My Wicked Pirate. Rona Sharon
long before the French assumed superiority in the field. His broad shoulders tapered to a wasp waist in a close-fitting black coat trimmed in silver. A snowy cravat frothed at his tanned neck. He was utterly compelling, and he was utterly dangerous.
Grinning, he looped one of her golden locks around his forefinger. “Allora? Well then? Have you nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?”
Alanis snatched her lock back. “What do you intend to do with my ship and crew? If you hurt my maid, or if a single Englishman dies tonight—”
A taunting spark lit his eyes. “Aren’t you anxious to know what I intend to do with you, Lady Avon?”
“I do not give a whit what you do with me,” she said through clenched teeth while her cold hands curled into fists at her sides. “As long as my personal companion is untouched.”
“I see.” His bold finger shifted aside one of her cape wings, exposing muslin frills. “So I may do whatever pleases me with you?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow.
“Certainly not!” She gripped back the cape wing to conceal her nightgown.
A knock rattled the door. “Entra!” he commanded, sustaining her apprehensive gaze. Four men came in, carrying her heavy chests. They set them down and departed, shutting the door.
“As you see,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “all ship spoils go to the captain.”
“I was under the impression you have long ceased to harass small vessels,” she drawled scathingly. “Have you fallen on hard times?”
He laughed. “Fortunately, no, but you, my lady, are no doubt the most valuable prize I’ve ever acquired. The best of spoils.”
Dismayed yet at the same time curious, her gaze followed his tall frame as he sauntered to the wine cabinet. His snug black breeches emphasized every corded muscle on his lean thighs. A curved, silver-handled dagger was strapped to his hip over a silk purple sash. It was an Oriental dagger—a shabariya. Her grandfather had one in his library. She recalled hearing once that Eros had been raised in the Kasbah of Algiers and was notorious for his mastery of blades. She also noticed in spite of her fear of him that the fiend dressed in the same colors of his cabin.
Crystal clinked as he filled a snifter with a bright amber fluid. “May I offer you a drop of cognac, my lady?” he suggested pleasantly. “Surely tonight’s events have taken a toll on your nerves. A stiff drink should settle them down.”
“You presume much if you think I will drink such spirits,” she bit out caustically, “in the company of a bloody pirate, no less. Salute yourself!”
His eyes glided over her cloaked figure, making her feel extremely self-conscious. “The lady has a sharp tongue. I fear we must blunt it some with acid.” When her temper flared visibly, an elegant jet eyebrow cocked with amusement. “Va bene. Suit yourself.” He downed his drink, briefly shutting his eyes, as the acid charred his throat. He set the glass aside and continued perusing her with open appreciation. “Silverlake deserves to be shot for letting a woman like you sail alone when men like me roam the high seas.”
“Silverlake?” How could he possibly know Lucas, she wondered.
“Yes, Silverlake.” He started in her direction. “The blond pup you are engaged to, Lady Avon. The same one we shall pay a visit to in four days. The two of us.”
Hope lit her heart. “You intend to hold me for ransom, then?”
“So eager to join the dashing knight in Kingston? How romantic.” He smirked. “Yes, I do have it in mind to offer you back to Silverlake. For a certain price.”
“His lordship will readily pay your price, Viper, whatever it is.”
“Ah, now I remember.” He came up in front of her, his supremely tall head forcing her to look up. “We haven’t been properly introduced. So, allow me.” He gallantly took her hand.
Alanis snatched it back, shooting him a look full of poison. “I know who you are.”
Irritation flickered in his eyes, but he quelled it. He lowered his head closer to hers and whispered, “My name is not Viper.”
“Your name is Eros.”
He straightened up, saying nothing.
“So what is the price?” she asked. With the king’s ransom of jewels stashed in one of her chests he should be able to procure half of Jamaica. How insatiable can a man be?
“I’m a reasonable man.” He pensively rubbed his strong, clean-shaven jaw. “I only intend to ask for what is mine, something that is not measured in coin.” The infuriating eyebrow rose inquiringly. “Are you measured in coin, Lady Avon? Gold doubloons perhaps?”
Her aquamarine eyes slanted wrathfully, granting her the look of a cat. “Beast,” she hissed.
The black-hearted villain had the gall to tip his head back and laugh. “I’m certain you hope I am not, my lady, although…” His hand touched her face, causing her to flinch. Yet all he did was gently run his knuckles along the cream of her cheek, sending a suspicious shudder through her. “I shall be more than happy to live up to your expectations.” He glimpsed at his bed, then recaptured her gaze. Humor and challenge twinkled in his dark eyes. “What exactly did you have in mind—rough ravishing or prolonged pleasure? I’m game for both diversions.”
Alanis edged back. He followed, moving with an arrogant fluid swagger. A black leopard, she thought fretfully, graceful and deadly. When he caged her between his powerful arms and the wall, she barely managed to murmur, “Silverlake will kill you if you lay one finger on me.”
“A serious detriment, to be sure.”
Heart hammering, Alanis stared deep into his spellbinding eyes. Everything else faded into obscurity. His handsome face and the muscular breadth of his shoulders filled her view. Tension crackled between them, and for a brief moment she nearly forgot what he was.
He was thoroughly scrutinizing her face, admiring her naturally slanted blue-green eyes, the pert tilt of her nose, the soft roundness of her cheeks. His gaze settled on her lips—full, pink, and slightly quivering. Lust etched his irises. “You are beautiful,” he breathed, fanning her lips with rich, titillating cognac fumes. “I think Silverlake’s wrath is small punishment for a night spent with you, my lady.”
Lud. No man has ever looked at her this way. No man! Not even Lucas, her betrothed, has ever told her that she was beautiful. When her brother was killed in a duel five years ago, she was nineteen and preparing for her coming-out. So her first debut into society took place two years later when her grandfather presented her at the French Court in Versailles while in France on diplomatic affairs. This man—this pirate—with his midnight eyes and granite face stared at her as though she were the most desirable woman in the world!
Noting her discomfiture, he smiled, and what a sinful smile it was. White teeth flashed in wicked contrast to dark skin, and Alanis experienced a deep feeling of sympathy for the women who fell into this rogue’s net. This man was well aware of the power of his masculine allure.
“He is an idiot, your precious Silverlake,” Eros drawled. “I think I shall be well deserving of sainthood when I return you to him unscathed.”
Alanis swallowed hard. “You truly do not intend to harm me?”
Eros stood close enough for her to see the lines life had tilled into his skin. He was not as young as she had initially assumed. There was a hard, ruthless edge to him, yet something else as well, unexpected, which she hoped she was not imagining: a private code of honor.
“Harm you?” A strange look surfaced in his eyes. In an act of risqué, his thumb caressed the soft swells of her lips, its faint roughness startlingly seductive. His voice dropped to a gruff whisper. “A beautiful creature such as you was made for pleasure, Alanis. Not pain.”
Stunned, she merely stared after him as he turned on his heel, strode