My Wicked Pirate. Rona Sharon
“And yet you defend the realm against French tyranny,” she pointed out. Softly she recited, “‘bandit, as a lion, who roams the Lebanon. His home a sharp flint, and at the peak of a rock stands a leopard with spots as the keeper of his home, for he is a man of blood, a sorcerer whom even savages will fear.’ You don’t come from a world unlike my own, but you do live in a lonely place.” The vulnerability she perceived in his eyes affected her as much as she evidently affected him. Eros chose his path as retribution against…something, and he seemed to her as caged in the world he created for himself as she was in the one she was born into.
He leaned closer. “You don’t fear me, do you? But you ought to, Alanis. Although you see things others do not, you are too naïve to understand.”
Her voice was a hesitant whisper. “Explain it to me.”
“It’s late.” He rose to his feet and came to assist her out of her chair. “Your maid might put it in her head that I have wronged you abominably and come after me with her lethal tongue.”
Taking his arm, Alanis sensed acute tension throbbing beneath his icy veneer. He would not meet her gaze, so cold and distant he’d become. Her eyes fell on the floor. “My flower.”
He preceded her to it. When he straightened to offer her the stalk, their gazes collided. The transformation in him was swift and entrancing. The hungry look in his eyes, the potent craving he radiated—she saw a wild prowler on a nocturnal hunt, his instincts sharp, and his prey well within reach. They were caught in the moment before the leopard leaped to the kill.
He wanted to kiss her, feminine intuition announced. He would place his lips on hers as no man had done before, not even Lucas Hunter. Her heart beat wildly. Time stretched. She felt his pull so strongly her entire self awaited his kiss…
“Change your mind about dinner tomorrow,” he implored softly.
Disappointed by his sudden withdrawal and angry with herself for feeling this way, Alanis replied pithily, “I should think not. Nothing good will come of it.”
The sun set in the horizon, painting the sky a glorious halo of purple dusk. Tiny islands as surreal as a dream dotted the calm, cerulean surface. A cooler breeze swelled the sails, plucking twilight music over ropes and riggings. Laughter broke the silence. Eros tore his eyes away from the scenery and stabbed Giovanni with an irritated glare. “What are you laughing at?”
Manning the helm, Giovanni glanced at his captain and chuckled. “You. Can’t remember the last time I saw you in such a rut, and all because of a little lady.”
“Stupido.” Eros pushed away from the railing and crossed the quarterdeck toward a case of oranges. He selected a large one and slumped on a crate of ropes. “Haughty virgins are not my type. I cannot wait to be rid of her tomorrow, along with her noisy maid. I swear, I’ve never met a colder female in my entire life. My sympathy is with Silverlake.”
“Mine isn’t, and knowing you as well as I do, I’d say neither is yours. You have a beautiful woman sleeping in your bed, Eros, and the reason you are as sour as this fruit you are addicted to is you are not accustomed to rejection. Why won’t she dine with you tonight?”
“Why don’t you mind the helm instead of asking stupid questions?”
“Va bene. If you don’t want her, and seeing that your plans to fight the French won’t be getting me into any wench’s pantalets in the near future, perhaps I’ll ask Niccolò to stand in for me as I go ask the blond lady if she would take a stroll on deck with me this evening.”
Eros’s temper flared as a trail of gunpowder. “You’ll do no such thing, Giova!”
“Why not?” Giovanni’s one eye rounded innocently. “I’ll behave.”
“I said no.” Eros gnashed his teeth.
Giovanni folded his arms across his chest, looking disgruntled. “When was the last time we had some fun, eh? Do you even remember what a female looks like underneath her petticoats?”
Eros stood. “You’ll get your fun soon enough. Once we retrieve Gelsomina, we’ll stop in Tortuga where you’ll be able to explore under every petticoat roaming the island.”
Giovanni watched Eros stride to a bucket of water to wash his hands. “I like blondes.”
“There are blondes in Tortuga. And this one is not to be harmed. Do I make myself clear?”
“Who said anything about harming?”
“She is not for you, Giovanni,” Eros accentuated ominously. “The discussion is closed.”
Giovanni grinned. “Why can’t you admit that you want her, Eros? Usually when a woman strikes your fancy, you go after her like a bull until you bed her and the boredom begins. What’s special about this one? I know you prefer the experienced type, but if you want her, take her to bed and terminate the agony for the rest of us.”
Eros paused. “She’s not the kind one can simply take.”
Surprise crossed Giovanni’s fearsome features. “She got to you, didn’t she? In all those fancy lunches and dinners she said or did something that flipped you over. What was it?”
“Enough. You’ve made your point. Now get your mind on the wheel before you sink us all.” Eros stalked off the quarterdeck, leaving a very befuddled Giovanni staring behind.
Dinnertime passed and she was still plagued with a rotten feeling. Sitting at the open ports, Alanis stared morosely at the dark sea. Tomorrow she would reunite with Lucas. Why wasn’t she ecstatically happy? She shut her eyes and let her head drop back as a cool night breeze lifted her unbraided hair off her nape. Why did she insist on fooling herself? She knew her affliction’s name; she simply lacked the backbone to admit it. Eros, you wretch. What have you done to me?
The sound of a key entering the lock jumped her. The door opened. Formidable as ever, Eros stood at the threshold. His gaze swept the dim cabin. Betsy was sound asleep on a sofa. His bed was vacant. His gaze veered to the open ports, and her heart nearly plummeted to her feet.
His eyes glittered fiercely. “Put your cloak on,” he whispered. “We’ll talk on deck.”
With trembling fingers she tied the black cape’s ribbons at her neck, stepped into a pair of flats, and came to him. He closed his hand around hers and whisked her out the door.
Not a soul was in sight as she floated after Eros toward the night-shrouded quarterdeck. He positioned her at the rail overlooking the moonlit waters and stopped tall and shadowy in front of her. Untied, his long hair whipped without restraint in the sea breeze. His eyes reflected both yearning and reluctance. He ran his fingers through her long fair tresses, opening them like a fan over her shoulders, then gently cupped her face, murmuring, “Sei bellissima. You are beautiful. How is it possible you’ll be escaping my clutches for the second time?”
Her whole body came alive under his touch. “Where did we meet before?”
His voice was deep and husky. “At a ball in Versailles three years ago. Your gown was the exact color of your hair.”
“Gold brocade,” she recalled with astonishment. “You were at a ball in Versailles?”
“You stood out in a sea of tired faces painted with rouge, white chalk, and false patches. It wasn’t difficult to single you out as you circled the crowds with Madame de Montespan. I know the Madame. At the peak of her career she was Louis’s mistress. I thought you were one of her young protégés. I thought you were a courtesan, Alanis.”
“A courtesan?” She smiled wickedly. A woman of the night. A temptress who brought men to their knees. The opposite of what she encountered in a mirror every day.
“I followed you around, plotting seductions in my head, until an elderly duke and a blond viscount stole you from right under my nose.” He grinned ruefully. “I lost my chance.”