“I am not an idiot, and I am more than my curse.”
His voice lowered, and she glanced away from the book. He wasn’t watching her any more, but looking into a dark corner of the cabin. She sighed. She and her big mouth.
“Okay, I know that. I’m sorry. Alan, were you born with this curse?”
Might as well try to get some real information out of him while she worked.
“No. I wasn’t. I was born the fifth son of an impoverished English lord. I was sent to sea to make my way. Big brother snagged a rich enough wife to buy me a commission as a powder boy, at twelve. Two years later, I escaped the navy and joined a pirate crew. I’m sure I disappointed my brother, but he was always a pig-faced son of a sow.” He scowled.
“Oh, well. Don’t hold anything back there, Alan.”
Must be more to it. Family stories tended to be full of many dramas. She’d been an only child, with few dramas. But she’d observed them from friends and neighbors.
She took some fine twine from her bag, threaded it into the holes and began the intricate weaving that brought it together. “What next? You rose through the ranks to captain, raided the Spanish Main, rallied a fine and loyal crew, and rescued some fair maiden from a corrupt admiral….” She glanced up to see him staring at her. She shrugged. “Sorry, Hollywood pirates. Lots of drama and romance, high seas adventure….” Her voice faded. “Never mind.”
“Sounds like some silly melodrama. No. But I did meet my fate at fifteen. That’s when I was cursed.” He stood up and bent to examine the book. “That is quite nice. I’ve seen your work in several ports. I hope you get a good price.”
“I do.” She tied the final knot and set the book on the table. “Here, you can keep track of the ships you take, or the women you fuck or…something useful.”
He lifted the book and smiled at her. “Something useful. Thank you. And I have a gift for you.”
She put her supplies away, wondering what he planned to give her. A sudden thought lifted her head. “I don’t want anything from that galleon. It wouldn’t feel right.”
“That galleon? What have you heard about a galleon?” He was searching through a tall cupboard of sorts. She didn’t like the tone of his voice.
“Uh…nothing? Never mind.” She lifted her bag and tucked it back into the corner where it rested before. Threading her fingers together, she sighed and lowered her head to the table. “I’m no good at this.” Closing her eyes, she swallowed the sudden attack of nerves.
“No good at what? Lying. That is true; you have no talent for it.” A door slammed and she shrank. She really didn’t want to see him angry. He may have sounded as though it didn’t matter, but the slam of that cupboard door told another story. She wasn’t fooled. “You heard about the galleon. I did not wish for their deaths, Emily.”
She heard him approach and sit next to her on the bench.
“I know that. At least, I think I know that. But I actually don’t know anything.” She took a deep breath, raised her head and met his eyes. “I think I’m insane. I think I drank some bad stuff at that pirate fair and am suffering one phenomenal delusion. Or I fell, struck my head and am in a coma. Or maybe I finally suffered a nervous breakdown….”
He touched her head and she melted into the security of his arms. She wasn’t scared when she was with him.
This must be what she trusted him with. She trusted him to keep her safe.
***
He set the bottle down on the table and pulled her close. She’d trembled at the harsh words she’d used to describe her thoughts. Insanity, hallucination, breakdown—none sounded positive. He sighed. “If I am a delusion, than I am a most fortune delusion to be sailing these seas with you at my side. Here, I ordered this made for you.”
She looked up and followed his gesture to the bottle.
“What is it?”
“You said your perfume was nearly gone. I commissioned this. I feel it’s quite close.” He grinned. She snatched the bottle, carefully undid the wax seal and almost reverently lifted the stopper to her nostrils. The tart scent of ripe green apples filled the room. This was a heavier scent than what she normally wore, but the best the perfumer could manage. He’d been pleased with it. It made him think of her, even if it wasn’t an exact duplicate of the scent.
“Oh. Wow. This is much better!” She dabbed the stopper on her wrist followed by a brush at her neck. “This is exceptionally thoughtful of you. My little bottle is nearly empty. Thank you!” She inhaled again at her wrist. “It’s more concentrated—I’ll use less at a time.”
The smile she turned on him saw his stomach drop. Sweet, open, and without worry or concern regarding his motives. He remembered a tiny niece who would look at him that way after some small gesture of affection. They’d always been small gestures; he’d little to spare.
What was the little girl’s name?
He couldn’t remember.
Emily tilted her head at him. “Where did you go?”
“What?” He shook his head, reached for her wrist and held it to his nose. He took a breath. “Ah. Mixes better with your skin than the perfumer’s. I can show you how to reseal the bottle so it will transport without spilling.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She leaned toward him. “I’m touched.”
“I truly do not think you are mad, Mrs. Pawes.” He understood, but didn’t resist the chance to tease.
When she actually initiated a kiss, almost shyly, it took every bit of willpower not to pull her closer and smother her in his arms. Her tongue ventured a small exploration of his lips. So incredibly gentle, soft, he suddenly felt terribly weak.
He raised his arms and held her, but not with the fever of a starving man this time. The silk of the robe cooled his pulse. Her presence calmed him, and he knew he’d keep lying to her. To tell her was to invite interference and risk her life. To lie risked this fragile relationship, but at least she would not be in danger.
Rousing himself from a bout of melancholy, he chuckled, rising from the bench. “Now, we have another twenty-four hours. Time enough to experiment.”
***
She eyed him with trepidation. The loss of his simple embrace surprised her with a tug at her heart. Not only her body this time. She missed him? He wasn’t ten feet from her, and she missed him.
This was insane. She needed to get back to her world. She had a book to write, a grand tour to take. She planned on getting a cat for the little camper, to keep her company. Yes, a nice, fat rescue kitty, and together they’d go everywhere she ever dreamed of. Run away from the entire idea of growing old. She wouldn’t be bothered by being alone, she liked being self-sufficient. It was nice not to miss people.
Her mind whirled.
He returned to the table and sat, resting a hip on the edge, put a boot on the bench next to her, and handed her a deck of cards.
“You want to play cards?” she ventured a guess. “What? Strip poker? Not fair, you’re wearing more clothing than I….” Her eyes drifted to the cards, fanning them out. “Oh.”
“I ran across them at a little shop in Tortuga and found them quite inspiring. I’ve flipped through them, but waited for a woman worthy of such goals. Now.” He leaned closer. “I’ll pick two, you pick two, and we’ll pick one together.”
She swallowed the sudden surge of interest. Kama Sutra cards. She’s always wanted to try those. But now? She was fifty-three years old! She’d never been terribly limber.
Oh! That was a nice one!
She tilted her head, well, maybe. It was a lovely deck, with photographs instead of sketches.
He took the cards from her and shuffled them expertly, then spread them out face down in a fan on the table. “Pick two.”
“You’re quite sure of yourself, Captain Silvestri. What if I…we…can’t?”
“Can’t? Why can’t we? We’ve already mastered several of the more basic positions.” He slid a card from one side, lined it up without flipping it over. He waited for her, eyebrow rai
sed in expectation.
Emily wanted to do this. What the hell. She did!
She drew a card and put it next to his. He drew. She drew. He held her hand, closed his eyes, clearly expecting her to follow course. She sighed and let him move their combined hands over the deck, then fall to select one.
He flipped the first one over.
Chapter Fifteen
The light changed, shining through the window on the portside. He diligently rubbed and massaged her right calf while she moaned.
“It was that damned Trapeze Position. Lucky I didn’t break my neck.” She moaned again at the deep pressure he used to dig into the tight muscle. “On my head? That was nuts.”
“You should have trusted that I wasn’t going to let go. I held your hands—you didn’t have to grip so tight with your legs. And the blankets were there for padding.” He felt his cock stir at the memory.
It was going so well. He perched on the edge of the bunk, Emily's warm body pressed against his chest until she bent slowly back, anchoring her legs around his hips. His grip locked on her hands as he gazed down at her tits, her back arched, locking her cunt firmly to his cock. So sublime, almost perfect, until her foot slipped, causing Emily to twist in panic and end up with a painful cramp.
“I quite enjoyed the first three positions,” he commented.
“Yeah, you would. What did you do, fix the deck so the oral sex was up first?” She snickered.
He glanced down at her face where a bright smile met his eyes. Good, she’d enjoyed herself.
“You watched the cards being drawn. Impossible to fix.”
“Uh huh. It’s your damned luck.”
“And the last, which saw you incapacitated?”
“Got you a view you’re enjoying.” She looked up her leg at him. He smiled down, at her spread open cunny. She was right, of course.
She let loose a sigh, “There is one left.”
“Not until you get the splinter out of my ass.” He shifted, trying to ease the pressure off the nagging sting. It proved a bit uncomfortable. He’d known that bit of wood needed sanding, damn it.
“You got a splinter? Your curse must be lazy.” She eased her leg away from him. “Good now. Let me see the damage.”
“My choice to endanger my posterior.” He turned about. Her hands were gentle as she examined his ass. A few moments of that and he’d be ready for that last card.
“Oh, you big baby! It’s nothing!” She tugged and the bit of wood came free.
“It was a nuisance, but I didn’t bellow about it. Took care of your leg first,” he replied. “Let’s see what the last card presents.”
She hadn’t reached her feet yet when he turned it over. He smiled down at it, easy, intimate….
She shivered, standing next to him. “Getting a little cold in here.”
“It’s the sweat; this one will help. On the bed, where it’s sunny still.” He held the card out to her. She slumped as she took it. He wasn’t fooled—she enjoyed this play as much as he did, maybe more. He eyed the light at the window while she read it. If he wanted to take advantage of the last bit of the sun’s rays to do the piercing, he needed her to agree, soon.
Everything necessary waited in a small box, under the table.
“The Outstretched Clasping Position?” She examined the card. “Well, no acrobatics, looks relatively plain.”
He knew better. With their height difference, this would prove a challenge. He set the card down and gestured to the bed. She rolled her eyes, and nonchalantly headed for the back. He waited until she was engaged in making herself comfortable to grab the box and see it near at hand.
She relaxed on the covers; spread her legs, arms held above her head. “No tying me up.”
“Maybe next time.” He winked and eased down atop her.
Soft and warm. Her scent rose to surround him. The tart bite of the perfume he’d given her mixed with the earthy musk of the afternoon.
She’d no idea how enticing he found a woman who took such a casual, almost distant, approach to fucking. Oh, prostitutes certainly were able to embrace a good swing in a hammock and remain uninvolved. But this woman enjoyed this play as play, not professional work. She played with a sweet abandon that hinted at a capacity for a great deal more. He surmised they held different definitions of the word play, along with the steps from play to practice to real passion. What they constantly did to one another approached uniquely sublime pleasure.
He knew the difference between sex, fucking and making love. He knew they were beyond the first, well advanced into the second, and quickly approaching the third. But he suspected she wouldn’t agree.
He would bring her there.
She took a deep breath when he settled between her legs. He clasped hands with her, stretching her arms above her head. He grinned. The tip of his cock nestled barely at her curly nest. She frowned then tried to lift her hips to encompass him. He stayed still, gazing into her eyes.
He kissed her, slowly lingering over her lips, dancing teasingly with her tongue. He pulled away.
She arched her body and he slid a fraction into her.
“Alan!”
“I like looking into your eyes,” he murmured.
“Fuck me, you bastard.”
“I am not, in fact, a bastard.”
“Son of a bitch!” She again stretched, trying to maneuver him into her.
He used his weight to keep her from succeeding.
“My mother, though unpleasant at times, was not a bitch.” Her moving tested his patience. He growled. “You need to look into my eyes, Emily.”
“Fuck me, Alan!”
“What will you give me if I agree to your charming demand?”
“Give you?” She stilled, met his eyes with some suspicion. “What do you want? You already have me here, in your bed.” She tilted her head at him, blew a strand of his long hair away from her face. “I won’t spy for you.”
He sighed. “I have no need of a spy, love. No, I want our dream, Emily. I want to see it come true.” He lowered his gaze, glancing at her breasts, then back to her eyes.
She swallowed and turned her face to the side.
He tightened his grip on her fingers when she tried to slide one hand away. She took a deep breath.
“Alan…okay, I admit I like the idea. I’m not sure of the reality. I used to talk to Tom about it. I’ve always thought it would be an interesting thing to do.”
“And your husband didn’t agree?” He found that puzzling. What man wouldn’t be titillated by adorning his woman with dainties?
“He worried it would become infected, hurt me, be noticed.” Her voice communicated some sadness.
Ah, not a matter of finances.
“Ah, you weren’t worried about those concerns. You were more daring. You are more daring, Emily. And it won’t infect. I have a cream from Mama Lu.” He bent to kiss her, this time pressing deeply into her mouth, tilting his hips so that he slid a fraction further into her. He turned his mouth to one side, whispered, “Say yes.”
He teased her, withdrawing, slipping out, and returning.
She moaned. “But what if I pass out?”
He laughed, not unkindly, and locked eyes with her. “I will catch you.”
Her body relaxed, signaling acceptance, and his heart soared at this show of trust. And she nodded. He tilted his head at her, and she whispered, “Yes.”
He squeezed her hands and pushed deeply into her. He kept hold of her hands, stretched her further while she parted her legs wider, wrapped them around his hips, and began her litany of curse words, keeping rhythm with his energetic thrusting.
***
Less than an hour later, Emily glanced down at her right nipple in wonder. It wasn’t difficult. It hurt a little bit, but his hands were gentle and quick. And the ring looked wonderful. She flicked at it with one finger. He’d slathered it with the cream from Mama Lu, and it instantly cooled, the bite of pain faded. Within ten minutes, it appeared totally heale
d up.
Magic. Captain Jezebel knew whereof she spoke.
It made her think seriously about the entire situation regarding Silvestri and his curse. She sat on the bed, watching him clean up from the piercing. What if it was more than talk, or a matter of coincidence and superstition?
A part of her, she realized, believed it wasn’t real. Now, that part needed to reconsider.
She took a chance. “Alan. You genuinely are cursed?”
“Oh, yes. I am cursed.” He turned to look at her. “You doubted?”
“Yeah. I did. All the magic stuff.” She smiled crookedly, admiring his legs. Strong, tan. Bare feet. She enjoyed looking at him, and found herself squirming. Again.
He moved about the cabin with total confidence. Sure of his balance, knowing where everything was. He’d reach for items without looking for them, place things without concern of where they’d land.
She was such a klutz, even in places she’d known most of her life. He was much more graceful than she. He set a bowl carefully in a box and closed the lid, then turned and strode back to the bed. He sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Yes. I am cursed.”
“How?”
For the first time, real concern entered her mind, not only curiosity. He turned his head to look into her eyes. “It’s a pathetic story. At fifteen, a beautiful woman offered me everything I thought I wanted. I said yes. The trick was played on me—to have everything I wanted and never pay for it. Ha!”
She swallowed. “You pay. You pay every three days. Alone on this ship. Jezzie said it wasn’t always three days. And that it will grow shorter.”
“Hush. I am not alone. You are here.” He laid a finger at her lips. She sighed and said nothing further. Silently, he rose, dressed, and turned to the door. He paused. “Emily, will you make me a book from the red paper to match the blue? I will be back with a meal after I check on the ship.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Can I go outside?”
“No. My crew thinks I keep you here against your will. You move out to the deck and your safety is compromised. Stay.”
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