“What if I give you my word?” she asked.
“The word of a pirate? Have you any idea how little that is worth?”
“I’m a pirate? Hey, I’m only staying with pirates…and fucking one…and…oh, well. I guess I’m a pirate. How the hell did that happen?”
His scrub cloth hit her side, and she flinched.
“What is that?” he asked, suddenly quite serious.
“Oh, a bit of pirating adventure,” she explained. He moved to the other side of the tub and urged her up.
He jerked the knots loose from her wrists and moved her arm away from her side. She flexed her fingers, and gently moved her shoulders, easing the tightness. He’d left a lot of room between her hands, but it still wasn’t a position she’d been comfortable in.
“Someone did a good job with this.” His fingers were gently, probing the cuts and ragged edge of the one wound requiring a few stitches. “How did it happen?”
“We took a cloth merchant and things got a little dicey. I knifed someone in the back, but he got a shot off at me. The ball smashed into a chair instead of me and I got hit by the splinters.”
He grunted. “You knifed someone in the back? I doubt that.”
He helped her sit again and studied her face.
She smiled crookedly. “I threw my knife into his back, honestly. He held Jezzie with a pistol, trying to drive us off.”
“Is he dead?” His brilliant blue eyes appeared black in the scant light. She swallowed at the anger there.
“Uh. Yeah. Not me—one of the crew did it. He didn’t even know I was there until my knife hit.”
“I imagine he didn’t….” His head bowed and a shudder ran through his frame. “I thought the Quill’s captain more sensible than to pirate against a well-armed crew.”
She raised her voice in protest. “They weren’t well-armed! The captain hid a pistol. We bested them! We were already loading the cargo when this happened. A bunch of superstitious Frenchmen.” She stopped. She was not going into detail about Mick’s role or what Jezzie told her. She looked away. “We took some lovely cloth. I left a piece for a blouse at the tailor’s in Nassau.”
He listened to her go off on another topic, knowing she’d left out something significant. He’d find out later.
Seeing her wounds shook him. He might have lost her without warning, no chance to see her again or tell her anything. He knew Captain Jezebel took care with the ships they raided, researching their armament thoroughly. A French merchant ship should have been easy prey. And for cloth, of course. With the celebration on the horizon, everyone was excited and looking for new clothing. Jezebel would be able to sell what the crew didn’t keep for a bloody fortune. Especially if she left it a little late. The scramble to outdo each other always brought out the flash and sparkle on Tortuga.
Saying nothing, he shifted his position and helped her wash her hair.
What would the world say, seeing the feared Captain Alan Silvestri washing a woman’s hair? Or her feet earlier?
Hell, the world wasn’t here. She was.
And he liked washing her hair. It filled his hands, thick and luxurious. He wondered what it would be like long, drifting over his body as she rode him.
Fuck. The bath was over. He dunked her under the water with little warning. He couldn’t stand it any longer. She came up sputtering, and he tossed her another towel and paced back to the bed.
Tossing his clothing aside, he shoved the covers back and settled onto the clean sheets, watching her attempt to ignore him. He wasn’t fooled.
***
The cabin was warm enough. She lingered over drying herself, completely aware of his eyes following her every movement. Her body, already fired up by his hands in the bath, did not appreciate the time she took. But she knew once she fell into that bed, there’d be no talk.
Well, not talk of much sense.
And she wanted to ask about a few things first.
“How did you know I’d be here, Alan? Your Quill spy keeps you informed on every crewmember’s plans?” She rubbed her hair dry. It was growing too long, but she wasn’t certain about having anyone here cut it.
He didn’t reply, and she spun away, heading for the door.
“We’re already at sea, Mrs. Pawes. Not to mention my crew would find your present state of undress quite entertaining.”
His droll voice signaled, perhaps, a willingness to talk?
She turned back to him. “How did you know I was here?”
“You don’t think the dyers changed their minds for a few ledgers, do you?” He laughed.
Emily narrowed her eyes. “You set this up?”
“I am quite determined in my pursuit of you.”
“Yeah, well. Next time you can pay them enough that they sincerely help me.”
Should she have told him that? He rose, his long legs dangling to the floor, then he stood and walked with deliberation toward her. The look on his face made her take a step back.
“Alan, they showed me enough. They only…what?”
He put a hand on her face. “You are concerned for them?”
“I do not want to be responsible for you camping on their doorstep for a week. I’ve heard enough about how your curse works. And I take on enough pointless guilt. Alan, what are you going to do?”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, eyes locked on hers. He lifted her other hand and set it on his erect cock, letting the towel fall to the deck.
“I’m going to take you to bed and fuck you.” He bent, seized her lips with his and pressed tightly, making clear his intentions. His cock leaped in her hand.
It proved difficult, but she pulled free, lingering just a moment to run a thumb over the weeping tip. His kiss ended and she stepped away. Her body nearly shrieked in disappointment.
“No, what are you going to do to the dyers?” She turned her back and bent to pick up the towel. He grabbed at her hips, pressing her against his cock.
He ground against her and her cunt wept with want.
“Alan,” she whispered.
“No, I won’t go after them. I’m disappointed in them. But I shouldn’t be. Their trade is their religion. The religious are always idiots. They aren’t going to benefit from this, Emily. Grant me the opportunity to make it clear to them. When I pay for something, I expect goods to be delivered.”
“How…?” She lifted up and leaned against him. His hands rose to cup her breasts. She moaned, rapidly coming undone. “How do you do this to me? Why?”
“Because…I want to.” He whispered those words. She wondered at the pause, if it meant anything. What would he have said?
Because she let him?
Because she was desperate?
Because…?
He squeezed her right breast, the nipple between demanding fingers. “This one. I have the ring.”
She sagged.
He swept her into his arms and strode to the bed. Instead of setting her onto the sheets, he set her back on her feet. The deck was smoother than she’d expect wood to be. No danger of splinters. She stood, confused as he returned to the bed. Reclining quite deliciously before her, he patted the pad next to him. “Your choice, Mrs. Pawes.”
She waited, raising a hand to cup the breast he’d nearly bruised. His eyes burned her. She fought to catch her breath. “You have the ring?”
“A perfect gold loop.”
Shit.
“I found a silver one. When I reached St. Marteen. A street vendor pushed it at me. Alan, I don’t understand this magic. This level of coincidence.” Her voice trembled, no matter how she fought to keep it even. She turned away from him, her eyes scanning the cabin. “Where is my bag? Did they take my bag?”
A sense of panic rose in her. Everything she needed to make the books was in her bag! And her knives! Did they keep her knives?
“Mrs. Pawes, I am rejected in favor of what? Your bag? It’s at the other side of the table.” This time he sounded wounded, even bored.
She
scurried over to the shadows, hauled her bag up onto the table. “My knives?” She shot a glance at him. “Get over it, Alan. I’ll be there in a minute.” One by one, she set her supplies out. And near the middle, she found a small box. She pulled it out, set it down. “My knives! They took my knives?”
“No, I put them away. You’ll have them when you leave the ship.”
Oh.
She ran her free hand through her hair, returning to the bed. He lay back, staring at the ceiling. One hand rested at his cock, stroking it idly.
She set the box on his chest.
Clearing her throat, she tried to make it clear that no matter his intentions, she wasn’t going to go along with everything he planned. “You scared the shit out of me. Hired thugs to kidnap me, nearly drowned me in a tub, and offered me no food.”
She watched as he lifted the box, examined it, and slowly removed the silver ring she’d bought. She wasn’t sure why she bought it, what she intended. She wasn’t even considering the outrageous idea of piercing his nipple.
He said nothing in response as he examined the ring, set it back into the box, and tucked it away. Instead, he turned on his side to watch her. Again, he patted the mattress.
She should be pissy, but his confidence was oddly compelling. Without objecting, she joined him.
“When did you last bathe?” she asked him. It shouldn’t matter, but it did.
Hell, if she was going to go along with everything he’d set up, she might as well have one or two small demands.
“This morning,” he answered.
“I’m not sure about my…about piercing…uh…either,” she stuttered, when he swept an arm around her, pulling her atop him. His cock nestled at her thatch. It grew hard to think.
In the midst of her body’s roar of want, he answered her concern. “We’ll talk about the piercings later. Once we’ve both satisfied other needs”
His large hands gripped the inside of her thighs, spreading her more thoroughly around him. She couldn’t take her eyes away, breathlessly watching every move he made, every expression on his face. She’d never experienced a response within herself that was so sharp and alert. She wanted to watch him, see for herself the power she held at this moment. For once, she felt in control and was going to enjoy it, if only for a little while.
She swiveled her hips. He drew a sharp breath, but his eyes were locked like a laser at the juncture where cock met cunt but was not yet welcomed inside.
She squeezed her thighs and he licked his lips. It was fascinating to observe how intently he paid attention.
She made Silvestri pay attention? Was that it? Or was there more to it. She didn’t know.
***
Silvestri battled with himself not to roar, grip her hips and hold her as he drove upward, into her sweet heat. It hurled him toward insanity. Every move she made saw him fight with the urge to pillage. To take what he wanted would be normal, but he waited and wasn’t sure why.
Her hot cunny called to him, and he found it fascinating. He couldn’t look away, lost in her manipulation, playing with him. If she didn’t move soon, he’d spill like a boy. She stopped, raised up on her knees and gradually slid downward, taking him in. He groaned; his hands shifted to the outside of her thighs, to her ass. And she lowered herself onto him, around him...onto his chest. And he held her, wanting to know this place for the rest of his life.
Hours later, she slept and he kept watch over her. How totally unplanned, these deep echoes of tenderness he found as he stroked the lines around her eyes. So softly, she didn’t stir. This woman he would keep safe. He’d use her, yes. Sent by the Kraken to give him hope, he’d be a fool not to follow the clues. He bet she succeeded beyond any goal that great creature envisioned. Through her, he found a reason to fight. And he’d find freedom.
Chapter Fourteen
She woke the next morning to find he’d left the cabin. She moaned. Her battered body was going to ache. Stretching, she blinked in amazement at the lack of pain. In fact, she hadn’t felt this good in decades. Raising one arm, she examined it. Still a bit flabby, still some wiggly skin at the upper part. But underneath all that, her other hand traced the new muscles. In the faint light she realized how dark her skin had grown.
In the months she’d been here, in this strange new world, she’d seen no sign of skin cancer. And she’d looked. She’d asked the others if they worried about it. Tink laughed at her. She did that often.
Lifting a leg from the covers, she eyed it with some pleasure. It took months to stop the morning groans. When she’d first started helping on the Quill, she hurt—constantly. She’d been fairly useless for a long time. Stubbornness saw her persevere.
Sure, she took up the hobby of book binding at the captain’s suggestion. And part of the money she brought in went toward ships funds. She’d wanted to do more. And she learned. Helping with lines, mending sails, cleaning. All that fresh air, the sunshine, the work, it did what steady visits to the gym didn’t.
“I’ll never be skinny, but I’m thinner,” she spoke to her extended leg.
“Heaven forbid you grow skinny.” Alan stepped away from a dark alcove.
She dropped her leg and sat up. “Where the hell did you come from?”
He adjusted his breeches. “A small privy. Not much more than a simple hole, but better than the alternative.”
“Bathroom? I don’t have to use a bed pan or…?” She stopped. The Quill did boast one rather impressive bathroom, but the rest were little more than old-fashioned outhouses. On a ship, that confused her to no end.
Janey explained that the inside privies were sanitary due to a chemical mix tossed into the holding area that broke it down to basics.
“We wash them out every week.” She’d grinned, obviously proud.
“They have this on every ship?” Emily asked.
“Not every, but most. The French don’t believe in it. They think it’s some evil thing that will eat through their hulls. It might if they don’t wash it out.”
Well, Silvestri wasn’t French, so she shouldn’t be surprised.
He pulled a robe from a drawer and held it open, beckoning to her with a broad smile. She eyed the robe with pleasure. A lovely shade of blue, almost turquoise, and covered with intricate embroidery of birds and blossoms. The colors mesmerized her.
He lifted it higher and she gave in, slipping from the bed and straight to the robe. He slid it over her shoulders and stroked her arms, mimicking the way it caressed her skin.
“This is the softest thing I’ve ever felt.” She touched the sleeves.
“Not the softest, but I admit, it’s close,” he answered.
With a snort, she stepped away. “This privy, I need shoes?”
“No, it’s clean.” He gestured toward the alcove. “I’ll collect breakfast while you see to your necessities.”
She nodded, heading for the…what did they call them on a ship? The head? He’d fed her last night, after an initial bout of fucking that left her gasping. And they’d drunk, but not to excess. She was thankful. Throwing up on the Quill wasn’t pleasant, no matter what they were tossing into the privy, er head.
They had done much more than eat. The passion between them flat out amazed her every time.
They ate and chatted. He asked about where she’d come from. About the past, about her family. Nothing about the Quill. Nothing about Mick.
“Did you gain anything from your days with the dye guild?” He stroked her hand where it rested on the paper she’d unloaded from her bag.
Why did he make her nervous?
She pulled her hand back, feeling a need for some distance. “Yeah. Some basic formulas I can use for a few colors. A light blue and a burnt red, of sorts. Would you like to see?”
He nodded, and she pulled out two sheets of a thick paper. “They wouldn’t let me actually do more, and I snuck the directions out. I don’t have a good memory, so I’d excuse myself to use the bathroom to write it down. They didn’t want me to w
rite anything down.” She pulled out a tiny booklet, not much bigger than her palm and grinned. “Thank God pencils seem to find their own little portals.” She opened the book and the stub of a pencil fell out.
“Quite sneaky of you.”
“I try.”
He carefully unrolled the blue sheet. “This is nice. I imagine if the paper will absorb it, you could deepen the color?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to experiment with this. I only have so much.” She’d cheered her success when the off-white sheet took the dye nicely. “I can use this to make two books.”
“Show me how you do it.” He sat back, watching while she pulled out several plain sheets of paper. She folded them carefully in half, used a smooth bit of wood to make a clean crease. She repeated the process. It was mindless, but oddly calming. She smiled while working, glancing up at him now and again. He didn’t ask anything.
She formed a dozen folios, the single sheets folded in half, and tucked them together. “This is called a signature, the basic form of the book.” Handling a straight edged bit of hard wood, she looked at Silvestri. “I need a sharp knife with a narrow point.”
He grinned and handed her a small blade from his belt. “It is sharp.”
“You may need to sharpen it again when I’m done. Paper tends to dull the edge.” She lined the paper up carefully, set the wood down and trimmed off the uneven edges. Next, she opened the signature. She used the tip of the knife like a drill and placed three holes at the fold.
She cut the cover next, from the blue he’d admired. She made it a fraction larger than the signature. “This is a simple book. Nothing fancy like those stupid ledgers they made me put together. Hey!” She looked over at him. “If you bribed them to teach me, why the ledgers?”
“An excuse. And I can always use a ledger or two. I keep accurate books.” Those blue eyes were hard to resist, studying her.
She snickered. “What do you need books for? Not that I’m saying you can’t read or anything. Or write. You draw in them?”
He smiled at her, raised a single eyebrow. “I am a successful businessman.”
“Yeah, I bet. Lucky curses might explain some of the idiots with fortunes in my time.”
The Kraken's Mirror Page 12
