Chapter 1 #3
Dammit. His gums were swelling again. Not to mention other parts of him.
“I received Corvindale’s message nearly a month ago.
Frankly, I’d expected you to arrive much sooner, St. Albans.
The matter sounded far more urgent than you appear to be—er—taking it.
Or did you simply take your time so as to enjoy a Caribbean holiday before getting to work?
You wouldn’t be the first. Most Englishmen find it difficult to resist the sand, the surf—and of course the big, hot tropical sun? ”
Raine smothered a laugh. “You are a witty one, Captain. Am I to understand you are, nevertheless, agreeable to assisting me? To track down the Devil’s Target?”
“Possibly.” She sat in a leather-upholstered captain’s chair that seemed to dwarf her petite figure and looked at him.
“That’s a dangerous proposition, even for me and the crew of the Black Lass.
The Target is one of the fastest, sneakiest vessels on the sea.
Not to mention dangerous. Captain Ajab has a reputation of being nearly as ruthless as I am.
” Her pretty lips twitched. “What sort of remuneration can I expect?”
Raine admitted he was surprised that she seemed far more educated and erudite than most of the young ladies back in London—with the exception of Maia Woodmore, who, according to Corvindale, was just as fascinatingly infuriating as this female captain was turning out to be.
She spoke well, did mathematical and navigational calculations, and was clearly captain in more than name.
And she smelled like ambrosia.
He could hardly keep his attention from drifting to the creamy white throat, bared by the neckline of her shirt, and the image that had been inked into her skin in the shape of…it seemed to be a bird of some sort. A raven perhaps?
“Remuneration?” he replied, his voice dropping low as he thought of how many different ways he could respond.
“Well, captain, it depends what sort of remuneration you’d be seeking.
There’s monetary, of course—the obvious one.
But also political, for surely as the dreaded pirate of the Black Lass, you could use some help in that area.
There’s also the…er…private sort of payback, if you will. ”
He allowed the glow that had been banked in his eyes to smolder brightly once more.
His breath was unsteady and his pulse pounded, and he was alone in a chamber with a woman whose very scent was like to driving him mad—and her mind and tart tongue were just as titillating.
He had no doubt that whatever was under her clothing wouldn’t disappoint.
She wouldn’t mind. They never did. He made certain they enjoyed it as much as he did—if they even remembered. His fangs were halfway exposed, and he caught her bright eyes, holding those dark, gold-flecked ones, beckoning…tugging…luring.
She gave a soft sigh, hardly more than a puff of air. But to him it was the sound of victory, of acquiescence. Her gaze became slightly unfocused and she seemed to shudder deep inside.
“Shall I give you a taste of what I mean?” he murmured, drawing her closer with his powerful gaze. “And perhaps you might allow me a little sample as well.”
“I…” she breathed. Her eyes were fastened on his, her lush lips parted, and that spicy, intriguing, sea-tinged aroma that made up her perfume grew slightly stronger, as if it were a measure of her willingness and burgeoning arousal. Ahh, yes.
Raine realized his fingers were unsteady as a school boy’s as he drew her closer and fumbled with the leather straps that crossed over the mystery of her breasts.
The accoutrements fell to the ground in a dull clattering thump, but he hardly noticed, for she had filled his senses: the scent of her, the sight of her wide, dark eyes and their thick lashes, the softness of her skin, the quiet rush of her breath—quicker now.
His fangs were fully extended, but he realized he wanted something more than to plunge them into her shoulder. He wanted to taste her…in the old-fashioned way.
The way he’d done to a woman before everything changed.
“Let me kiss you, my lovely pirate,” he whispered, and he bent to cover her lips.
Oh, Luce…they were…she was…sweet and soft and lush.
Warm and sleek. He groaned softly when she leaned into him, and he pulled her closer, slipping his tongue past her plump lips and tangling with hers—sleek and hot and delicious.
Her breasts pressed against him, and he realized with a start she’d stepped up onto his boots to reach him more easily.
His fangs were long and ready now, getting in the way of the kiss. His blood pulsed with heat and need, filling his ears with a roaring sound. He pulled away, breathless, ready for more.
He looked down as he yanked the edge of her shirt from her shoulder, and met her sleepy, glazed eyes.
Except that they were neither sleepy nor glazed.
They were stone-cold sober.
…And he felt that damned wooden stake again. This time, it was poking into his torso from the back.
“I decline,” she said.