Pirate In My Arms

by Danelle Harmon

  He took a step forward, but confusion—and a sense of caution—kept him in the shadows of a stubby little pine. What the devil was going on, anyway? He was supposed to meet Prudence here, not some virginal vision who sang songs to the stars. Granted, Prudence had been relegated to a forgotten corner of his mind, but he’d be damned if he’d dally with a girl as young as this one, no matter how enchanting she was. He frowned. And what the devil was she doing out here all alone in the darkness, singing, of all things? At midnight? There were others who weren’t as honorable as he was, who might do her harm. Beautiful, foolish chit. Indians…wild animals…anything might happen to her out here.

  Purposefully, Sam left the shadow of the pine and stepped into the moonlight.

  * * *

  Maria Hallett trembled with sudden fear as he walked purposefully toward her.

  He was coming. Sam Bellamy—wicked, godless, Devil incarnate—was coming, and it was too late to run. Maria reached for another apple blossom, her hand shaking so badly that she dropped the flower before she could place it in her basket. If he didn’t kill her, Auntie surely would when she discovered her attic bed empty! Oh, why had she let Thankful talk her into this…this lunacy?

  Jonathan.

  But was Jonathan really worth this? When Bellamy discovered she wasn’t Prudence he’d feel cheated—and would likely be furious. He wasn’t going to fall in love with her; oh, what had she been thinking? But she’d come this far. She must go through with it! In her mind, Jonathan’s face began to waver, to dim, and she clung to his image like a drowning woman for it was all that kept her here in this moonlit meadow. Desperately, she tried to relax, to keep the melody—all part of Thankful’s plan, of course—from dying in her throat like a death rattle.

  Bellamy was just behind her now. The sound of his progress through the tall grasses ceased. Maria swallowed fearfully, took a deep shaky breath and turning, looked up into the wickedest, blackest pair of eyes she’d ever seen in her life.

  In that instant, she knew that all of the things she’d heard about him were true. Her feet went numb and she couldn’t have fled if her life depended on it. She stared up at the strong, angry jaw that was dark with shadow. At the broad and powerful shoulders, the thick black hair caught in a seaman’s queue, and the bold eyes that seemed to see right through her as he studied her with a casual interest that was fast melting the numbness in her feet.

  And she was supposed to kiss him?

  “Is this some sort of a joke, woman?”

  “J-joke? What do you mean, sir?”

  “I was supposed to meet someone here, a woman named Prudence. Perhaps you’ve seen her?” At the quick shake of her head his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she fought the urge to turn her face away from his penetrating gaze. “No matter, then. What the devil’s a young girl like you doing out here all alone, anyway?”

  “I—I’m picking flowers…for the breakfast table.”

  “At midnight?”

  She stared at him, terrified and unable to speak.

  He stared back, and slowly his expression changed and his eyes began to gleam with a cunning slyness…and Maria Hallett felt like a sheep going to slaughter.

  “Ah, I understand.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not quite so innocent after all, are ye?”

  “Sir?” She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, sizing her up, taking her measure. “I—I think you’re mistaken….”

  “The only mistake I made was believing that Prudence intended to come here, herself. Do you Cape Codders run a secret brothel? Are you in her employ? You appear to be nothing more than a child but you’re no innocent, are you? Oh, I knew this situation was too contrived. No virginal maid would be out here in the darkness and picking flowers, of all things.” He laughed, frightening her even more. “That’s where you didn’t fool me, princess. That Pru, she’s a conniver, isn’t she? And you’re one hell of an actress. Women and their infernal plotting!”

  Maria paled, and the blood pounded in her ears. This man was no docile, ruddy-cheeked Eastham lad. He was no simpering suitor. He was Sam Bellamy, for God’s sake—and he hadn’t been to church this morning.

  Play with fire, and you’re going to get burned. Her aunt’s words, penetrating her thoughts at a time when she needed all of her wits about her.

  Impenitent sinners will writhe in hell. Reverend Treat’s favorite warning.

  And Thankful. All you have to do is kiss him.

  Kiss him. She would do it and be done with it! Before his annoyance turned to anger, before her feet took flight and carried her to safety. Closing her mind to everything except Jonathan, Maria squeezed her eyes shut and blindly raised herself on tiptoe. Awkwardly, she placed her lips against his, and before the first expression of surprise came into his eyes, jerked away as though she’d been burned. Yet that quick touch was enough; enough to sear forever in her memory the feel of his mouth, his rough chin, the taste of ale that still lingered on his lips.

  Hot shame and fear swept through her, and something else, too—something she couldn’t identify, something that caused her heart to start whacking against her ribs like a caged butterfly. Unable to face him, she averted her eyes; but the touch of a rough finger beneath her jaw forced her head up, and Maria found herself staring into eyes that were as dark and twinkling as a star-studded midnight.

  “What the hell was that?”

  She was shaking so badly it was a wonder he didn’t hear her teeth chattering. “It—it was…it was a k-kiss,” she squeaked.

  “Ye call that a kiss?” He threw back his dark head and laughed. “You really are a good actress, aren’t you? No more games, my little ‘innocent.’ Let me show ye what a real kiss is.”

  He leaned close, his body pressed up against hers and forcing her backward until Maria, retreating, felt the coarse bark of the apple tree through her gown and against her spine, stopping her flight from a man whose eyes pinned her like a hawk’s might a songbird. Sick with fear, she shrank back as he raised an arm and resting it against the tree behind her, leaned in closer, trapping her. He caught a length of her hair in his other hand and rubbed it between his thumb and finger. His wrist was close to her neck; she could feel the lace of his sleeve, the soft hairs on the back of his hand against her throat. He was close…too close.

  Run! her mind screamed, but she could not. She was a rabbit in the talons of a hawk, a field mouse staring into the hypnotic eyes of a wolf—and she could not move.

  “What’s wrong, little songbird?” His fingers were grazing the velvety skin of her throat now, his knuckles brushing the lobe of her ear. “Where’s that lovely voice I heard just moments ago? Sing, princess. I want to hear you sing.”

  “I… I can’t.”

  “Sure ye can, I just heard you.”

  “I can’t sing in front of a stranger!”

  Again, that slow, easy smile. “But I’m not a stranger. Not any longer.” He hefted her mass of hair in his hand as though testing the weight of gold. Gently, he laid the thick gilded mass of it against her shoulder, smoothing it, caressing it where it lay in a soft wave of satin against her throat, her chest, her breasts. “I suppose that if you insist on playing the innocent, we’d both be better off if you told me your name.”

  “My name is… M-Maria. Maria”—she gulped—“Hallett.”

  “M-Maria?” Again, that grin, a rogue’s grin of twin parentheses framing a sensual mouth and straight, even teeth, a grin that made her heart do a fluttering little dance within her breast. “Not something so common as Mary? But of course not, I shouldn’t think so. After all, you’re far from common. An unusual name, a lovely voice. Don’t waste it on this cowardly pretense at fear. I won’t bite, ye know.” He ran a rough finger down her cheek, across her chin and down the satiny skin of her throat, where her pulse beat wildly. “Now, sing for me, Maria!”

  She closed her eyes in terrified agony. “I can’t!”

  “Then I shall make you,” he murmured, and before she knew wh
at was happening his mouth came down upon hers, gentle yet insistent, his lips as commanding as his eyes had been. Struggling, Maria found only the merciless trunk of the apple tree behind her. Her eyes flew open in alarm and whipping her head to the side, she tore her mouth from his.

  “You go too far, sir!” Gasping, she turned to flee, but his fingers closed over her wrist. She struggled—and when he did not let go, whirled to face him with defiant, resolute eyes.

  If he wanted her to sing for him, she would! And then she’d run home where she belonged, where she’d someday forget that any of this had ever happened. “I shall sing for you, sir, and then you’ll go away and never touch me again!” She opened her mouth, but before the first haunting note came forth, his fingers pressed gently against her lips and he’d leaned close once more.

  “That is not the song I want from you, Maria.”

  His voice was calm, quiet, unnerving. Confused and nearing tears, Maria stared at him in desperation. “But that is the song I was singing before—”

  “It is not the song ye’ll sing for me now.” His dark head was bending to hers, his hand searing her breast through the veil of her hair, the thin barrier of her gown, and his lips were against hers once again, his hand holding her jaw steady when she tried to tear away. His body was solid, hard, and unyielding, forcing her back against the tree. With terrifying gentleness, he dragged his fingers down her jaw, the arch of her throat, and across the delicate embroidery and lace of her gown’s modesty piece. It was no match for him. The fabric surrendered to him until her breasts were against his hand, unprotected, unguarded, and all but trembling at his touch.

  Paralyzed, Maria dropped the basket, and it landed with a soft thump at his feet. Pink and white blossoms spilled over the square toes of his shoes and lay fluttering in the grass.

  “You’re much prettier than Prudence,” he murmured, his voice as warm and smooth as the bay at morning light. His breath tickled the sensitive skin behind her ear, and there was the barest hint of laughter in his voice. “I’m glad she sent you in her place. But tell me, Maria, why do you play the virginal maiden? You’re too lovely for such foolish games. What, no answer? All right, then. If you insist on playing them, fine.” Trembling, Maria shrank away as he nibbled her earlobe. “To be honest, I grow rather bored with these women who think they know every facet of lovemaking. You know, the brazen ones, the ones who try to seduce. How refreshing it is to find one who pretends quite the opposite…one who wants me to seduce her.”

  Fear twisted in Maria’s belly. Yet he seemed not to notice, or perhaps he thought she truly was just pretending. Pretending what? Thankful had said that one kiss would make him fall in love with her. Was this terrible thing he was doing to her, love, then? Was this what was supposed to happen? Was this what Thankful had known all along that he’d do? Oh God, help her. And now he was raising her hand to his mouth, his lips warm against her fingers, his breath whispering against her knuckles, her palm and it was then that she realized, really realized, just how very attractive—and dangerous—this man was.

  She began to relax.

  She took a deep and bracing breath.

  And she stopped thinking of Jonathan.

  And as he bent down to kiss her again, his tall form blocking the moonlight and casting the handsome planes of his face in facets of light and shadow, Maria’s terror waned like ripples in a pond. She was trembling, yes—but now with a delicious mix of fear and anticipation, of cautious enjoyment and discovery. His touch was pleasant, even kind. How could she be afraid of him when he was causing these strange, wonderful feelings to flow through her body, to make her knees feel weak, to make her yearn to return his kiss?

  Shyly, she reached up to touch his cheek, wondering at the rough feel of his skin, the hard line of his jaw. He was smiling now, a wicked grin that sent shivers pulsing through her body. His arm slid behind her back, and she didn’t protest when he pulled her toward him. On feet that weren’t her own she stepped away from the tree, letting him draw her up against his solid male body. She raised her head and closed her eyes; she felt the press of his thumbs against her cheeks, felt him brush loose strands of hair from her lips. And then his mouth was against hers, and nothing beneath God’s heaven above had ever felt so good.

  After a moment he drew back, holding her at arm’s length. His dark eyes gleamed. “That, Maria,” he said huskily, “is the song I wanted you to sing.”

  And then she was in his arms, folded against his chest once more as he kissed her brow, her fluttering lashes, her cheeks. She couldn’t think—oh dear Lord, she couldn’t think, but she had to, she had to run away. This was wrong. This was the Devil’s work. But Maria couldn’t run. She couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to resist him. He found her mouth, gently forcing her lips apart until his tongue touched and tangled with her own and she found herself melting into his embrace. Kisses, dropping sugar-sweet and warm against her neck. The scent of him, the feel of him, the sensation of being in his strong arms. He nuzzled aside the lacy modesty piece at her bodice, and Maria shuddered as his tongue traced warm circles around the crests of her breasts. The building waves of sensation became a flood tide. Her breathing grew ragged, her skin hot and flushed despite the cool night breeze that whispered against her skin, and the blood was humming—no, singing—through her veins.

  By the time he found and unfastened the buttons of her jacket and untied her petticoats, she was trembling with longing for something she didn’t understand. Her clothing slid from her shoulders and down her waist until it pooled, forgotten, about her ankles.

  And then he stood back, his gaze raking her from the top of her head to her toes, taking in every little hollow, every sweet, alluring curve beneath her shift. Yet standing there shyly before him, caught up in the magic of the night, in his strange, wonderful power, Maria felt no humiliation. Yes, she was sinning, but she felt no shame. Trust emanated from her eyes; triumph, from his. With a low groan, he drove his hands up beneath her shift, his hands skimming the outside of her thighs. He kissed her again, more urgently this time, and she felt him fumbling with his breeches, felt him moving against her, felt the part of him that made him a man pressing urgently against her pelvis.

  Maria’s eyes widened in proper, maidenly shock. But she had no time to think. His mouth came down upon hers once again, hot and demanding, and she forgot everything but him.

  Above, the apple tree sighed in the breeze and filled the air with fragrance as he slid a hand behind her back and eased her to the ground. There, he settled her upon the grass and its carpet of fragrant pink-and-white blossoms; there, he explored the curve of her waist, caressed her hips where they met her belly, worshipped the sleek softness of her long legs. He left no part of her untouched, trailing kisses where his hand blazed a trail across her trembling, virgin flesh. And when his fingers found and tested her readiness, Maria’s breath burst forth in a gasp of wonder as shooting stabs of pleasure made her body quiver and writhe.

  She was beyond reason, beyond thought; no fear, no shame, nothing; only sensation. His mouth claimed hers with a fierce intensity, drawing the very breath from her; his hand slipped between her thighs and coaxed them apart. She moaned as he withdrew it, already missing the sweet, throbbing ache; and then there was only a hard and pressing tightness filling her as he slowly entered her. Stars were exploding behind her eyes like the brightest meteors, and she clung to him as the ache pinnacled, spiraling higher and higher until she cried out at the sudden, searing pleasure that tore through her like a gale in a Barnstable night.

  And hearing her soft sounds of encouragement he drove forward, spilling his seed deep within her as she cried out in pain and surprise.

  Maria never saw the stricken realization in his eyes as he finished the act. She was unaware of his dismay, his disgust, his regret. She saw only the taut curve of his shoulder and tasted the salt of her own tears. His head dropped within the curve of her neck as he lay still, fighting to regain his breath. Then, with a
muttered curse, he rolled off her.

  “Damn my eyes, woman, why the hell didn’t you tell me ye’d never known a man?”

  Her lower lip began to tremble. She bit down on it hard as the tears began to flow. What had happened? Oh God, what had she done?

  And then there was only his voice above her, gruff, and instantly contrite. “There now, lass…don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. ’Tis my fault.” He placed his coat around her shoulders, its lining soft against her skin. “All my fault. I’m a worthless blackguard, and I know it. I never intended to hurt you. I thought you were something ye’re not.”

  With wounded eyes, Maria looked up at him. There was nothing left; no fear, no anger, just a bitter realization that she’d been cruelly betrayed by Thankful, by him, and by her own naive thinking. Oh, how stupid she’d been! Now she knew what it was to have a man “fall in love” with her. Now she knew what her aunt was trying to protect her from. Now she realized just what the girls had meant when they’d whispered about virgins and maidenhoods. How they’d laughed at her because she’d had no idea what they were talking about. How they would laugh when word got around that she’d done that unspeakable, shameful thing that they’d whispered about—and not with a respectable Eastham man, but with a godless, wicked Devonian who wasn’t even one of their own.

  All you have to do is kiss him….

  With a strangled sob, Maria shoved him away. “Don’t you touch me, you villain, you barbarian, you rotten, rutting animal!”

  Ignoring her outburst, he picked up her clothing, shook the apple blossoms from them and offered them to her. “Dress yourself, before ye catch your death of a cold.”

  She ripped the bundle from his hands, nearing hysteria. “What do you care! After what you’ve done to me? A cold! Better that I die than have word get around that I’m a soiled woman!” She swiped at falling tears, childishly passed a hand beneath her running nose. “Why concern yourself with some young innocent who means nothing to you? You got what you wanted, now go away!”