Pirate Wolf Trilogy (81 page)

He moved
forward slowly, setting the tray and jug down on the desk. She said
nothing, she just watched him and twirled the end of the quill
against the soft pout of her lip.

It was
such a small thing. A feather dusting her lip. But then he saw
where a dark curl of hair rested over her breast. From there, it
was a graceless slip down to stare at the crease in her breeches at
the top of her thighs. He felt another bead of sweat trickle down
his temple and before he could even reason with himself, he was
standing beside her,
reaching down and pulling her up into his arms.

She could have
stopped him with a word, but she didn’t. She could have resisted,
could have pushed him back and flailed him for the audacity, but
she was too busy opening her mouth and taking the heat of him
inside. She flung her arms around his neck and uttered a soft,
throaty moan as his tongue lashed her mouth. Her fingers clawed
into his hair so that even if he had wanted to, he could not have
pulled away until she had had her fill.

Varian’s hands
went to her waist and tugged at the fastenings of her breeches.
When they were unlaced, he pushed them down over her hips then ran
his hands everywhere the moleskin had been—around the swell of her
buttocks, over the flat plane of her belly, down into the warm nest
of soft curls. He ran his fingers between her thighs and groaned
into her mouth when he felt how sleek and slippery-wet she was. He
stroked again and this time found the source of all that heat and
moisture, curving his finger up and thrusting it deep enough that
she gasped and shuddered in his arms.

Without
unmolding his mouth from hers, he lifted her and sat her on the
edge of the desk. He managed to pull off one boot and one leg of
her breeches before he reached a shaking hand down to the
fastenings at his own waist. The laces were not fully loosened
before he was sweeping the top of the desk clear behind her and
easing her back onto the wood. He breached her hard and fast, each
thrust winning a cry of pleasure from her lips. Her legs went
around his waist and she kept him locked tightly in her embrace
until they were both straining and clutching each other through a
mutual and stunningly prolonged climax.

He did not stop
after the first flush of ecstasy, nor even the second. At some
point he tore off her other boot and cast her breeches to the
floor, and they moved from the desk to the chair. She sat astride
his lap while his hands roved beneath her shirt and started the
incessant throbbing between her thighs again. A small shift of
weight forward and he was there, thick and hard, stretching up
until she gasped and clawed his shoulders and could not
breathe.

“You are
acquiring some bad habits, your grace,” she whispered. “You have
learned to take without asking.”

His mouth
nuzzled deeper into the curve of her throat and his answer was
muffled. She didn’t care anyway. She only laughed and arched her
neck and felt him move inside her again, her body silky and lush
with the overflow of their passion.

He lifted his
mouth from her shoulder and watched the pleasure streak across her
face, wondering why... when he had ever thought her anything less
than beautiful. Her eyes, her nose, her mouth—especially her mouth
when it was trembling around a disbelieving cry—they were what had
conspired to keep him restless and unable to sleep for eight days
and nights alone on Pigeon Cay.

“There?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Dear Christ,
yes.”

The shaky
whisper of breath on his cheek made him smile, made his flesh pulse
within her. She melted forward against his chest, but there was
nothing she could do. He was in control. Her feet hung several
inches off the floor and with nothing to give her leverage, she was
at his mercy... for once. He tightened his hands around her waist
and held her until she stopped squirming, then skimmed his fingers
down to cradle her bottom again.

When she was
able, she opened her eyes and glared into his.

“You will pay
for that,” she promised.

“The coin will
be well spent,” he murmured, his fingertips starting to roam in
places that had her curling her lower lip between her teeth. A
whimper brought her head forward so that her brow touched his chin
and this time when he surged insider her, she groaned.

“Is it because
I bested you with the sword? Are you determined to prove yourself
superior with a blade of another kind?”

He laughed, low
and soft. “If you had this kind of blade, madam, I would gladly
concede without ever testing it.”

“You will
concede anyway,” she hissed quietly. “I will have you on your knees
begging, damn you. I’ll—”

The knock on
the door cut off whatever she was about to say and she froze.

“Cap’n, you in
there?”

It was Johnny
Boy.

“Cap’n?”

“What is it?
I’m... I’m busy.”

Varian’s eyes
narrowed. He slid his hands up to her waist and exerted just enough
downward pressure to win a shivered curse from between her
lips.

“Mr Crisp sent
me down to fetch the chart.”

“Wh-what chart,
dammit?”

“He says we’ll
be passin’ Crooked Isle before the glass runs out an’ he had a
thought that he might like to know where the shoals lie.”

Juliet released
her breath in a frustrated hiss against Varian’s throat."I have to
get it for him. He won’t go away unless I do.”

Varian
relented. He lifted her enough that she could climb off his lap,
but he kept his hands around her waist until her legs steadied
beneath her.

“Just a
minute,” she said loudly. “I’m fetching the damned chart.”

She walked
quickly around the desk and crouched down to search amongst the
rolls of parchment that had been scraped to the floor earlier. She
found the chart and padded barefoot to the door, glancing back once
before she opened it just enough to push the roll through.

“Here it is.
Tell Mr. Crisp I’ll be up on deck directly.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”
The boy tipped his head and tried to see behind her, but she closed
the door with a firm slap and threw the bolt. She waited, her head
and hands pressed to the wood, but it was several moments before
she heard the telltale sound of Johnny Boy’s peg thumping away.

Even so, she
couldn’t move. Her legs were trembling, her thighs were running
with pearly wetness and the breath rasped hotly in her throat.

A glance
told her he had not moved, not any part of him. He was still taut
and full, his
flesh
quivering like his sword when she had driven it into the deck.
Nothing moved except his eyes and they were inviting her back,
promising she could take what she wanted with or without asking.
She was not even aware of her feet touching the floor as she
returned. She took the hand he held out to her and let him bring
her back where she belonged, settling over him without a moment to
spare.

The orgasm was
shattering and intense, no more no less so than any other had been
in his arms, and yet it was different. It had no beginning, and
when it rushed through her, it had no end. The flood of sensations
just seemed to recede for a time, knowing that another look,
another touch would bring the tide flowing through her again.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

From a
strategic point of view, New Providence was ideal for privateers
and pirates alike. The entrance to the harbor was protected by an
island that allowed two ways in and out, making it impossible to
blockade with anything less than a fleet of warships. The hills
behind the beach provided an expansive view of the horizon, giving
lookouts plenty of time to issue a warning if hostile sails came
into view, plus an ideal vantage point to spot merchant ships that
were weaving their way through the island chain. Less than a
hundred yards from shore there was a tangled jungle of tropical
vegetation where an entire crew could vanish within minutes and
never be found by pursuers. While there were no permanent
structures erected, the beach was transformed overnight into a city
of tents, with canvas sails strung over spars stuck into the
sand.

The island was
also the ideal base for launching attacks against merchant ships
travelling from the New World to the Old, in particular the Spanish
galleons that had been using the Florida Straits as a main route to
the Atlantic since Columbus had first discovered land. Even those
who chose a different avenue were fair game, for the island lay
within a few hours sail from the Providence Channels, and the Mona
Passage. Between one route and the next, there were thousands of
low, sandy cays where a stalking ship could hide and pounce on its
victim without warning, which was why vessels often banded together
for protection, and why the rich treasure fleets were escorted by a
small armada of warships.

Varian
was on deck as the
Iron Rose
sailed
toward the mouth of New Providence harbor. As stimulating as the
approach to Pigeon Cay had been, this was less blood-pounding by
comparison but equally as intriguing, for there were easily more
than twenty ships anchored in the bay. Lookouts posted on the outer
island had obviously recognized Simon Dante’s silhouette and
pennons. They waved and shouted hails across the water, curious to
know about the Spanish galleon in their midst, a sight which filled
the decks of every ship and brought men down onto the beach by the
droves.

Ever a
cautious man, Dante had elected to leave the
Tribute
, the
Valor
,
and the
Santo
Domingo
cruising
offshore with the
Christiana
, but
there was no mistaking the enormity of the warship, even at a
distance. Jonas and Geoffrey Pitt were on board the
Avenger
, Gabriel
was sailing in with Juliet though he was politic enough not to
crowd his sister’s quarterdeck while the ship was maneuvering into
port.

He was, in
fact, standing beside Johnny Boy in the waist of the ship, laughing
and whooping along with the rest of the crew as the lad tied small
molded cartridges packed with charcoal, lampblack and copper
filings to the tip of an arrow, lit the fuse and launched the
missile up into the sky. When the arrow reached the top of the arc,
the packet exploded, sending a fountain of burning blue sparks
showering over the water. The rockets were sent up in response each
time one of the other privateers fired their bowchasers by way of
greeting the new arrivals.

When several
dozen arrows had been spent, Johnny Boy slung the longbow over his
shoulder and happily caught the coins some of the men flipped at
him for the show. Gabriel’s contribution was gold, accompanied by a
pat on the tousled head before he sauntered over to join Varian by
the rail.

“I was not
aware the longbow was a favored weapon so far south of English
forests.”

Gabriel hooked
a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the quarterdeck. “Jolly
thought it was something the lad could handle. Muskets and
arquebuses are too heavy, too cumbersome to load and fire with just
one leg. He is adept with a dagger and is able to throw one with
the skill of a gypsy. But when he fit the bow to his hand, it was
like fitting a woman’s breast to the palm. In a matter of weeks he
could shoot an arrow from one end of the ship to the other without
taking out anyone’s eye. Nog assisted in the endeavour by making
him a special bow, sized down for his height and weight. After
that, well, he was unstoppable. And there is, of course, a more
practical side to the skill—aside from displays of flying sparks.
Arrows can carry a pitch-soaked fireball to an enemy’s sails from
three hundred yards out, and with Johnny Boy sighting the target,
can strike to within a finger’s width of where it is aimed.”

Varian glanced
at the boy, who looked hardly old enough to have acquired such
skills, much less that he should have been faced with the need to
learn them.

“Are you well
rehearsed for your role, your grace?” Gabriel asked, his eyes
scanning the beaches, the surrounding hills.

“As ready as I
can be with forged documents and a lie on my tongue.”

Gabriel smiled.
“Ah, but they are excellent forgeries you must admit, and your
tongue seems smooth enough to have already taken you places that
few men have dared to go before. Mind, you do not seem to heed
warnings very well, do you?”

Varian kept his
gaze trained on the forest of swaying masts that filled the harbor
and refused to acknowledge the barb. Juliet had insisted on some
degree of discretion throughout the past two days, although it
seemed from the moment they had emerged from her cabin that first
morning, the entire ship’s crew was aware of their transgressions.
Gabriel Dante had been on board less than half an hour and it was
apparent that he had already been informed that their afternoon in
the cavern had not been the end of it.

The golden eyes
were not going to relent and Varian braced himself to meet them,
but won a moment’s grace as Juliet came up behind them.

“What are you
two plotting?”

She was dressed
in her black doublet and breeches. The black cape with the scarlet
lining was as striking as the whiteness of the ruffles on her
shirt.

“We were just
discussing how truly handsome you look, Captain,” Gabriel said,
bowing over her gloved hand. “And... dare I say it?... happy. There
seems to be a bloom in your cheeks these days and a wicked
liveliness in your step. Indeed, I fear for the safety of Van
Neuk’s manhood if he attempts to pinch your rump tonight.”

“Faith, he has
been trying to pinch it since I was eleven.”