My Wicked Pirate. Rona Sharon
his forehead wilted on hers. He shut his eyes, breathing ruggedly. Alanis felt both relieved and concerned. “Eros.” She framed his face with her hands. “Is it your injury? Is it bleeding again? Let me look at it.”
He opened his eyes and regarded her opaquely, unwaveringly. He reached behind her neck and unclasped her necklace. Too shocked to move or voice a word of protest, she felt him removing her bracelet and earrings. When he had her entire small fortune, he sat up. He slipped the stones into his pocket and plowed the roots of his hair, bracing his elbows on his knees.
Alanis bolted up and glared at his profile. She felt chilled to the bone. Sensing her eyes on him, Eros raised his head. He seemed stunned at his own ruse. Cold as ice, her hand came up and cracked hard across his cheek. “Touch me again and I swear I’ll kill you,” she vowed.
A moment passed. Though she discerned shock in his eyes, his face tolerated her assault woodenly. He wasn’t a man, she realized. He was an icicle. Stiffly he rose off the bed and went for the cognac bottle. He didn’t bother with a glass. He gulped it down, shutting his eyes.
“There’s a toll on the spirit for leading the life you do,” she said quietly. “Conscience, the torturer of the soul, unseen, does fiercely brandish a sharp scourge within. Even you yourself to your own breast shall tell your crimes, and your own conscience be your hell.”
“What would you know about hell, about conscience, or about anything?” He let out a ragged sigh. “I did you a favor just now.”
“A favor? You are a lying, petty thief. I hope you burn in hell!”
He met her glinting aquamarine eyes. “You’ll probably get your wish.”
She glanced at the medallion swaying across his chest. “You adorn yourself with beautiful emblems, but in your case the viper is a slithering, contemptible excuse for a man! You do the crests a great injustice keeping them around you. My sympathy is with their rightful owner.”
His gaze veered to the antique crest. Its inscription read: FRAN-CISCUS SFORTIA DUX MEDIOLANI QUARTUS. His lips twisted derisively. “Yes, I stole the emblems from the excellent nobleman who is the current link in the illustrious dynasty. Does it shock you, my prim, delicate lady? Does this new piece of information put another blotch on my evil, base character?”
Alanis eyed him impassively. “Nothing you do will shock me ever again.”
“Good. Then it won’t shock you to put on a pair of my sister’s breeches, because that is what you will wear for the duration of this voyage.”
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