Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (24 page)

Grace wriggled, snuffled, and settled within his arms. For a woman determined to spend her life without a husband, who claimed a man would only confine her, she had no aversions to being held. It gave him something to think about.

But her wriggling had given him something else to think about as well.

Easing her hair aside, Cale nuzzled her neck. He didn’t know how it was possible, since he’d never been to Ireland, but when he smelled the sweetness of her skin, he pictured emerald green hills and Grace running over them, her black hair flying out behind her. Everything in the vision was vibrant, just as Grace was.

“Hmm.” Grace tipped her head, curled her fingers into his scalp.

He slid his hand to her breast. At the first stroke her nipple puckered.

His hand moved to her other breast; his fingers closed over the rigid nipple and his tongue swept behind her ear. He kissed her jaw, her cheek, drew her shift over her shoulder and kissed the heated skin. Grace turned, her mouth hungrily seeking his. He happily obliged, laying claim to her lips as he eased her onto her back.

He kissed her until they were breathless, until her hips rose, rubbed against his. Down her neck, across her breasts. He pressed a tender kiss onto her belly and the healing sutures before sliding lower. He pulled her shift up, helped her out of it and then shucked his trousers.

She was as beautiful in dawn’s light as she’d been by moonlight and he stared at her, savoring the image of her hair fanned over his pillow, her skin flushed and her eyes drunk with desire.

She was stunning and until they reached Santo Domingo she was his. His, he thought, as his mouth started its journey up her body, lingering over every curve and dip. His, he thought again when their mouths joined in an endless kiss, when she raised her hips and welcomed him within her.

His, he chanted silently with each thrust, each moan he brought to her lips, each beat of his thumping heart against hers. Each breath they shared.

When she arched, when she melted for him and around him and he poured his life within her, he gathered her close and wondered how in blazes he’d ever be able to let her go.

R
oche skimmed the
blade of his knife over his prisoner’s throat. He used just enough pressure to draw a thin line of blood and a terrified whimper from his captive. Later, after he had what he needed, he’d have himself more fun.

“You wouldn’t be lying now, would you?”

“No! Why would I?”

“To keep me from slitting your throat. Right. Now.”

“I told you the truth!” the man named Isaac cried, shuddering as Roche turned the knife and made another pass across his neck. “I want him to pay as much as you do!”

“Do you now?”

“He chose a whore over his own crewman. He humiliated me and marooned me, left me to die. I have no loyalty to him.”

“Hmm.” Roche pretended to consider the validity of Isaac’s words but in truth he believed him. After all, they had found him naked and alone on the beach and Roche hadn’t said whom he was after until after Isaac told him who’d marooned him. But why tell the sap? It was more amusing to scare him.

“And he’s heading for Santo Domingo?”

“Yes, but not the main harbor. I told you I’d show you where he was going.” Despite still being naked, sweat trailed alongside Isaac’s hairline.

“Why take you along when you can tell me now and save me feeding another mouth for the next two days?”

“Because I’ve been there; I know the lay of the land and I’ve been inside the house. If Steele is going to hide Grace there, I can help find her.”

“Well, Isaac, looks as though you’ve just bartered passage to Santo Domingo.”

He didn’t promise the man more and he wouldn’t. Far as Roche was concerned, Isaac’s value ended there.

*

“Damnation, I said
I was fine!” Pockets yelled.

Cale winced sympathetically as Jacques set aside the bowl of blood-tinged water and, ignoring his crewmate’s curse, poured rum over Pockets’ wound. The man snarled. The three of them were in Cale’s cabin, with Pockets face down on the table.

“I had to get the sand out.” Jacques cut a long strip of cloth, wrapped it snugly around Pockets’ leg. Then the doctor turned to Cale. “It won’t stop bleeding if he keeps standing on it.”

“I can do my work,” Pockets grumbled. He tugged his trousers up his skinny legs and fastened them with a length of rope.

Knowing a man’s pride was a sensitive thing, Cale treaded carefully. “I know you can,” he agreed. “But you’re far too valuable to me to risk infection or gangrene. You’ll work,” he promised, setting a hand on Pockets’ shoulder. “But you’ll do it on my terms.”

Pockets skewered Jacques with a vicious glare. It was only mildly tempered when he looked to his captain. “I won’t polish your boots.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But the pistols and muskets need cleaning. I’ll have Aidan prepare you a work area and gather the weapons. With us under way, so long as there aren’t any visible threats, it’s an opportune time.”

“Smoky is the master gunner. He’s never needed help before.”

“He won’t be helping you. You’ll be doing it yourself. He’ll be taking your duties.” Cale crossed his arms, silently telling Pockets his order wasn’t up for debate. “Now, where do you want Aidan to set up your worktable, on deck or below?”

*

He’d never had
a day at sea like this one. He felt as light as the webs of clouds drifting through the sky and strong as the wind snapping the sails. With his hands in firm control, his ship cut through the water like a hot knife through butter. His crew was working hard without squabbles and Grace was sitting close. He felt her stare when she thought he wasn’t paying attention but he was always paying attention. He hadn’t felt this aware, this alive, in years.

It lifted his pride to know she was thinking of him, to see her hurriedly shift her eyes when he looked her way. Later, when she’d said she was tired and wanted a rest, Cale told Paddy he could take the cook’s turn watching over Grace as Aidan loved the extra opportunity to man the helm. Cale pretended to write in his journals until she was asleep and as soon as she was, he leaned back in his chair and watched her.

She had a lovely mouth and her dark brows and lashes were striking against her porcelain skin. He relived every touch of the previous night, tempting himself with memories of her satiny flesh filling his hands, her scent surrounding him. Of holding her as they’d slept.

Holding someone he cared about, sharing his body and his deepest pain, had helped him remember the best parts of the life he’d had. Of the man he’d been.

The irony wasn’t lost on Cale. Where at first he hadn’t wanted Grace aboard, he was now lamenting the thought of not having her there.

He was considering just what it meant and if he was prepared to do something about it when her lashes fluttered open and those moss green eyes locked onto his.

“You didn’t sleep very long.”

“’Tis a hard thing to do when you’re being watched.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, though in truth he wasn’t very remorseful. Her being awake kept him from his turbulent thoughts and the realization that, if he did nothing, his time with her would soon end.

“Ah, well, ’tisn’t as though I was having a peaceful sleep.”

Which explained why the shadows remained under her eyes. “I noticed you tossed and turned a lot.”

“I did?”

“And I believe you’re the only person I know who hums in their sleep.”

She sat up. “I do not.”

“Actually you do. You did last night last as well.”

At the mention of last night, Grace ducked her head. She propped the pillows against the wall and settled against them. Once she was comfortable, she avoided eye contact and instead plucked at the hem of his shirt.

“What has you troubled?”

“I’m ashamed.”

Cale ran a hand over his beard. Well, he wasn’t entirely surprised. After they’d made love, she’d said she didn’t regret it and he’d been relieved. He’d also worried she may change her mind. Apparently she had.

“You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. If anyone should be sorry, it’s I. You’ve only just escaped Roche’s abuse. It was much too soon to think you were ready for making love. I’m sorry, Grace. I should have known better.”

“Cale.” She sighed. “This is exactly what I be meaning.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand. You’re ashamed because I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m ashamed I’m not the person you are.”

“Grace—”

“No, listen to me. You’ve lived through your share of hell, same as I. Yet you carry this undying love inside for your wife and son, you take care with your crew.” She glared at him, daring him to argue. He kept his mouth shut. “I all but beg you to take me body and yet you take responsibility for it.”

Her voice cracked and it took everything in him to stay at the table, when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and promise her everything.

“You take responsibility for everything, be it your fault or not, while all I’ve done is put the blame on others. I’ve been selfish and childish and ’tisn’t a nice realization.”

He hated seeing her blame herself for anything. Far as he could see, she’d been a victim of terrible circumstances and she’d kept her head and survived despite the odds. He stood, grabbed a chair and set it beside the berth.

“Grace, what Roche did to you was his doing and you’re blameless.”

“Ah, if only. Do you know how I came to be on Roche’s ship?”

He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know, but she spoke before he could answer and her voice trembled with emotion.

“I was so angry when da surrendered us and we were forced to leave our homeland and Colin’s grave. For years, through the voyage to Montserrat and the miserable years of indenture I didn’t speak to him unless I had to. Me mother tried to be the bridge between us, but I was as angry at her for willingly going with me da. Our life was misery and I blamed them.”

She bowed her head.

“The very day we were free from our indenture and I thought perhaps things would be right again, me parents announced they had no intention of trying to return to Ireland. They would make a life in Montserrat, they said. Whatever they earned would be put to use to use building a new life, not trying to go back. I was so angry, so disappointed. Going back was the only thing that had sustained me through the misery of fourteen-hour days in the fields. I told them they were quitters and that I was ashamed of them. That Colin would be ashamed of them.

“I didn’t say goodbye. All I said was I going back where I belonged. I was at the harbor, asking any and all captains if I could work for passage to Ireland.” She shook her head. “Stupid, I was. Roche, of course, agreed to take me and I soon learned…” She raised her haunted gaze to Cale. “He had no intention of taking me anywhere. So, yes, being on Roche’s ship was me own stupid fault.”

“Maybe your anger and bitterness led you to Roche’s ship, but you are blameless for what he did to you.”

“Why couldn’t I see it, Cale? I should have seen all along me da was doing what he thought was right, was doing what needed to be done to keep us alive.” She shook her head. “Paddy was right. Had we stayed and attempted to fight we’d have been killed. But I didn’t want to see that. All I knew was everything I’d known was taken away and instead of blaming Cromwell and his damn army, I blamed me da.

“And for the twelve years we were worked on the plantation I continued to punish him and me mother. For what? For loving me enough to want to keep me alive?” She pressed her eyes closed, squeezing out a tear.

Cale leaned over and gently wiped it away. He hated the hollow look in her eyes when she looked at him.

“I blamed them for everything, for leaving Ireland, for our misery in Montserrat, and for Roche when, in truth, they were protecting me as best they could, and if I hadn’t been so stubborn, childish, and full of resentment, I’d never have walked into Roche’s filthy hands.

“I was wrong and I’ve wasted so much time. And yet it wasn’t until I met you and saw how you’ve shouldered everything yet remained a caring, giving man that I saw me own shortcomings.”