple pie until you’ve had hers.”
She took a step back, and he let his hand fall to his side. Her fingers intertwined in front of her, and her shoulders rose until they almost touched her ears. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. I mean, a family picnic. Should be fun, right?”
Chapter Nineteen
Atlantic Ocean, 1689
Rough hands tore Isabella from a fitful sleep. Her heart pounded from the violent awakening, her mind slow to grasp her newfound reality.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” She clawed at the vice grip on her arm, her feet stumbling to keep up with the fast pace of her captor.
Silence answered her questioning.
Díos, what is happening? Had someone found out she was a woman and had come to steal her virtue?
Fear shredded sanity from her mind until her actions were as crazed as a madman. She thrashed about, jerking her arm in every which direction to try and free it from its prison. Her foot kicked out and connected with the back of the man’s calf.
Fast as the strike of an adder, the man turned and slammed her into the rough wood of the ship’s bulkhead. Pain shot through her skull and reverberated down her neck and back. She squeezed her eyes against the pulsating ache and sudden wave of dizziness and nausea that overcame her.
“You should not have meddled in other people’s business.” Hot, foul breath fanned her face.
Her eyes opened to slits, then widened. She pressed her body back more fully to the wall, taking every millimeter available to distance herself from the evil in front of her. She did not have to ask why any longer. The quartermaster had not believed her word that she hadn’t overheard his conversation in the hold. But where was he taking her? And what would he do with her once they got there?
He jerked her forward once more, and she stumbled behind him. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, and no amount of prying could release her arm from his iron grip.
Early morning twilight cast the sky in varying hues as the quartermaster dragged her onto the main deck. The stars still shone bright directly above her, but the horizon lightened with the first golden rays of the day. Would this be the last time she would witness the wonders of the firmament?
“I do not trust you to keep your mouth shut. Therefore I must make it so you cannot have a wagging tongue.” He shoved her against the main mast and tied her hands around the pole. The tight knot cut off the circulation at her wrists. He leaned down until his mouth was near her ear. “One of benefits of my position aboard ship is that I may discipline the crew. And since I caught you stealing this”—he held out a golden ring, which Isabella recognized as the captain’s signet—“even the tenderhearted captain will not object if he happens upon your flogging.”
Flogging. She winced. Forty lashes save one, with a cat-o’-nine-tails. Her stepfather had once forced her to watch a public flogging in the square. His sadistic thrill at violence and anguish had gorged on the scene, while she’d had to stumble away and lose the contents of her stomach. The skin of the man’s back had been shredded, blood spraying the onlookers with each lash of the whip. His screams of pain had haunted her for weeks.
“What is going on here?”
Isabella raised her eyes and noticed the crew had begun to congregate. One man stood a step closer than the rest, his face curious, his eyes…eager? She would not find help among these brutes.
Where was Tío Pepe when she needed him most? If ever she needed rescuing, it was now.
“I found this boy stealing Captain Montoya’s signet ring.” The quartermaster lifted the piece of jewelry up for all to see. “He shall be punished. Let this be a lesson to you all.”
Sharp, needlelike pain stabbed her hands over and over from lack of blood flow. Her eyes darted to each face, searching for one that would help her. “Please, I did not steal anything! I am innocent—”
Four large knuckles smashed into her cheek and jaw, cutting off her entreaty. Her head swam and ears rang.
The quartermaster’s large presence registered behind her. Before her mind could catalogue what was happening, a ripping sound interrupted the low tones of the men’s voices and the cool morning air embraced her bare back—that not covered by her bindings.
The evil man behind her swore, then laughed outright. “Mayhap I should change the manner of your punishment, señorita.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Captain Montoya’s stern voice from the quarterdeck ripped through the murmurs of the men around her.
The quartermaster took a step to the side, and Isabella turned her head in the captain’s direction. His eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. His scrutiny traveled the length of her until their gazes met. Hot flames ignited her cheeks, and she struggled against the bindings at her wrists so she could cover her nakedness.
His eyes flicked to the quartermaster. “I asked a question, and I demand an answer.”
“I caught this cabin boy stealing from you, el capítan.” He pulled out the signet ring from his doublet.
Isabella shrank under Captain Montoya’s burning scrutiny. She tried to shout a denial against the false accusations, but her throat closed and refused to allow any words to escape.
“Bring her to my quarters. Now.” Captain Montoya turned on his heel and marched away.
The quartermaster grumbled under his breath. He unsheathed a small dagger at his waist, the sun glinting off the metal. Isabella sucked in a breath as he brought the blade to her throat. “Do not think for a moment that I will not cut the tongue out of your very head if you so much as utter a word of what you heard yesterday.”
She swallowed hard and gave a small shake of her head. If need be, she’d never utter another word again.
The tip of the dagger moved away from her neck, and he stepped in front of her. One quick swipe of the blade, and the ropes around her wrists fell free. Her hands exploded i
n pain, as if a thousand bees continuously stung her palms and fingers. She rubbed her wrists and massaged her hands. With a jerk, the quartermaster once again seized her arm and pulled her along behind him.
Her split shirt fell from her hunched shoulders and slipped down her arms. Frantically, she pulled the torn material back up to cover her bare skin. She’d never been so exposed.
But more than her body lay bared. Her secret was in the open. Every man aboard the vessel now knew that a woman was among their numbers. What would they do? What would the captain do? Would he protect her or punish her for her treachery? Surely he would demand answers, but what should she tell him? Malevolence seeped from the man yanking her about, and he’d already issued threats were she to confess her knowledge to the captain.
The quartermaster opened the door to the captain’s cabin and shoved her into the room. She stumbled, but caught herself before landing face first in a heap upon the floor.
“That will be all.” Captain Montoya’s hardened voice caused her to cringe. That he was upset was apparent.
“Remember what I said.” The quartermaster spoke his threat in low tones meant for her ears only.
With a click behind her, the door closed, and she was alone with the captain. Her eyes remained fastened to the floor, but she could feel his firm gaze upon her. Disappointment filled the room, and she shrank into herself. Silence stretched, but her ears drummed with the echo of her heartbeat.
Blue velvet entered her vision as material was thrust beneath her gaze. “Here. Put this on. Señora Cruz will be vexed if you ruin her new gown, so take measure not to stain or rip it.”
Confusion furrowed her brow. He was giving her a gown to wear? No lecture? No punishment? She glanced up. Captain Montoya faced the opposite direction, his wide shoulders square and his stance firm. Undressing in the presence of a man was highly improper. Although given the fact she had masqueraded as a man aboard the ship for the last month, it didn’t seem as though she could complain about impropriety. Turning her back, she allowed her stepfather’s oversized shirt to fall to the ground. She brushed her fingers along her bindings, the lump in the middle of her torso a comfort. While her gender may have been discovered, her grandmother’s necklace had not. Hope still flickered for her future.
