by Sandra Brown
Not to appear cowed, I lifted my chin a notch higher. He could abuse me, even kill me, but he'd never break my spirit. His dark laughter mingled with the wind. Seconds later I felt the vibration of his approaching footsteps through the soles of my bare feet. My heart went wild with anxiety, but I maintained the proud posture that governesses had drilled into me from infancy.
My head was snapped forward when he jerked the blindfold from my eyes. I flung back my hair and glared into his face. But my hostile stare turned into a gaping mask of surprise. I knew the pirate king! Had known him all my life. He was the wastrel second son of the family who lived on the neighboring estate, the one reputed to be a gambler and ruthless womanizer. Because of his flagrant disregard for propriety, his family had disowned him years ago. His name was rarely spoken in polite company, and only then in whispers. Now, here he was, my captor.
He laughed at my astonishment. Then he informed me in a voice laced with menace that he was avenging an ancient wrong my father had done him. Sneering, the pirate slid a saber out of the leather scabbard that was buckled around his lean hips. Thinking that he meant to kill me on the spot, I flinched when he made one downward swipe with the sword.
When I realized that I was still alive and apparently unharmed, I opened my eyes, only to discover that he had slashed through the ties of my cloak and that it had pooled around my feet. My nightgown, growing damp from the sea spray, clung revealingly to my naked body.
His cold, glittering eyes moved over me, pausing to stare with interest at my breasts and the triangular shadow between my thighs. He made me shudder with dread. That's what I told myself I didn't want to acknowledge that my trembling had another, altogether different, source.
I remembered this neighbor as a slender youth. He had since filled out, come into his full maturity and developed into a man of impressive form. His wide-sleeved, loose white blouse was opened to the waist, displaying a muscular chest. It was covered with hair, darker even than that on his head. A wide leather belt emphasized the narrowness of his waist. Tall boots, cuffed just above his knees, drew my attention to thighs that were as hard and smooth as the masts of his ship. His manhood, I was revolted to notice, was indecently outlined beneath the tight, thin breeches, which fit better than his skin.
He noted the direction of my gaze and laughed with insufferable conceit. Before I could utter any of the epithets that rushed to my mind, he swept me up against that solid, wide chest. I thrashed my legs as much as my bonds would allow and bowed my back, demanding to know where he was taking me. My struggles only served to delight his men, who cheered their leader on and offered him advice on how to tame me. Their lewd catcalls made my ears and cheeks burn with indignation.
He kicked open the door to his cabin with one booted foot and, after carrying me inside, shut it in the same angry manner. Unceremoniously he dumped me onto the bed. I landed hard, but the bunk was surprisingly soft and wide. In fact the entire room was much more luxurious than I would have expected.
I lay amid the pillows covered in Oriental silk and watched with fearful fascination as he peeled his shirt over his head and nonchalantly tossed it to the floor. Every muscle in his chest and arms rippled beneath his sun-baked skin as he slowly removed his leather belt. Keeping me spellbound with his eyes, he unfastened his breeches.
I gasped with fear and dismay. Smiling, he swaggered toward the bed on which I still lay. Taking a long, double-edged knife from the nearby table, he moved closer and lifted both my bound ankles in one hand. The inescapable knots didn't survive the slash of his knife and my feet came free. He frowned as he inspected the bruises the tight rope had made on my ankles and stroked them with his thumb. Reaching behind me, he freed my hands in the same manner, then drew them forward and inspected my chafed and discolored wrists.
But I was mistaken to think that his feelings toward me might have turned charitable. He was still bent on revenge. In one lightning-quick motion, he pulled me to my feet. I swayed against him, reflexively reaching out for support. He grunted with satisfaction when my breasts flattened against his chest. Tunneling all ten fingers in my hair and settling them against my scalp, he tilted my head back. He smiled triumphantly, then bent his head and covered my lips with his.
I wasn't prepared for the heat that spilled through me like the finest wine. I attributed the tingling in my limbs to having been bound, but I knew that his lips and what they were doing to mine were responsible. His tongue deflowered my mouth as surely as that other part of him, which I felt pressing firmly against my belly, was about to claim my maidenhood.
He grappled with the buttons of my nightgown. Suddenly I came to my senses and began to fight him. Impatient with both my futile efforts and the stubborn buttons, he gathered a handful of the material at the neckline and ripped the gown in two. His other hand manacled my wrists behind my back. After another long, deep kiss that stole my breath and pitched my senses into chaos, he raised his head and raked his eyes down my exposed body.
The change that came over him then was sudden and drastic. In his dark face, I recognized shades of the carefree, happy youth he'd been before his father's unfair comparisons to his older brother had turned him into the roguish ne'er-do-well he had become.
His eyes, no longer cold and implacable, gazed at me with misty longing. In a sad voice, he told me that I was beautiful and sweet and that my innocence was touching. When he raised his hand and covered my breast, he breathed a sigh of such yearning that my heart filled with compassion for him.
He studied the lazy movement of his thumb upon my flesh as he tenderly fanned my nipple into a tight peak. Then, bending his head down low, he stroked the very tip of it with his warm, wet tongue.
His other hand relaxed, releasing my pinioned wrists. I wrapped my arms around his neck and surrendered to the dewy caresses of his mouth. He splayed his hand wide on my derriere and drew me close, close enough to know intimately the extent of his desire. Outside myself now, and acting solely on instinct, I sent my hand down his chest in search of—
* * *
"Mrs. Burke?" Elizabeth peered up from beneath the hood of the hair dryer. "Did I startle you? I'm sorry," the manicurist said, smiling apologetically. "I'm ready for you now."
Elizabeth gathered her handbag and followed the manicurist to her table. The visit to the salon had been Lilah's idea. "This is your first official date in ages," she had said. "Treat yourself."
"You're forgetting one crucial point," Elizabeth argued. "Fantasy is open on Saturday afternoons. There won't be time to have my hair done after I close the shop."
Lilah had considered the dilemma for several moments before saying brightly, "I know. I'll mind the store for you."
Elizabeth was far from enthusiastic about the idea. When she was behind the counter in Fantasy, she dressed the part, wearing pastels and lace, soft, romantic clothing reminiscent of a century ago. She doubted Lilah owned anything lacy or pastel. Her black leather pants and vividly striped ponchos would be grossly out of place. However, Lilah had promised to be on her best behavior. Elizabeth would have been ungracious not to accept the unselfish offer. So now she sat docilely while the manicurist worked on her nails, secretly enjoying the respite from her many responsibilities.
Each time she thought of the evening to come, she got butterflies in her stomach. She hadn't seen Adam Cavanaugh since he had asked her out. The hotel grapevine had reported that he was in the building all week. She couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't come by just to say hello. But then this evening wasn't nearly as special to him as it was to her.
There were several reasons why tonight's date was significant. It was her first official date since her husband's accidental death. Her escort was a contemporary equivalent to Prince Charming. And it was a means by which to forget about the man who lived in the house behind hers. In a very short time, Thad Randolph had become a disturbing factor in her life.
She didn't like thinking about what had happened when she'd discovered him sic
k in his bedroom. She hated remembering what he looked like lying naked in that sexily rumpled bed. Each time she recalled him resting his cheek against her thigh, she ached with arousal. His parting words had been repeated in her head so many times, they should have lost their impact. They hadn't.
She had avoided even glancing toward his house the rest of the week, though she'd sent Matt and Megan over to check on him. They had reported back that he had made a remarkable recovery. So why couldn't she forget the incident and pretend that it hadn't happened?
That's what she tried to do each night when she retired to her bedroom and picked up her notebook and pen. Lilah had pestered her to write out more of her fantasies. So to satisfy her insatiable sister and to distract her own one-track mind, she had done just that. The only problem was that the imaginary men in her fantasies had begun to look like Thad. If anyone, these romantic figments of her imagination should have looked like Adam, who was much more classically handsome.
She had rear-ranged her characters' features and changed their hair colors so they would in no way resemble Thad, but in even the most recent fantasy, the rakehell pirate had looked like a younger version of him.
When the manicurist was finished with her, she led Elizabeth through the salon to the hair stylist who was waiting to comb her out. He removed the curlers, then surprised her by saying, "Throw your head forward." He combed her hair out upside down using only his fingers. When she tossed her head back, her light blond hair fanned out wide and wild around her head.
Well, it was different.
So different that when she returned home, her children gaped at her. "Gee, Mom, you look like one of the Solid Gold dancers."
"Oh, Lord," she said and moaned.
Before Mrs. Alder left, she informed Elizabeth that the lady from the dry cleaners had called to say that there was a slight problem with her dress. "What kind of problem?" she asked, thinking of cloth-eating chemicals.
"She didn't say, but I'm sure it's nothing earth-shattering. Have a good time."
It was earth-shattering. One of the cleaners' new employees had sent her only nice dress across town to another Mrs. Burke. They'd been trying to reach the woman by phone all afternoon, but hadn't succeeded. "I'm afraid that we might not get your dress to you until the first of next week."
When Elizabeth hung up, she was so dejected she decided to call Adam Cavanaugh, apologize profusely, and tell him that she couldn't make it for reasons beyond her control. Just as she was about to dial the Hotel Cavanaugh, the telephone rang.
"Hi, it's me," Lilah said cheerfully. "I made you three hundred and seventy-two dollars in sales this afternoon, but heaven I'm tired. Before I collapse with a glass of wine, I thought I'd call."
"Oh, Lilah." Elizabeth slumped into the nearest chair and told her about the dry cleaners' snafu. "I don't have anything else to wear that's appropriate."
"Well, if you ask me, this is the best thing that could have happened. That dress makes you look as old as Whistler's mother. I'll bring over something for you to wear."
"Out of your closet?"
"Well, you don't have to sound so horrified."
Lilah's hurt tone made Elizabeth feel rotten. "Your clothes look terrific on you. But our tastes don't coincide."
"I'll bring my dowdiest duds."
"Thanks a lot."
"Finally," Lilah said dramatically, "I've got you laughing. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Do something relaxing until I get there."
She gave Megan and Matt permission to make "slice and bake" cookies while she went upstairs to take a soothing bubble bath. While partially reclining in the tub, she wrote out the pirate-captive fantasy she had daydreamed that afternoon. It was a cliché, but it was fun. Lilah would probably enjoy it even if it were never submitted for publication. She owed her sister a favor.
She smelled the burning cookies the minute she opened the bathroom door. Handwritten pages in hand, she raced down the stairs to rescue the sheet of charcoaled dough from the oven. Megan and Matt had become engrossed in a movie on TV and had forgotten to set the oven timer. While the three of them were fanning smoke out of the kitchen, Lilah arrived.
"Your hair looks great!" she cried the moment she stepped into the kitchen, carrying several garments over her arm. "You look like a Solid Gold dancer." The children laughed uproariously. Elizabeth rolled her eyes heavenward. "Did I say something funny?" Lilah asked.
"Not really." Elizabeth took her hand and dragged her upstairs. "Let's see what outlandish outfits you've brought."
The differences in their coloring were so subtle one barely noticed them. But while Lilah could wear bright colors, they did nothing for Elizabeth but make her look sallow. From the dresses Lilah brought for her consideration, she selected a two-piece silk suit with a long pleated skin. The one-button jacket had shoulder pads and a shawl collar that extended all the way to its hem. It was smart and dressy enough for dinner. The shade of pink was brighter than pastel, but didn't drain her complexion of all color.
She looked at herself from every angle in the cheval glass. "It'll go with the gray shoes I planned on wearing. Besides, I don't have much choice. Adam's due here in fifteen minutes," she said, consulting the clock on her dresser. "Which remind me, where's the baby-sitter? She said she'd be here by seven.
"I'll check downstairs," Lilah said. "The kids might have already let her in.
Elizabeth finished dressing and, after giving herself one last hasty glance in the mirror, switched out her bedroom light and went downstairs. She could hear her family talking in the kitchen. When the doorbell rang as she was making her way across the living room, she was glad she was alone to answer the door. Her children might do something horrendous in front of Adam Cavanaugh, though she had demanded that they be on their best behavior when she introduced them.
Arranging her face into a welcoming smile and taking a restorative breath that did nothing to calm her jumpiness, she opened the front door. "What are you doing here?" she asked, saying the first thing that popped into her mind.
Thad was standing on her threshold holding a bouquet of roses wrapped in green tissue paper. He truly had made a remarkable recovery. If the man had ever been sick a day in his life, one couldn't tell it tonight. He was the picture of health and virility. Despite her rude question, his smile was wide and warm.
"I came to say thank you for being such a good neighbor when I was sick."
"Oh, that. Well, you're welcome."
An awkward silence ensued. The last time they had faced each other, she'd been wearing a nervous smile and he'd been wearing a sheet, and they both remembered what he'd said about finishing his dream.
"May I come in?"
"Of course." Before she closed the front door behind him, Elizabeth anxiously glanced up and down the street, but didn't see an approaching car. "My children will be glad to see you."
"I'm not here to see your children, Elizabeth."
His meaning couldn't be mistaken. If she had mistaken his meaning, the rapacious way he was looking at her would have clarified it. "The roses are beautiful," she said anxiously. "Are they for me?"
He extended the bouquet to her. "I didn't know if you liked roses.
"I love them."
"That color was so soft and feminine, it reminded me of you."
Self-consciously she sniffed the fragrant white blooms. The delicately ruffled edges of the petals were tipped with pink, as though they'd been kissed. "Thank you, Thad." She raised her head and caught him looking at her with puzzlement.
"Why are you all dressed up? Are you going out?"
"Well, yes, I—"
"Thad!"
"Thad!"
Megan and Matt barged through the swinging door that connected the dining room to the kitchen. Lilah followed. Her eyes rounded with surprise and amusement when she saw her sister talking with Thad. Elizabeth made awkward introductions while her children competed for Thad's attention with the fervency of pennant contenders.
"So pleased to meet you," Lilah cooed. "You brought roses! How thoughtful." She slid an inquiring glance toward her sister.
"I, uh, Thad was sick earlier in the week. He just dropped by to thank me for, for, uh..."
"Going into his house to check on him."
"Yeah, and she wouldn't let us go in to visit ‘cause we might catch the flu."
"But she's a mom and can't catch the flu so she went in—"
"All by herself and—"
"He was in his bed—"
"And she did stuff for him—"
"And he got well."
The children's explanation was thorough, yet left holes as large as elephants for Lilah to fill with imagination. She gave her sister a speculative glance that said "Still waters run deep." Elizabeth prayed to be vaporized on the spot.
