Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance

by Michelle Beattie

  He shoved back from the table. “There’s something I need to see to.”

  She whipped her hand from the shirt but the damage was done. He was burning and hard and, damn it, he just needed to get out of there.

  “Can I be going as well?”

  Steele stopped dead, fought the impulse to bang his head against the support post at the base of the ladder. The point had been to get away from her.

  “’Tis hot down here. Sure and ’tis no cooler above but a wind, any wind, has to be better than this stifling heat.”

  He couldn’t deny her or her words. But having her on deck, doing what she’d just done? Hell, he’d have a mutiny for sure.

  “You can come up, Grace, under one condition.”

  Steele rubbed a hand down his beard then across the back of his neck. His hand came away drenched.

  “That thing you just did. You can’t do it in front of the men.”

  Her hand immediately went to her bosom but then remembering, she dropped it. Her cheeks glowed pink. Damn it, why couldn’t he have rescued a troll?

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Steele sighed, closed his eyes. “I know.”

  She didn’t mean to tease or be seductive. She didn’t set out to be alluring and desirable. Apparently those traits just came naturally to her and it was up to him not to respond.

  Sure, he thought as he led the way up the ladder. There was about as much chance of that happening as the Caribbean Sea suddenly turning to ice.

  *

  “It’s hotter than the pits of hell out here, Captain,” Smoky grumbled.

  “I know it, but put your shirt on anyway.” To prove his point, Steele grabbed his crewman’s garment from the cannon he’d dropped it on and tossed it at him.

  Steele wasn’t any happier about having a shirt on either. It stuck to his chest, his back. If he could, he’d rub against the mast to crush the itch gnawing dead center of his back. His hair stuck to his neck and temples. The blazing sun felt like it was cooking the skin beneath his beard. Heat rose off the deck in shimmering waves. With the breeze nothing more than nature’s hot exhale, relief was nowhere to be found.

  “If you kept her below, this wouldn’t be necessary.”

  “She’s not a prisoner, Smoky.”

  “She could be,” he muttered though he yanked his shirt over his head.

  Yes, and wouldn’t it be easier for them all. He ducked below and around rigging lines tossing back the shirts his men had haphazardly discarded on the deck and over the guns. Considering the red skin already singeing most of their shoulders, he took their complaints lightly. Come morning, they’d thank him for not having worse burns.

  After much grumbling, cussing, and snarling, the crew donned their garments. All but Aidan who, no matter the temperature, never went without a shirt.

  It didn’t take much time at all to circle the deck but, by the time Steele made it back to the quarterdeck, he could have wrung a gallon of fluid from his shirt. Taking the helm back from Aidan, Steele kept his arms high on the wheel simply to keep them from rubbing at his sides and adding yet another layer of heat. He couldn’t stand to have anything near and if something didn’t change soon he wouldn’t be able to stand his own stench much longer. He was starting to think he’d done Isaac a favor by—

  “Hell, why didn’t I think of it before?” The heat must have cooked his brain.

  He pulled out his looking glass, adjusted for his eye. Off the starboard side, miles ahead if the speck of brown was any indication, lay just what he and his crew needed. Sometimes a spit of land wasn’t punishment; sometimes it was an oasis.

  Unfortunately, knowing what he was going to do once there, Steele knew for him, it was going to be both.

  Chapter Eight

  Excitement saturated the air. It rang with cheers, songs, and playful squabbles as sailors shoved for their turn down the ladder. From her vantage point on the quarterdeck, Grace leaned against the gunwale, chuckling as men leapt into the water from various positions on the rungs. Before Aidan had gone over, he’d explained that since Steele’s sloop had a shallow draft, it could anchor in shallower waters. Jumping from the top of the gunwale could get someone killed.

  From where she stood the greenish-blue water didn’t appear more than ankle deep. There wasn’t a rock to be seen in it either, nothing but a sandy bottom and a gentle current. However, since the men’s legs were circling to keep them afloat, she knew it was deeper than it seemed.

  Grace could hardly stand waiting for her turn.

  But first the longboat had to finish ferrying supplies. Steele had decided in order to keep the ship from getting any hotter, the evening meal would be ashore. Pockets, Paddy, and Aidan had been assigned the task of bringing supplies to the beach. A few sailors, their clothes sagging with seawater, waded in to help unload.

  Impatience gnawed at Grace like a tick on a dog. Hurry up, her mind shouted. But the men, blissfully happy to be away from the heat, which had settled onto the ship like a sulking child, took their time unloading. Hands stopped when a sailor told a story, or when another laughed at the tale. A sack was propped on a hip instead of set down; the longboat bobbed empty in its perch, half-dragged onto the beach.

  Grace had come to like Aidan and thought of him as a friend. But when he tossed his head and laughed, chortling over something Paddy said rather than hurrying back with the boat, she couldn’t think of a single redeeming trait about him.

  “Aidan!”

  “Coming, Captain.” Aidan’s reply came from shore. At least it sounded like Aidan. Grace couldn’t say for certain as her attention was riveted on Steele.

  He’d climbed onto the gunwale. His strong legs were braced wide. One hand held firm to the lines and the other braced against his narrow waist. His white shirt gaped open offering a view of hard muscle dusted with ink-black hair, a view she’d been captivated by earlier when he’d come into the cabin shirtless.

  Never would she have believed a shirtless man, or any man, could stir her so. In fact, no man before had ever stirred her before. Yet stirred she’d been. Her mouth had all but fallen open at the sight of the dark hair coiling over muscles so defined they appeared sculpted. She’d felt the impact low in her belly and it had both excited and scared her. Visions of touching him, or running her hands over those muscles had left her breathless and out of sorts.

  She was feeling much the same way again.

  Steele shifted his weight to one side, accentuating the length of his legs, not to mention his taut buttock. Grace had never before given a man’s shape a second thought. On the farm they’d worked in Ireland, she was too young to really appreciate the sight and on the plantation where she’d been forced to work out her servitude, she’d been too miserable to notice. Having an overseer with a whip nearby if she lost focus and slowed her work was a great motivator. Besides, along with the white indentured servants, there’d been black slaves as well and unsure about them, Grave had kept her head down and her hands busy.

  Roche’s ship had been about survival and nothing more. Everything about him was loathsome and vile and when he’d come at her, digging underneath her skirt, she’d had her eyes pressed tightly closed. She hadn’t seen more of him than he’d seen of her.

  But looking at Steele’s sharp cheekbones and full lips, taking in the long legs encased in black, the white shirt clinging to strong shoulders, Grace admitted his form was worthy of notice. In fact, she found herself wondering what other physical attributes the man possessed.

  Turning away, Grace pressed a hand to her trembling lips. After months of Roche’s abuse, when she had hated with a vengeance she hadn’t known herself capable of, she’d been sure she’d never want another soul to touch her again. That she’d see all men in Roche’s light.

  She’d vowed, even before Roche, to never marry, to never let another man have such control over her again. But in the hours she’d had alone in Roche’s cabin, keening over what he’d done, she’d believed he’d taken the
decision from her hands, that by forcing himself upon her he’d ensured she’d never want another. Yet she did. It did not mean she had to act on it, but, through a watery smile, she realized the decision remained hers. Roche had taken her innocence, but he hadn’t broken her spirit.

  “Grace?”

  She startled, drawing in a sharp breath. “’Tis our turn now, is it?” she asked.

  His eyes examined her face. She fought not to twitch under the scrutiny, feared he’d read her attraction. But he merely said yes and gestured for her to precede him. Whooshing out a quiet breath, Grace led the way down the stairs and across the deck to the rope ladder which had been tossed over the side to aid in the disembarking.

  Peering over, she saw Aidan bobbing in the longboat, legs as steady as if he were on land. He shaded his eyes when he raised them to her.

  “Ready to come ashore?”

  “More than I can say,” Grace answered. But before she could do more than grab a fistful of her skirt, Steele had his hand on her arm. Grace looked over her shoulder and nearly came nose to nose with him.

  “I don’t want you falling. I’ll guide you over and Aidan will help you into the boat.”

  “I can—”

  His scowl told her there was no point in arguing. And, to be sure, she wasn’t about to waste time doing so. All she wanted was relief from the cloying heat and a chance to once again plant her feet on solid land.

  Yet she knew had it been anyone else helping her, she wouldn’t have noticed the strong hands at her waist. She wouldn’t have felt the frisson of awareness when those hands moved to her arms as she slipped over the edge. She mourned the loss of his touch when her feet found the rungs and she told him he could let go. Then Aidan, much closer to her own age, reached out and lifted her from the bottom rung and set her into the boat. With his hand holding hers, he guided her to the small seat at the bow.

  There was no flutter of attraction, no sizzle along her nerves. But when the ladder slapped against the hull and Grace looked up to see Steel leverage himself over the gunwale, the flutter returned full force.

  Honed muscles shifted beneath the dark material of his pants. What was it about this man that made her notice things she’d never appreciated before? Like the enticing shape of a backside, the power of muscled thighs.

  The longboat rocked as Steele came aboard and settled next to his first mate.

  “Are you in need of me?” Aidan asked his captain.

  “Not for the moment. Lucky and Jack can handle lookout until I get back. But keep a sharp eye. Between the three of you I expect to get a signal if you suspect trouble. We shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. We’ll be back long before Paddy has the meal cooked.”

  “Back? From where?” Grace asked.

  Aidan winked at her, slapped his hand on his captain’s shoulder. “Have fun.” And then he stood, saluted, and dove neatly into the clear water.

  Steele slid to the middle of the bench, grabbed the oars. “You’re as entitled as the rest to frolic in the water but it doesn’t mean I want you doing so in front of the crew.”

  The oars sliced through the sea. Grace was momentarily distracted by the flex of muscles in his forearms and the stretch of cotton across his shoulders. More flitters and jolts danced in her stomach. She pressed a hand to still them.

  She should have known Steele’s hawkish gaze would catch the movement. The oars stilled, water dribbled off the wooden tips as he held them suspended over the sea.

  She dropped her hand to her lap, where it sat fisted next to her other. “I’m only excited.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I know what you were thinking.”

  His eyes latched onto hers. “You’ve no idea what I was thinking.”

  *

  Steele left the small bay and his men and rowed around to a smaller, narrower beach. The island wasn’t large, though it thankfully had enough trees filling its middle and scattering along its edges to allow Grace privacy. Not that he expected her to disrobe to her skin.

  The idea caused him to bobble the oars.

  No, she wouldn’t do it, he thought with a determined focus on his rowing, but even wading in skirts raised would cause a stir on the main beach. His men were human and while he was sure Isaac’s example was enough to still any action, it wouldn’t be enough to keep their eyes to themselves.

  And he should know. The more he was around her; the more difficult he found the task. Determinedly looking away and forcing his thoughts off Grace, Steele dug the oars in the water and pulled as hard as he could.

  Far too soon for his peace of mind sand scraped against the hull.

  “Sit,” he ordered when she moved to stand. He waited to ensure she did, though her raised brows told him loud and clear she didn’t appreciate being ordered about like a dog. He tugged off one of his boots then the other, positioned the oars inside the boat and stepped into the water.

  Cool sand pushed between his toes. Steele sighed, pressed his feet in deeper. Even that little bit of relief was enough to take the edge off his irritation. He grabbed the rope and hauled the boat onto the beach. Confident it wouldn’t move with the current, he extended his hand to her.

  He thought she might refuse when she hesitated, wouldn’t meet his eye. But she reached over and the warmth of her fingers slipped into his palm. A jolt of awareness pulsed up his arm straight to his heart. There was something intimate about holding hands. It implied trust, want. Need.

  She felt it as well. He doubted anyone else would notice the slight rounding of her eyes, the subtle tremor in her hand and the pulsing at the hollow of her throat. By the anxiety lurking in those enticing emerald eyes, she had as little idea of what to do about it as he did.

  Pretty or not, lush or not, he thought with a tightening of his loins, he wouldn’t dally with Grace. Steele had nothing to offer and she’d be a fool to think he did. He held firm as she stepped over the benches and onto the sand. They both reclaimed their hands as soon as her feet were on land.

  “You first,” he said, pointing to the water and struggling not to picture her in it, wearing nothing but the sea. “I’ll be over there.”

  It wasn’t a large copse of trees, but enough to provide shade for him and privacy for her. Privacy to take off some clothes, wade slowly into the water, toss her head back and sigh as the water crept up her legs like the hands of a lover.

  Desire slammed through him. Curling his hands into fists, he spun and, as much as the sand allowed, stomped to the nearby trees. If the sand burned his feet it was nothing compared to the flames of lust clawing through his blood and pulsing in his thickening erection. Dropping to the ground, Steele leaned against the trunk of a towering palm, his back to the beach.

  Legs spread out wide he looked down at the bulge of his arousal.

  “Don’t even think it,” he whispered as the first sounds of Grace splashing carried to the trees.

  His penis flexed in mocking response. Steele closed his eyes, braced himself for an uncomfortable afternoon.

  *

  At the first blissful feel of the tepid water lapping around her ankles, Grace knew she wouldn’t be content to simply wade in as high as her lifted skirts allowed. Contemplating, she bit her lip. Steele wasn’t so far away. However, he’d been a gentleman to date so far as propriety went. He’d given her his shirt to keep her modest, had been nothing but concerned with regards to the babe. And hadn’t he taken her to this secluded beach so she could enjoy herself without worrying about men staring at her?

  She tossed a look over her shoulder. He hadn’t gone far, as she’d known he wouldn’t. He was sitting against a tree at the edge of a thicket of a trees, his back to her. She couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed from where she stood, but he was still enough he could be trying to sleep. Grinning and holding her skirts high, Grace splashed her way to the sand. With her eyes on the man’s back, she disrobed to her shift, leaving the rest of her garments in a disregarded pile.


  Awareness, of herself and her surroundings, flooded her senses. She was standing outside in nothing but the thinnest cotton, with a man she’d only known a scattering of days. That he wasn’t looking was of little consequence, it didn’t change what she felt.

  The sun was suddenly hotter on her skin, especially where the neckline scooped low over her breasts. Looking down she wondered at her bosom. How had she missed her breasts enlarging with the babe? She fanned her fingers over the exposed flesh, drew in a sharp breath when her nipples hardened in response and an answering pulse leapt between her legs. Cheeks and ears burning, she looked guiltily toward the trees, but Steele hadn’t moved.

  What if he had, she wondered as the wind whispered over the water, crept under her shift and teased the sensitive skin of her thighs. What would she do if he knew what she was feeling? And, she thought with a jolt of lust, what if he acted upon it? Oh my.

  Boisterous shouts and laughter rang from around the island. Grace jumped. Steele turned his head, though not enough, she was certain, for him to see her. Still, it was enough to dispel the devilish thoughts. If Santo Domingo had a church, she’d need to see about confession.

  She waded back into the water until it folded over her shoulders then lay back and floated on it. While the sea was warm, it nevertheless offered respite from the humidity and the heat and she sighed, remembering the countless days on the plantation where she’d died of heat, her face and hands burning with it. She’d hungered for the blue-green water she could see past the sugar canes, craved the soothing of the water, the cooling of her scorched skin. She’d ached to the depth of her bones for anything that would ease the sweat drenching her body.

  Well, she wasn’t aching now. Scooping water with her hands, she hummed in appreciation as the liquid cooled her face. She licked the moisture from her lips.

  “Sure and it looks pretty, but it tastes awful,” she muttered of the sea.

  She’d never had a chance to swim in the sea in Ireland. The shack they’d lived in was too far from the ocean and it wasn’t safe to travel, her da had said. So, under the cover of darkness, they’d made do with a little stream. It had been like bathing in ice.