Treasured

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Author: Jordan Crystal

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eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Treasured Copyright © 2008 by Crystal Jordan ISBN: 1-59998-922-0 Edited by Imogen Howson Cover by Anne Cain All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2008 www.samhainpublishing.com

Treasured Crystal Jordan

Dedication

For Dayna Hart, because she let me ride her coattails. And for the usual suspects: Loribelle Hunt, R.G. Alexander, Eden Bradley, Robin L. Rotham, Jennifer McKenzie, and Lillian Feisty. But this book is especially dedicated to my best friend, who once told me that there weren’t enough pirate time travel stories and that there were never any heroines like her: brown-haired, brown-eyed, history graduate students. Thus, Rebecca and her story were born. I do think the book turned out a bit naughtier than my best friend ever expected, but sometimes that happens.

Treasured

Chapter One Her fingers itched to touch it. They flexed midair, hovering over the smooth curve of steel blade. The long dagger’s jeweled hilt flashed and sparkled, taunting her, daring her to stroke over the intricate gold weaving of the guard. It looked perfectly balanced, just waiting for someone who knew how to wield its dangerous beauty. She slid a practiced gaze over the blade. Somehow she knew the sturdy hilt would sit perfectly in her hand. If there was one thing she knew, it was fencing—and she had the fencing-championship trophies at home to prove it. The only way she’d been able to squeak by in graduate school was to give lessons. She sighed. Education didn’t come cheap, and fencing sure beat prostitution. Not that any man in his right mind would pay to sleep with a short, brown-eyed, brown-haired, girl-next-door type. Rebecca Small fisted her fingers and withdrew as she had every day for the past week. The museum had recently acquired the dagger as part of a collection that had belonged to an eighteenth-century pirate. A distant relative had donated everything. As a lowly intern, she had to prepare the collection for display. She could never touch the artifact with her bare hand. And the gloves she had to wear frustrated her because she wanted to feel the cool metal against her skin. She turned away and pulled on a pair of gloves, intent on finding something else to occupy her. She glanced up. Captain James Morrow. The name echoed in her mind, made her shiver. “Hello, James.” The man was a mystery, which probably contributed to her fascination with him. He was born in England in 1684, made lieutenant in the British Navy during Queen Anne’s War, became a privateer, then his thirst for adventure led him to piracy after France and England negotiated a peace agreement in 1711. He fell off the face of the Earth in 1720. No historian had ever found out what happened to him. Had he

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died? Given up the life of a pirate? There were no answers, and her curiosity about James Morrow burned unquenched. She ran a gloved finger down the gilt frame that edged his portrait. She wondered what color his eyes were. In the painting they appeared a laser blue shade that couldn’t be real. They seemed to follow her as she worked. She often stopped to stare at him. He was gorgeous. His inky black hair hung in a neat queue. The painting showed the tall, broad man lounging against a large chair. Treasure chests lay open at his feet, spilling jewels, silks and furs. A model of his ship, The Dark Fortune, rested on a table to his left. A half smile pulled at his full lips. The wicked glint in his eyes made her wonder if he was any good in bed. Heat pulsed between her legs, and she squeezed her eyes closed. She could see them together in her mind, rolling on the plush furs depicted in the painting. Pleasure rushed in her veins. Guilt flashed through her—she was at work. This wasn’t the time to get hot and bothered. And yet…she was alone in the museum. What could it hurt to indulge herself? She discarded her gloves, bit her lip, and let her head fall back. Dropping her hand, she stroked her fingers over her pussy. The man in her fantasy thrust his hand into her hair, tugging her head back to nip and suck at her neck. He forced his leg between hers and rode her cunt on his muscled thigh. Wetness soaked her sex, and her clit bloomed against her fingertips. Gasping, she shuddered as her hips worked faster and faster. Her harsh moan echoed in the large storeroom and startled her out of her lustful daydream. She jerked her hand away, her body still shrieking for orgasm. Blushing hard, she shook herself. “Get a grip, Becca. It’s a painting.” It was insane, the fantasies she had about him. She had a perfectly nice guy who kept asking her out, and she always turned him down. For what? A pirate. A painting of a pirate. She’d say yes to Steve the next time he asked. She nodded. That was that. No more lusting after Captain James Morrow.

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Tonight, she got to open the slatted wood carton that held the painting of his wife. That should cool her fantasies off. She’d never gone for married men. “Especially not dead-for-three-hundred-years married men,” she muttered. The concrete floor froze her toes, and she wriggled them against the rough surface. She’d kicked off her shoes as soon as she arrived. The museum director, Dr. Cuthbert, would have a seizure if he saw her this way, but she hated wearing shoes. And since she was the only one here this late, she figured she should get comfortable. It would be a long night. The things she was willing to do to finish her Master’s degree in History amazed her. At least this collection was free of bugs and other pests. She shuddered just thinking about the last acquisition the museum had received. What a nightmare. She was stalling. Rambling in her own head to avoid opening the wife’s portrait. Once she did, it was real. No more pirate booty for her. Not even in her dreams. It was the last piece in the collection and she’d avoided it as long as possible. Everything was going on exhibit in the morning, so she couldn’t put it off any more. This was it. Shoving a few empty boxes out the way, she uncovered the mystery woman’s crate. A few sharp tugs and the lid came off. Straw-covering protected the painting from the elements. She carefully lifted the straw away to reveal the bottom of the painting. All she could see was James’s wife from the neck down. Rich red silk made up the bodice of the dress the woman wore. A long string of fat black pearls hung from her neck to pool in her lap. Becca loved pearls. An envious sigh slid from her lips. Impatient to see the rest, to know what the rest of the woman looked like, she scooped out the remaining straw. “Huh.” She blinked down at the portrait. The painting had seen better days and the woman’s picture had sustained heavy water-damage. Someone with obvious skill had repaired it, but her face looked…smudged. Out of focus. Becca sighed. What a let-down. From what she could make out, James’s wife wasn’t a gorgeous woman. Her chin was lifted and in profile, but she glanced out of the painting from the corner of her light brown eye. Dark hair was


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piled on top of her head. Still, there was something about her that Becca couldn’t put her finger on. Like she’d seen her somewhere before. Perhaps in one of her history textbooks? She couldn’t be sure. She made a mental note to look into it. Her lips twisted. Discontent settled in her belly. It was always this way. The past was the only thing that made her heart pound. And even her ardor for that had begun to cool. Deep down she knew she never quite…fit. Not with her colleagues, her friends, her classmates, her love interests. Nowhere. She wished she could be satisfied with herself, her life. But it never seemed right to her either. God, she must be tired. She never let herself think about this kind of thing. It just depressed her. She shouldn’t dwell on what she couldn’t change, but she was building her career on looking backwards. Obsessing over the past had always been her escape from a world she didn’t fit into. Stretching her stiff shoulders, she sighed. Turning away from the painting, her gaze again landed on the dagger. It drew her to it, and she found herself standing over it, staring. Her fingers shook, clenched in an effort not to touch. The guard spun in intricate whorls studded with tiny rubies and sapphires. She appreciated good craftsmanship in blades. This one was a beauty. On an irresistible whim, she gave into temptation. What could it really hurt? No one would know. A single finger followed the sensuous curve of the blade and up over the delicate jewels. Since she’d already broken the rules, she curled her hand around the handle and lifted the dagger. She sighed. Perfect. Just as she suspected. “En garde!” She snapped into the familiar fencing pose, swung the dagger experimentally. For someone as short as her, it served as a short sword. Block, riposte, parry. She thrust forward into a deep lunge and the blade sank into a man’s chest. A thick, silencing fog surrounded the two of them. His gurgling death scream pierced the silence and was echoed by a dozen other shrieks of agony. The warm, unnatural fog rolled back to leave her in chilled evening air. Her shocked gaze followed the man’s sickening slide off her sword and to the blood-slicked wooden deck. Smoke surrounded her, choked her as a wild cacophony slammed into her ears. She glanced around, completely confused.

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“What the—” She didn’t have time to finish the thought as a small, filthy man charged her, a rusty little skinning knife aimed at her throat. She stepped back, blocked and parried without thought, years of training coming to the fore. Only her blade didn’t hit a protective white fencing coat. It sliced through bone and sinew. The man whimpered, his eyes bugging as he fell. She swung around, dazed, and an ear-shattering boom ripped through the air. The wooden deck in front of her exploded, the impact knocking her to the floor where she slid across the filth. “Oh, God,” she choked. She struggled to her knees, and the deck bucked under her. Wavering on her feet, she tried to find a safe place from the chaos. A huge man, his size dwarfing her small frame, fought two men at once before her. Unlike the others, this man had skill with a sword, and was surprisingly graceful for someone of that bulk. He felled one of the men. She watched a third man creep up behind him, a dagger poised to strike. She reacted automatically, launched herself forward to block the knife. Her blade met the man’s and with a quick twist of her wrist, she disarmed him. He shouted, pulled a pistol, and brought it to bear on her. A long sword pierced his heart. Dark crimson blossomed on his ragged shirt. His stunned gaze met hers before it clouded and went blank. He hit the floor. Dead. Horror twisted her stomach and her throat locked. The muscles in her belly knotted and heaved. She clamped her free hand over her mouth. “Rebecca. What in hell are you doing up here?” Long fingers closed around her biceps, jerking her up against a hard chest. How did he know her name? Her gaze lifted to clash with icy blue eyes. Her mind went blank. The only thing she could think was that his eyes were just as piercing a blue as they looked in the painting. Oh, God. Oh. God. It was him. It was him.


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This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. She must have fallen asleep at work. Dr. Cuthbert would kill her. The display was supposed to be set up for a grand opening tomorrow. Wake up, Becca. Wake up! “I asked you a question, Rebecca.” His fingers tightened and her breasts flattened against his muscled chest. Heat throbbed in her veins and her nipples hardened to thrust against his too-real chest. A muscle flexed in his jaw, and she could feel the impatience radiating from him. She shivered. The man was scary as hell in the flesh. She hurried to say something, anything. “H-hello, James.” His inky brows arched. “Did you strike your head?” “Not that I recall.” She offered up a tentative smile. He snorted. “We must get you below deck. I told you to remain in my cabin. I expect to be obeyed.” Pulling her around, he shoved her towards an opening in the deck. A whistling shriek split the air, and the world exploded into fire and chaos. “Down.” James’s arms wrapped tight around her and pushed her to the floor. His big body covered her, and the deck railing splintered. She choked on the acrid stench of smoke. “Are you all right?” “Yes.” He lifted away from her and she rolled to the left. “Rebecca, look out!” She jerked upright. The deck beside her was on fire. She pulled back too late and her sleeve and pant leg caught on fire. “Willy!” James dropped his sword to jerk off his shirt and use it to slap the flames out. His movements were efficient, perfunctory. She gasped in shock as a bucket of water doused her and the deck. The fire died out as quickly as it started, but where her clothes had burned, her skin had reddened as if she’d stayed out in the sun too long. She wasn’t really injured, but she hissed in pain when James hauled her to her feet. His grip gentled and he stroked his thumb over her elbow, but he didn’t bother to apologize.

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James didn’t even spare a glance for the young boy who wielded the bucket as he steered Becca in the direction he wanted. “Well done, Willy.” “Aye, Captain.” Willy scurried back into the fighting, blood already streaking his wicked little cutlass. Becca looked over her shoulder as James pushed her along. “He can’t be more than eleven.” Unreality slid through her. She was on a pirate ship…or dreaming about a pirate ship…and all she could think about was how old some kid was? Maybe she had hit her head—only at the museum and she was on the floor bleeding where Dr. Cuthbert would find her dead in the morning. Or she was in a coma having some sort of delusional nightmare. Or something. She shook her head and faced forward. “The lad is nine.” He ducked to clear the wooden beams they passed on the way down a short hallway. “Oh.” What else could she say? She was more worried about keeping up with his long stride. Two men leapt out of the shadows at them and both she and James jumped into action. They fought side by side as though they’d been fencing partners for years. She lunged to block her assailant’s thrust and he twisted his wrist up. Ha. Like she hadn’t seen that move before. But she didn’t count on the wet blood fouling her blade. She slipped and his dagger nicked her arm. “Ow. Damn it.” She frowned and concentrated. She was a better swordswoman than this clown. Once she regained her focus, her innate rhythm, the man’s sword lay on the ground within five seconds. A triumphant smile spread on her lips. Hell, yeah. Round three to her. Becca: 1; evil pirate: 0. This was the most awesome dream ever. James stepped in front of her to cut the shorter man down. A wet thunk sounded when he hit the deck. She shuddered and laid her free hand on his naked back. Tingles raced up her arm and shot straight to her pussy at just that simple contact. She bit back a moan.


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“You’re bleeding.” Turning sideways, he looked her over. Her nipples peaked tight and pressed against her thin cotton shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d never needed to. A flush washed up her cheek when his pale gaze latched onto her breasts. She swayed towards him. He frowned. She shifted and cleared her throat. What was wrong with her? Oh, yes. She was hallucinating in a big, scary way. Using the tip of her sword, she pushed the dead man’s leg away from her. She curled her lip in disgust. The tangy iron scent of blood drifted to her nostrils. Her stomach turned, and she glued her gaze to James’s chest. His naked chest. Another throb of heat flooded her pussy. Her hand tightened on her sword. It gave her comfort. She knew how to use it and she knew it was real. Unlike the rest of this delusion. James gave her an odd look and for the first time really met her eyes. Then he shook himself. “I don’t have time for this, Rebecca. Stay in the cabin.” His hand settled on the small of her back and pushed her though a narrow doorway. The room was small but everything inside it screamed wealth. Ill-gotten wealth if everything she’d read about James Morrow was true. Furs covered the bed and various boxes of coins and treasures were scattered around the room. The cannon-fire had shaken the ship enough to tip some of the chests over. An ornately carved table and chairs stood at one end of the small room and a bank of windows looked out over the sea. The mullioned windows were too wavy to see out of, so she could only make out the impression of open water, like in a Monet painting. “You’ll stay in here until I return. Do not leave. Is that understood?” That got her attention. “I’m not staying locked up in here. If men can get below deck, they can get into your cabin. I’m coming with you, and that’s final.” She spun to walk back out the way they’d come. She had no idea what the hell was going on, but fires that burned and swords that cut made this a dream she didn’t want to toy with. He caught her arm and hauled her back to him. He kicked the door shut. “You’ll do as I tell you, Rebecca. You are my wife. You took vows to obey me. And you’ll honor those vows. Now.”

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“Get your hands off of me.” She jerked back and brought her sword up, but he twisted it out of her hand with embarrassing ease. She fought harder, kicking and twisting to get free. She was not staying down here. Especially without her sword. He heaved a sigh. “If this is how you want it, I’ll oblige you.” He let her go. “Good. Now, give me back my sword.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted an eyebrow. A wicked glint flashed in his eyes for a split second. It was all the warning she received. His sword clanked as it hit the floor and his fingers snapped around her wrist. His free hand fisted in the cloth of her shirt. Ripping sounded in the small room as he tore her top off. “What the hell are you doing? Stop it right now!” She folded her arm over her bare breasts. He spun her so her back was to his front. She couldn’t hold back a soft moan when her skin touched his. Oh, God. “We must get you out of these burnt clothing. Can’t have the captain’s wife in rags, can we?” His voice purred against her ear, and her insides melted. She froze in his arms, knowing she couldn’t trust herself not to arch against him like a cat in heat. This was better than any fantasy she’d ever had about him. In those he’d been rough and demanding. Now, he had an air of uncompromising dominance and command that made her burn for him. Her lungs bellowed as she tried to control the hot waves of lust that rolled through her body. He flattened his palm on her midriff and slid it down to the waistline of her cotton capris. One finger hooked in the bow below her navel. She swallowed and bit her lip. What was happening to her? She’d never reacted this way to any man before. Ever. Never had a man treat her like this. God, just let this be over with. God, let it never end. Confusion warred within her, but James wasn’t stopping. He tugged the bow free and nudged at her pants until they hit the floor. Her face burned. Of all the laundry days to go commando…now she was naked in front of some dirty, tall, gorgeous, domineering


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pirate. His wide hand splayed over her lower belly, just above the thatch of hair on her pussy. Moisture gathered between the lips of her cunt and she squeezed her thighs together to ease the ache. Her hips twisted as desire more intense than any she had ever known thrummed through her system. Heat arced inside her. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t handle it. She bucked against him. “Let me go. Get your hands off me, damn it. You can’t do this.” “Oh, no?” She babbled helplessly, trying to find any excuse for him to let her go. Or she’d throw herself at him and beg him to fuck her. “You owe me your life. You’d have been stabbed in the back without me today. I’m not staying down here.” “You’ll do as you’re ordered.” “I’m not one of your men. You can’t order me around or keep me locked up.” She jerked at the arm that banded around her waist and kept her pressed to the heavy muscles of his chest. “Perhaps you need a lesson in how life works on board a ship, Rebecca. I am the captain, and you will obey me.” He sat on the bed and tugged her to him. She braced her feet against the floor, but she was no match for his strength. With a jerk, he flipped her over his lap. His hard hand came down on her bare ass in loud, stinging smacks. She sucked in a shocked breath and squeezed her eyes closed. Dark pleasure twisted through her. Juices gathered in her cunt to slip down her inner thigh. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Rebecca?” “No,” she gasped. Her dark hair brushed the floor as she shook her head. “No.” “Liar.” His fingers stroked over the enflamed flesh of her buttocks to dip between her legs. She moaned, knowing how much wetness he’d find there. The first touch of his fingers on her creamy folds made her sex contract. He groaned, slipping two fingers deep inside her for a few hard, fast strokes. His voice became guttural. “I don’t care to be lied to, Rebecca.”

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His hand pulled back, and she sobbed out a protest. What was happening to her? Oh, God. Oh. God. His wide hand came down on her ass again. She moaned and arched. Her hips moved on his hard thigh. She couldn’t help herself. Desperate lust built inside her, twisting tight. Her pussy fisted in time with his slaps. Hot tingles raced over her skin with every hard contact. She was so close. She was about to come. “James,” she cried. He stopped as suddenly as he’d begun and she was left aching, empty, wanting. “Oh, God. Please.” She shuddered, her hips still moving. “No. No, I don’t think so.” One finger stroked over her sore ass. She sobbed as pain and pleasure slammed into her at once. He stood and tossed her on the bed. She shook her head, trying to clear the dazed fog that clouded her thoughts. Bending, he rummaged through a chest. He came up with three strips of white silk. “W-what are those?” “Cravats.” Neckties? What could he possibly need those for? She lay there staring at them until he reached out and caught her wrist. With quick efficiency, he tied her hands together, then her feet. Her eyes bugged. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t leave me here like this. What if someone comes? I’ll be totally mmph—” He stuffed the third cravat in her mouth and tied it behind her head as a gag. “And one more thing.” He reached down and came up with a long, white, tapered candle. What could that possibly be for? The sun hadn’t yet set and shone in the clear blue sky. She shrank away when he reached for her, but he just snorted and rolled her to her back. Her back arched unnaturally on her bound hands. His strong hands forced her thighs to part even though she fought hard to keep them together. His fingers flicked over her clit and she moaned, dampening the silken gag. He lowered the candle to her cunt and pushed it in deep. Her hips snapped up hungrily, working herself on its phallic length.


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His gaze flashed blue fire, but he withdrew and left the candle embedded in her pussy. He lifted keys from his belt and, without another word, picked up his sword and her dagger and left the room. The lock slid home. Dumbfounded shock held her still for a moment. She pulled a deep breath in through her nose. Okay. That scene was like nothing she’d ever even dreamed could happen. This was…too real. But if it wasn’t a dream then what was it? Had she gone crazy? It was the only logical explanation. Any other option was, well…crazy. People couldn’t go back in time. That was pure fiction. She was a scholar who dealt in facts. A historian. Or she would be as soon as she got her doctorate. She spent her life stepping back and analyzing things objectively, and she was damn good at it, too. She had the life she wanted. This wasn’t it. Was it? She wriggled in her bonds and the silken ties slid against her naked skin. A low moan spilled from her throat. The furs on the bed rubbed her swollen bottom and she shivered at the delicious sting. The candle inside her pussy moved when she shifted and her sex clenched on it. Her world was cerebral, this was purely carnal. She looked around at the cabin. The detail of her delusion was too fine. Her gaze locked on a large chest of jewels. A long rope of black pearls spilled from the box. The pearls from the painting. The string of them was certainly long enough to pool in her lap. Or the real Rebecca’s lap. None of her research had ever revealed James Morrow’s wife’s name. It could have been Rebecca. Confusion filtered through her. How could a delusion or dream be painful? It made no sense. But her backside ached where he’d struck her and the skin that had been nearest the fire on deck stung. Her pussy throbbed on the long candle and no matter how she moved she was reminded of it within her. The lust streaking through her simply wouldn’t quit. Anticipation scraped along her nerves. She had nothing to do but wait for the end of this dream. *** What game was she playing? The question gnawed at James. Never had his wife been so responsive to his touch. He’d bedded her on their wedding night five years ago, but she’d been a blushing girl and he a randy young pup. In the few weeks she’d been on

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board, she’d shown nothing but distaste for him, his men, and his way of life. His hackles rose at the cool disdain that always flashed in her brown eyes when she looked at him. He pitied her, really. Their fathers had arranged their marriage when he was still an upstanding lieutenant in the Queen’s Navy. Much had changed in the five years since they’d wed. He sighed. It was not her fault that the life she’d been promised had dissipated like mist on a hot morning. No, he had chosen his life as a pirate. Chosen to give up his commission and become what and who he was now. Disreputable as he might be, this was the life he wanted. A small blond head bobbed into his vision. “All hands accounted for, sir. We lost no one. Minor injuries.” “Carry on, Willy.” He snapped off a sharp nod and the lad scampered away to leave him to his thoughts. He sighed. When he’d received word that her father had died and her cousin didn’t want her on their family’s plantation, he’d taken The Fortune and gone to fetch her. He’d promised his men fat raids on the way and they’d captured a galleon off the coast of St. Augustine. An easy smile pulled at his lips. Yes. That had been quite fun. Though not as enjoyable as it used to be. Some of the novelty of his nefarious life had worn off, but he far preferred it to the dry existence that returning to his plantation on Barbados promised. He’d taken it over when the war had ended and stayed twelve days before he’d gone back to the sea. He knew himself and his proclivities well enough to understand that a staid life would wither his very soul. “Fine day, innit, Captain?” One of his men walked by, loaded down with the gold they’d taken from the ship they’d captured. The two exchanged a grin. Boyd had followed him from the Navy to piracy. A crown sat at a jaunty angle on his grizzled head and James bit back a bark of laughter. “Fine, indeed.” Boyd cast a significant glance in the direction of the captain’s quarters. “Got a bit adventurous today, did your lady?” The skinny man’s nostrils flared, but he nodded and


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walked on without another comment. Rebecca had not earned any love from his men in her short stay on The Fortune. After her behavior these last weeks, James was more than willing to relieve himself and his men of her company as soon as humanly possible. With luck and the wind at his back, he had made excellent time back to the West Indies. A few more weeks and he’d deposit the confounded woman so she could live the life she’d always known—mistress of a rich plantation. But she’d be living it alone, thanks be to God. She made no bones about her desire to get back to land, but he’d be damned if he watched her gloat over getting the better of him. He’d keep that tidbit of information to himself and his men. She’d not find out with the way she’d treated them. Was her new responsiveness a way to twist him around her finger? She’d soon find she was mistaken. No woman held sway over his attention for more than a few passing moments. Not ever. And he intended for it to remain that way. He lifted his hand to his nose and inhaled deeply. The scent of her wetness still clung to his finger. His cock twitched and hardened at the memory of her hungry gaze staring up at him. Bound. Helpless. At the mercy of his whims. A shudder wracked his body. If she wanted to play, he’d be more than willing to…educate her on the finer points of his taste. A slow grin pulled at his lips. Yes. This was a little dance he’d be happy to lead her through. And when he grew bored with her…well, there was always Barbados. A chuckle slid from his throat as his hand closed over the door latch. He slipped the key into the lock and twisted. “Mmph.” She wriggled on the bed, peeking over a bare shoulder to see him. Relief flashed in her dark gaze. Relief? Did she think he’d give her over to his men for sport? He snorted. Not bloody likely. Whatever he might think of her, she was his wife, and any disrespect to her was a disrespect to him. He dragged in a deep breath and noticed something else different about her. Her scent. The sweet scent of vanilla rose from her body, mixing with the intoxicating smell of her pussy. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her

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and forced himself to look her over at his leisure. There would time enough to savor her. She was, after all, bound and gagged. Her soft hair pooled on the coverlet beneath her. Hot desperation shone in her molten eyes. She whimpered as he approached the bed, but not in fear. Her hips undulated on the furs, silently begging him to finish what he had started earlier. She certainly was willing to take this new game of hers to the extreme. It would be unsporting of him not to play along. For as long as it suited him. He let a wolfish grin spread over his face, let his lust show in his eyes. It had been months since he’d had a woman beneath him. He was hungry for what pleasures he could take from her sweet little body. He couldn’t resist. He stroked his fingers into the downy hair betwixt her legs, fondling the damp lips of her cunt. A shudder wracked his body. “Still wet, I see.” An hour had passed since he’d left her here to stew in her own juices. He suppressed a low groan as he stripped away his clothing until he was as naked as she. He wanted inside her. Now. But he would wait. He was the master of himself and his ship. All that surrounded him was his. It was a lesson she was past due in learning. Her eyes narrowed at him, a direct challenge. She hadn’t yet accepted her place on this ship, but she would. He would dedicate himself to the task. Beginning now. He grasped the protruding length of the candle he’d inserted and pulled it free. She moaned. He slid it back in. She screamed behind the gag, her eyes locking with his. He built a steady tempo, thrust the candle deep inside her. It slid easily in her slick cunt. Her breath rushed from her nostrils in panting bellows. Her teeth clenched on the silk cloth in her mouth and her hips lifted to meet the next push. He watched her shudder, her soft little moans kissing his ears. Her face flushed to a deep red and her hips thrust high and froze as she achieved orgasm. He pressed his thumb to her clit and rubbed hard and fast. Her body twisted on the bed, rolling onto her belly, and her harsh movements wrenched at the silk that bound her. The silk had abraded the tender skin at her wrists and ankles, and he could still see the redness that marked her ass. He rather liked seeing his mark upon her. She was, after all, his. He turned away to drop the candle to the floor and rummage in one of the many


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chests that lined his cabin. Ah. There it was. He tugged a glass vial of exotic oil from the East Indies free of its protective wrappings. The pungent spices that scented the oil would cover the light vanilla on her skin. Pity. The scent of her drew him. He’d never noticed it before and lust curled in his gut at the scent now. Reaching out, he untied the cravat that bound her legs and tipped a measure of oil to pool in his palm. He rubbed the oil into her chafed ankles, massaging the blood back into her calves. He worked up to her thighs. Slowly. She shuddered and arched towards his hands. “Greedy wench.” With deliberate care, he avoided the area she wanted him to stroke. She whimpered. He moved to her backside and worked the oils into her curves. He dipped his fingers between the round globes and her body went rigid. He teased the dark pucker of her anus, waiting to see how she’d react. He pressed the tip of his finger in to taunt her, test her, toy with her. How far would she want him to push this game? How much would she take? He sank his finger deep in her sweet ass, working the oils into her until her channel was slick with it. She moaned, lifting her hips into his strokes. Cream oozed from her pussy. He inserted a second finger, widening her. His cock doubled and throbbed at the sounds of pleasure she made. He would take her this way…soon. Soon. Not allowing himself to linger further, he moved to her shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his fingers. He used one hand to tug at the bindings at the small of her back, releasing her wrists. Before he dropped the cravat onto the floor, he wiped the residual oil from his hands. She sighed as he worked the muscles in her shoulders, rubbing at the tension there. At last, he pulled the gag from her mouth so it fell around her neck. “James.” Lust knotted his gut at the sound of his name sighing past her lips. He fitted her back to his front and ran one hand up her torso to cup her breasts. The other hand slipped between her slim thighs. Her fingernails bit into his forearm. A slight sting, but nothing to deter him from his path. Her wet heat spilled over his fingers as he

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rubbed her hardened clitoris. She bucked in his arms and her hand slid down to cover his, moving her fingers with his, dipping boldly into her own sex. He groaned. “I’m going to make you toy with yourself later. But I won’t let you finish.” “You won’t?” His fingers moved rough and fast over her swollen flesh. “No. Your pleasure is mine to command, Rebecca. Isn’t it?” “James—” He stopped his ministrations. She cried out and arched back into him when he caught her hand in his. “No. You’ll not touch yourself unless I decree it.” “Please.” “Say it.” “I won’t…” He growled a warning. “Rebecca—” Her fingers curled around his hand to squeeze tight. “I won’t t-touch myself unless you say so. My p-pleasure is yours. Please, James. Now. Please.” He’d love to make her wait, but he found he couldn’t. He wanted what she wanted. Now. Leaning her forward, he rubbed his swollen shaft between the cheeks of her ass. He wanted her, and he wouldn’t wait any longer. Harsh desperation spurred him on. His hands shook with the anticipation. When had he ever wanted a woman this much? Never. And that the woman he wanted so badly was his wife? He snorted. He’d obviously gone too long without. He brought the head of his cock to the recess of her anus, still slick with spiced oils. Even then, she was tight and he groaned as the muscles of her ass clenched around his cock. She dropped down to her hands and knees, arching her back to take him deeper. He watched her hands ball in the coverlet. The sound of their mingled breath split the silence in the cabin. He drew back his hand and slapped the fleshy part of her thigh as he pumped into her ass. She screamed, twisting beneath him. “Yes. James. Yes.”


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God, she responded so beautifully, so naturally. If he didn’t know it was staged for manipulation, he wouldn’t have guessed and that angered him. His shoulders tensed and he thrust harder, sped to a punishing rhythm. “Oh, God.” She shoved her hips back, keeping pace with him. “I’m coming, James. I’m coming.” She was. Her ass fisted on his cock, tighter than before. He thrust deep and froze. His seed jetted from him to fill her. Still, he thrust deep, worked himself inside her until she sobbed his name again. She curled into a ball next to him and faced away from him. His heart pounded so loud in his ears it took a moment for his head to clear. Her soft breath snuffled and her fingers clamped over her jaw as she attempted to stifle her tears. Panic gripped his gut. Unfamiliar concern welled in his chest. He didn’t deal well with weeping women. He didn’t deal at all with weeping women. The majority of his life had been spent on a ship during wartime. Women were meant to slake his lust, not to pass time with. “Did I hurt you?” He stroked her thick hair away from her face and the scent of vanilla again reached his nose. He swallowed a groan as his cock twitched. God, he should be nearly dead from exhaustion. He schooled himself to remain calm. Her next soft sob cut his desire to nothing. He was a big man, rough. And he’d used her with the carelessness a man would use on a dockside whore. Guilt squeezed his innards. “Rebecca—” “No. You didn’t hurt me.” Her knees tucked up to her chest and the muscles in her back clenched in a rigid line. She resisted when he tugged her shoulder to roll her towards him. He snorted. As though he would allow her to hide from him. Scooping his arm under her body, he rolled her around to face him. “Then why are you crying?” “I d-don’t know.” Her gaze locked on his chest when he tilted her chin up. She struggled to control her breathing, to stop weeping, but tears leaked from the corner of her eyes.

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Her small body shivered in the balmy air surrounding them, and his concern grew tenfold. He hugged her to him, jerking the coverlet over her. Reaching over her, he hooked a finger around the neck of a bottle of good Madeira wine. He flipped the cork out with his thumb and pressed the bottle to her lips. “Drink.” She took a sip and choked before swallowing hard. “What is that stuff?” He frowned down at her, and lifted the bottle to his nose to take a whiff. No, he hadn’t given her the wrong bottle. “Madeira.” “It’s…strong.” “Take another quaff.” She shook her head, and another shiver wracked her body. “Come now, Rebecca. It’ll warm you.” Her teeth chattered together, but she obediently swallowed another sip. She sputtered on the liquid. He set the bottle aside and rubbed his hand up and down her back to warm her. Her hiccuping sobs slowed, and she leaned into his chest. He rolled to his back and hugged her to his side, tucking the coverlet tight around her. Her cheek rested on his chest, her fingertips drawing patterns on his stomach. Lust trickled through him at her soft touch, but he tried his damnedest to ignore it. He’d ridden her rough this night, rougher than he ever had her or any other lady. He usually kept his dark desires in check with them. He would try to be considerate. He used to be good at it, before the war, when he’d laid a thin veneer of civility over his natural ruthlessness. It had made him a good naval officer and an even better pirate. As though she’d read his thoughts, Rebecca’s sleepy voice sounded soft in the dark of the cabin. “Why did you become a pirate? Was it just for the adventure? Just because your life was so tedious after the war?” He hummed in the back of his throat and trailed his fingers down her naked back. “My father would claim so, but it is not that simple.” “Explain it to me, then. Please. I want to know.” Her silky hair slithered across his chest as she tilted her chin up to look at him.


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“Do you? Truly?” No one had ever asked him. Not his father or brothers. Not one person. They’d disowned him without blinking and had never had any contact with him since. He’d had to read an announcement in the Times when his eldest brother had wed. Bitter irony coated his tongue, but he tamped it down. He’d had years to become accustomed to the consequences of the choices he’d made in his life. “Yes.” He tucked one of his hands behind his head. “I was the dutiful son all my life. You knew me then.” “You were in the Navy.” “Yes, and our fathers thought our match would merge their shipping interests and allow their fortunes to span the sea. Your father controlled the American half and mine the English half. Your father wed off his only child, and my father got a large dowry from his third son’s marriage.” “So we were both the throw-away children.” “Yes.” He sighed. “I tried being a merchant after the war. I didn’t immediately fall in with pirates.” “I didn’t know that.” He felt her eyebrows rise against his chest. A mirthless chuckle slid from his throat. He had no doubts that she had been told the very worst of him by her father. “I found the life of a plantation owner didn’t suit me, so I left my property in capable hands and bought The Dark Fortune as a trade vessel. I had no intention of falling in with such scoundrels. I found some of the men who served under my command in the Navy wasting away at Port Royal, Tortuga, Portobello, and Santo Domingo, and I brought them on as crew. We did quite well, for a time. But after a few months we were boarded by pirates. My men were trained, experienced, and cut the bastards to pieces. We were happened upon by a British galleon and they would not believe we were not the pirates. No logic would sway them. I was tried and branded a pirate.” He tensed when her fingers slid down his forearm to trace the branded letter P on his skin. Forcing himself to relax under her touch, he continued. She deserved the whole of the story, even if she returned to the shrew he knew her to be come morning. “When I

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wrote to my father for aid he sent back a letter acknowledging my disinheritance. There was no returning to honest merchant trade after that. Everyone knew me as a pirate. My own family abandoned me. There was nothing left but to become what they claimed I was. So, I stopped being the dutiful son.” “Now you’re the prodigal son.” A dark chuckle slipped out. “I hardly think my father would welcome me back with open arms. Perhaps if he were armed and ready to shoot me down like the dog he believes I am.” “I’m sorry.” With a sigh, she relaxed against him by degrees. She settled soft and warm against his side, her arm curved around his waist. Soon her chest rose and fell in the easy rhythm of deep slumber. He should rise and check the ship once more. Rarely did a night pass where he slept well, and not at all since Rebecca had come on board. The tension between them had made it impossible to be in the same room with her. He’d preferred the night air on deck to her company. But tonight the soft sound of her breath was soothing, her warmth against him an unexpected comfort. Her scent called to him, and the feel of her smooth skin under his fingers made him wish to linger for a moment more. Damned confusing, this woman. He closed his eyes for just a moment, a deep sigh eased from his lungs, and he slid over into sleep.


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Chapter Two Becca topped the short flight of stairs that led up to the deck. Breakfast had been brought to her by a man who looked at her as though she’d slithered out from under a rock. She had grown bored after thoroughly exploring every corner of James’s cabin. She was too fat for his wife’s clothing. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Her own clothes had disappeared, so she’d used a cord to tie herself into a loose pair of James’s pants and one of his shirts. Her eating knife had helped her shorten the length. She wriggled her toes against the rough wood of the top step. What was she still doing here? She’d expected to wake up in the museum. She still expected to wake up there at any moment. Maybe she really had slipped into a coma. Panic fluttered in her belly. Did she want to wake up if she’d been seriously injured? A flurry of activity overtook the ship. Men hammered planks into place to replace the areas of the deck and railing that had been damaged by cannon-fire. Other men swabbed the deck and still others sat sewing sail canvas. A stiff breeze blew and the sails harnessed it to move the ship through the water. She spun in a slow circle. Nothing broke the wide expanse of ocean. It stretched out until it dropped away to the horizon. The towheaded boy who’d dowsed her with water the previous day scuttled across the deck. What was his name? She scrambled for a moment before she came up with it. “Hello, Willy.” He stopped dead and stared at her for so long she thought she might have done something inappropriate. Was the captain’s wife on a ship allowed to speak to his men? There were very few women pirates in this era. Two she knew of, Anne Bonny and Mary Read, had met with unhappy endings. Or they would within the next ten years or so. She had a reasonable idea of what year she was in because she’d found a half-written letter in James’s cabin dated March 19, 1715. She shivered in the hot, humid air. When was this

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going to end? How had she ended up here? She needed to distract herself or she’d really go insane. Willy offered up a tentative smile. He hovered on the balls of his feet, looking as if he was ready to sprint away from her. Something close to wariness or…fear?…flashed in his gaze. “Good morning, Mistress Morrow.” She bit her tongue before she asked who Mistress Morrow was. Right. That was her. She was supposed to be Rebecca Morrow. This was definitely the weirdest dream ever. Shaking herself, she smiled back at Willy. “What are you doing?” “Mister Murdoch is helping me practice, Mistress.” He came down off his toes, and took a step towards her. “Practice what?” “Fighting. Cap’n says I need to use my sword better.” “May I watch?” His blue eyes went wide, and a touch of awe lit his voice. “I saw you using that blade yesterday. How did you learn to do that?” “Practice.” Her grin spread. “A lot of practice. I can help you, too, if you like.” “Would you?” Hope shone in his face. “Of course.” This was something she could do. She might know nothing about how a pirate’s wife really lived on board a ship, but she knew how to teach people to swordfight. He drew his sword enthusiastically, and she lifted her hands. “Whoa. All right. First, you need to go through some exercises before you can be really good with the sword.” “Exercises?” “Yes. There are movements you need to practice with your sword before you can be really proficient with the blade. Understand?” His chin bobbed. She walked him through the basic exercises she learned her first year of fencing lessons. He had some experience because he grasped them quickly. She watched his movements carefully, adjusting his grip on the hilt when he needed. “Okay. Take a break for a moment.”


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He turned to grin up at her. “That was—” A large tattooed man with a shaved head wrapped a hand around the back of Willy’s neck. “Don’t you be botherin’ the Captain’s wife, boy.” Both she and Willy jolted at the interruption. She tilted her head and gave a friendly grin. “He wasn’t…Mister Murdoch, is it?” He grunted, and she took it as an acknowledgment of her question. “Do you mind if I watch you show Willy how to use a sword?” She put on her most ingratiating smile. Blinking, he narrowed his eyes at her. “You ain’t been one to ask fer nuthin’, Mistress.” Well, that explained the nasty looks she’d received, and the wide berth every one of the men gave her. Rebecca Morrow must have been one very unhappy woman on board. How long had she been on The Dark Fortune? She’d have to ask James. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a convenient letter to tell her that. “I’m asking now, Mister Murdoch.” He jerked his chin down in a nod and led the way to the forecastle. She followed the other two quickly, avoiding the accusing glances and rude glares of the men they passed. Wow. Rebecca Morrow must have been a heinous bitch to garner this much animosity from everyone. She didn’t even want to think about how things had been between her and James. He hadn’t seemed to hate her—or Rebecca—last night. Confusion swamped her. She was so sick of not knowing what was going on. “Now.” Murdoch spun and drew a long, curved scimitar. He faced Willy. “Lift your sword and use those moves the Captain’s wife showed you.” “Just…call me Becca.” He slanted her a look. “Becca?” “Yes. Short for Rebecca. Becca. I prefer it.” “Ya went around sayin’ how’s you wanted to be called Mistress Morrow.” “I changed my mind. I’m turning over a new leaf today, setting a new course. You’ve done that before, haven’t you, Mister Murdoch?” Yep. Rebecca had been nasty to

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these men. Not smart considering where they were, in the middle of nowhere. No need to make enemies. He grunted at her again. “Heard you saved the Cap’n yesterday.” She just nodded. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Not all pirate captains were beloved. However, she caught the light of grudging respect in Murdoch’s eyes. Whew. James really had recruited good men who were loyal to him. Good. Her shoulders relaxed a little even though she could feel the men on deck boring holes in her back with their stares. Willy bubbled over with information. “Captain Morrow was fightin’ two men and another came up to stab him in the back like a scurvy dog and Becca blocked him and dropped him without blinking.” “That so?” Murdoch looked at her, but she focused on the wooden deck and bobbed her head in a nod. He turned back to Willy. “Well, boy. Let’s see if you can learn some of that. Get your sword up.” After about an hour, when Willy lost his sword for the fifth time, Murdoch called a halt. “Not bad, lad. Keep learning from Becca and we’ll have you in shape in no time.” She warmed from the inside out at the compliment. She didn’t let her smile burst forth, though, just hummed to acknowledge the comment. “Here.” Willy thrust his sword in her hand. “Show Mister Murdoch what you can do.” “Um…” “Right, then.” Murdoch lifted his sword, arcing it towards her. She didn’t stop to think, just blocked and stepped. Thrust, parry, thrust, step, forward, dip, back. All ingrained in her, it was muscle memory and she just moved with it. As she swung her arm, she caught a whiff of the oil James had used on her the night before when he…she flushed so hard her face hurt. Her sex dampened just thinking about what he’d done to her, for her, with her. Oh, God. The swing ended awkwardly and she had to dance out of range to avoid Murdoch’s sword. “Pay attention, Becca,” Murdoch barked.


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She swallowed and blushed deeper. Snapping off a sharp nod, she forced herself into calm, cool focus. This was what she’d done with every moment of her spare time for fifteen years. She wasn’t the best that ever was, but she was very good. A hard thrust from Murdoch drove her to her knees. He brought his sword to her neck. “That’s an end for you, Becca.” “But I’d take you with me.” Flashing a mocking grin, she shoved her blade forward to let him know she could slide her sword between his ribs if she wanted. He chuckled and stepped back, holding his arms out to the sides. “Fair enough.” His big paw reached out to help her to her feet. She let him pull her up. “That was a good fight, Mister Murdoch. Thank you.” “You’re…not what I expected.” She just grinned and saluted him with the sword before handing it back to Willy. Heavy footsteps approached from behind her. She turned to face James. She knew it was him because every nerve ending in her body lit up when he came near. Her skin felt too hot and too tight. Heat flooded her cunt and she squeezed her thighs together. The memories of what they’d done were enough to send her into a tailspin of lust. “Well done, Rebecca.” Blushing, she focused on the open neck of his shirt. “Thank you, James.” “What’s this? Shy, Rebecca?” He stepped close so that the earthy masculine scent of him washed over her. It mingled with just a hint of her own smell. Oh, God. Desire made her nipples tighten and press against her shirt. Which was his shirt. Willy appeared at her elbow. She jolted. The boy moved with a spooky quietness. “Thankee for the lesson, Becca.” “You’re welcome.” “I could help you, too. As an exchange.” “Help me with what?” He just nodded and stepped back. Pulling a slim knife from his belt, he flicked it with deadly accuracy into the foremast of the ship. It embedded deep into the wood. She arched her eyebrows. “Impressive.”

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“Good day, Becca. Captain.” He tipped an invisible cap to James and scurried to retrieve his knife, disappearing into the crowd of men on deck. She blinked. The kid really was a spooky escape-artist type. How had he done that? She blinked again. It looked as though the entire crew had come up to watch her fight with Murdoch. She lifted her chin and willed herself not to blush. “I’m having the noon meal served in our cabin.” He stepped back and nodded towards the stairs down to the gun deck. He simply assumed she’d obey him, and the part that really annoyed her was that she did. No questions. Just went where he told her to. She passed row after row of cannons until they reached his cabin. He followed so closely behind her she could feel his heat branding her back. Uncomfortable wetness gathered between the lips of her pussy. She wanted him again, now. Just like she’d had him last night. Or any way he wanted to take her. Hot food steamed from a tray on a small table tucked under the wide gallery windows. She swallowed, trying to work up an appetite. The fencing should have famished her, but she couldn’t think beyond wanting James. Hard. Fast. Deep. Oh, God, she needed something to ease the tidal wave of want washing over her. “Hungry?” “Yes.” Her answer was truthful enough. She just wasn’t hungry for food. She’d prefer to be served up for him on the bed. Stretched out, tied up, and worked over with his hands to make the delicious ache she’d experienced yesterday come back. She was only slightly tender now, but it wouldn’t take much to get her right on the edge of screaming. A blush burned her cheeks. She wanted to ask him to do it to her, but she didn’t know how to even start that kind of conversation. This was one of those times she wished she’d taken more of the offers that’d come her way over the years, so she wouldn’t be such a novice. She cast a longing gaze at the bed, but sat in the chair he pulled out for her in front of the table. He caught her looking and she blushed harder, dropping her gaze to stare at the food in front of her. God, how embarrassing. He noticed everything she did, every hitch in her breath, every moan she made—and he’d commented on it or responded to it last


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night. She’d have to remember that, but she wasn’t sure how well she could ever keep things from him. So far he’d done a masterful job of stripping her of all defenses and forcing her to react. Her sex clenched at the thought. “That’s my clothing you’re wearing.” His voice dropped to a low rumble as he seated himself across from her. Her brow furrowed. “Yes. I—my clothes are not practical for living on board ship.” “I see.” His ebony eyebrows arched. “You seemed…rather adamant about keeping your current wardrobe when you came on board.” She had? Or rather, Rebecca had? Crap. One more thing she had to dance around because Mrs. Morrow was a pill. “Well, being on board has taught me the error of my ways about that issue. I—I hope you don’t mind.” She hadn’t even thought about it when she’d rifled through his wardrobe. She couldn’t wear Rebecca’s clothing because she was just a tad too big. And that would be a dead giveaway something was really wrong here, wouldn’t it? Taking his clothes was her only option. Maybe he would spank her for stealing, and she wouldn’t have to ask him to. Another flood of moisture pooled in her cunt. Heated tingles raced over her skin, and her nipples peaked so tight the rough fabric covering her chafed over her sensitive flesh. She squirmed in her seat. “Perhaps I do mind. Yes. I think I do mind. In fact, when you’re in this cabin, you’ll be nude. Now, strip.” He settled back in his chair, crossing his legs casually at the ankle, and folded his arms over his chest. A wicked grin pulled at his mouth, but his eyes held no teasing. He was dead serious. It took her a full minute to realize what he wanted. Her legs shook and almost collapsed out from under her when she rose from her seat to obey him. She fisted her hands for a moment to try and still the trembling in her fingers, but it was no use. Anticipation hummed through her, made her pant for air and set her heart to pounding. She fumbled with the cord that kept her pants on, and it took her long moments to pull it free. The pants were so big on her that they fell around her ankles with nothing to hold them up. Now the shirt. It was all that covered her. She had no undergarments on. Ladies’

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underclothes didn’t work well under men’s clothing and there was no way she was wearing a corset unless she had to. Not on board a rocking ship. A garment that restricted her movements was a no-no considering the ground kept moving. She tugged at the laces that tied the shirt closed at the throat and pulled it over her head in a rush. If she’d waited to think about it, she might not have had the guts to do it. Glancing up, she was captured by the liquid fire in James’s gaze. He slid it down her body and his expression said he liked what he saw. The hot possession in his gaze told her he owned her, that every inch of her was his to command. Yes. The muscles in her legs tightened as she clenched them together. Her pussy was on fire, flames licking at her core. A flush stole over her entire body and her nipples ached to be sucked, bitten, pinched. Yes. She swallowed a moan and swayed towards him. “Wait. Wear those.” He inclined his head towards the long rope of black pearls she’d seen in the painting of his wife. The small, cool globes slid between her fingers as she lifted them from their chest. They weren’t a necklace; they were a string of pearls that didn’t have a clasp. She laid the middle of the strand over the back of her neck. The pearls heated against her naked flesh and caressed her with every step she took back to the table. They accentuated the sensual misery she felt, made her burn hotter. Her gaze locked on his lips as he opened his mouth to speak. Lust clouded her thoughts. “You want me?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “Answer me aloud, Rebecca. You want me to do more of what I did last night?” “Y-yes. Please.” “Perhaps I will, then. But perhaps not.” The wicked smile still played around his mouth. “Be seated. I am famished, aren’t you?” “God, yes.” They both knew she wasn’t speaking of food, but he waved her back into her seat anyway. She nearly moaned out loud. It would be exquisite torture to sit naked and pretend not to be burning up with longing. Every moment that passed seemed to intensify the sensations rocketing through her. He served her and she knew there was no reprieve


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for her until she was finished. She shifted in her seat and her clit rolled against the hard wood of her chair. She shuddered, and her teeth clacked on the fork in her mouth. She swallowed hastily. Perhaps if she ate quickly, she could hurry the process. Again he noticed her movements. “Something so pleasurable should be savored slowly, should it not? Fine wine, good food, beautiful women.” Having all of his attention so focused on her was…powerful. For this moment, she was his whole world. And he was hers. She closed her eyes for a moment. He thought she was beautiful. And…she felt beautiful around him. Her breasts lifted as she drew a deep breath, and his gaze zeroed in on her tight nipples. Tingles shivered over her skin, and her fingers clenched on the stem of her wine glass. She took a quick sip and set the glass aside. She let the fire build, let the lovely tortuous anticipation sing through her veins. Nothing had ever felt this good or burned so painfully. Lifting another forkful of food to her mouth, she stared at his lips. “I do want to savor this, Captain. I want to feel you inside me again. I want to take you in my mouth and—” His big body shuddered, and his pale gaze glittered with hard lust. His voice escaped as a rasp. “You wish to tempt me, Rebecca?” “Oh, yes.” “Do you think that’s wise?” “Not in the least. Do you always do what is wise, James?” She took a delicate sip of her wine. Her arm brushed against her nipple as she returned the glass to the table. She gasped, and her whole body shivered with the passion she couldn’t contain. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her hand away from the wineglass. Just that small contact made her moan. The flash of lightning from where he touched her traveled straight to her cunt. She rolled on her clit again and almost whimpered. He gave a sharp tug on her arm. “Come here.” Finally. She hopped to her feet, and he reeled her in. “On your knees,” he ordered, and pressed her into a kneeling position before him. His trousers tented in front of him. She let a languid, triumphant smile cross her lips.

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Lifting her palms, she ran her hands from his knees to mid-thigh and stopped. She met his eyes, and raised her eyebrows in question. Could she? Would he let her? Cream dampened her pussy at the mere thought of sucking his cock. God, he was big. How deep could she take him? “You should put that pretty mouth to better use.” Her grin widened, and her gaze dropped to his groin. She stroked her hands all the way up to cup his sex through his pants. His body went rigid, and power flooded her being. Yes. She held him in the palm of her hand. Literally. She could make him lose all that precious control of his. Her hips twisted at the thought. Nimble fingers unfastened his trousers and his thick cock sprang free. He was hard and a drop of pre-come glistened on the tip. She swallowed and leaned forward to flick her tongue out and taste him. His fingers fisted in her hair, clenching tight. Her scalp tingled at the rough treatment, but the sign that his control was slipping just made her want this more. “Suck me. Take me in your mouth, Rebecca. Now.” She obeyed, taking him into her mouth greedily, willingly. His girth stretched her lips wide and she struggled to take all of him. She sank her mouth down and licked her way back up to the bulbous crest. There she flicked her tongue across the head of his cock before sucking him in again. She hummed deep in her throat to let the sound vibrate up the shaft of his dick. “Rebecca.” Her name was a harsh rasp on his lips. She loved it. She wanted more, wanted to push him further. Tugging on the string of pearls draped over her neck, she wrapped the end around the base of his cock. Cupping her fingers around them, she slid them smoothly up and down the length of him. She moved faster, pressing the pearls into his flesh as she rolled them over his cock. He groaned long and loud, his hips arching up to slam his cock deeper into her mouth. She moaned and sucked him hard, pulling him in as deep as she could.


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“Stop.” He tugged at her hair to lift her away from his dick. It danced and twitched as he slipped free of her lips. She flicked her tongue out for one last taste of his delicious cock. “Rebecca—” “Yes, James?” She licked the salty tang of him from her lips, going slow so he could watch and know just what she was doing. He groaned. “You’ll pay for that, woman.” “Yes. Please.” Releasing her hair, he stepped back and crooked a finger, motioning for her to rise. She obeyed, and her thighs brushed together as she did, the pearls rolling to settle between her breasts again. The lust that had never abated peaked to an exquisite pain. “On the bed. Kneeling.” She shuddered just thinking about all the things he might do to her in that position. A part of her was amazed he had so quickly turned her into such a wanton individual, but the chemistry between them was indisputable, undeniable, and she wanted it. She wanted to know what it was like to trust herself, her body, and her bedmate enough to let go of every inhibition. He’d pushed her into it last night. Now she went willingly, eager to see and taste and feel more. This place, wherever she was, sleeping, delusional, was such a mental leap from anything that was the Becca she knew herself to be. With no points of reference, she had to just feel her way along until the dream ended and she went back to her real life, the real Becca. For some reason she couldn’t explain, the thought depressed her. She pushed it aside and focused on treasuring the here and now. With James. Her long hair brushed her hips as she walked, and she felt his gaze upon her, caressing her from behind when she turned away. She bent her knee to place it on the bed and leaned forward to brace her hands on the mussed fur coverlet. Her fingers curled into the soft strands of fur. The pearls swung forward from her neck to slip across the mattress as she crawled farther up the bed. His broad, rough hands cupped her hips from behind as he knelt on the mattress behind her. She moaned at the contact. God, she wanted him inside her. Anticipation rose sharply within her and her body shook with need. They both panted, the harsh sound loud

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in the small cabin. She sighed as he honed in on her sex, brushing his long finger over the lips of her pussy. “I’m going to take you hard, Rebecca.” “Yes.” She breathed the word. Her heart pounded and hot blood rushed through her veins. He plunged deep inside her with one powerful stroke. Hard, just as he’d promised. She cried out, dropping down to open herself wider to his penetration. He pulled back, pulled out of her. “James. Please. I need you.” Like an addict after a fix, she needed him. Craved him. Jesus, how had he done this to her? Her hips moved, seeking him out of their own accord. Her body knew what she needed, even if her mind had doubts. “No. Not yet. Not yet.” He stroked his hands over her back and down to cup her ass. He spread her cheeks apart. Hot tingles raced over her skin, and her face flushed. Would he fuck her there again? She hoped so. Nothing had ever felt so good as when he touched her, held her, fucked her. And the care he’d shown afterwards was shocking from such a domineering alpha personality. Her anus puckered when his fingertips grazed her recessed flesh. Oh, God. Her arms quivered as they struggled to hold her upright. But he didn’t press into her. Instead he slipped his hands back up to curl around her rib cage, urging her up until her back pressed to his muscled chest. She arched back into him, reveling in the contact. She could feel the length of his hard cock against her back and she licked her lips again to taste the remaining essence of him. He stroked the undersides of her breasts lightly and she shuddered at the touch of his rough fingers so gentle on her sensitive skin. The contrast in sensations drove her wild, made her moan. Then he pinched her nipples hard and gave them a quick twist. She screamed and threw her head back to lie over his shoulder. His scent filled her nose—the combination of hard man and exotic oil. The same oil he’d used on her last night. Her cunt fisted on nothing, tightening, straining, begging to be filled with his hard dick. “James. I need more.”


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“More? Oh, yes. You’ll have…more.” He chuckled low and wicked. A quick spurt of uncertainty flooded her, made her want to run for cover, but the excitement of the unknown made her want to stay even more. What would he do to her? Anything he wanted. Oh, yes. He rolled the pearls over her beaded nipples and she gasped. She shivered, pushing her breasts forward into the strands of smooth globes. He curled his fingers around the two sides and slid his hands down to the ends of the gem ropes. Lifting them, he threaded the pearls between her spread thighs. She bowed in a helpless arc at the hard sensation of them against her clitoris. Her fingers lifted to wrap around his forearms as he worked the pearls over her swollen, creamy flesh. His hand slipped between their bodies to pull the strands tight behind her. They hit her breasts, clit, and pussy lips all at the same time. Her sex fisted as she flashed over into sudden orgasm. “James.” Again and again, she contracted tight on nothingness. Still it left her aching, wanting. Before she came down from the wild rush, he pushed a pearl into her anus. Utter shock made her body shudder. “Wha—” “You wanted more, did you not?” Another pearl entered her ass. Then another. “Yes.” Then he worked the other end of the pearl rope into her bottom. She felt them move against the other pearls and press against the walls of her channel. The strands still rubbed her breasts and pussy. Oh, God, the man was creative. And naughty. She moaned low, long, and deep in her throat. She gasped when he shoved her away from him, the lack of his heat and the shift of the rounded gems inside her a sudden shock. He rolled her over and she arched her back, which pressed the pearls tighter inside her, made her even more aware of their presence. With his arms braced on either side of her hips, he thrust his long cock inside her cunt. Hard and fast. She sobbed, twisting under the lash of sensation. “James! Oh, God. James.” His fingers dug into her ass cheeks to pull them as far apart as possible. The stretch was amazing.

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“Is this too painful?” His harsh breathing made the words rough, urgent. But he paused his movements and waited for her to decide if he’d gone too far, pushed too hard. She shuddered, and he shuddered with her. Yes. “No.” The sensations were too much. She wanted more. The pain was too great. She wanted more. More, more, more. He pulled back and thrust back in. Not gentle. But she didn’t want him to be. The pearls moved over her clit and along the lips of her cunt. They also rolled against his cock every time he thrust into her. All of that combined with the way they felt in her ass, filling her. Blood pounded in her veins, rushing so hot and fast she might burst into flames. She was so full it was almost painful. A scream tore from her throat, and she curled her fingers into claws, scraping them down his back. He shuddered and she knew he liked it, that sharp little prick of pain with his pleasure. She closed her eyes and smiled, her hips moving. His pelvis slammed into her, his cock riding deep inside her. The pearls stretched her anus to the point that she could feel his cock through the thin wall of flesh separating her two channels. She clamped her inner muscles down on him, increasing the friction. They moaned together. “I can feel them,” he whispered. “Me, too.” She chuckled and lifted her hips with his next thrust, clenching on his plunging cock. Sweat beaded on their bodies, glued them together everywhere they touched. She ran her fingertips down the muscles that bunched in his strong back. They flexed with each of his thrusts. “Rebecca.” He groaned and she loved that she could push him, that he wasn’t all control all the time. Yes. The powerful rush of it made her sex contract. He bent forward and bit her. Hard. That was all it took to shove her high, up and over the edge of orgasm. She cried out, her back arching and pussy fisting on the length of his cock. He slammed his mouth over hers and caught the sound of her screams. His tongue pushed past her lips and she met his hard kiss. She tasted the coppery metallic tang of


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blood, but she didn’t know if it was his or hers. She bit him, letting the kiss go wild. His fingers dug into her hips as he rode her into the mattress. His hips pounded forward. One, two, three slapping thrusts and he shuddered over her, in her. His come filled her in a hot rush and her cunt clamped down on him again to milk his dick. They both groaned. Dropping his forehead onto her shoulder, he panted. The muscles in his arms shook as he tried to hold himself up to keep from crushing her. Their breathing steadied slowly, the sweat cooling on their bodies. She shivered as he pulled out of her, and the pearls shifted deep inside her. He gently pulled the strands from her anus. One at a time. He went slow. Excruciating. Exquisite. She bit her lip to stop from moaning at the feel of it. He tugged the pearls from around her neck and let them fall to the floor beside the bed. He bent and sucked her nipple deep in his mouth, nipping at the tight tip. Her fingers lifted to fist in his long black hair. It had come free of the leather thong that usually held it back and the thick strands were soft against her palms. “I do love those pearls on you. They bring out your…color.” She blushed, and felt the rush of blood pound in her cheeks. “James.” He just laughed down at her, and her heart tripped at the sight. His smile made his handsome face gorgeous, perfect. His white teeth flashed against his bronze skin, and his striking pale blue eyes danced with mirth. They even crinkled at the sides. “You should laugh more often.” Where had that come from? Regret sliced through her when the smile slid off his face. “There’s not much to laugh about.” “Life is ridiculous sometimes. That’s worth laughing at. I don’t know.” She glanced away, feeling foolish for saying anything. What was she thinking telling a man who lived through a war only to be literally branded a pirate that he should look on the bright side? She shifted on the mattress, rolling onto her side to face away from him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just…like it when you laugh.” “Mmmm…” He made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat and brushed a light kiss on her shoulder. His big body curled around hers, enveloping her in his heat.

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She sighed and closed her eyes, snuggling back into him. It felt so good just to lie with him. Too good. Her eyes opened again. She should examine that thought, analyze it like she usually did. But she couldn’t. Her mind went hazy and soft when he stroked her body from shoulder to hip. Soothing. Sweet. Perfect. Exhaustion washed over her. She couldn’t fight it, and her eyes slid closed. A pang hit her chest. When she woke up, she would be back at the museum with nothing but a painting to remind her of her amazing time with him.


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Chapter Three Almost a fortnight had passed since she’d saved him from being stabbed in the back. In that time she’d showed more passion than he’d ever seen in her. He scanned the horizon with his spyglass and saw nothing but clear blue sky meeting clear blue water. Excellent. He frowned, turning the glass to watch Rebecca spar with Willy. “Enjoyin’ the view, Cap’n?” Boyd’s voice came out flat and even, but James felt the back of his neck heat just the same. Damn. Caught staring at a woman like a foolish boy after his first bit of skirt. And she was his wife. He lowered the spyglass and met Boyd’s smirk with a glare. Boyd cleared his throat and focused on his duties at the helm. The sun beat down on them, and James swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. They weren’t enjoying much of a breeze today, but Boyd’s experience in these waters kept The Dark Fortune moving in the right direction. James’s gaze snagged on his wife again. She confounded him. Nothing about her made sense at all. She’d become almost a different woman overnight. As a pirate, he wasn’t a man to give trust lightly. Ever. It had kept him and his men alive on more than one occasion. He’d expected Rebecca to be the harpy she’d always been—her tongue only sharpening with the passage of time. And he’d been correct for the first weeks she’d been on board. But now…now was a different tale. He found himself seeking her out during the day, turning to her to ask an opinion, reaching for her at night so often he was amazed either of them still walked upright. She responded to him every time, no matter what he did or how dark his desires were. He shuddered as he recalled the sweet heat of her wrapped tight around his thrusting cock. Sweat broke out on his brow for a different reason. His cock hardened at the mere thought of having her. It had never been this way between them. If he were honest with himself, it had never been this way with any woman. Except her. Rebecca. His wife.

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His plan to push her into giving up her little charade had come crashing down around his ears. He craved her in a way he’d never craved a woman before. He shook his head. It was temporary. It had to be. He had no time for a wife, and his profession didn’t make it possible to have a wife nearby. His cock throbbed at the mere thought of having her within easy reach forever. No. He became a pirate to protect his men, to keep them together. It was a fool’s fancy to think a woman like Rebecca could remain on board. What would happen if they were boarded in the middle of the night? His gut clenched. A part of him was amazed he felt…concerned for her. He would have happily fed her to the sharks but weeks ago. Now the thought of even a small bruise on the woman turned his stomach. Unless, of course, he’d been the one to bruise her. Bloody hell. She’d done it. She had gotten precisely what she wanted from him. He was putty in her hands. His eyes narrowed on her. Had she played him so easily? Was he so transparent that she could sense the perfect woman for him? How could he trust that this new Rebecca would remain? He couldn’t. A band tightened around his chest as the realization came to him. He couldn’t trust her. Couldn’t trust what she’d become so quickly, so seamlessly. A plantation mistress couldn’t be as content on board a pirate ship as Rebecca now seemed. Willy tumbled across the deck as Rebecca divested him of his sword. She knelt beside the boy to be certain he was unharmed, but she let him regain his feet on his own. He grunted in approval. Good. She let the boy keep his pride. As though she sensed his thoughts, she turned to him and met his gaze. Her brown eyes warmed and a sweet smile curled her full lips. God, she was lovely. She wasn’t beautiful or stunning. Her allure was more subtle than that, more intriguing. She warranted a second glance, and then a third. Her hair flowed down her back like liquid silk, but she’d taken to leaving it in a long plait in the last fortnight. He liked that. He liked watching her take it down at night, or during the day if he didn’t wish to wait to have her. The band around his chest tightened. She was everything he wanted, and it was


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all a lie. It had to be. No woman was so perfectly fashioned for him, and that was the damnable truth of it all. He knew this woman. She took a step towards him, but he turned away to present her with his back. No. He wasn’t in control of himself here. He needed to decide how to respond to her. His body wanted what his mind knew was a trap. The bait was too sweet. “Is something wrong, James?” Her arms closed around his waist from behind, and his cock twitched at the light contact. He wanted her naked on her knees before him, begging to be allowed to suck him. Or her bottom over his lap, warm and rosy under his palm. Or her curves bared and arched across his bed, bound and waiting for what he would do to her, hunger bright in her dark eyes as she gazed at him. And he could do anything he wanted and she couldn’t stop him, would beg him for more. Another shudder wracked his body. God, he wasn’t strong enough to resist her now. He’d leave her on Barbados as planned, but for now…while he had her, he would enjoy her. He ignored the roiling in his gut at the thought of depositing her on his plantation and sailing away. He’d made difficult decisions before and lived with the consequences. This was what she wanted, what was best for her. For now, she was here and his for the taking. That decision made, he turned in her embrace. Her left sleeve was sliced from shoulder to elbow, leaving her arm bared. He cocked an eyebrow. “Willy caught you here.” “I let him.” Her eyes twinkled up at him, her full lips stretching into a wide smile. “We’ll be in Port Royal tomorrow. You can test your land legs again.” Reaching into the cut in her shirt—his shirt—he stroked his fingers down her arm. Her eyes shuttered for a moment, and she glanced away. She cleared her throat. “Where were we last?” He frowned. The occasional lapses of memory had seemed odd of late, and now the differences between the woman he’d married and the one in his arms sharpened. It began two weeks ago, he could mark the day. He tensed for a moment, then forced himself to relax. He’d already made his decision. There was no use dwelling upon it. He brushed at

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the wisps of hair that had escaped her braid. “Havana. And before that The Fortune retrieved you from the Tidewaters. Hampton Roads.” Hampton Roads. The Tidewater region of Virginia. Becca had grown up there too, and the museum she interned at was there. James’s wife had far too much in common with her. She shuddered. “Are you certain you’re well?” A grin quirked James’s lips, and his eyes heated with familiar passion. “I don’t know. Perhaps I should lie down.” “Well, I’ll make sure you get to your bed safely.” Excitement hummed through her body. The rough fabric of her shirt scraped over her nipples when she dragged in a deep breath. Lifting her palms to rest against his chest, she stroked her fingertips over his shirt. Exploring the hard wall of muscle beneath the cloth, she flicked her nails over his flat nipples. He jerked, and his big hands dropped to cup her ass. She swallowed hard, but met his gaze and let her desire for him show on her face. A muscle in his jaw ticked and he got the intense look in his eyes that promised hot, wild sex. His thick cock rode against her lower belly. Her cunt flashed hot, moisture flooding her core. She leaned into him, pressing her breasts to his chest. His arms crushed her to him, and his thigh pressed between hers. A low whistle echoed up from one of the men on the main deck. Becca flushed, but didn’t pull away. James dipped forward and brushed his mouth over hers, coaxing, sweet. Chills shivered over her skin and heat followed in its wake. “Sails! Captain Morrow, sails to port!” A cry rose from the crow’s nest. They groaned and broke apart. Boyd handed James a telescope and he lifted it to his eye to pinpoint the ship on the horizon. He stopped moving and every muscle in his body went rigid. “What’s wrong?” She lifted her hand to shield her eyes, but she couldn’t see more than a tiny dark speck on the horizon. “James?” A million terrifying thoughts raced through her mind. Was it a British warship? French? Spanish? Another pirate? She wished she had her sword, but James hadn’t let her


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have it back since that first day. She practiced with Murdoch or Willy or one of the other men’s blades. Never the one that brought her here. She still had no idea why or if she was truly here, but the only thing that had come with her from the future was the sword. And James kept it with him at all times. If she touched it again would it take her back to her time? Would it wake her up from her dream? Did she want it to? No. The truth slammed into her with the subtle blow of a sledgehammer. She shook herself and forced her attention back to the here and now. The ship had gone eerily still. All eyes turned to James and waited for his reaction. Becca already knew it wouldn’t be good. Dread curled in her gut, and she grew light-headed…only to realize she was holding her breath. She let it escape her lungs in a slow rush. James lowered the telescope and met her gaze. Her dread bumped up a notch, but she kept her face serene. “Do not be frightened.” “You’re here, so I’m not. How bad is it?” She smiled to reassure him. “Another pirate.” “A bad one? Wait…never mind. Don’t answer that.” Because there were so many good pirates? She rolled her eyes at herself. He laughed, a rich, booming sound that carried across the ship. His eyes warmed to a blazing blue, and he lifted his hand to stroke down her cheek. “Rebecca—” Her heart squeezed and turned over. God, she would miss him when this was over. How would she survive? Panic closed in around her heart and she desperately reached for some composure. His eyes sharpened on her face. “Rebecca?” She shook her head, unable to answer as tears filled her eyes. His hands closed over her shoulders and he drew her to him. “We’re likely both bound for Port Royal. Nothing will happen. Do not be afraid. I’ll protect you.” “There are some things you can’t protect me from.” Like falling in love. And that was the problem. She could be falling for a figment of her imagination. What if she was

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just dreaming of the perfect man and putting James Morrow’s face on the fantasy? She bit her lip and leaned into his chest. His hand cupped the back of her head, and she pulled in his scent. Don’t let it end. Don’t ever let it end. Let me stay here forever.


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Chapter Four Port Royal, Jamaica Becca stared at crimson fabric. It belled out from the dress model in the store window. Heavy, blood red embroidered silk cupped the dummy’s torso and the skirt swirled to pool on the display floor. “See something you like?” She startled and glanced back at James. “No. Nothing. Where are we going?” “The Stuck Pig. Just there.” He tilted his head to indicate the opposite side of the street. Following him into the tavern, she couldn’t help a last look back at the red dress. It was the same one from the painting, she was certain of it. Was the painting of her or the other Rebecca? She’d convinced James to let her come into port armed, and dressed in his clothing. She pulled down the brim of her wide hat. From a distance, she’d look like a prepubescent boy—like Willy. A wry smile tugged at her lips. She’d finally found an advantage to being short and skinny. In the time she’d been with James, she’d worked out enough that she fit into Rebecca Morrow’s clothes, but she refused to wear them. Even here, where they’d be appropriate. She was not Rebecca Morrow, and she wanted nothing to do with what was hers. Except her husband. Him, she’d keep. If she could. Her eyebrows arched at her own…ruthlessness. Some subtle shift had taken place within her these past few weeks. The discontent she’d always known was gone, had evaporated under the Caribbean sun. Maybe it had taken living among hard, merciless pirates to make her a happy camper. “I have business with unsavory men. I would prefer they not meet you.” James spoke just loudly enough for her to hear over the raucous din of the pirate bar. Every man there

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was drunk and singing and laughing and fondling scantily clad prostitutes. She recognized most of the crew from The Dark Fortune in the crowd. She nodded to an empty corner table by the staircase that a few pirates were leading the doxies up. Their rough flirtation had gone to the point of payment. “I’ll sit over there. If anything happens, one of your men will help me. But I have my weapons.” “I can have some of them—” She shook her head. “Let them have their fun. They’ve earned it. I can take care of myself. Trust me.” “I don’t trust well.” His voice came out flat and unemotional. His eyes shuttered. She sensed the sentence had more meaning than this moment called for, but his body language screamed that he wouldn’t welcome her touch. Nodding, she met his gaze. “People you should have been able to trust betrayed you. I understand. Just trust that I can take care of myself. You’ve seen me with a sword.” His lips quirked. “They won’t approach unless you call, but my men will be watching you in any case. You’ve managed to have them dancing in the palm of your hand in mere weeks. I think they’re ruined.” “Or well prepared for marriage.” She winked at him, tucked her chin to hide beneath the hat again, and sauntered over to the table. James had been swallowed by the crowd by the time she sat and faced the room. A serving woman plopped a tankard of ale in front of her. “From Cap’n Morrow.” Before Becca could thank her, she’d spun away and disappeared as well. She scooped up the mug and took an experimental sip. “And who might you be?” A portly man who practically oozed slick charm smiled at her. Yellow teeth flashed in his face as his gaze latched onto her breasts. Damn. Caught. She fought to keep the disgust from showing on her face and took a big swig of her ale to cover the curl of her lip. She did not like this man, and she didn’t need to think about why. His eyes narrowed on her face. “I asked you a question.” “Rebecca Sm—Morrow.”


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Greed, lust and hate twisted his already ugly face. He leaned in too close and invaded her personal space. A wave of fetid air hit her nostrils as he exhaled a nasty chuckle. “James Morrow’s wife.” She didn’t acknowledge the comment because he already knew he was right. Instead she just stared at him. This man was a bully, and he wanted to intimidate her. Not likely. “Not a chatty one, are you?” He fingered the hilt of his filigreed sword. Cocking a pistol under the table, she kept it trained on him. At the level her hand was at, she could make sure this asshole never bred. Where was James? He needed to finish his business and get back to her now. She and his men could handle this nasty fellow, but she wanted James with her. She arched a brow at the stocky pirate. He looked like a mean pit bull. “You’re new to the West Indies, aren’t you, Mistress Morrow?” She just stared at him, not encouraging the conversation. His smile broadened. “You seem quite unfriendly for a woman who hasn’t a single soul to stand by her side. All alone, aren’t you?” A small smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. James’s crew was nearby—she wasn’t as alone as he assumed. “I’m not speakin’ of yer crew. You think you’d want to leave them behind before Morrow dumps you off on some little family farm on Barbados.” She felt herself go pale, and he sucked at his rotted teeth. “Ah, yes. It’s well known what Morrow has planned for you.” “What goes on between my husband and me is not your concern, sir. I’d appreciate it if you took your leave. Now.” She narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. Mistake. He knew he’d hit a nerve and now he wasn’t leaving. Shit. Shit. Shit. “I can keep that from happening. You say the word and I’ll offer you my personal protection.” Her skin crawled. She didn’t even want to consider what taking him up on his kind offer would cost her. He pulled out a chair to settle in. She brought her gun up to the top of the table. “Don’t sit.”

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He lifted his hands and snorted. “Oh, now. A nice gentle-bred lady like you won’t be using that.” “I doubt even a woman as gentle as me could miss from this distance. Don’t you agree?” Nervous knots cramped her belly and her palms grew slick on the gun, but she kept her hand steady and her eyes level with his. She wasn’t going to flinch. “Let me be blunt. I’m not going anywhere with you or anyone else but my husband.” Shifting, he swallowed. “I was just making conversation.” A nasty flush slid up his cheeks as patrons began to notice his predicament and sniggered. “You were offering to steal my woman from me. That’s not a conversation I care for you to be having.” James appeared out of the crowd to stand next to the table. “Since when do you care for any woman at all? She’s just one in a long string to fling themselves at your pretty feet, Morrow.” His hearty laugh was met with stony silence. James’s eyes were incandescent with anger. He didn’t even bother to hide his loathing. The shorter man’s false joviality slid away and his hatred flashed in his little eyes. “Goodbye.” James pulled the chair from the man’s grip and settled in it. He didn’t spare the fat pirate another glance. Rage filled the man’s gaze and he had his sword half-drawn when Becca cleared her throat. She shook her head and jerked the muzzle of her pistol in the direction of the door. “I believe Captain Morrow said goodbye.” She smiled, with teeth. “Goodbye.” He grunted and stumped out of the door. A skinny little man fell into step behind him and Willy slipped in to trail them, no doubt gathering information to report back to James later. He tossed an admiring wink at her before he disappeared. Uncocking her pistol, she laid it on the table. She left her hand on the tabletop so she could grab the gun again if she needed it. “Who is he?” “Captain Bones McCrory.” James glanced from the gun to her face and back again, but made no comment on her actions. Something close to…respect flashed in his pale azure eyes. “I take it you don’t like him, and that his name isn’t really Bones.”


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He sucked his teeth in disgust. “He and I have run afoul of each other on several occasions. He’s a mangy scavenger who’d pick the bones off his dead mother.” “Honor among thieves?” He lifted his shoulder in a dismissive shrug. Then his gaze dropped to her breasts and heated to laser blue. Her breath seized, and her nipples lifted to rub against the rough cotton of her shirt. He pitched his voice low, so only she could hear. “Are you wet for me, Rebecca?” Her breath rushed out and juice flooded her cunt. She shifted on the hard wooden chair, squeezing her thighs together. The ache between her legs rose to a scream when he stroked a fingertip down her upturned palm. Desire clawed at her like a wild thing. “Are you?” His rough fingers continued their leisurely path over her skin. She shuddered and every sensation in her body focused on the slow play of his flesh on hers. Every brush of his fingers sent cream pulsing to her pussy. She whimpered, closed her eyes, and nodded. “Tell me what you want, Rebecca.” “You. Fast and hard. P-please.” The words jerked out of her throat. That he could do this to her in a public place, bring her right to the edge of orgasm without even touching her intimately. Her eyes snapped open when his chair scraped back. His erection bulged in his pants and she licked her lips. His gaze darkened. “Careful or I’ll bend you over this table and take you right here.” Lust clouded her thoughts. Anything sounded good to her now. Her entire body throbbed with the need for release, any way he would let her have it. He jerked her roughly out of her chair and spun her towards the stairs. His long legs pounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. She had to run to keep up. Thank God she wasn’t wearing a dress. She’d have fallen on her face for certain. He shoved open the first door he came to.

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A blonde woman with seashells braided into her hair shrieked and spun to face them. “What—” James threw her a small leather bag that clinked loudly as the prostitute caught it. A coy smile curved her rosy lips. “Well, ’ello, Captain Morrow.” He stepped aside and jerked his chin towards the door. “The coin isn’t for you, Shelly. It’s for the room. Out.” Becca smothered a laugh at the stunned look on the woman’s heart-shaped face. She held the door open to let the prostitute out. “An old friend of yours, James? At least you picked the prettiest one.” He growled at her as she closed the door, threw the latch, and began to strip on her way to the wide bed. James raced her to it. His pistol landed on the bedside table so it remained within easy reach, and the rest of his weapons hit the floor. He jerked his shirt over his head to reveal the wide, lightly furred expanse of his chest. Her nipples peaked tight as his body came into view. He was a beautiful man. She paused in her movements to watch him. He sat to tug off his boots and kicked his pants to the floor. He glanced up at her. “I believe you’re supposed to be naked.” He reclined against the headboard and crossed his ankles. His thick cock rose from a nest of dark curls. She shuddered and stared at it. She wanted to suck it, feel the length and width of it sliding against her tongue. “Rebecca—” “Yes?” Her breath escaped on a sigh. She didn’t move, didn’t change her focus. His fingers dropped to wrap around his cock. He stroked the length of it, pumping up and down. His hand tightened and relaxed rhythmically on his cock. “Is this what you want, Rebecca?” Fire exploded in her belly, spurred her into action. She wriggled out of the last of her clothes. Her hands slid up her torso to cup her breasts. She plucked at her nipples and moaned at the sensation. One hand slipped down her stomach and she circled a finger around her bellybutton before dipping between her legs. Their gazes locked, and they watched each other pleasure themselves. Their harsh panting filled the room.


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“Stop.” Her hand froze. His voice came out a guttural hiss of passion. “Come here. Ride me.” She nodded and obeyed. Her vocal cords had seized, and she couldn’t force any sound out. Cream slid from her pussy to dampen her thighs as she walked to him. His hands fitted over her hips to haul her over him as soon as she was in reach. Her legs straddled his and he lifted her to set her on the hot length of his cock. Her teeth clenched as she sank down on him. God, he was so big. It was still an adjustment for her to fit all of him inside her. Her cunt stretched wide as he filled her. The pressure of his push within her was almost painful, but she craved it. Craved him. All he could give her and more. Her thighs tensed as she lifted, then lowered herself. Up, down. Up. Down. Faster and faster, harder and harder, deeper and deeper. She braced her hands on his broad shoulders for leverage. His fingers bit into her hips as he guided her through their carnal dance. She rotated her hips, changing rhythm. He groaned, and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth up to kiss her. He shoved his tongue between her lips, made the kiss a rough demand. She met his ardor with her own, mating their mouths together in a play of lips and teeth and tongue. He nipped at her lower lip, biting the swollen flesh. She moaned and shivered. His fingers slid around to dive between her legs. He worked her clit in time with his pounding thrusts. She threw her head back and cried out. Her hands tightened in his long hair, fisting in the soft strands. He pressed down directly on her swollen clitoris and rammed his cock deep, once, twice, three times and went rigid beneath her. Pleasure exploded within her and her cunt contracted to milk his dick. His wetness filled her, flooded her and she shuddered in another wave of orgasm. She collapsed in his arms and he caught her to his chest. He shifted them until they lay side by side on the bed. She rolled to her back and tried to catch her breath. A bead of sweat slid between her breasts and she shivered at the feel of it tracing over her skin. She heaved a deep sigh, relaxing.

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“You know what I find fascinating about the female form?” James rolled up onto his elbow to lean over her. She laughed and stretched her arms over her head. “Everything?” “Well, there is that. But specifically, I was speaking of the feminine ability to achieve pleasure again and again without the need to pause.” “Oh.” She shivered under his hot, possessive gaze. Just like that her body flashed from languid satisfaction to desperate hunger. What would he do to her this time? The unexpectedness of his passion made him so appealing. She never knew what he’d do to her, how he’d push her limits, but she knew she’d enjoy it. His hand locked her wrists together, and cream slicked the folds of her pussy. He reached over and hooked his finger in the candleholder beside the bed. Was he going to fuck her with the candle again? She moaned, her hips already lifting for the penetration. “Ah, ah, ah.” He clucked his tongue in admonishment. “Not so fast.” She swallowed and tried to still her hips, but they twisted on the bedding. “Please, James.” “Begging now? I like that. Begging is very good. I want more.” “Please.” Her eyes widened when he brought the candle over her belly. “What are you—” A small squeak erupted from her throat when he tipped the candle to drip the hot wax onto her skin. She jumped at the sting, but it quickly cooled. A shiver overtook her and pleasure zinged straight to her cunt. He stayed where he was, watching her, assessing her reaction. He waited to see what she would do. God, she loved that. He pushed her limits, but respected that she had them. Her pulse sped up and she saw his pupils had dilated. “Do it again,” she whispered. A fierce smile curved his lips and his white teeth flashed. “Wild lady.” “You bring out the worst in me.”


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“I am a pirate.” He tipped the candle again and another drop fell. Her muscles tensed, waiting. Would it hurt more? Would it feel as good? She wanted to close her eyes and savor it, but his pale gaze locked with hers and they watched each other’s enjoyment. She arched on the bed as he left a trail of wax up her torso. Her body throbbed at the combination of pleasure and pain. Her knees spread wide and her heels braced on the bed. Fire raged in her pussy, building with the heat of the wax. Each drop increased her desire and she sobbed on a ragged breath. When the hot wax fell on the puckered tip of her nipple, her hips rose, her cunt fisting on nothing. Still, it wasn’t enough for her. She needed more. She needed him. Moving inside her, fucking her with ruthless force. The thought alone was enough to send cream trickling down her inner thighs. “James. Please. I want—” “I know.” He mounted her, the head of his hard cock rubbing against the sensitive tissue of her sex. Her hips rose sharply to impale herself on his cock. He stretched her wide and the walls of her pussy contracted on his length. “Yes. More. Please.” He rode her hard, ground himself against her clit. Her fingers clawed his back and he grunted at the bite of her nails on his skin. Pleasure flashed in his eyes. He liked this. She grinned up at him, lifting her hips to match the hot, fast rhythm he set for them. With deliberate movements, she raked her nails from his shoulders to his buttocks and then grabbed his ass to urge him along. She rocketed over into orgasm, flying hard and fast. But her eyes never left James’s face. They watched each other race to pleasure; only their harsh breathing broke the silence between them. It echoed in the small room as the humid night air wrapped around them. “Rebecca. My Rebecca. I—” His eyes closed for a moment, and his back bowed as he came. He shuddered, his come filling her. She wrapped her arms tight around his back, laying her palms flat on his bare skin. He rolled them until she lay on his chest, her legs straddling his lean hips. He yawned, his ribs expanding. She could hear his heartbeat under her ear as it settled down to a slow,

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even rhythm. Her eyes fluttered closed. This was perfection. Right here. With him. Nothing had ever felt so good…so right. Sweet contentment filled her. “I love you,” she breathed, and let herself drift into dreamless slumber. *** A flurry of activity overtook the ship as it always did when they left port. James had traded the goods taken from the last galleon they’d pillaged, and The Dark Fortune’s holds were full with legitimate trade goods. He might be a pirate, but he wouldn’t turn down honest trade if it came his way. Money was money, and he had men to feed and a ship to keep maintained. He refused to think about Rebecca and what she’d said to him last evening before they’d fallen asleep. He had no idea how he’d handle her, or what was happening between them. Instead, he focused on the familiar routine of loading cargo, and kept a weather eye on the men working. The first day back on board was always rough—there would be hot tempers aplenty from a night spent overindulging. He’d taken on new men to replace the few he’d lost on this journey, and new men meant a re-sorting of the pecking order amongst the crew. “Thank you for the dress. It’s beautiful.” Rebecca tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and leaned her shoulder against his arm. He allowed himself a small moment to revel in the feel of her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “You wanted it.” “True, but you didn’t have to buy it. So, thank you for that…and the other thing.” He glanced down at her and noted that she fixed her stare on the horizon. A crimson wash of color rose on her cheeks. He grinned and couldn’t resist teasing her. “You mean the oil? Vanilla is the scent you prefer, is it not?” Her blush deepened. “I like it.” “Good. I’ll use it on you tonight.” Lowering his voice so that only she could hear him, he stroked his palm over the curve of her buttocks.


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“I—I…W-where are we going next?” She turned a brilliant smile on him, but he noticed her blush hadn’t faded. His gaze dropped to her breasts to see that her nipples stood in high relief against her shirt. And it was her shirt—he’d bought her more than just the dress. He wanted to see her in the red silk, and couldn’t wait to strip her out of it. Tonight. He’d make her wear it for him while they ate their evening meal. His cock stiffened at the thought. God, would he ever get enough of this woman? He was coming to doubt it, and that worried him. He lifted his gaze to hers slowly before he answered. “Barbados.” She went rigid against his side. “Barbados? What’s there?” The look in her eyes made him feel as though he’d slapped her across the face. She pulled away from him, and his gut clenched. Her eyes went blank before she turned away, her arms wrapped around her waist. She hadn’t shied away from his touch in weeks. Had someone told her about Barbados? He hadn’t yet said anything to her about his plantation. He realized he’d been avoiding making a final decision on it—much had changed since he’d made his original decision. If he didn’t tell her, he didn’t have to deal with her reaction to it. He also had the option to change his mind once he got to Barbados. “Rebecca? What is wrong?” He heard her draw a deep breath. “Nothing…nothing. I’m fine. I’m going to go see if I can help…someone.” Not even glancing at him, she stepped towards the stairs that led to the main deck. He balled his fists, sudden anger flooding him. She loved him. He’d heard the words from her lips. The knowledge of it warmed his insides. He tried to suppress it. Others who should have stood by him, loved him, had turned their backs on him when he needed them most. How could he know she wouldn’t do the same? How did he know she would? He didn’t, but he knew he couldn’t allow her to pull away from him. That he would not tolerate. She was his. Hot possession filled him. He reached out to haul her flush up against him. His fingers wrapped around her arms and he jerked her to him. He slanted his mouth over hers, demanding a response. She resisted for

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a moment before she slid her arms around his neck and stood on her toes to arch into him. Yes, that was the reaction he’d come to expect from her. He groaned against her mouth, his tongue sweeping between her lips to taste her. He shuddered as her slim fingers slid against his scalp. His cock hardened almost painfully at the soft whimper that sounded from her throat. If he didn’t stop now, he’d take her right here on the deck without a care for who might be watching. His control held by the barest thread. He jerked back, panting. Her eyes opened, the warm brown of them dazed. “What was that for?” “Don’t ever turn away from me.” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended, a command, a demand. She blinked up at him for a moment before relief flashed in her gaze and a beatific smile spread across her face. “I won’t.” Her fingers stroked over his cheek to cup his jaw. He tilted his face into her touch. “I’m with you. But I am going to go help. Okay?” His chest squeezed as he watched her walk away. If it kicked him this hard to have her leave his side, what would it be like to watch her fade on the horizon as he sailed away? The danger of his chosen profession hadn’t abated. How could he continue to expose her to that? What was he going to do with her? The Dark Fortune shuddered beneath his feet, the deck creaking as her sails caught wind and began to move them away from Port Royal. He barked orders to get them under way, and the sea beckoned as they left land behind. He couldn’t stop the question that nagged him. What was he going to do with Rebecca? The sea didn’t hold the answer for him. He was caught between what he wanted and what he knew was right. The sense of duty he’d thought long dead to anyone but the men under his command had chosen a damnably poor time to rear its head. Ten days. He had roughly ten days until they reached Barbados, and still the question ricocheted through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, but nothing would stop it. What was he going to do with her?


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Chapter Five Becca’s muscles ached by the time The Dark Fortune moved out into open sea. She heaved a sigh of relief when Jamaica was no more than a fading speck on the horizon. Having never spent more than a few hours at a time sailing, she was amazed at how well she’d adjusted to the roll of the deck beneath her feet and the wind that whipped her hair into her eyes. She hadn’t even gotten seasick. A calm order issued from the rear of the ship. James had taken the helm from Boyd about an hour ago so the short, skinny little man could get something to eat. It had been a long day for all of them, and she wished for her bed. And for James to be in it with her. She heaved a long sigh. Bones McCrory had been right about The Fortune sailing for Barbados, but not about James leaving her there. Why else would he have been so possessive, so demanding that she not turn away from him? It had to mean something. He had to care. She didn’t delude herself into believing that he loved her. The man had had his family and his country turn their collective backs on him. He wasn’t going to trust her enough to love her after a few weeks, but if he left her on Barbados she’d never get the chance to convince him. Her lips twisted. What if it wasn’t real? She loved him. She needed it to be real. She’d rather be crazy than live without him now. It didn’t matter how it had happened, she wasn’t about to walk away from something this wonderful. How many times did a woman find a man like James Morrow? Almost never. So what if he was a figment of her imagination? She’d take that risk. A wry grin spread over her face. Maybe she was more of a pirate than she’d ever dreamed possible. It was one thing to gamble her life on a dream, but her heart? Now that was real danger. “What’s funny?” She turned as Murdoch approached. “Nothing worth repeating. How’re the new crewmen?” 60


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He grunted. “Nothing special. I’ll ’ave ’em dancing to my jig right enough.” “I have no doubts.” A laugh slid from her throat. She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back. A yawn cracked her jaw. A raindrop splattered against her upturned cheek. She glared at the sky. Clouds had rolled in as they left Port Royal and since the murky sun set, it had been black as pitch. She couldn’t see more than a few feet over the sides of the boat as a heavy fog rolled in with the cooler night air. Lanterns cast a glow to guide everyone across the deck. Murdoch’s eyes reflected the lamplight as he glanced at her and then away. “Some of ’em…have concerns about you being on The Fortune, Becca.” “Oh.” What else could she say to that? She swallowed and fisted her hands at her sides, sudden fear racing through her. A lot of sailors had superstitions about women on board ships. She’d been surprised that she’d seen so little of it from James’s men. Would he decide that having her with him wasn’t worth the inconvenience of disrupting his crew? Cold chills shivered over her flesh. How could she fight someone’s deeply ingrained cultural beliefs? Her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes for a moment and tucked her chin against her chest. “Thank you for telling me, Mister Murdoch.” “Don’t you be worryin’ about them none. Fer the last while, Cap’n seemed lighter than he has in years, since he was barely more than a lad joinin’ the Navy. I’d like to see him stay that way.” He snorted and turned to stump away, muttering to himself. “Be dancin’ to my jig, you mark my words.” “Thank you, Murdoch,” she called after him softly. Hope cracked through the uncertainty that had engulfed her, and she shook away her despair. She was just tired. She needed some sleep. James hadn’t let her get more than a few minutes at a time the night before. A smile tugged at her lips at the naughty memories of how he had touched her, how he had made her come over and over again. She shivered and not from cold. Spinning about, she went in search of James. He’d take her mind off everything else except him, and that sounded perfect to her. Placing her feet carefully in the dark, she mounted the stairs to the quarterdeck. “James?”


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“Cap’n went looking for you, Mistress Becca.” Boyd’s voice carried in the dark. “Behind you.” James’s breath caressed her ear. She jolted, her heart slamming in her chest. Her hand pressed to her breastbone. She spun on the top step and could just make out the planes of his face in the lamplight. “Jesus, James. Are you trying to scare me to death?” “Shh.” A predatory smile pulled at his lips. “Listen.” Closing her eyes, she tilted her head to the side and listened hard. She heard a voice shouting in the far distance, out across the sea and almost lost in the mist. A voice she recognized. “It’s McCrory,” she whispered, snapping her eyes open. “Aye.” A wicked glint flashed in his eyes when he glanced back at her. “You’re going to attack him, or no…you’re going to let him think he’s catching you unawares.” It shocked her that she could follow the path of his thoughts. And agree with him. His smile widened, anticipation leaping in his icy gaze. “Oh, yes. He tried to steal my woman. I can’t let the insult stand.” She nodded. “I understand.” Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders. “I need my sword.” “Rebecca…” “Haven’t I earned my place here, James? Proven I can fight?” No way in hell was she being left to wait, but she wasn’t dumb enough to make demands. She’d have to convince the stubborn man. She laid a hand on his forearm. “Don’t make me stay in our cabin. Please.” The muscles in his arm flexed beneath her fingers then slowly relaxed. He turned aside, muttering, “I’m going to regret this.” The jeweled dagger that had come with her from the museum was tucked into his belt, and he pulled it out to hand to her. Then he spun away to give quiet orders to Boyd. A flurry of muted movement overtook the ship and she could feel the tension rising among the crew. Butterflies took flight in her belly and her hands grew slick on the hilt of

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her weapon. It was just like how she felt before a huge fencing match, only more intense because it was life and death. Willy materialized by her side. He pitched his voice low and kept his tone casual, as though it were an everyday occurrence to attack a pirate ship in an impenetrable fog. “Stand fast, my lady.” “I’m not a lady, Willy.” “You are. The Lady Pirate. That’s what they’re calling you in Port Royal and soon the whole West Indies.” Boyish enthusiasm lit his eyes, but she resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. He might just throw that nasty little knife at her. “I’m not a pirate either.” A frown pulled at his small face. “No? I’d…hoped the Captain would change his mind about leaving you on Barbados, but if you don’t want to come wit’ us…” Shock sucked the wind out of her lungs, and the only sound she could make was that of a wounded animal. “My lady? We must be quiet.” Willy’s callused little hand folded into hers. Oh, God. Bones had been right. A flush burned her cheeks. Everyone on board knew James had intended to dump her off on his plantation all along. Nausea roiled in her belly, and sudden tears pressed hard against her lids. He was getting rid of her. Following on the heels of despair was righteous anger. When the hell was he going to mention the fact that he’d be leaving her in a few days? It should have come up between the shag sessions. Her hands shook with the screaming emotions rolling through her like a tidal wave. Oh, God. Oh. God. What would she do now? How could she lose him? Her stomach heaved. Willy’s excited whisper sounded in the dark. “It’s not long now. Are you well, Becca?” Right. Pirate ship. Cannons. Musket-fire and swords. Get it together, Becca. She kicked herself for losing focus. This was not the time to dwell on personal problems. Straightening her shoulders, she squeezed his hand before withdrawing. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.”


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They crouched against the forecastle, gripping weapons tight. She jolted as a large hand closed over her shoulder. Please don’t let it be James. She couldn’t deal with him right now. She just couldn’t. Murdoch silently passed her a loaded pistol as he ghosted by. Then it began. Flashes of light pierced the foggy dark and a high-pitched whistle sounded unnaturally loud in the silence. She ducked, covering Willy with her body to protect him as the first cannonballs exploded through the starboard railing and sent splinters in every direction. The deck beneath her feet rumbled like an earthquake as The Fortune’s cannons returned fire. Within minutes, grappling hooks spanned the distance between the ships, and men leaped from one side to the other, battle screams bursting from their mouths. Steel rang as it met steel, and gunpowder flashed like fireflies in the fog as men discharged their weapons. “Let’s go.” Willy wriggled away from her to dive into the fray. Becca sprang to her feet, wanting to grab the boy and protect him, but he was gone. A man spun towards her, blade drawn. She blocked him, thrust, and he fell at her feet. Another came at her, then another, and another. She used her pistol when two came at her at once and dropped it to meet the blade. All her years of practice came down to this moment, this heartbeat. She controlled her breathing, as she’d been trained, made her movements fluid, as she’d been trained, kept her feet steady on the shaking deck—that was beyond her training, but she didn’t stop to think about it. Spinning, she sought her next opponent—and came face to face with the muzzle of a cocked pistol. Her pounding heart skipped a beat, and ice water washed through her veins. “Hello, Rebecca.” She forced herself to look away from the gun to see the man holding it. Bones McCrory. He licked his lips and dropped his gaze to her breasts. She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest and lifted her chin to look down her nose at him. “It’s Mistress Morrow to you.”

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Her mind raced. Where were James and Willy and Boyd and Murdoch? God, she hoped someone noticed soon. Oh, God. Oh, God. Help. Shifting, she tried to see around Bones, tried to see if there was anyone she recognized, but the fog made it impossible to see anything beyond shadows dancing in the haze of smoke and mist. “Ah. Ah. Ah. Call fer anyone, Mistress Morrow, and I’ll pull the trigger. Understand?” His eyes glinted, telling her he’d enjoy killing her. The breath froze in her lungs, choking off any verbal response she could make. She nodded. “That’s good, then.” He jerked his chin towards his ship. “After you, Lady Pirate.” Her legs felt leaden as each step landed against the wooden deck. She stumbled and almost fell through the gap between the ships. Her fingers bit into the wood of the railing to catch herself from falling. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. She blinked back tears and just walked, trying to be numb. “Down there. We’re going to my cabin. I’m sure you know how to find your way into a captain’s bed.” He chuckled. Her stomach clenched in dread. Oh, God. She didn’t even want to think about what he would do to her. It was obvious. It was a nightmare. Wake up, Becca. Wake up! If there’d ever been a time for this dream to end, this was it. His gun shoved between her shoulder blades, prodding her on. The ship rocked as cannons slammed into it and she bounced against the narrow walls of the short hallway that led to his chambers. She had to step over three bodies along the way, their blank, lifeless faces staring up at her. One of the men she recognized from The Fortune’s crew. She wanted to stop, check his pulse, make certain he was dead, but Bones’s pistol shoved her forward. She wanted to whimper, curl up into a ball and sob, but she forced herself to keep it together. There had to be a way out of this. She had to find it. Her sword was still with her. The sword that brought her to James. Its weight felt good in her hand, solid, and she tightened her grip. She was armed. That was good, right? It counted for something. She just wasn’t sure what. Yet. But why had he let her


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keep her weapon? Was he insane? She’d pulled a gun on him before. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t use a sword. The questions chased themselves around in her head, but she had no answers. She clenched her jaw and forced the world to snap back into clear focus. Her panic receded. Anger bubbled up inside her—at Bones, at James, and at the twist of fate that dropped her into the middle of a world that would be the end of her. Her knuckles whitened on the hilt of her sword. Right. Bones might have a gun, but he’d have to kill her before she let him rape her. And she was taking him with her. Pushing into his chambers, she spun to face him as he followed her in and shut the door. He tossed his gun aside, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the door. She eyed him, wary of whatever game he was playing. He still had a sword and dagger, but neither of them were drawn. How fast was he? She wasn’t sure she could risk finding out. She nodded to the gun. “You don’t think you need your pistol? I have a sword.” “That puny dagger?” He scoffed. “Put it down.” “Make me.” “In good time. In good time. I want Morrow to realize you’re missing. I want him to fear what might be happening to his precious Lady Pirate. Mmm…James Morrow afraid would be such a treat.” An ugly, yellow smile split his sallow cheeks. “And then I want him to walk in on his woman rutting with another man.” She swallowed the bile that bubbled up in her throat. No. It wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it. He underestimated her strength and what she could do with a sword. She could use that to her advantage. She could survive this; she could win. Steely determination snapped her spine straight, and all her other worries slid to nothingness. James, how she got here, The Fortune and her crew. It was all gone and her entire life came down to making it to the other side of this moment. “Not long now.” Bones’s smile widened. She grinned back. “I’m going to kill you, Bones McCrory. James isn’t going to have the chance to gut you himself for daring to touch his wife.”

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His eyes rounded and anger flashed in their depths. “Don’t be sayin’ something you can’t follow through with, Mistress Morrow.” “Try me.” She quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll try you. I’ll try all of you. I’m going to get a taste of the woman Morrow likes to spread for him. They say he likes it rough…is that true, then?” “Perhaps, but perhaps I like it rough. And James knows just how to please a woman.” She sucked her teeth in disgust, looking him over as though he were a slimy bug slithering across the floor. “I doubt you’ve had anything but a whore rut with you.” A roar ripped from his throat. He jerked a small dagger from his belt as he lunged for her. She danced out of the way and let him shoot past her before she spun to face him again. He growled and advanced on her, waiting for an opening. They faced off, staring each other down. She kept her face calm, impassive, not giving him anything. He backed her against the bed and lashed out with that little blade. She leaped on the bed, but her feet caught in the blankets. He came over after her and she kicked a little table at him. He jumped out of the way as she sprang to her feet. Shit, shit, shit. Her breath bellowed in and out of her lungs as she scooted out into the middle of the chamber. He lifted a chair and threw it at her, but she got out of its path. Just. The chair took down a little mirror and it shattered on the floor. Glass crunched under their boots as they circled each other. He lunged again, and she sidestepped, but he threw himself at her, catching her around the waist to drag her to the ground. The air rushed out of her lungs when his full weight slammed into her. Broken glass sliced into her back and she screamed. She lost her grip on the sword and her hands scrabbled along the floor to find it again. His fingers tore at her clothing, ripping the tie that held her pants. She fought, punching and clawing at his face. He reared up, his hand drawing back to slap her full across the face. “Like it rough, do you? I’ll give you more than Morrow ever dared.” Blood flooded her mouth in a coppery rush, and dark spots swam through her vision. She lay stunned for a brief moment, and he ripped her shirt wide open to expose her


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breasts. His hands were rough and cruel as he squeezed her tender flesh. She reacted automatically, bucking and twisting to get away. Her knee came up to slam into his groin. He wheezed and shot out his fist to hit her. He caught her ear and left her head ringing. His hands caught her around the throat to keep her from escaping. She gasped a breath before he tightened his grip. The world faded in and out, black edging in at the corners of her vision. Her fingers fumbled along the floor, clumsy as she lost strength, lost air. She caught something metal in her hand. The familiar hilt slipped into her palm. Her sword. She blinked, but her eyes wouldn’t focus. Using the last of her willpower she lifted the blade and thrust blindly at Bones. Then her head lolled to the side, her eyes slid closed, and she saw nothing, felt nothing, was nothing. *** “Rebecca.” James used his shoulder to batter in the door to Bones’s cabin. He heaved himself against the wood again and again. “Rebecca!” He stumbled into the room as the door gave suddenly. His heart seized at what he saw. The room was destroyed and blood pooled on the floor, splattered up the walls and across the ceiling. Bones’s bare ass was up in the air, twisted at an awkward angle. It was obvious he lay on top of something. Or someone. Nothing moved. The room was unnaturally still. “Sweet Mother Mary.” Willy crossed himself with his pistol. Oh, God. Despair and hope kicked him in the chest. Perhaps she wasn’t here. Perhaps she had escaped. But he was a realist. His world didn’t allow for delusions of sweetness and charity. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to lift Bones’s body up to see if his wee Rebecca lay dead beneath the portly man. Even if she wasn’t there, what horrors had she experienced at the man’s hands? Guilt, remorse and abject terror warred for dominance inside him. “I should never have let her stay on deck.” Willy didn’t look at him or at Bones. “I’ll check the bed, Captain.”

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“Yes.” James stepped over to curl his fingers around the pirate’s shoulder. He rolled him over and met the glazed eyes of a dead man’s blank stare. Then he looked down. “She’s not here, sir.” Willy rifled through the covers strewn across the floor. He even lifted the mattress and looked under the bed. He glanced up at James. “Is—is the Lady Pirate under him?” “No.” James’s voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. A brief moment of relief flooded him, and his eyes squeezed shut. Rebecca’s dagger had held McCrory off the floor, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there. She might still be alive. Thank God. Thank God. A young sailor with a shock of red hair tore around the corner and into the room. One of the new men from Port Royal. James couldn’t remember his name. “Captain. It’s The Fortune, sir. She’s on fire.” Wrapping his fingers around the jeweled hilt of the dagger, he wrenched the blade out of Bones’s chest with a sucking pop. He glanced down at Willy and nodded to the new sailor. “Take him and find her. Find her.” “Aye, aye, Captain. We’ll tear this cursed ship to the waterline if that’s what it takes. If she’s still on board, we’ll find her.” Willy’s young eyes narrowed with cool, ruthless determination. James strode past, tucking Rebecca’s blade into his belt. Damnation. He wanted to look for his wife himself. His insides churned with the desperate need to see her, feel her warm body against him. His duty called him to his ship. There’d be no hope for anyone if The Dark Fortune burned. Fire was a seaman’s worst nightmare. He hurried his pace. The sooner he dealt with this threat, the sooner he could search for Rebecca. With any luck at all Willy would find her before then. If anyone could, it was that talented little pirate. He had a knack for seeing and hearing everything. James didn’t like it, it went against his instincts to turn any duty over to someone else, but without the ship his crew would perish. “Bloody hell.”


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Chapter Six The pain was gone. The thought pulled her back to consciousness and she remained still to take stock of her body. She couldn’t feel the glass embedded in her back, her throat no longer ached, and the bruises and scrapes on her hands didn’t sting when she flexed her fingers. Her eyes blinked open to white light. A warm, dense fog surrounded her, caressed her skin. It sucked away with unnatural speed. She squinted in the unrelenting brilliance of harsh light that remained. She turned her head to the side. A man in a robe sat perched on a marble throne, glaring sternly down at her. Wait a minute. White light, white room, dude in a white robe. Oh, crap. She swallowed. “Am I—am I dead?” “No.” His voice matched his face, deep and reproving. “However, you aren’t alive either.” Okay. That made sense. Not. Her heart contracted and she jerked upright. Her hands fisted, terror drawing her body into a tight bow. “James. Is James all right?” “Captain Morrow is in his own time, living his life as he should.” Irritation bubbled up inside her, and she glared at the big man. “So, what am I doing?” His silver eyes narrowed on her face. “You were misplaced.” “You need to start making some sense. Are you the crazy one here or am I? I mean, if I’m not dead or alive, then I’m insane.” Disappointment pressed down on her chest, threatening to choke her. She really had lost it, and it wasn’t real. James. The ship. 1715. James. She closed her eyes as despair wrenched at her heart. “You are not insane.” “Yeah, right.” Of course her crazy dream didn’t think she was crazy. She choked on a bitter laugh, all her hopes ripped away to reveal how nuts she truly was. Oh, God. She 70


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hugged her arms around her waist and rocked herself. She bit back the keen that threatened to spill from her throat. “Stop.” His voice boomed, cracking like thunder. She shuddered and tucked her chin against her chest, rocking, rocking. Maybe she would finally wake up. Maybe it would all be over. His feet appeared in front of her, and his tone dropped to wheedling. “I’ll let you go back to James forever if you stop.” “What?” She could go back to James? Since when did delusions bargain? It didn’t make sense. Nothing had made sense since she’d landed on board The Dark Fortune. She blinked the sheen of tears away and met his gaze. “Who are you?” He heaved a long-suffering sigh, retreated to flop back into his throne, and propped his chin in his palm. “The answer to that question is far too complicated for a human to understand. I am…I am who you would think of as Father Time.” “Father Time?” Nope, she was for sure nutty. Over the edge and all the way around the bend. Crazy. “Yes, Father Time.” His testy response made her spine snap straight, and she pulled herself to her feet. If she was nuts, her delusions shouldn’t be so nasty. She arched a brow and drawled, “Why am I here, Father Time?” “A mistake was made with you when you were born. You were placed in the wrong time. As was your counterpart.” Clearing his throat, he glanced away. “The other Rebecca. James’s real wife.” Realization slid over her skin like ice water. When his silver eyes met hers, she had the sudden knowing, understanding that this was no game, no delusion, no fantasy. This was real. It had really happened, and she was sitting in heaven talking to Father Time about how her life was supposed to have worked out. His gaze locked with hers and didn’t waver. Power such as she’d never felt brushed against her senses. She shivered, a chill creeping up her spine. “You, Rebecca, are his real soul mate.” “So finding his sword sent me back to him. What happened to his wife?”


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“When you finally gave in and touched the dagger, she was pulled forward in time to her soul mate just as you were thrust back in time to yours.” He shifted on his chair, his glare becoming even fiercer as though she were somehow to blame for not taking the bait of the sword sooner and for being born in the wrong century. “A mistake was made.” “Steve. That’s her soul mate.” He’d been drawn to her, had asked her out again and again. God, it all made perfect sense. When had that ever happened for her? She shook her head. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would think I was insane.” “You are quite sane. And, yes, Steven Barry is Rebecca’s soul mate.” Her brow scrunched. “How could this have happened? How could I be switched at birth with someone born hundreds of years ago?” “Time is fluid here. For us, all time happens at the same time. James is living his life and humans are colonizing the moon. In your time, that would still be the future. Here, time does not follow in a long, endless line.” His gaze pierced her. “Haven’t you ever wondered why history fascinates you so much, why you have to know more, why it goes beyond mere interest and into obsession for you? And not just any time period, but the one you’re supposed to live in?” “A lot of people have interests that absorb them.” Her words sounded stiff and unconvincing even to her own ears. She hadn’t been that pathetic, had she? She sighed. Maybe she had. She knew she’d never fit in with the people she’d grown up with, always different, always a step apart. “It is different for you. You know this.” He waved his hands dismissively. She nodded. There was nothing she could say to that. He was right. The power of his gaze pierced her again. “The mistake has been righted, but my…superiors have demanded that I make certain you know this change is irreversible. You can never return to the time you were born in. I’ve already discussed this with the other Rebecca, and she did not take it well. At first. She’s more than pleased now, but I decided to wait until you developed an attachment with your soul mate before I broke the news to you.”

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She blinked, staring at him. It took a moment to wade through his defensive speech and another moment for comprehension to dawn. James. She could go back to him. A smile broke out on her face, and relief sang in her veins. “Never? I can never be taken away from James?” “No. You were made for him and he for you.” Acting on impulse, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you. I would have worried that I’d suddenly be back in the twenty-first century. No matter how long I was there, I would have worried.” “We know.” He cleared his throat roughly and patted her on the back with just the tips of his fingers. His tone was stern as he held her away from him. “If you get throttled by another pirate, I can’t help you again or heal your wounds. Are you ready for me to send you back?” To go back to the world she really belonged in? To know this time that she wasn’t crazy and could throw herself into her love for James with no doubt or fear or reservation? Sweet joy bubbled up inside her. “Oh, yes. I’m more ready than you’ll ever know.” *** Soot streaked James’s arms and chest. He’d shed his shirt hours ago. Sweat slipped down his face to burn his eyes. He threw a final bucket of water on the smoking deck. The wood hissed and popped as the salty liquid hit it. Half the railing on the starboard side was gone and they’d lost the main mast to a cannon ball. They’d be floating for several days trying to repair the damage. He dragged the back of his hand across his forehead. Not a moment had gone by that he hadn’t feared for Rebecca. Was she well? Why hadn’t she been found? Was she helping somewhere else on the ship? “Captain?”


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James snapped around to see Willy. He shifted, his gaze glued to the scorched deck. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Dread crawled through James to make him want to burst out of his skin. Smoke and gathering despair made his tone rough. “Speak, boy.” “She’s nowhere to be found, sir. We searched everywhere. Boyd and Murdoch searched as well. Nowheres, not on neither of the ships.” His young voice cracked. “I see.” “Cap’n.” Murdoch appeared behind Willy. “I’m sorry, sir. Come mornin’ we’ll…search the water for her.” Her body. They’d search the water for her lifeless body. Nausea punched in his gut. He wanted to throw back his head and howl. Oh, Mother of God. “I understand.” His throat felt as raw as if he had been screaming. “Mister Murdoch, you’re in command.” “Aye, Cap’n.” He walked, placing one foot in front of the other. His cabin. He said nothing, met no one’s eyes. He felt…hollow. His door was in front of him. He stared at it, uncomprehending. Then the latch was in his hand, and he was in the room he’d shared with his wife. He sucked in a deep breath and smelled her spicy vanilla fragrance. The gown he purchased for her was draped over the bed. She’d never worn it. The fabric had never been warmed by the silk of her skin. A low, animalistic sound wrenched from his throat. He stumbled for a chair. The chair he’d sat in when Rebecca had—no. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of it. He’d go mad for the pain flaying him open. The claws of it tore at him. He stared in amazement as his hands shook before his eyes. Then he buried his face in them. “Rebecca.” He whispered her name just to hear it again. Agony twisted inside him. When would he ever be able to say it? Never without the tinge of pain…and regret. He loved her. A stilted, unnatural laugh jerked out. How ironic. To make the discovery after she was…she was…

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He heaved a shuddering sigh, fisting his fingers into his hair. He couldn’t force himself to look up, to see all the reminders of his Rebecca. He dropped his hands, but still couldn’t focus. Salty wetness filmed his vision, and he swiped his eyes. Numbness slid over him. He welcomed the emptiness of it. Slumping back in his chair, he let his hands fall loose on his thighs. He stared out the wide windows that made up the gallery, but he saw nothing. A loud pounding sounded on the door. “Captain Morrow!” “Come.” He didn’t look up. Willy tumbled through the doorway, skidding to a stop before him. Murdoch and Boyd came in after him, dwarfing the cabin with their collective bulk. Willy braced his hands on his knees and panted for a moment. “Sir…we…found…” “Me.” Shock ballooned in his chest, rocked him to his very core. He squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the mirage to waver and fade. Madness. She was gone. He was dreaming, delusional. When he opened his eyes again, he’d be alone in his cabin. Alone for all the days of his life. “James.” He loved his name on her lips. Only in his imagination her tone wasn’t usually one of exasperation. His eyes snapped open. Leaning forward, he looked past his men to see her sweet face peeping in at him. “Don’t be upset. My clothes are torn up, but nothing bad happened. I’m fine. All right?” Struggling hard to regain some control, he glanced up and met Murdoch’s eyes. “Gentlemen, give us the room.” “Aye, sir.” The three of them backed out of the room, murmuring their relief to Rebecca as she stepped over the threshold, holding the front of her shirt together. The door shut behind his men and left them in silence. Rage snapped through him. “He did that to you?” He should have protected her, kept her safe from harm. He should have locked her in their cabin with ten guards. He should have kept her by his side. He should have done something.


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“He ripped my clothes. He didn’t do any real damage.” She met his eyes, and they were open, honest. God, he loved her. The truth of it wrenched at him, soul deep and undeniable. A band of emotion banded tight around his chest. Thank God, she was all right. Thank God. “Well, then.” A coy grin pulled at her full lips. “I believe you demanded that I wear no clothes in this cabin.” The remains of her shirt hit the wooden floor, baring the soft curves of her breasts. Dusky pink nipples topped the prettiest breasts he’d ever seen. Everything about this woman was irresistible to him. His body reacted, his cock stiffening until it chafed against his breeches. Desire clenched his insides, twisting tight with all the other feelings she elicited from him. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and his heart pounded. Her hips wriggled as she let her pants slip to the floor. He wanted to kiss his way up those soft legs until he dipped his tongue into the cream he knew awaited him. She was always hot for him, greedy. He’d suckle her wet flesh until she screamed his name. “Can I touch myself, James?” Her small hands cupped her breasts, lifted them before letting them bounce down. Her nipples beaded to tight points. He wanted them in his mouth, wanted to suck them hard. She loved it when he did that. He shuddered, trying to force himself to relax, to remain in control and focus on her. Jerking to his feet, he backed her against the door and crowded her with his body. Her breasts rose and fell with her soft panting. His hands itched to glide over the curves of her body. Her pink tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip. He groaned. He could smell her, that soft vanilla fragrance mixed with the scent of her building passion. Lust and love twisted inside him, shredded his resolve. He fisted his shaking fingers. Touching her now would be a mistake. He wanted to worship her slowly, show her what she meant to him. His intentions went by the wayside as her fingers slipped into the thatch of hair that covered her sex, then slid deeper to stroke herself. His anticipation sharpened, knowing slick heat built

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there. For him. Everything about her kicked him in the heart and loins. He had to have her, hard and fast and now. This moment. He gripped her hips, lifting her against the door. Her slim thighs bracketed his flanks, her feet tucking under his buttocks. She moved on him, and he could feel her heated core through his pants. Need sank claws into him, and he rocked against her. “James, please. James, James, James.” Hearing her chant his name only drove him on. He threaded his fingers through her silky, dark hair and pulled her head back to expose her throat. Flicking his tongue over her pulse point, he lightly bit her neck. She cried out, her fingers clutching at his shoulders. He sucked kisses up her neck, along her jaw, then met her mouth. The kiss was feral, animalistic as they fed on each other. He broke away, his breath jerking out. “Now. Now, James.” He smiled at her demand, so typical of Rebecca. She was a woman who stood aside and waited, analyzed. But for him? She went wild under him. He loved it, loved to push her, loved to watch her open for him, loved to peel back the layers of her until he found the wildness she hid from the world. His hand slid between them to unfasten his breeches and release his cock. He rubbed his knuckles against the hard nub of her clitoris. Her fingers clawed at his shoulder. Her hips moved with his fingers, but it wasn’t enough. He had to be inside her, ride her, feel her damp heat close around him. Shifting his hands to cup her ass, he lifted her on the door to plunge into the hot depths of her cunt. “James.” He dipped his head to suck her nipples into his mouth, first one, then the other. Her back bowed, and she moaned when he bit the tight tips. Her wetness increased, soaking the length of his cock with each plunge. A siren’s smile curved her lips, and she threw back her head to arch against the door and press herself more firmly to his chest. So sweet, so perfect. “I love you, James. I love you, love you, love you.”


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Every shred of civility ripped away and he pounded inside her. His grip bit into her hips, pulling her into his thrusts. He rocked his hips into hers, grinding her at a different angle. She sobbed his name. He couldn’t stop, not even if The Fortune caught fire again. A part of his mind stood back and arched a brow that his tenderness had dissolved into the complete lack of finesse of ramming his wife against a door. He closed his eyes and drew in her scent. He could never get enough of her. Only her. Only Rebecca had the power to reduce him to this…no control, no thought other than the overriding need to bury himself inside her. Her fingers fisted in his hair. “I—I can’t…I…James.” She twisted in his arms, and he felt the muscles of her pussy clench as she milked the length of his cock. Every thought was wiped clean of his mind as he rode towards orgasm. He groaned long and loud, his hips jerking. He went rigid, every muscle in his body locking as he jetted into her cunt. Her arms curved around his neck and her cheek rested on his shoulder. They panted, sucking in lungfuls of air. Long moments passed before his heart stopped racing, before his muscles stopped shaking. “Rebecca,” he whispered her name, just to hear it again. Thank you, God. Living without her now would kill him. He knew it. He could never let her go, not for a single moment. She was here and she was whole and he would die before he saw her harmed. The familiar band of feeling tightened around his chest, robbing him of breath. He ran his hands down her soft flesh, needing to prove to himself again that she was unhurt, that he hadn’t lost her. “My Rebecca. Mine.” *** Dawn had broken and flooded the cabin with soft light. Becca and James lay on their sides, facing each other. Her knee curved over his hip. His hand gripped her thigh, held her wide for his penetration. After their wild ride against the door, he’d worked her slowly. He’d kissed every inch of her, his touch reverent. She loved it. She also loved the fierce lack of control in their last bout of lovemaking. She shivered as his tongue flicked over her nipple. “I thought you were gone.”

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She tried to collect her scattered wits because she needed to talk to him about the switched-at-birth thing. She needed to settle what he meant to do with her when they reached Barbados. She took the easier of the two first. “I won’t stay.” “Pardon me?” He paused in his movements and she moaned, arching her hips to keep the slow, steady slide of him working deep inside of her. She rubbed her fingertips over his flat nipples. “I know you want to dump me off on some plantation on Barbados. I won’t stay there.” “Haven’t we already discussed your obedience?” His hands left her thigh to catch her fingers, stay their stroking. Meeting his eyes, she tugged her hand from his grip. “When I’m on board this ship, yes. You leave me on some island and I’ll be on the next pirate ship out of there.” A muscle flexed in his jaw, ticking. “Pirate ship?” “I’m a pirate, James. There are women pirates.” His eyes narrowed on her face, but he didn’t seem angry. “Name one.” She could name about ten, some of whom weren’t even born yet. But that was a discussion for later. “Fine, I’ll be the first Lady Pirate. For as long as you’re a pirate, I’m one, too. When you give it up, so will I. Now, whether or not I’m a pirate on your ship is another story.” He must have decided to ignore that last line and instead focused on the discussion of his future lifestyle. “I don’t want to give it up. Not yet, anyway.” “Not yet?” She arched a brow and smiled. From her studies in the future, she knew he was a pirate until 1720. Right at the end of the Golden Age of Piracy, he’d disappeared. “Well, I think I know when I’ll give it up.” “Oh?” His eyes crinkled as he fought a grin. She nodded. “Five more years.” “Five?” He kept moving, and the slow press of his cock into her pussy drove her mad. Her cunt clenched on his length every time he pulled out of her.


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“Yes. Then I’ll stay on Barbados. If you’ll stay with me.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder, rubbed her nipples against his chest. Pleasure rippled through her in building waves. “You want to reform me? Perhaps I’ll let you. Twenty years or so by my side as a good daily influence should suffice in reforming me, don’t you think?” She laughed. Yes. He bent his head to nip at the skin on her shoulder. She gasped. He rolled her beneath him, bucking hard to slam against her cervix. She shivered at the impact and came. Her inner muscles flexed on his cock. Her back bowed as the hot sensations rolled through her, pushed her higher and higher until a thin scream burst from her lips. He pushed into her, one, two, three more times before he shuddered and came inside her. The excitement twisting through her dimmed as she recalled the other part of the discussion she needed to have with him. The one where he might just change his mind about keeping her. The one where every seaman’s superstitions might play into him thinking she was insane, or a witch to be burned at the stake. Unease crawled over her skin. He’d never hurt her, but he might decide that getting rid of her was his better option. “I need to talk to you.” “Weren’t we just talking?” The pale blue of his eyes twinkled down at her. She shook her head, and dropped her gaze. “About something else, something serious.” “Sounds ominous.” She pushed at his shoulders until he let her up and pulled away from him, rolling to her feet. She snagged his shirt off the floor and donned it. Sitting in the chair he had occupied earlier, she finally met his gaze. “James, I—” He leaned up on his elbow, and his gaze became assessing, calculating. “I know you’re not the woman I married.” She froze. He knew? But how much did he know? “People can change.”

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“True, but not as much as you have. Not as drastically. You aren’t her, so who are you?” “Would you believe me if I told you the truth?” A smile pulled at his lips. “Yes.” “Just like that? You’ll believe anything I say?” Since when? James only trusted a few of his crewmembers. Not that she blamed him after what his family had done to him. He sat up and faced her across the room. “If you swear it’s the truth, I’ll believe you.” “You don’t trust anyone.” “I have faith in you, Rebecca.” She pressed her lips together to still their shaking. She hugged his words to herself. Even if he thought she was insane, he had trusted her for this moment and she let the sweetness of it flow over her. James was a man of his time and of the sea, and that meant he was highly superstitious. Smoothing a hand over the hem of the shirt she wore, she tried to brace herself for the inevitable. He was her soul mate. She had to convince him. “Tell me.” Toying with the creases in the shirt, she fidgeted in her chair. How could she say this? He was staring at her, waiting for her to drop her little bomb on him. Just get it over with, Becca. “Okay…okay. I’m not from here, James.” He frowned and gave his head a slight shake. “I know that. You’re from Hampton Roads. You have the same accent as my wife. And you have her face and figure. But you’re not her. How is that even possible?” His hands rested on his knees. Even naked, he looked far less vulnerable than she felt right now. She stood and walked to him, kneeling before him to look up at him and meet his gaze. “You’re right. I am from Virginia, but not 1715 Virginia. I’m…I’m from the future. About three hundred years in the future.” He just sat there, staring at her with an uncomprehending look on his handsome face. Then he jerked his chin to the side and glanced away. “I’m…not certain what to say.”


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“I’m not crazy, I swear. It’s the truth.” She slid her hands into his and squeezed tight. Her stomach clenched in dread. Please God, let him believe her. Please God, don’t let her lose him now that she was trapped in the past. Please, please, please. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, but he met her eyes again. “I know you’re not mad, Rebecca. You’re probably saner than I am. I—I’ve never heard of what you’re speaking of. Selkies, witches, mermaids, yes. Traversing time itself, no.” “It’s not possible in my time either. After McCrory took me, I went to…heaven, I suppose. I met with a man who said Rebecca and I were switched at birth. That our soul mates were in the wrong time and they needed to switch us back. When I found the dagger, I got pulled into the past. To you. Because we’re meant to be together.” Saying this to him really was insane. He wasn’t the kind of man who listened to destiny or did what other people told him. He was a pirate because he wanted to be, not because he had to be. “I believe you.” “You do?” Tears welled up in her eyes and relief whipped through her. She didn’t have to keep this huge secret from him. She wasn’t even sure she would have been able to. The man possessed her to her very soul. Her need for him was something she couldn’t deny. “I told you I would. I am a man of my word.” “I love you.” The words exploded from her lips. There was no holding them back. No pulling back from her feelings. She’d said it before when they were in bed together, but this was different. This was after he knew the truth about her, knew everything, and still held her hands. A slow smile slid over his lips, a look close to wonder on his face. “I love you, too…my wife. My Rebecca.” She sucked in a shaky breath, a wide smile breaking over her face. It would all work out all right. Gratitude squeezed her heart. It would all be okay. “I went by Becca in my time.”

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He grinned. “Aye, but all my men call you that. And I’m afraid The Lady Pirate is here to stay after you bested Bones McCrory. He had a certain reputation.” “Oh, Lord.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m no lady.” “Thank God for that. What use would I have for one of those?” He grinned. “Rebecca. You’re Rebecca to me. My Rebecca. You’re everyone else’s Becca.” He wanted a name to call her that was all his own. She could live with that. Leaning against his knees, she blinked back tears that filled her eyes. “James—” Bending forward, he cut her off with a soft, slow kiss. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, scraping gently with his teeth as he pulled back. “I thought I had everything I needed, until you. My life had grown dull while I wasn’t paying attention. I like to win, but even the thrill of capturing a ship, matching wits against another captain, had started to fade. It was the same life, without change. Until you.” “Me, too. I had a life I wanted…educated, career on the right track, but I was never satisfied because I was supposed to be here, in this time, with you.” “I’ve sailed all over this world looking for adventure and riches, but…” James stroked his hand down her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “You are my greatest treasure, Rebecca. You belong to me. I don’t care where you came from. I care where you are now. With me. Never leave me again. Never.” “I intend to stay by your side for the rest of my life. You’re mine, too, you know.” “I know it.” His hands slipped down to cup her bottom and lifted her to straddle his lap. His hard cock jutted against her pussy, and he slipped into her. “I also know that it’s been far too long since I’ve had you. And I don’t wish to wait any longer.” “Don’t let me stop you.” She arched her hips into his, building a slow tempo. She slid her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his, sweet contentment filling her chest. “I won’t.” A wicked pirate’s grin tugged at his full mouth. She shivered in anticipation of the endless adventure to come, with her pirate. Her James.


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About the Author To learn more about Crystal Jordan please visit http://www.crystaljordan.com. Send an email to Crystal at [email protected] or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Crystal! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/crystal-jordan

Look for these titles by Crystal Jordan Coming Soon: Total Eclipse of the Heart

A glass of wine sends them back in time. But only one of them remembers who they are.

The Enchanted Inn © 2007 Pam Champagne It's bad enough that a wrong turn in a snowstorm forces Gina to take shelter at an out-of-the-way inn. Her ex-fiancé Luke is stranded there, too. The man she left when she caught him in bed with another woman. A glass of wine at dinner, and Gina wakes up in a bed with Luke by her side. It's the same inn, but it's the year 1778 and Luke insists his name is John. And he says she's an indentured servant, Rachel. Gina has to quickly learn primitive tasks like dip candles and cook without a microwave. While John is delighted that his normally reserved lover has become a wildcat in bed, her outspoken opinions could put them all in danger. For Gina, it's like a second chance with Luke. But when an innocent mistake turns their newly discovered love upside down, Gina realizes how big a mistake she made when she left Luke. Gina never gives up hope of going back to her own time, and she's determined to take John with her—whether he wants to go or not.

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Enchanted Inn: She took the plunge. “My name is Gina Locke and you’re Luke Harding. Ruth McPherson sent us here on Christmas Eve, 2006. Don’t you remember? We were sitting in the living room, drinking her homemade elderberry wine.” John studied her face for a long moment then threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Do continue. I did not know you were a weaver of tales.” Gina choked back tears of frustration and rose to her knees to grasp his shoulders. “This is not a story. It’s the truth.” She fought the urge to shake him. “Come here.” John tugged her close. “That knock on the head must have been a bad one.” Gina sighed. “You don’t believe me?”

“Shall I tell you what I believe? You hit your head and had a dream. When you woke, you clung to the dream as reality.” He kissed her forehead. “We must be patient. Your memory will return.” If only yours would. Gina huddled closer, lapping up his caresses and murmured phrases of concern. Still, his concern didn’t calm her fears of remaining in the past. If John remembered who he was—that he’d been her lover in another time—she’d be willing to accept her situation. One thing was certain. There was no way John was going to listen tonight. So she sighed and said, “Perhaps I’m dreaming right now. How old am I?” “Four and twenty as of last month. Now be silent and kiss me.” She turned her head away to escape his lips, now feathering her cheek. “What is wrong?” Gina heard genuine puzzlement in his voice. “I don’t feel like having sex with someone who doesn’t trust me…who thinks I’m…I’m daft.” God, it seemed so strange to use that word. “Try to understand,” he coaxed. “I’ve been with you at this inn for three years. One morning I wake to find a different person inside the body of the woman I love. We must become reacquainted.” Gina couldn’t argue that his reasoning wasn’t sound. For tonight, she’d put her problems in the closet. Looping her arms around his neck, she captured his lips. For an instant, he grew rigid at her aggression before his mouth opened to her questing tongue. Within seconds, their raspy breathing sounded loud in the otherwise silent room. Gina tugged and yanked on John’s clothes, never losing lip contact. He tore his mouth away. “Wait. I will do it.” Gina bit back a smile at the haste with which John stripped off his clothes. She pressed against him as he slipped in bed and gasped at the thrill of pleasure that shot through her. His body sliding against hers started a tingling in her breasts that worked its way down to her toes. She kneaded the knots in his back until he relaxed. Luke always had loved that. There wasn’t an ounce of softness on his body. Feeling his cock against her stomach, she reached between his legs and ran her hand over its smooth sheath. “Hmmm…like silk.”

Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away. “Rachel! What are you doing?” “Don’t you like it?” she whispered, trailing kisses across his chin to his mouth. She swallowed his next words. Her tongue slipped between his teeth. John groaned and tightened his hands on her arms before sliding them around her back. His erection grew in her hands. Yet, it seemed he didn’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman and had no clue what a woman could do to please him. Gina wouldn’t have been satisfied with the sex life John and Rachel must have had. Probably a quick slam-bam process. God, she was confused. Right now, all she wanted was a release from her worries. Since she was stuck in this godforsaken century with no home and no money, she sure as hell was going to enjoy herself with a man who, if by some horrible twist of fate turned out not to be Luke, was his double. A sob tore at her throat. Please, Luke, remember me. John pushed her to mattress and thrust his knee between her legs. “I will have you now, Rachel.” She giggled. How formal and how rude. “I don’t think so. We’re not through playing.” He drew back. The last candle flickered and died. She couldn’t see, yet sensed his gaze on her face. “Play? Whatever do you mean?” Gina drew his hands to her breasts. His sudden intake of air sounded like he’d been sucker punched. She held his trembling fingers and brushed them over her hardened nipples. He didn’t need any more tutoring. “That feels so good, John. Don’t stop.” He played with her breasts, making her wetter. She ran her hands up his chest and tweaked his nipples. His cock twitched. Snaking her hands down his belly, she grasped it and gently pumped its length, eliciting a drawn-out groan. If only she could take him in her mouth. Poor John. He would more than likely run back to the stables as if the devil were after him. She wanted to laugh, remembering he’d called her a lusty wench. Obviously, he didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Then a thought struck her as fast as a bolt of lightning. Could the real Rachel be back in the present in Gina’s body getting it on with Luke? No, that couldn’t happen. This was Luke in bed with her. She had to believe that or she’d crumble. She jumped as a jolt of pleasure-filled pain shot through her. John had grown bold and captured a nipple between his lips. He sucked. For such a big man, everything he did was gentle. Tonight she didn’t want gentle. She wanted to forget and lose herself in the moment.

***

John wiped beaded sweat from his forehead. Who was this pliant woman stroking him as if it were an everyday occurrence? What had happened to the woman he had come to love? Rachel had never been this passionate. Would never have handled his manhood with such boldness. His concerns vanished as lust overtook him. He ran his lips across one nipple. Her moans of pleasure excited him, brought him to his limit of stimulation. Grasping her hips, he pulled her under his body and settled between her spread thighs. He took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to plunge himself to the hilt. Rachel did not care for frantic coupling. Tentative as always, he ground his teeth in frustration and slowly pushed into her moist warmth…and almost died with joy. Rachel was moister than she’d ever been. Proof that she wanted him with equal fervor. He pushed again, gaining another two inches. He hesitated and rested his forehead on hers, willing his body to remain under his control. She would be angry if he was too rough. Suddenly, the woman beneath him raised her legs and wrapped them high around his waist. The new position opened her wider and drove him over the edge. All rational thought fled. He thrust hard with no thought of her discomfort until he was fully embedded. He breathed like a hard-ridden horse. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Did I hurt you?” Expecting to hear cries of protest, her words shocked him. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He was nearing the brink of explosion and strove to please the lady. He captured her cries with his mouth, his manhood swelling when clenched by her feminine muscles. He rocked his body a few more times and emptied his seed deep in her womb. She continued to squirm underneath him. “Rachel?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “What are you do—” Her lips sought his in a wrenching kiss. Stunned, he held on tightly as she spasmed around his shrinking manhood. He could not believe that he grew hard again. Unable to control the need to couple for the second time, he pushed to his knees. Her legs slipped off his back. He grasped under her knees and pulled her tight against his groin, working her hips back and forth. With the second explosion, he collapsed. “Rachel, by all that’s sacred, you are going to kill me.” “Don’t,” she protested when he started to roll away. “Stay inside me.” Totally confused at this turn of events, John stayed put. He was shrinking and knew he’d soon slip out of her moist center. His heart thumped wildly. “Are you all right?” “Hmmm…” she murmured. “That was good.” This woman may look like his love, but she was not his Rachel. He was no doctor, but he did not think a simple bump on the head would turn a proper lady into a wanton woman. He frowned, unsure of his feelings. Rachel was the woman he wanted to marry. A wife to bear his children. God-fearing women did not behave like this. No matter how much he loved their coupling this night, did he want to marry a woman such as this?

If you held the fate of the world in your hands…what would you do?

Master of Disaster © 2008 Lani Aames Since the day she inherited a mysterious artifact from someone she once interviewed, small-town reporter Brita Swift’s life has spun out of control. For take-charge Brita, losing control is a fate almost worse than death. The artifact takes her on a quest— straight into the path of a Category 5 hurricane and into the arms of a man she swore off long ago. Zeke Masters—nicknamed “Master of Disaster” because of the chances he takes while documenting natural disasters—isn’t sure he’s going to survive his tag-along partner, a woman he still loves with all his heart. Seeing her again causes all the old feelings to surface like storm surge cresting from hurricane force winds. The artifact brings voices in the wind only Zeke hears. As the storm bears down on the ex-lovers and the time comes to save the world, the “Master of Disaster” hopes he can convince Brita he’s changed—and ready to be the master of her heart.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Master of Disaster: Refreshing the NHC web page again, he scowled when it showed no change. His agitation escalated, but he dealt with it as he’d learned to do. Take deep, even breaths. Why didn’t the damn cyclone do something? Shake out your hands. Why hadn’t it already turned toward Gulf Beach? Roll your shoulders. Could his instinct be wrong for the first time, losing him the chance of his career? Count to ten in Spanish: uno, dos, tres— “No change?” Brita stood behind him, her breath tickling his ear. In the old days, he’d swing her around into his lap and kiss her until their lips ached. Even though they’d made love, he didn’t feel comfortable doing that now. He didn’t want to feel her tense with apprehension or see her frown in disapproval. He’d rather gaze at her half-closed eyes, her parted lips, and her body flushed with arousal.

Oh, damn, don’t think about that. He shifted in his seat, to find a comfortable position for his hard-on. It wasn’t easy. “Has Omega changed course yet?” she asked again and handed him a banana. “Dessert,” she added when he looked up at her. He watched as she slid her full lips over the tip of the long shaft, and a strangled groan rumbled deep in his throat. Her eyes widened, and he knew by her expression that she understood what caused his reaction. Sadistically, she chomped off the end of the banana and raised an eyebrow at him while she chewed. He winced, but it didn’t make him lose his erection. He wanted her so badly he’d take his chances. She shook her head as if acknowledging him as a sad case. “I take it there’s no change.” “No.” The word came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “No change.” Worry furrowed her brow again. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit here with you and watch.” “Sure. I don’t mind.” He watched her carry her chair from the table and set it beside his. She finished the banana without any more suggestive moves. He had no appetite for his and laid it on the desk. She tossed her peel into the trashcan and leaned closer to study the screen. Her scent teased his senses, a delicious aroma of her natural musk and fresh fruit. He wanted to loosen the band on her mane of untamable curls and let it tickle his skin as it did when they made love. She nodded toward the satellite image of Omega. “Looking at it like this, a hurricane is beautiful—the perfectly round eye surrounded by a fluffy swirl of clouds. It reminds me of cotton candy at the fair and how it looks in the vat while they’re making it.” “Yeah, it is an awesome sight,” he agreed. “And an awful sight, knowing how much destruction it can cause. No deaths have been attributed to Omega yet, but she did some damage in Cuba and the islands when she passed through as Category 1 earlier in the week.” The tip of her tongue ran over her bottom lip as she contemplated the image on the screen. “Don’t hurricanes slow down when they make landfall?”

Her unintentional tongue action nearly sent him over the edge. Blood pounded in his tightened balls, and his cock tented the crotch of his pajama bottoms. He leaned back in his chair and propped one ankle on his other knee to hide the evidence of his lust for her. Clearing his throat, he focused on answering her question. “Usually. Official landfall is when the center of the eye crosses land or a barrier reef. By then, half the hurricane can be over a landmass. When it enters the gulf, the warmer gulf water turbo charges the storm, but after it starts moving across land, the uneven terrain acts like a buffer and slows it down.” “So a lot of things can factor in?” she asked. “Like how fast the storm is traveling, the velocity of the wind, and even the type of landscape.” Zeke nodded. “Even so, a few hurricanes have made landfall at Category 5. There’s no sure-fire way to tell exactly how a hurricane will act. After the experts studied the data, they determined that Hurricane Katrina made landfall as a Category 3, and look at the destruction she caused. Today’s state-of-the-art technology and guesstimates based on experience will only get them so far. Mr. Mendoza is right—it’s like the storm has a mind of its own.” “The cloud area is huge,” she observed. “No wonder Omega is so strong.” “The two don’t necessarily go together.” Taking a deep breath, he refrained from asking the obvious. She planned to change her career to documenting natural disasters, but she didn’t have a basic knowledge of hurricanes? As thoroughly as Brita prepared every move she made, it just didn’t add up. Zeke shrugged. Brita would explain everything eventually. He had to be patient and use this chance to show her how he’d changed. He went into detail with his answer instead of criticizing her. “Even after they launched the first weather satellite in 1960, meteorologists thought the larger the cloud pattern, the stronger the storm. Hurricane Camille disproved the theory in 1969. Camille’s cloud pattern was small and compact, and they didn’t realize how intense she was until reconnaissance planes flew in and measured wind speed at Category 5.” He grinned and jiggled his eyebrows at her. “Which proves size really doesn’t matter.”

Shaking her head, she cracked a smile and rolled her eyes. “Sure, that’s what they all say.” He laughed out loud. “You never complained.” She dropped the smile, her expression turning serious. Only her eyes gave her away. Like amethysts at midnight, they sparkled with humor. She shrugged. “Well, y’know, it’s not polite to complain after—” He cut off her teasing jibe with a kiss. He moved so fast, he wasn’t aware he planned to kiss her until after he lowered his leg and leaned forward. When his lips slid over hers, he knew it was the right thing to do. He watched her eyes widen through the blur of his lowered lashes and felt her start to pull back, even raising her hands to push him away. Instead, she closed her eyes and slanted her head, once more giving herself to him.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd. It’s all about the story… Action/Adventure Fantasy Historical Horror Mainstream Mystery/Suspense Non-Fiction Paranormal Red Hots! Romance Science Fiction Western Young Adult www.samhainpublishing.com

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