Caribbean Jewel

by Jayla Jasso

  “I am resting.” She touched her lips to his again and gently sucked at his lower lip.

  He groaned. “I do not want to hurt you.”

  “Captain Marcano, kiss me,” she begged against his mouth.

  He raised his head, leaned over her, and claimed her lips in an eager kiss. He felt starved for her, ravenous. She opened her mouth to his probing tongue as he slid trembling hands down the length of her body. His fingers found the hem of the nightshirt and began to ease it upwards. She raised up a bit so that he could pull it over her head, and as she lay back down, he gathered her into his arms and pressed the length of his body against hers.

  “Am I hurting your ribs, Jolie?” he murmured against her lips.

  “I don’t know,” she responded huskily, tangling her fingers into his thick ebony mane and straining against him.

  He smiled. “You don’t know? Why not?”

  “You feel so good I can’t think of the pain in my ribs right now.”

  He knew that feeling exactly, but he also felt like a selfish lout at the moment. “We shouldn’t make love, Jolie. Though—ay, Dios—God knows I want to,” he groaned.

  “Why shouldn’t we?”

  “Your body needs time to heal.”

  She made a little sound of disappointment in the back of her throat. “But I need to feel you, Gabriel. I need you so much.”

  Her words ignited a flame in him that burned through the last worn threads of restraint. He inhaled her intoxicating feminine scent, his shaft pressing achingly against her thigh. “All right, I think this will be more comfortable for you if you are lying on top of me, mi amor.”

  He lay back and lifted her gently atop him, her hair falling over his shoulders and face. Carefully, so carefully, he positioned her hips and legs so she straddled him. He cradled her torso and pressed his mouth to the smooth skin of her neck, tasting her warm, fragrant skin with his tongue. He covered her lips with his, kissing her hungrily as his hands glided over her bare hips and buttocks, reveling in the soft, slender curves of her body. She was too thin but he hoped to remedy that soon with rest and food. For now—he smiled as she trailed sweet little kisses over his forehead, her small hands caressing his shoulders—for now, she felt like heaven.

  His hands roamed over her smooth skin, caressing her tenderly everywhere he touched, willing her to feel only pleasure, no pain at his lovemaking. He slid a hand down between their bodies, seeking and finding her wet heat with fingers eager to massage her. Jolie’s moans of appreciation filled him with delight and desire. He slipped a finger inside her while massaging her with his thumb on the outside, and she ground herself onto his hand, her shaky breathing hot against his neck.

  He smiled, his burning arousal inflamed even further by her reactions. “That’s it, mi amor, take your pleasure,” he urged breathily. “In a moment you will ride me in the same way.”

  His fingers continued their assault on her tender flesh until Jolie began to shudder, then he withdrew his finger and eased her downwards a bit to encounter the tip of his hard cock. He pushed himself up inside her a bit, finding her slick and tight, and closed his eyes against the blinding pleasure of it. He thrust a little deeper into her body, clamping his lips together to keep from crying out.

  “Ohhh...” she sighed.

  Encouraged, he pushed until he filled her completely, his pelvis making full contact with hers. He rocked his hips beneath her and she moved with him up a bit, then sank down on him with a shuddering sigh. Lightning bolts shot through Marcano’s veins, and he groaned aloud. He cupped her buttocks and ground himself into her, evoking another moan and sigh from her. He managed to open his eyes enough to take in the beautiful sight of the moonlight illuminating her silky hair tumbling over her finely boned shoulders and pink-tipped breasts, the rapture visible in her lovely face as she braced herself with her hands on his pectoral muscles.

  He continued to move beneath her, caressing her hips and thighs as she followed his lead, gasping each time he ground himself up against her. He slipped his hand between their bodies to tease her with his fingers again, thrusting until the pressure built to dizzying intensity. Jolie cried out and convulsed against him, climaxing in shivering waves. Marcano found release a second later, lifting her body as his hips arched off the bed, her name pouring over his lips.

  Breathing labored, Jolie lowered herself to lay on top of him with her head resting against his neck and shoulder, her hand draped over his upper arm. He caressed her back and waited for his heart to stop pounding.

  “How do you feel, sweetheart? Your ribs…?”

  She didn’t lift her head. “Sore, but I care not…you feel wonderful.”

  “Ay, Jolie.” He sighed, caressing her hair. “I love you. Te quiero. Te amo, mi amor.”

  “I love you too.”

  Marcano smiled against her forehead and pressed a kiss there. “Querida mía, I was so worried that when I found you, you would hate me because of your parents’ death.”

  She stiffened, and her voice came out pinched. “I was hoping we could forget we were ever told about that.”

  Marcano felt his stomach lurch. “Did you hate me for it? Is that the reason you are not wearing the ring I gave you, mi amor?”

  “No, Gabriel. The ring was taken from me forcibly and thrown into the sea.”

  Marcano couldn’t read her reaction and lay frozen beneath her, sorrow clogging his throat. How he had agonized over this cruel twist of fate: that Jolie’s parents had been killed during a pirate raid, possibly by the very ship he worked on. It could be that Hauste had lied about the Espada being the ship that attacked them, but how could he ever prove it? The fact was that Marcano had sailed with the pirates of the Espada for three years, and they raided several English vessels and carried the spoils back to Spain. Whether or not his beloved Jolie’s parents had been aboard one of them, he was still guilty for his reprehensible past.

  “I am sorry,” he mumbled at last, staring at the play of moonlight on the far wall as the brigantine swayed gently in the waves, not knowing what else to say. “I have tried to reform myself from those days. I am sorry.”

  “Gabriel, I have thought about this long and hard,” she whispered. “How could you have known? You weren’t taking action against me or my parents personally. You didn’t even know us. I have thought of poor dear Mum and Dad, worried that I am not respecting their memory by loving you. But in the end, they would have been killed by that attack whether you were on the crew or not. I feel that the entire circumstance is a cruel coincidence, and that you would never intentionally harm me or my loved ones if you could help it.”

  Not knowing how to respond, Marcano lay silent under her, stroking her hair.

  She raised her head. “Curse Hauste for even telling us such a thing! His only motive was to rip us apart.”

  “No, Jolie,” Marcano said, his voice thick. “I brought this pain on us. When my father died, my stepmother disassociated herself and my half-siblings from his bastard ‘whore’s son.’ They were the only family I had ever known. I was forced to leave my studies with no money, no hope, no future. I joined the Espada’s pirate crew out of frustration and self-hatred. I learned everything I know about the sea in those three years and so found my profession. But if I had known something as pure and precious as you would come into my life, I would have chosen differently. I would die before hurting you or your family.”

  “I know, Gabriel. I forgive you. Please don’t torment yourself.” She lay quietly against his chest for a moment, then sighed. “My parents’ memories are more difficult this time of year.”

  Marcano caressed her arms. “Why is that, mi amor?”

  “Well, April 2nd is only a few weeks away.”

  “What happens on April 2nd?” he asked softly.

  “It’s the anniversary of their deaths.”

  Marcano frowned. “No, it cannot be.”

  “Yes, it was. April 2nd, 1723.”

  “April 2nd, 1723? Are you certain
it was April?”

  She raised her head. “Yes, of course.”

  “Jolie, I did not join the crew of the Espada until late May that year. I finished the semester at Salamanca before joining the pirate crew!”

  Jolie studied his face. “That means…”

  “That even if Hauste’s story about the Espada being the ship that attacked your parents’ vessel is correct, I was not on it!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I did not finish the semester until the middle of May. University documents would prove the fact.”

  Jolie wrapped an arm around his neck. “I believe you, Gabriel. That wretched ogre could not destroy us, after all. He thought to plant seeds of torment forever, but failed.”

  Marcano hugged her closer, kissing her face. “I want you to marry me. Now.”

  “Right now? This minute?”

  “Yes. I will turn official command of the ship over to Luis, and he can marry us right now.”

  “But we can’t, not right now. We’re in bed. It’s well after midnight.”

  “I know I don’t have an engagement ring for you, but I will get another one as soon as we reach Spain. My years at sea have enabled me to amass a decent fortune back in Seville, my love. I will make certain your life is comfortable and easy from now on. You will be treated as the Queen of España, with nothing to worry yourself over except which of your beautiful silk gowns to wear or which bonbon to nibble on.”

  Jolie giggled and pressed her lips to his turgid nipple. “Or whether to cook beef or mutton for your supper,” she said against it.

  He shivered a little. “No, you will not labor in my house. I will hire servants to do everything for us.”

  “Really, you intend to spoil me so?”

  “In every possible way,” he assured her, gliding his lips along the ridge of her ear. “I intend to spend the rest of my life spoiling and pleasing you, mi amor. Marry me, right now.”

  “It must be two o’clock in the morning!”

  “Probably three.”

  “We aren’t dressed! Wouldn’t you rather stay here in bed?”

  “And make passionate love until sunrise? Well, if you insist, my demanding little wench,” he teased, nuzzling her neck, “but it does not speak well of us if we cannot stop making love even long enough to get married.”

  “Oh!” Jolie frowned and punched his arm.

  “I am sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her torso carefully. “I shouldn’t tease you so.”

  “You’re a brute, Captain Marcano.” She grinned, tracing his nipple with her fingertip, then her tongue.

  “I know, querida. I swear I am working to improve.” He eased her down against the pillows beside him and drew the bedclothes over them both, covering her mouth with his.

  #

  At daybreak, Marcano lay awake in his bunk, staring at the dappled morning sunlight glinting off the waves onto the walls and ceiling and listening to Jolie’s steady breathing against his chest. He could feel the brigantine slicing her way through the choppy sea, purposeful, graceful, and sure. He needed to get up and see to his captain’s duties, but he did not want to disturb her peaceful sleep. He doubted she’d had much of it in the past few weeks.

  Let her sleep, he chided himself. Don’t be so prideful, driven by the opinion of other men.

  He was mentally planning how he would buy her a beautiful hacienda on the southern coast of Spain, one surrounded by vineyards that he could tend, when a sudden pounding on the door startled him.

  “Capitán, soy yo,” Guillarte’s irritated-sounding voice came through the door. “Dónde está el Corazón, o ¿no has pensado en eso?”

  Jolie raised her head. “What’s wrong?” she murmured, watching Marcano’s face as he reluctantly disentangled himself from her arms and rose to a sitting position in the bunk.

  “Nothing. I simply have a desgraciado for a first mate.” He turned to shout in the direction of the door. “Luis, you are a rude bastard and a barbarian. What do I care for the Corazón when I have found Jolie again?” He smiled down at her and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

  Guillarte let out a string of Spanish curses on the other side of the door, then at last called out in English, “That means you did not get it, eh?”

  “I never really thought about it,” Marcano replied, gazing at Jolie’s warm brown eyes and cradling her head against his chest. She smiled up at him, caressing his abdomen and tracing the new scar across it before her hand strayed lower beneath the covers.

  Marcano sucked in a breath.

  Guillarte swore violently on the other side of the door. “Have you thought of King Felipe taking our heads? Have you thought about hanging from the gallows, Capitán?”

  Marcano turned to stare at the worn, tattered bag Vera had given him, sitting on the table nearby. He pulled free of Jolie’s embrace, pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then rose from the bed to wrap a towel around his hips and open the burlap sack. Smiling, he freed the swaddled object from it and began peeling back the layers of cloth.

  “¿Capitán? ¿No tienes respuesta?” Guillarte demanded from the other side of the door.

  Marcano lifted the last layer of fabric away from the dazzlingly huge golden nugget, the Corazón de Isabela. It shone brightly, the sunlight glinting off its golden surface. He held it reverently, gazing at its magnificent beauty. He glanced back at Jolie as Guillarte pounded impatiently on the door.

  Jolie looked amused by him standing there bare-chested, holding one of Spain’s national treasures in his hands while his best friend cursed through the door in frustration.

  “Gabriel, I swear, I’ll...”

  “¡Cálmate, Luis!” Marcano settled the Corazón carefully on the sack on the table behind him, then strode over to the door and opened it.

  Guillarte glared at him, then saw Jolie in the bunk clutching the blankets to her chest, and softened his expression a bit.

  “I failed to get the Corazón, amigo, but it came to us anyway.” Marcano opened the door wider so the table behind him was in full view.

  Guillarte gaped at the treasure. “Santa María.” He rushed into the cabin to take it in his hands, holding it up to the sunlight.

  Marcano folded his arms across his chest. “The slave woman who kept the house and watched over Jolie brought it to me.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Guillarte breathed. “More beautiful than I remembered. We were reckless fools to take her out of Spain, Gabriel.”

  “We were idiots,” Marcano agreed.

  “May God forgive us.”

  “I suspect He has already granted us mercy by putting the Corazón back into our hands. Now, will you see to storing it safely, Lieutenant?”

  Guillarte re-wrapped the nugget, grinning. He winked over his shoulder at Jolie, then addressed Marcano. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get rid of me, Gabriel. I will see to this treasure and you see to the one in your bed.” He left, slapping Marcano on the back on his way out.

  Marcano latched the door behind him, tossed the towel aside, and returned to Jolie’s side, erection still firm from her brief caress a moment earlier. He looked into her whisky-colored eyes for a long moment, then stared at her charming dimple as she smiled up at him.

  #

  To Jolie, Marcano’s eyes seemed bluer than ever before, his hair more ebony, his face more bronzed and handsome than she ever remembered it. He gathered her into his embrace, kissing her brow and her cheeks, smoothing her hair away from her face. Jolie smiled and clutched his head, tangling her fingers into his thick hair as he began trailing kisses down her body. There would be time later to talk of claiming her family fortune in England, discussing what to do with the Africans, and planning their life together. There would be time for all this, and time to live, and discover, and love.

  EPILOGUE

  Summer 1985

  Sun Bay Beach, Vieques, Puerto Rico

  Sunlight rippled over the expanse of crystal blue waves as th
ey rolled toward the white sands of the shore. A sun-bronzed teenage girl waded in the clear, quiet water in a small cove of the bay, stooping every so often to examine a shell or poke at a sea crab. Soon, she spotted the ridges of a large conch shell buried in the pebbly sea floor. Her long, blonde hair fell over her shoulders as she bent to dislodge it.

  The shell was so deep it wouldn’t budge, so she knelt in the shallow water to get better leverage. Determined to see how big it was, the girl began to dig the wet, pebbly sand from around it. After digging a trench all around it and applying all the strength she could muster, the shell at last came loose and skidded away. She yelped in joy and crawled after it, scooping it up in her hands.

  She carried it with her to her towel, sat down and began to clean the sand, sea debris, pebbles, and bits of other shells out of it. Deep within the conch, a clod of earth was lodged and cemented with sand. The girl worked it back and forth until it was loose, then turned the shell upside down and shook it out. Something that at first looked like another rock plummeted to the towel beside her leg, but a faint glimmer caught her attention and she plucked it up to examine it more closely.

  It appeared to be some piece of jewelry coated in half-petrified sand and silt. The stone on it was purple like an amethyst. She found a piece of shell and used the sharp end to scrape the sand away.

  Several minutes’ work revealed a ring, corroded with sand and time but unmistakably a ring. It was tiny in circumference and held a single marquis-cut amethyst.

  “Shanna?” called her mother’s voice from farther down the coastline. She looked up and shaded her eyes to see her mother heading toward her. She rose to her feet, holding the ring in her palm.

  “Shanna, we’re going in now. Have to clean up for dinner. Your father wants to drive over to the Marine base.”

  “Look what I dug out of a shell, Mom!” Shanna rushed to her mother’s side and held the ring out for inspection.

  “What is it, dear?” Her mother grasped the piece of jewelry between forefinger and thumb and held it up to the sunlight. “Hmm, it looks antique...and the stone looks real.”