Her Passionate Pirate. Neesa Hart
hint of a foreign accent that made it just short of devastating. She’d read somewhere that English was his second language. The faint roll of his r’s gave his voice a purring quality that was pure sensuality. Cynically she wondered if he practiced that. Becky looked as if she might faint. “Becky, why don’t you see what you can do about the crowd in the hallway?”
Without looking at Cora, Becky slowly extracted her hand from his. “I, um, sure. Do you want anything, Dr. Adriano? A drink, maybe?”
That damnable smile played at the corner of his mouth again. He slanted Cora a look, then slowly shook his head. “No. I’m fine, Ms. Painter. All I need is some time alone with Dr. Prescott.”
Surprise flickered briefly on Becky’s expressive features, which then slipped into a mask of blatant curiosity. “Oh.”
Cora almost groaned out loud. If he stayed much longer, he’d create so much havoc she’d have to spend the next ten years digging her way out of it. “The hall, Becky. See what you can do about the noise.”
Becky blinked twice, then gave Cora a look that said she’d pursue the subject later. “Okay—” she reached for the door handle “—but let me know if you need anything.” With a final glance at Rafael, she eased past him. “Anything at all.”
When the door clicked shut behind her, an uneasy quiet settled on the tiny room. Suddenly the four walls were too confining. Cora turned abruptly to push open the window. “Why don’t you sit down? I can see you obviously didn’t read my last letter or you wouldn’t be here to—” With a final groan, the window popped open. A flood of humid air tumbled into the room. She dropped back into her chair. “You wouldn’t be here to harass me.”
His full lips curved into a slight smile. That, coupled with his black eye patch, made him look every inch the rake he was purported to be. “Is that what you call it?” he asked.
Cora placed her hands on her desk and drew a sense of calm from the cool wood surface. “What would you call it?”
“I’m persistent.” His broad shoulders moved in a casual shrug. “It makes me good at what I do.” He paused. “At everything I do.”
She chose to ignore that. “Then I’m sorry you came all this way, but I meant what I said in my last letter. I don’t have time for you to be digging about in my house this summer. I’ve got two classes to conduct each session, and my three nieces are here for an extended stay. You needn’t have wasted your valuable time making the trip. The answer is still no.”
His chuckle lingered in the warm air. “Very impressive, Professor. No wonder your colleagues have such respect for you.”
She frowned at him. “I’d appreciate it if you’d at least take this seriously.”
“I assure you, I’m very serious,” he retorted. “All I meant was that the professor who deftly stuck me with her class full of young women knows how to play a room.” He tilted his head to study her. “Jerry didn’t prepare me for you.”
“Jerry.” Inwardly she groaned. Jerry Heath was her department head. He was notorious for stirring up trouble. “You went over my head on this?”
He held up a hand. “It wasn’t like that. I’ve known Jerry professionally for some time. He lent his expertise to a research project for me several years ago. When you denied my request, I called Jerry to find out if a personal visit would further my chances of getting you to change your mind.”
“And he told you it would?”
“He told me I should meet you face-to-face.” His gaze rested on her mouth. It stayed there long enough to make her aware of dry lips. When he finally met her gaze again, there was an unmistakable sparkle in his dark eye. “I think his exact words were, ‘A head-on confrontation with Cora Prescott is an unforgettable experience.”’
“Jerry has a gift for exaggeration.”
The look he gave her could have melted glass. “I don’t think so. I’m certainly finding it unforgettable.”
Cora resisted the urge to loosen the collar of her blouse. A sliver of perspiration trickled down her spine. “Only because I stuck you in a room with a group of hungry college women.”
“You think so?”
“Don’t kid yourself. I’m fully aware that you are used to having the world at your feet. The way I see it, this will be an educational experience for you.”
“You know how much I want to find the Isabela.”
“It’s good to want things. Builds character.”
That damnable smile played at the corner of his mouth again. “I’m very used to getting my own way.”
“I can see that.”
“And I want this. A lot.”
“Disappointment is the key to personal growth.”
Something dangerously seductive flared in his gaze—something that reminded her why women reportedly went wild over him. With his looks and his charisma, it was no wonder he had a pirate’s reputation. He had a way of looking at a woman that virtually smoldered. “You know—” his expression turned devilish “—I’ve always admired women with quick tongues.”
Cora rolled her eyes. “Does that line usually work for you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, surprise, Dr. Adriano. This time you’ve met your match.”
“You mean you’re not overwhelmed by my persona?”
Was he mocking her? His expression was so serious she couldn’t tell. “I will admit that I find the eye patch a bit over the top.”
“It’s medically necessary,” he said. “I lost my eye in a fistfight when I was sixteen.”
“I’m not questioning that,” she hastened to explain. “I simply think that the, er, look—” she indicated his long hair, the gold hoop in his ear and the patch with a wave of her hand “—is a bit melodramatic.”
He laughed, showing a straight line of white teeth. “I like you,” he said. “I was hoping I would.”
Cora gritted her teeth. “Dr. Adriano—”
“No, really. I feel better about this already.”
“I can’t tell you how that comforts me,” she drawled.
He crossed his long legs so that his ankle rested on his thigh. “A worthy opponent makes any battle more satisfying.”
Cora frowned. “Am I supposed to call you a scurvy dog now or something? I left my pirate/English dictionary in my other briefcase.”
His lips twitched. “A sharp-tongued woman.”
“And an odious egomaniac. What a delightful way to spend an afternoon.”
“You know,” he said, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was mocking her, “you might make a good pirate. You’ve got the wits for it.”
“What a relief,” Cora said, and took a sip of her soda.
“But I’m not sure you have the guts.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hmm.” He traced the edge of his patch with a long tanned finger. “’Tis not enough,” he said, dropping his voice to a gravelly rumble that she could easily picture coming from Blackbeard himself, “just to wear a patch over yer eye, lassie.” He leaned closer. “Ye have tae pick yer teeth with the ribs of a Spanish captain ye knocked off yerself.”
Cora stared at him wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Captain Pigleg Torstenson wrote that to his grand-daughter in 1783.”
“How