Chapter Thirteen
Damnation.
Isaac glared back at the tavern doors before setting off down the road. He hadn’t gotten a single bit of information from the men inside. In fact, he’d been rather rudely escorted to the door and told to leave.
Three men stood between him and the next tavern, arguing over something. As he got closer, he realized they had surrounded a woman. A wench from the tavern perhaps?
“Leave me alone.”
The words rang out over the boisterous heckling and Isaac stopped dead in his tracks.
Son of a bitch.
He knew that voice.
A sudden scuffle followed—boots scraping, a grunt, the thud of someone hitting the wall.
Then a yelp.
“Get your hands off me!” Miss Montclair’s voice rang fierce but strained.
“Come now,” one of the men jeered. “Join us in the alley. ’Twill only take a few moments of your time.”
Isaac surged forward as the man pulled her toward the dark shadows between buildings. Moonlight reflected off the man’s leering face. “She’s mine first, boys.”
The hell she was. Isaac flew toward him with his fist pulled back, barely coming to a stop before cracking it into the man’s jaw. The satisfaction of seeing the limp body hit the ground vibrated through him as he spun to face the remaining assailants.
“What in tarnation?” One of the fallen man’s friends leaped toward Isaac, shoving him violently toward the alley.
He threw his weight onto one foot and pivoted, grabbing the man’s shoulder as he came at him. With a grunt, he used his attacker’s momentum to propel him face-first into the brick wall of the building. He crumpled, limbs collapsing in a heap against the wall.
This was too easy.
The remaining man put his hands up. “We was just trying to have some fun. No harm.”
“No harm? You were accosting a lady.”
The man snorted. “She ain’t no lady.”
Isaac lunged toward him and the coward spun and took off running.
“Are you alright?” A hand settled on his shoulder and he spun to find Miss Montclair blinking up at him.
At least he thought it was. He fought to keep his mouth from dropping open at her transformation.
Damn it, Samantha. Clearly she’d had a hand in this, as Miss Montclair stood in tight breeches, her blouse open in a deep V down her chest. Her hair fell in voluminous curls past her shoulder with a red canna lily tucked behind one ear.
“What the hell are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?” He kept his eyes on her face to avoid the cleavage on full display.
“I was looking for you,” she said brightly. As if it explained everything.
“My God, Miss Montclair, you could have been hurt.”
Or worse. The men who had been harassing her had made their intentions clear. He shook his head to clear his mind.
“I didn’t know there would be more than one tavern.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I thought you’d be inside. I was halfway through the room before I realized you weren’t there.”
“Do you ever stop to think things through?”
Her eyes widened at his accusation, but instead of lingering, the hurt quickly faded. She crossed her arms and opened her mouth.
He raised a hand to stop her rebuttal. “Never mind. Let’s get back to the ship.”
“No.”
“No?” He blinked at her.
“I came to help you.”
“You…” He couldn’t help his strangled laugh. “Help me? Dressed like that?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, Lieutenant. Because while your mind cannot seem to fathom it, I assure you I am better equipped than you to get information from these sorts of men.”
“Really? You could have fooled me. Because last I checked, you were about to get…” He couldn’t say it aloud.
Her face paled yet she stood straight. “Nevertheless, once inside a tavern, I can find what you need.”
“Miss Montclair—”
She turned and walked away. Straight to the tavern door.
“Don’t even think about it.” He strode toward her.
With flashing eyes, she yanked the door open and walked inside.
“Blast it.” He hurried to catch up, weaving between patrons before reaching her side. Taking hold of her elbow, he pulled her close. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
She beamed up at him. “Thanks. Now, stop looking so… murderous. You’ll blow our cover.”
“Cover? Miss Montclair, hear me well. There’s no cover. We are going to turn around and head straight back to the ship.”
With a shake of her head, she flipped her hair over one shoulder and turned toward the bar, a wave of jasmine washing over him.
He followed, refusing to loosen his grip on her.
When they reached the tall wood counter, she lifted herself on tiptoes and leaned into him, the soft weight of her hair settling on his forearm.
“We are here, don’t waste the opportunity to get your information. ”
He swallowed as a shot of desire hammered through his frustration. Every nerve in him screamed against it—and yet… She was right. By the time he got her back to the ship and returned, many of these men would be gone. He sighed. “Alright. But let me do the talking.”
With a shrug, she lowered herself back to her feet but stayed pressed to his side. The barkeep arrived before he had the sense to take a step to the side to relieve the burning heat coming from where their arms touched.
He shook his head. Get it together.
“I’m looking for information about a pir—” A sharp jab came from his ribs. He rubbed the spot where she’d elbowed him and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What was that for?”
She ignored him and leaned over the counter. He followed the barkeep’s gaze and bit back a curse at the perfect view of cleavage she’d offered the man. “What my…” she slanted him a glance. “Partner was trying to say is, he’d like two mugs of your finest ale.”
“I was n—” She stomped on his foot and he coughed. What was she up to? “I mean… Yes, I was.”
He pulled out several five cent coins and set them on the counter while the man filled two mugs. “I thought you wanted me to ask questions?”
She smiled as the barkeep set the ale in front of them and took the money. “He won’t give you any information.” She headed into the room and scanned the tables before pointing. “There.”
In the back corner, a group of especially rough looking men sat with cards laid out in front of them. Surely, she didn’t mean to… She did. He followed her to the table and hesitated when she gestured to the only empty seat.
Miss Montclair faced the men. “I do love a good game of vingt-un. Who’s winning?”
So much for letting him do the talking.
A gruff man tilted the brim of his hat and she swiveled to Isaac. “You do play, don’t you?”
He shifted on his feet. “Not regularly.”
A pout fell across her mouth. “A pity.”
She leaned in, her lips grazing his ear, and every nerve in his body shot to life. “If this is going to work, I need you to play along, no questions asked.” Her words came on a whispered breath that sent a shudder through him.
“What say you?” She raised her voice and arched a dark brow before tilting her ear to his mouth.
His pulse jumped as he leaned into her. “I say you play a dangerous game.”
She reached between them, her fingers setting on his pocket, and his throat went dry. Dangerous indeed. With a laugh, she twisted her hand and lifted a money bag. One that had certainly not been there before.
“He says I can play. You gentlemen don’t mind, do you?” Crooked mouths twisted into smiles and he marveled at the power a pair of shapely breasts could wield. She gave him an expectant look and waved her hand at the chair. “Don’t take all day, my dear.”
He pressed his lips together, but sat. No sooner had he got situated, she lowered herself into his lap. He sucked in a breath and his entire body went rigid as her soft curves pressed into him. Hell. This was going to be a long game.
She pulled a few coins free and made her first bet as the dealer passed out the first cards. He craned his neck as she lifted the corner but missed her card in the brief flash she offered. Same with her second card. She nodded for a third. Lost.
The next hands passed in a flurry, as she bet small amounts, winning some, losing some. She fell into a rhythm, laughing and engaging with the men, until they seemed at ease with her.
She’d done this before.
He took a hearty drink of his ale and leaned back in his chair.
If she was going to enjoy herself, he may as well try to as well. His lips curved. Who was he fooling? With her supple bottom wiggling in his lap, he already immensely enjoyed this.
As the cards in the deck dwindled, she became more aggressive with her bets, and won two hands in a row. The next hand, she pushed her entire pile to the center. Risky.
She turned, her bottom twisting against the part of him that had sprung to attention. “How about a good luck kiss, dear?”
His eyes widened. No. He began to shake his head and her smile wavered. Damnation. His gaze flitted past her to the expectant stares of all the men there. If he didn’t, he would be telling them she was fair game.
“Miss—” He flinched when she gave his shoulder a playful swat.
“I’m no miss.” She shot him a sultry look.
With a growl, he leaned into her, his lips claiming hers in one swift action. His hand lifted, tangling in her hair to hold her in place as he ran his tongue over her bottom lip. So damn soft. Her hands twisted in his shirt and her mouth opened in a gasp.
The other players hooted and Isaac forced himself to pull back. Miss Montclair stared at him, her eyes glazed and lips parted. He shifted his weight. If she kept looking at him like that, he was going to kiss her again.
“Was that lucky enough?” His words came out hoarse and he cleared his throat.
Her fingers lifted, touching her lips briefly before she turned back to the table. “Let’s find out if his kiss is as lucky as he says.”
When the cards were turned, she let out a little squeal. She’d won.
Astonishing.
The deck was passed and while the next man shuffled it, Miss Montclair leaned forward, placing both elbows on the table. “I heard there was a pirate in town.”