Page 7 of A Pirate’s Pleasure (Cameron Family #2)

V

T he Silver Hawk stood high atop the forward deck of his ship, legs firmly planted, his hands upon his hips. The breeze rushed by him as he surveyed the channel they so carefully navigated. They were clear, he knew. Robert was at the helm while certain of his sailors climbed the rigging with the agility of monkeys, leaving them enough sail to catch the breeze, but cutting in deftly for speed and maneuverability. They were coming upon the island of New Providence, to the lusty port town where rogues held sway and thieves and butchers ruled.

He knew the port well. He had come here often enough.

Some curious little tremor seized him suddenly, as if he had stepped from a hot bath into the chill of a winter’s day. He shook away the feeling with a shrug of his shoulders. There was danger here still, he thought.

But there was always danger. He had entered into this devil’s pact of his knowing that danger abounded.

Still, this was different.

It was the girl, he knew.

He should have gone on to Bone Cay, he thought, even if it increased his travel time. He couldn’t have done that, not plausibly so, but it was from this den of thieves that he would send his messages out and strike his bargains for the return of the ship and the hostages. And he had to come here now, for this was where the captains all came to plot their courses and pick their prizes. It was imperative that he come.

It was just the girl, damn her hide!

She would be safe. He would leave her carefully bolted within her room. They would take the long boats in, and he would leave her in the care of Jacques DuBray. That mammoth Frenchman was a master with a rapier. No harm would come her way.

He took his glass from his pocket and surveyed the scene they came upon. He could see the shanties of the town, the ribald colors and patterns that made up the pirates’ haven. Kegs of gunpowder and salt fish lay on a wharf. A dark-haired whore stretched atop the bow of a small cutter, her skirts high against her thigh, her legs bronzed from the sun. She waved a fan in a leisurely fashion, idly listening to the talk of the two men who straightened fishing nets nearby. Further into town, there were more decent structures that resembled houses, but most of the place was beach and shanty…and warehouse for ill-gotten gains.

It was not a place for a lady.…

He scowled suddenly and leaped down from the bow peak. He waved to Rutger Gunnan at the wheel and nodded out his satisfaction at their course. They would cast anchor soon. “Tell Robert we will set to shore within the hour!” he called.

Rutger nodded his assent. “Aye, Captain!”

The Hawk turned and approached the door to his cabin. To his great annoyance he paused before sliding the bolt and entering his own realm. He’d been a fool to ever bring her here. She’d been such a challenge with her lightning speed with a sword that it had seemed necessary to cast the very fear of demons into her soul.

He had not suspected that they resided there already, nor that it would be he who would suffer the torment of the damned rather than she.

Impatiently he shoved the doors open and entered his cabin.

She was perched upon the window seat. The drapes were back and daylight streamed in. Her legs curled beneath her; she wore a soft white muslin with a brocade bodice, which was fashionably low cut to display the rising curves of her breasts. The skirt spilled out over a volume of petticoats in a soft burst of snow white and soft pastel. She worked on some piece of mending for him, which brought another scowl to his lips. Her hair was free.

The color of a sunset.

Cascading and waving over her shoulders and breast like a web of radiant silk.

He itched to run his fingers through it. Actually, he itched to do much, much more. When she looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips, her aquamarine eyes shimmering like the most glorious Caribbean sea, he wanted to stride right to her and wrench her into his arms. He wanted to play the pirate in the most heinous fashion, rip her beautiful gown to shreds, and leave her with no doubt as to his rapacious desires and determination.

She looked so damned comfortable! And assured. Even domestic.

He clenched down hard upon his jaw and swallowed the force of his emotion, watching her as he walked around to take his seat behind his desk. He cast his booted feet upon the desk and laced his fingers behind his head. She held his shirt, he saw. The full-sleeved shirt he had worn the evening of their first encounter. She mended a tear near the throat. Her fingers, long and elegant, lay still over the material.

Just as they lay by night, long and elegant, over his bare chest.

“You will make a wonderful wife,” he found himself snapping out at her with a startling hostility.

She arched a brow. A flicker of amusement curled her lip.

“Why, Mr. Silver Hawk,” she taunted, “I strive to be the very best of hostages, and still I do not please you! I no longer toss about jam and coffee cups, but spend my endless time pursuing the best interests of your wardrobe!”

He wagged a finger at her. “Beware, lady, you do play with fire.”

She lowered her head, smiling. Damn her! She trusted him. Six days and nights with him now and she thought that she had discovered his true measure. Something made a snapping sound. He looked down to see that he had picked up a quill, and crushed it between his fingers.

He dropped the pieces and walked around to her. She barely skipped a beat with her task. She did not look up, nor did her fingers cease to move.

He reached down to her, cupping her chin with his fingers, raising her eyes to meet his. She was, indeed, a startling beauty. No artist could ever capture the blues and greens that mingled within her eyes, nor find the glorious reds and golds of her hair among oils or paints. The greatest sculptors of the Renaissance could not have duplicated the fine and delicate structure of her face, the regal position of her cheekbones, the determined set of her jaw. No man could mold what God had created of her form, an Eve cast upon him from the sins of Eden, slender in the waist, long-limbed, with delicate ankles and lush firm breasts, ripe and provocative beyond measure. To touch her was to stroke silk.

And she smiled…in complete comfort in his presence.

She needed to fear him somewhat. It was essential.

He plucked the mending from her hands, casting it aside. A look of startled alarm came into her eyes, and she struggled against him as he drew her inexorably to her feet.

“We come to the island,” she said breathlessly.

“So I see,” he told her, but he saw nothing at all at that moment, nothing but her eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be—”

“Do you know, my lady, that you are one of the most beautiful creatures ever to walk this earth? Perhaps you do know. You are not a woman who lacks confidence.”

Her breath came quickly. Her lips were dry and she moistened them. She strained against his firm hold upon her upper arms, but he did not release her. Her gaze wavered, then returned to his. “What do you want?” she cried.

He smiled slowly, assessing her. “I’m not quite sure as yet. I think I’ve decided that I could tame you. Perhaps I shall not ransom you at all. Perhaps I shall take you with me and have you reside with me forever.”

“Don’t tease me!” she pleaded, her eyes very wide upon his as she sought some truth from him.

What did plague him? he wondered. His fingers bit more forcefully into her arms. “Indeed, why should you think that I tease you, Skye Kinsdale? We pirates revel in debauchery and conquest. It would be most natural to return the ship…but not the maiden.”

He lowered his lips as he spoke until his words fell like a warm breeze upon her parted lips. Then his mouth formed to the sweet curve of hers. She gasped but he drew her closer, seized by the dark power of a sweeping desire. Her lips were sweet; the clamor of her heart was sweeter still. He plundered her mouth with his tongue. He ravished and he laid bare. He tasted her until drums beat explosively in his head, and he knew that he would lose not only control, but his very soul in the bargain.

His lip moved from hers. He seared a trail down her throat with the damp heat of his parted lips, teasing her flesh with the tip of his tongue. He swept her collarbone, and the rise of her breasts above the haunting décolletage of her gown.

She had been still through it all. Then, as his kiss touched her breast, she let out a shriek of rage. He no longer held her with force, and she wrenched from him, shaking, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as if she had tasted evil.

It was less than complimentary, he decided wearily.

“Bastard!” she screamed, and she flew forward, her fists flailing. He barely protected his face and beard, catching her clawing fingers in the nick of time and bringing her back into his hold.

Damn her, he thought, then, and damn himself, for his desire for her remained, or perhaps it burned more fiercely. She was energy there in his arms, she was the power of the sun and the rhythm of the sea. She loathed him so…but it had taken her a long, long time to protest against the intimacy of his kiss, and she seemed ablaze. Was it hatred? Certainly, but it was a passionate hatred, alive, searing. It caused her to sizzle, to tremble, to stare at him with eyes afire. She swept into the very core of his being, heating him anew with her fire. In silence he swore against himself, and he swore against her.

He was captain. He could do what he chose. He was a pirate. The dread pirate Silver Hawk. He could sweep her across the room to his bunk, tear her clothing asunder, have her, sink into her, die within her…and it would but enhance his reputation.

He was losing his mind. He struggled with his heart, with his soul, and with the searing piece of his anatomy that was sweeping away his senses. Then he smiled at her, crookedly.

“Good, Lady Skye. Your kiss is good, your lips are sweet, your body is sound. You would not make a bad companion for the while, except that your temper is quite a thorn. But then again, perhaps your father or Lord Cameron will offer a high enough price for your head. No woman is worth too much a sum of silver or gold. And you do seem to lack experience.”

“Oh!” she cried, and swore again with vengeance. Her eyes snapped and sparked their luminous aquamarine and he was ever more tempted by her.

“Milady, I have not heard such language from the rogues who sail with me. Take care. I may well tame you yet.”

She spat out an explicit oath, struggling fiercely.

“Maybe you sit too easily today. Perhaps you need to be reminded that my touch is not always so gentle and tenderly given.”

“Gentle!” she gasped. “Tenderly given!” But she went still then, her eyes very round, her features ashen. She had not forgotten their encounter the day when she had wreaked havoc upon his tableware.

No, she had not forgotten, nor did she sit so easily yet. Skye gritted her teeth and kept her eyes hard upon him. She fought no more, for she was suddenly certain that the words were more of a warning than she could imagine, that he was truly at some brink, as if his temper burned on some very short fuse. But oh, she longed to hurt him! How she longed to have the power to taunt and humiliate! She despised him with every breath within her, she was infuriated.…

With herself, as well as with him.

She stood so still before the very onslaught of his lips. She did not hate and decry his kiss, she felt it, she savored it. She allowed it! He startled her so, he took her so quickly.…

There was no excuse, for in her heart she knew that she had allowed it. Fascination had held her still, and a simmering curiosity had swept her into its grip while his heat had seeped into her, leaving her without sense or reason and scarce able to breathe.

He was a pirate, a cur. Then what was she, she wondered with humiliation, that she could so easily crave his touch, rather than despise it?

She stiffened her shoulders and raised her chin. “Do it!” she snapped out. “If you intend to rape me, then do it now! Let’s end this torment!”

A single dark brow shot up and his lip curled into a rogue’s smile, a quick, handsome smile that caused a new shimmering to take hold deep within her. She would shame him! She would make him feel less than a man, and surely he would leave her be!

“Pardon?” he said politely.

“I said do it! If you intend—” He stared at her so boldly! The words began to falter on her lips. “Do it! I have had it with this constant torment!”

“You’re inviting me to rape you?” he said pleasantly.

“Yes! No!” she cried in dismay, and it didn’t matter at all, because suddenly he did sweep her off her feet, and with long strides he bore her toward the waiting bunk where they had lain together so many nights now.

She fell upon her back, and he was over her. Her heart thundered and her breath came too quick and panic seized her. She hadn’t shamed him in the least!

“No!” she cried, struggling fiercely. But his thighs, hot and strong as steel, locked around her, and laughing, he grabbed her wrists. She tossed, she writhed and arched, until she realized that her movement brought them into close contact. She railed against him with a new assertion that he was the absolute worst of the sea slime, but then she realized that he wasn’t moving anymore at all, that his bold rogue’s smile still touched his features.

“Alas! And I thought that I had disappointed you!” he cried passionately. “How would you have it now? Clothed, or unclothed. It can be done either way, I assure you. Shall I rent and tear fabric? How shall I manage this?”

“What?” she gasped.

“Ah, such a quandary, my dear love!” He adjusted his weight, straddling over her firmly. With one hand he pulled her wrists high atop her head, leaving the other free to taunt her. He touched her cheek and she twisted her head, trying to bite him. “Ah, careful, love!” he growled out, his smile fading, tension riding high within his features as he lowered his face close to hers once again. “Careful, careful love!” Then he cupped her breast, the heat of his hand defying the fabric that lay between his hand and her flesh. She spat out an oath and he laughed, taking his leisure, amused as she writhed and thrust against him. “Shall I take it slow, my dear? Tease and taunt and relish every movement you make against me?” His fingers found her nipple and she gasped and swore again, yet felt a rush of color flood her cheeks as she felt the peaks of her breasts grow pebble-hard to his touch. It was not the man, it was not an attraction, it was surely a response just like—

“Stop!” she hissed.

“How shall it be? There’s fast, there’s brutal. I could thrust you up against the wall and lift your lovely thighs about me and have done with it all in a matter of minutes!”

He no longer stroked her breast. His weight shifted again and he was leaning atop her, his fingers tugging upon the hem of her skirt and bringing it high against her thighs. His touch roamed intimately against her and she cried out, squirming to escape him, yet bringing herself intimately against his touch. Her cry suddenly changed to one of desperation as she felt the total heat and power and strength of the man. His heart was thunder, his pulse ticked mercilessly. She had perhaps asked for rape, and he now seemed obliged to have it all as she had challenged him.

“Please…!”

“Please? Please shall I continue? Shall it be rough and tumble? Or shall we try seduction?”

She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth, and trembled suddenly. “I shall see you hang!” she whispered.

She heard a curious sound. She opened her eyes carefully. He was laughing again, watching her. “You are a challenge, love. A definite challenge.” He leaned close to her. “But I promised you once, lady, that it will not be this way, though I am ever more convinced that the time will come when we will lie together.”

His face was so near, his whisper touched her. His eyes sought out hers with such a startling silver glimmer that she felt her protest die within her throat. She wanted him away, and that was all. For whatever else he might be, the Silver Hawk was an exceptional man. Honed and muscled and bronzed and fine, and able to awaken her from a maiden’s innocence. She could deny it, but it was true.

Even though he had told her that no woman was worth much in silver or gold.

Yet he was going to let her go, she realized. He was not going to rape her. He had never intended to do so. He had merely meant to taunt and torture and tease her and provide himself with vast amusement.

“Oh!” she cried, squirming furiously against him again. “I, sir, will never come to you!” she promised him. His eyes flickered a silver warning and her voice fell to a quiet tone, but still, her words did not falter, and she was glad of it.

He said no more but released her and climbed off the bunk. He walked to his desk and searched through some papers there, speaking to her with his back to her. Skye lay still for a moment, afraid to move. Then she rolled to the edge of the bunk and sat there, smoothing back her hair and keeping a very wary eye upon him.

“I will be gone for some hours, probably late into the night. You will not be alone.” He swung around suddenly. “New Providence is a dangerous place. Keep the drapes closed while we are here. Do not seek the deck, for no man will take you there.”

She did not respond to him. He spoke to her sharply, very sharply.

“Do you understand me?”

Her eyes flashed angrily but she answered him very sweetly. “Why, Captain, your every wish is my command.”

“Lady, trust me, you do not begin to know the depths of my temper, but I promise that you will know my wrath and know it well if you do not heed my warnings.”

“What is there to heed!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “You will lock me in here, and your men will not let me out! Why bother to threaten me!”

He strode the few steps toward her, pulling her back into his arms. His lip curled as she jerked upon her wrists to free herself from his touch. He shook her suddenly, fiercely. “I know you, my love!” he said curtly, his eyes meeting hers as her head fell back and her hair cascaded around them both. “I know you, and I am never quite sure how I should be dealing with you. Warnings are no good—only threats seem to avail.”

She stamped on his foot as hard as she could. For a moment she was vastly pleased, for the taunting smile left his lips and his face paled with the pain. Then she screamed, for he quickly sat down upon the bunk, dragging her along with him—over his knee.

“I’ve thought all along that you really need a good thrashing!” he swore.

“No!” Skye screeched, straining to raise herself from his lap. She bit his thigh. His hand landed harshly upon her posterior section and she cried out, tears stinging her eyes with the humiliation. She twisted around in time to see his hand rise again. “Stop, please!”