A Pirate's Possession (7 page)

Nate looked her over, couldn't see the map anywhere. Where had she managed to hide it in such a short amount of time?

“You're not leaving this cabin with the map.”

“You can't have it.”

“Where is it?”

Claire's eyes shone like the polished blade of a sword. Her knowing grin warned Nate he wouldn't like her response and her words confirmed it.

“It's in my undershirt.”

“Hand it over.”

“No.”

Nate ran a tired hand through his hair. “How are you going to go after the treasure, Claire?” He took in her dirty clothes and face, the chopped hair. While it was apparent she'd fallen on hard times, Nate wouldn't let himself be moved by that. She'd had choices, goddammit. It wasn't his fault she'd made the wrong ones.

“I'll find a way. I've managed without you this long, haven't I?”

Nate set his jaw. “The clue doesn't leave this cabin.”

“You'd hold me prisoner?” Claire gasped.

“Not if you give me the clue. Then you can dance yourself right off the ship as soon as we make port.”

“You want it?” Claire asked, glowering. “You'll have to take it. It's the only way you'll ever see it.”

Nate strode to the berth, where he loomed over her. “I've got no problem fishing it out of your undershirt.”

“You wouldn't dare,” she seethed.

He arched a brow. “Are you certain?” He moved toward her. Claire took a step back—all she could do with the berth at her back—and her eyes widened. He smelled the wind in her hair, the lingering aroma of campfire on her clothing. Her breath whispered against his neck. He stepped closer still, until their clothes brushed and his legs bracketed hers.

That her eyes never left his only heightened the awareness between them. The hardness that hadn't fully abated from when she'd thrashed beneath him on the bed came surging back to life.

The gray shirt she wore beneath her vest had only one button open at the neck, but it was enough to allow his fingers to slip behind it. Her skin was hot and it seared the backs of his hands. He flipped open another button. At the base of her throat he saw her pulse increase. She inhaled sharply. Another button opened, revealing the white edge of her undershirt.

He freed yet another and her shirt gaped open. He exhaled a troubled breath. Her skin was white as porcelain. He skimmed his fingers over the exposed flesh and felt both her shiver and her heat. He'd kissed her many times in the orphanage, but he'd never touched her inappropriately. He'd never seen this much of her before.

And he'd never ached to see more than he was aching to in that moment.

He wanted to tear off the shirt, rip open the undershirt, and feast, both with his eyes and his hands. Then, if there was a God, his tongue. She swayed slightly, drawing Nate's attention back up to her face.

Her eyes were dark, her lips parted. Desire hammered his lower body. He slid his hand into her undershirt and felt the slight swell of her breast.

Her hand clutched his, locking it into place.

“That's enough,” she said, sounding out of breath.

“I don't have what I'm after yet,” he said and he couldn't have said which it was he wanted more, her flesh in his hand or the map he'd been after for years.

They both reared when the hatch suddenly opened.

“Oh good, you're awake,” Vincent said as he came down the ladder. He stopped dead when he looked at Claire, her shirt still unbuttoned, then to Nate, whose arousal was painfully obvious. Despite his own embarrassment, Nate stepped in front of Claire to allow her some privacy while she fastened her shirt.

Vincent's cheeks flamed but he didn't move. He wiggled his eyebrows and his grin reminded Nate of a very satisfied cat who'd just discovered a bowl of cream.

“I'm sorry, had I known ...”

Nate hadn't thought Vincent's grin could get any wider. He was wrong. It spread across his friend's face until his eyes almost disappeared.

“I came to wake you but I can see that's not necessary,” he chuckled.

“I was just leaving,” Claire said. She stepped around Nate but he grabbed her hand.

“Not with the map.”

“That's twice you mention a map. What map?” Vincent asked.

Nate scowled. He knew by saying it now, only after he'd had it taken from him, that it would seem as though he'd deliberately tried to keep Vincent from one of the most notorious treasures in the Caribbean, which he hadn't been. He'd never do that to his friend. But he knew, under the circumstances, that it would appear that way.

His gaze raked over Claire before he faced his friend.

“You were right. In Nevis, I was after something. It was part of a treasure map.”

“So why didn't you say so when I asked?”

“Because Nate wanted it all for himself,” Claire said.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Nate growled.

“Don't I? Vincent already told me you've known each other six years. Why didn't you tell him about it before now? It's not as though you haven't been looking for it for the past eight years.”

Vincent looked struck. His eyes were huge in his face, but it wasn't Nate he turned to, it was Claire. The slight wasn't lost on Nate.

“What treasure are you talking about?”

“From the
Santa Francesca
,” Claire said.

“The
Santa Francesca
? She suffered a storm and ran aground nearly a hundred years ago!”

“Yes, but only
after
leaving Nombre de Dios with a treasure room full of silver, gold, and gems of every color.”

“And she was empty when she run aground. The treasure had already been moved to another ship,” Nate added, earning him another dagger from Claire's direction.

“That's legend talking,” Vincent said.

Claire shook her head, and the light caught the bruise that Sid's punch had left on her cheek.

“It's real.”

“But—”

“It's too late to get into all this tonight,” Nate interrupted.

“I'm not tired,” Vincent argued.

Nate sighed. No, Vincent didn't look tired. His brown eyes all but twinkled.

“Well, someone has to man the helm. Get some sleep, Vincent. In the morning, once the crew's about, we'll continue this conversation. In the meantime”—he turned to Claire—“I'll be having that map back and don't think I won't try to get it again just because Vincent's here.”

Her spine went straight as a mast. “I hope you rot in Hell.” Vincent's eyes almost popped from his head. “Jesus, what happened between you?”

“Nothing important,” Nate said, anxiousness skittering in his gut. He'd worked damn hard to keep his past where it belonged and he'd succeeded, dammit. He wasn't about to have it dissected now.

Claire's venomous gaze raked over Nate. Her eyes narrowed and her quick breaths told him just how angry she was. He remembered that, the fiery temper that went with her hair.

Vincent took a chair, plopped into it, his feet hovering above the floor. “Then you won't mind discussing it,” he said.

“Vincent, I'm needed on deck.”

“Go,” Vincent said with a wave of his hand, “but I'm not leaving. I've known something was going on, and only this afternoon you denied it. Now suddenly there's a treasure, a map, and a woman stealing into your cabin. Clearly the only way I'm ever going to get to the truth is to hear it from her.”

Claire suddenly smiled, though her eyes didn't warm at all. Hell, Nate thought a moment before she turned that smile on Vincent.

“I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

She glanced at Nate and raised her brows in challenge. She was relishing his uneasiness. And damned if he was going to let her see just how much he hated to have his past discussed. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, forcing his tight shoulders to shrug.

“You can talk all you want,
after
you give me back the map.”

Her eyes jumped from his to Vincent's, as though weighing her choices.

“You can have the map,” she countered, “
after
I talk to Vincent.”

Nate ran a tired hand through his hair. Vincent jumped off his chair, took hold of Nate's arm, and guided him to a corner. “Let me talk to her.”

“I don't trust her with that map.”

“Where can she go with it? Besides, you're not having much luck on your own.”

“I was,” he snarled, “before we were interrupted.”

Nate realized too late how that sounded and, to his horror, felt heat rise into his face.

“Well,” Vincent smiled, “I can be the one to leave if you think you'll fare better ...”

“I'll go. I'll rouse someone to take the helm for me while we get this sorted out.” He sighed. “Whatever she tells you,” Nate said quietly, feeling a little sick now that some of his past, a past he'd fiercely guarded, would be revealed, “stays in this cabin.”

For once Vincent didn't tease or badger. He nodded seriously. “It always would have.”

Nate nodded. What could he say? It was a little late for apologies. Besides, he reminded himself, Vincent couldn't divulge all of Nate's past because he didn't know it. Nobody did. The knot in his stomach eased. Nobody ever would.

“I won't be long.”

But once Nate was on deck, with the air cooling both his face and his temper, he didn't immediately go fetch a crew member. Instead he checked the horizon. It was too dark to see anything, Nate couldn't see if James was following but he changed his heading anyway when he took the helm. It was a habit he'd used over the years never to leave any port in the direction he really intended to go. It was always more prudent to head one way and then alter his course after he was away from watchful eyes.

Although that matter was easily taken care of, he knew sorting through his thoughts wouldn't be quite so simple. He was mad at her. Hell, the way she'd betrayed him those years ago, he had a right to be angry. And he knew, after following her onto his ship and clapping eyes on her backside, that there was lust there as well. What he hadn't realized, what he would have believed impossible, was that, after touching her again, after seeing the desire in her eyes, he still cared for her.

And hell if he knew what he should do about that.

Six

Vincent had every intention of honoring Nate's wishes. Whatever he learned tonight wouldn't go past his ears. Or more importantly, it wouldn't go past his ears and out his mouth. But he'd been with Nate for six years. He'd treasured every moment, every battle, every storm, and every long day bobbing on the still water. But in that time, he'd learned little of Nate.

Of course Nate was honorable and trustworthy. He was a damn fine sailor and an even better captain. He worked hard and talked little. It was the latter that drove Vincent crazy. He was used to chatter. He had five older sisters, and with his brother out of the house by the time Vincent was seven, Vincent had grown up with constant gossip and chatter.

And he'd loved it. There was always motion and energy around his sisters. He likened it to watching bees flit from flower to flower, never seeming to tire. But besides gossip, he'd learned respect, patience, and understanding from his sisters. They were skills that had served him well. Especially patience.

With Nate, he needed a lot of it. The man kept everything to himself. If it didn't have to do with the ship, the weather, or where they were headed to next, it was damn near impossible to hold a conversation with him. Where Nate was from, his family, and his birthday were all mysteries to Vincent.

There was one mystery about Nate that Vincent knew, however, but he wouldn't be telling Claire—or anyone else—about it. Three years ago Nate had become the illusive Sam Steele, feared captain of the
Revenge
. He'd taken over the title from Samantha Bradley, Blake's future sister-in-law, in order to protect her identity when someone suspected that she was, in fact, Steele.

Not that anyone knew for certain what Sam looked like—Samantha had made sure of that by letting a different member of her crew assume the role when they made port or attacked another ship. That way the pirate's true identity was never certain. It was a brilliant bit of thinking, and it was what had enabled Nate to assume the role and the reason he'd kept the same tradition.

By doing so he'd not only deflected any threats to Samantha, but he'd acquired a new ship, one built by Samantha and her husband, Luke Bradley. It wasn't just anybody who owned a Bradley ship, the fastest in the Caribbean.

But it wasn't divulging information about Nate that Vincent was after; it was gaining more.

“He won't get it, Vincent. I meant what I said.”

“Then, my dear, we have a problem. While I don't pretend to understand your past together, I do know Nate. If he doesn't want you to have it, he won't let you keep it.”

Claire sighed. She'd already presumed that. And Vincent was right—they had a problem. A big one. She peered at the little man who was watching her closely.

“He doesn't need this treasure, he has this ship. I need this treasure more than Nate does.”

“Be that as it may, it's as you said. This is his ship and it's his commands we follow.”

Claire leaned forward. “Just let me examine it. I haven't had a chance to yet. Once I've studied it, I'll give it to you.”

“Something tells me Nate wouldn't want that either.”