Romancing the Pirate 01.5 - Beneath The Water's Edge Page 7

  Elyssa swallowed much needed air when his lips left hers. Before she could protest, he tugged her bodice lower and captured her breast. She moaned and arched her back, giving him more of her bosom. He seemed obliged as he groped and tweaked her other breast. The hard planes of his chest gave way to the rise of his shoulder. Grateful to be able to feel his taut back again, she explored every inch of him she could reach. She badly wished to remove his tunic. Worthless piece of cloth was in the way.

  A chill cooled her damp chest. Blackthorn had abandoned her nipples for the dip of her throat, suckling, kissing, and making his way up to her jaw. By God. How could devilish kisses along her jaw be so pure? Nothing could be more sensual. Until he reached her earlobe. His wet mouth landing upon her ear had been enough to cause surrender. But the invasion of his playful tongue was a downright dirty trick. Her flesh had come alive. She shivered with the thrill skittering down her arms and across the tips of her nipples. What wonders this man did to her body.

  The captain’s nimble hand had the hem of her skirt bunched up to her lap. He made long strokes up and down her thigh. A whole new sensation rapidly roared to life. Squeezing her knees together served to make the throbbing worse between her legs.

  “How far can I go before you fear me, Elyssa?” His hot breath fanning in her ear sent a fresh wave of ripples all the way down to her toes. “How far?”

  Lost in a feverish haze, she wanted him to take her as far as the endless sea would go. She could think of nothing more. ’Twas impossible to think beyond that very moment.

  “I will not…fear you, Captain…Blackthorn.”

  “Bran.” He dragged his tongue down her neck and back up to her ear. “Call me Bran.”

  “Bran.” She wasn’t in so much of a fog that she didn’t realize the implication of using his given name. ’Twas a stout name, deservingly so, and she liked the power it gave her to say it. “Take me as far as you dare.”

  He growled into her neck, searing her with another wicked kiss. “Don’t tempt me, lass.”

  “But I must.”

  Bran leaned back to stare into her eyes, no doubt gauging his next move by her reaction. Was she foolish to dare him? Perhaps. No matter, she offered him an impish pout anyhow. He swooped her up into his arms, kicked his chair away, and planted her on the edge of the table.

  “I’ll be a gentleman no more.” He shoved her skirt up around her waist. The smooth wood of the table was cold against her bare bum. With her naked breasts and her exposed juncture, she felt enlivened, primed.

  He wedged himself between her legs. Elyssa frantically removed his shirt tucked beneath his trousers. No sooner had he shed the damned thing, she stroked his defined muscles. She hadn’t realized how much she missed feeling them. Her terribly marred hands born of the seaman’s trade seemed unnaturally pale against his bronzed skin. The contrast was not much different from pairing a widowed bookkeeper and a disgraced pirate.

  Making quick work of his breeches, he attacked her again with an open mouth. She readily received him, more anxious, she thought, than he.

  Bran rubbed his hand across her sheath, petting her folds. She whimpered into his kiss. Back and forth he caressed, drawing his middle finger over her throbbing nub. With each pass the pressure built. She broke from his kiss and threw her head back. Glory be! She had never felt such abandoned pleasure. Never knew it existed. Just when she thought she could take no more, he stopped. She whimpered again.

  Elyssa opened her eyes and was startled. Brown eyes boring into her exemplified his intent and decisive execution. She flinched upon the tip of his shaft touching her aching folds. Slowly, he eased into her, pushing in all the way, allowing her to adjust to his girth without causing too much pain.

  “You’re tight, little one. Relax. I won’t hurt you.” His voice poured over her like molasses, sweet and thick. He lulled her with his avow and he leaned in to repeat his instruction. “Relax.”

  His hands rounded to her buttocks and he scooted her to the very edge of the desk, lancing her upon him further. She squealed, or moaned, she wasn’t sure which. But the stab of pleasure sent her reeling for more. Elyssa buried her face into his neck, an adequate spot for refuge. Bran pulled completely out only to slide back in, three, maybe four more times. ’Twas a vicious torment. She needed him to fill her, stay within her, to join together with her.

  “Please, Bran.”

  A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. “You are a bewitching treat, my dear. Bewitching and impossible to resist.”

  Obliging her, he guided in, pushing to his hilt. He measured a steady pace, rocking into her. Her fingers dug into his arms and she strove to meet him thrust for thrust. His skin had become damp from her hurried breathing. Unfettered urges inspired her to kiss and feed upon his neck. Mother of Heaven she could not get enough of this man.

  She would not be remorseful later of what she wanted so badly now. But then she was drunk, drunk on his possessive mouth, briny musk and searing touch. The drunk were impaired, fluid, careless. Never mind, she would bear the circumstance later. For now, she would drink her fill of Captain Bran Blackthorn.

  Eddies of vibrating bliss swirled tighter, quicker with his rhythm. Higher and higher she rose, faster and faster he pumped. All the while, he feasted upon her exposed shoulder and tangling his hand into her hair. Damn, but he made her dizzy. Her fingernails gouged into his arms, asserting what was left of her meager thread of control to something tangible. Suddenly her spinning bliss exploded. She seized, unable to cry out, unable to unwrap her legs that had somehow wrapped themselves around Bran’s waist. Lights and shadows surged on wave after wave of quivering pleasure.

  Bran continued to pump, slamming into her until he, too, stiffened upon his release.

  In that moment, locked with him in salacious sin, Elyssa had fallen. Fallen from what, she dared not entertain. But she had a suspicion.

  Her short married life had been void of carnal pleasures. A quick shag to ease Dobie’s desire was the most she received from her late husband. Had Dobie not perished from his fall, she would have never known what true indulgence of the flesh could be. She would have been trapped in a flaccid marriage. Elyssa shivered at the thought.

  Bran kissed her again. This time, his lips were tender, not greedy. His eyes matched the affection he showed in one last peck, and then he withdrew. “I warned you not to tempt me.”

  “The only thing I regret is the splinter poking me in my arse.”

  That brought a crooked smile to his attractive mug.

  “Besides,” she added, “I told you I would not fear you.”

  A commotion clouded his expression. He warred with himself, or some thought, as he scanned her face, settling on her mouth. She bit her lip with a sudden flood of anxiety. Did he regret what he did, what they did? The humid heat between them lingered as he weighed her words.

  “We are sailing into unfriendly waters.” Bran pulled up her bodice, covering her breasts. He gave her his back and redressed. “There is a mighty fine chance the Sanctum will run into trouble. To ensure your safety, be ready to take orders.”

  Elyssa could not stop the deflating of her heart. To hell with any lurking danger out there. Her captain had turned cold. Their lovemaking didn’t mean anything more to him than a dirty strum. What did you expect, Elyssa? That he would shower you with flowers and bounty? Be grateful. To have him was what you wanted. Still, she couldn’t help the hurt and disappointment, or the sick feeling churning in the pit of her stomach.

  “Bran.” He glanced away from tying his sword into his sash to acknowledge he was listening. “You never said. What are you going to do with me?” ’Twas obvious he did not intend to keep her around as his woman. She couldn’t dwell on that. What she needed was to know her fate now that her world had been forever changed.

  “One thing you should know about pirates, love, we never reveal our course.”

  “Have mercy.” She hoped begging would keep him from leaving her with unanswered quest
ions and unrequited love. But he had already flung the door wide open.

  “Remember, Mrs. Montgomery, I’m not the merciful type.”

  My God, man. You’ve done it again.

  “You.” Blackthorn grabbed the sleeve of a passing crewman. “Find Hobbs. Have him bring me a flagon of Hangman’s Rum. Handsomely, now!”

  Losing yourself with her. You’re a bloody fool. But he cherished every moment with Elyssa. Every breath she took, every sound she made, her tightness around his cock, the way she released her modesty. Damn, he’d almost come undone the moment she spoke his name.

  She was an angel. An angel he sullied. An angel he was to spend like sullied coin in a dangerous bargain.

  Shit! He slammed his fist into the sloop’s main mast. Pain shot through his white knuckles. He deserved far worse.

  That fellow, Mac, Elyssa’s friend, stared at him from across the cargo hold. The lad had taken to giving him a critical eye as of late. This but provoked Blackthorn, and he was feeling a mite confrontational.

  “You got something to say, mate?”

  Mac bowed his head in respect. “No, Capt’n.”

  “Aye. You do. You’ve got a grievance with me.” The mackie wasn’t getting off that easy. “Let’s have it.”

  Mac lifted his chin, looking him dead in the eyes. “Just that Elysen, he—she—was a hard worker. Quick to learn her trade and never once complainin’. ’Twoulnd’t be just to do her harm.” Mac’s nostrils flared with the deep breath he took. “And, I’m wonderin’ if you’re an honorable man.”

  Hell no, he wasn’t honorable. If he were, we wouldn’t have taken Elyssa on his desk. He didn’t have the decency to walk the extra steps to lay her on his bed. He was a bastard, right enough.

  “You’re a reckless one to not hold your clack.”

  Mac swallowed hard, but Blackthorn respected the paddy for not backing down.

  “Don’t worry over the likes of Mrs. Montgomery. She’s fine.” With that, Blackthorn gestured for Mac to take his leave.

  “Hobbs says yer callin’ for the Hangman.” Kipp strolled up beside Blackthorn and handed him a bottle. “What’s yer trouble?”

  Blackthorn yanked out the cork with his teeth and spat it to the planks. “I tainted the pawn.” He took a long quaff of the potent liquor. Spice and spirit singed his taste and washed down his gullet.

  “Ain’t surprised. You’ve been up in the sails over her.”

  “Hardly that.”

  Blackthorn walked to the rail. The horizon had disappeared into the veil of night. Black water below swallowed bits of flame cast by the ship’s lone lantern hanging nearby. Nothing was visible of the sea beyond the fleeting light. He felt much the same way about his despicable soul and Elyssa—a fleeting light in a shrouded abyss.

  “I’ve sailed with you for some five years now, Bran.” Kipp clapped him on his shoulder. “I ain’t never seen ya with that stupid grin on yer ugly mug. Every evenin’ after leavin’ her.”

  “Pish! No more of that scupper talk. I’ve tarnished the chances of a pardon, Kipp.” He passed his first mate the bottle.

  “A woman like that is worth a thousand hangin’s.”

  Blackthorn couldn’t agree more.

  “The way I see it, brother, ain’t much changed. No one on this boat knows who she is. No one has to know, either. ’Twas as it was before we took that Spanish merchant.”

  Kipp was right. The objective had been and still was the same—get the Sanctum a reprieve. Now it was to quietly make contact with Samuel Montgomery’s officer and use a ransom for Elyssa as leverage. That should put the squeeze on Flynn.

  Blackthorn nodded, pleased he still had control of the situation. “The sooner we reach Parlay Atoll, the better.”

  “We’ll be droppin’ anchor by the forenoon bell.”

  “Excellent. See that we pass New Providence’s garrison with our colors flying.”

  “Ho, ho! You’re a bold barracuda. You sure you haven’t gone loose in the hilts with too much Hangman’s Blood?”

  “I find it a courtesy to Flynn to announce my arrival.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The rabble in The Drowning Cup was much like the drinking holes Blackthorn had frequented in Port Royal. Marauders, strumpets, and thieves prowled in the shadows and crevices of the dark tavern. The air choked with tobacco, sweat, and stale ale. On a small dais in the back, a fiddler played. Two wenches, dressed in flashy feathers and beads and not much else, danced for the farthings tossed at their feet. And drunkards, plenty of drunkards, sat on every stool, at every table, carousing, singing, arguing, and gambling. Aye, The Drowning Cup was a fine establishment for wayward jack tars, rogue wreckers, and scavengers. And a great place to push aside fanciful thoughts of a certain doe-eyed angel.

  Blackthorn found it ironic the den of thieves of Parlay Atoll was a mere three hours away from the New Providence harbor, or rather, the garrisoned fort. It must have made Flynn nervous knowing many of his old mates from the Brotherhood, the ones he’d crossed, which refused to accept the King’s Pardon, lurked so close to his roost in the governor’s mansion. ’Twas a burden enough having an uneasy accord with those buccaneers living in Nassau whom did accept the pardon. Though free men, they were none too pleased with Flynn capturing and hanging brethren under the protection of the Royal Navy. If it weren’t for the fact that many colonists on New Providence were sympathetic to the pirates, he’d have sent Christensen to eradicate the island. But Flynn feared the act would trigger an uprising, as he should, and he enjoyed his affluent station too much to let that happen.

  Many of Blackthorn’s own men had come into the tavern to carouse. There wasn’t much else to do on this spit of an island. A handful of establishments, a nanny-house, a very small, very empty church, and a woodsy jungle was all there was to be found.

  Blackthorn had taken up a table in the corner with his back to the wall. Having this many dangerous scoundrels in one spot made for a pot ready to boil over. ’Twas tense and volatile. Best he be on high guard with a clear view of the room and the door. But only one individual in the tavern warranted his attention. Rathbone. Blackthorn had him rowed to shore as soon as they dropped anchor, then he removed his shackles and sent him on his way like a scurrying rat. Now the bastard sat one table over, glaring at him with evil designs. Let the wretch try and cross him. ’Twould be the last thing he did right before Blackthorn put a ball between his eyes.

  A dusty beam of sunlight cut through the thick air as the front door opened. The shadow of a tall navy officer filled the threshold and the room fell silent. Blackthorn kept his hand on his piece, waiting.

  “Stow your arm, Jackson,” the officer said to the keep behind the counter. “I’m not here to make trouble.” Back straight, strides deliberate, he made his way to Blackthorn’s table. “How’s the wind, my friend?”

  “I joy to see you again, Christensen.” Only when the commodore sat did Blackthorn remove his hand from his gun. “I see you received my message.”

  “You are bloody insane sailing the Sanctum that close to New Providence.” He removed his hat. His blond hair cut shorter than Blackthorn remembered.

  “My point was made, and here you are. How is Annabelle?”

  “Desperate to bear me another child,” he said.

  “Ho, ho.” Blackthorn slapped the tabletop. “Congratulations, mate. How many does that make? Four?”

  Christensen chuckled and motioned to a serving girl. “She sends her love.”

  “She’s a mighty fine woman, Robert. I wish you’d let me give her that fancy gown I’d gotten for her.”

  “You know she refused the dress.” Christensen ordered two mugs of stout. “She wants you to come for Christmas instead. The boys liked the marbles you gave them.”

  Christensen was a lucky cockerel. He had a beautiful wife and three little bucks that adored him, with another on the way. Maybe he’ll get a daughter this time. Blackthorn was happy for his friend. But deep inside, he was also envious.
He could have been a commanding officer of the Royal Navy with a loving family, too. But he wasn’t. Blackthorn was destined for a darker journey.

  “They, too, want to see Uncle Bran.”

  “Well now, that depends on the charity of your governor, doesn’t it?” Blackthorn knew it was highly unlikely he’d ever see the boys again. It pained him, but in time, they’d forget the “uncle” who had wrestled with them, took them rabbit hunting, and played endless hours of games with them.

  Christensen huffed and leaned back in his chair. “Flynn’s a damned difficult son of a bitch. He wants you dead.”

  “I could say the same about him.”

  “He can’t kill you without having the whole confederacy of pirates setting about to destroy Nassau.” The serving girl set their mugs between them. Christensen waited until she left, coins in hand, before continuing. “He doesn’t want to give you a pardon, either. Flynn knows he’s bent over a gun. He’s waiting for you to give him a reason to send me after you.” He paused. “I’m sorry, my friend. I never want to be put in that situation. I should have been rendezvousing with you months ago with a reprieve in hand.”

  “’Tis my burden, not yours.” Blackthorn wouldn’t dwell on what could have been, lest he become bitter. And he wasn’t easy to get along with on his best days. “Besides, I’ve a little something to persuade Flynn.”

  “Oh? This should be interesting.”

  “I have in my possession a girl. A certain Mrs. Elyssa Calhoun Montgomery.”

  “Come now, Bran. Slavery? That’s not like you. You’ve made slaves into free men.”

  “I may be above slavery, but not ransom.” He waited for Christensen to catch up and took a long pull from his mug. The stout was good, robust. Blackthorn would likely order another round, especially for how long it took Christensen to put the pieces together.