Emma Scott has vowed to see every pirate hanged, even if that means hunting them down herself. Then she “captures” Captain Jason Jennings.
He’s been warned of a pirate hunter called “The Rose,” but he’s stunned when he pulls her from the ocean after finding her adrift at sea. Can he resist her charms and avoid her trap? Or maybe he’ll weave a web of his own--one to keep the beauty forever at his side.
EXCERPT
“Skiff ahead, cap’n!”
Jason Jennings stared up at
the crow’s nest towering above. “Aye, I spot it.”
He’d been watching it for
sometime bobbing on the water with no direction. Curious, indeed. Ever cautious, he’d been waiting until they were
closer for a better look. It could have been a trap, although he’d spotted no
other ships on the horizon.
He lifted the spyglass to his
eye. A splash of blue lay in the bottom of the boat.
“What do you see inside?” he
called up to the sailor.
“Looks to be a body, cap’n.”
He shielded his eyes against the sun with his hand. The young man had the sight
of a hawk—sharp and unquestionable. “It be a woman, sir, from the look of it.”
Jason scanned the ocean in
all directions. Nothing. Still… “Any sign of another ship?”
“Not a one, sir, but I’m
keepin’ me eye out.”
“First sign of a sail, call
out.”
“Aye, cap’n.”
Jason turned to his first mate.
Wilbur Knott’s pale blue eyes never left the ocean. The skinny man was nervous,
with good reason. They were going home for good. No more privateering for them.
Henry Morgan’s arrest had thrown a scare into them. It was time to call it
quits while they were ahead and free. No telling what the English government
might do next to appease the Spanish queen. Jason didn’t want to be caught up
in the storm.
They’d been lucky so far, and
there was no reason to push it at this point. He and his crew had amassed a
substantial fortune over the years. Used wisely, it would keep them in good
stead the rest of their lives. And if Jason was anything, he was wise.
Following Morgan’s example, he’d bought prime land in Jamaica. His plantation,
though not the largest, was doing very well. He, his mother, and his sister
need never worry…as long as he made it to port safely. Lucky so far didn’t mean
lucky now. All of them—officers and crew—would hold their breaths until they
were home safely. No one wanted to jinx the ship by being cocky.
“Could be a trap,” Wilbur
finally said.
“That it could.” Jason peered
through the glass then passed it Wilbur’s way.
He wrapped his long, thin
fingers around it much like he would the hilt of his sword—strong and hard so
as not to lose it. Fear emanated from him. Jason didn’t blame him a bit.
They’d been friends for as
long as Jason could remember. Where Wilbur was thin, freckled, and blond, Jason
was stocky, tanned from hours in the sun, and had dark brown hair. They matched
each other in strength and devotion. It seemed right that Wilbur would soon be
his brother-in-law. All Jason had to do was get him back to Jamaica and Cynthia
in one piece. All he had to do was ignore the orphaned boat and the potential
threat inside. The question became—would his conscience let him?
He knew that answer…so did
Wilbur.
“Have the men stand ready.
Head toward it slowly. Make ready with the grappling hook. We’ll pull it
alongside first.”
“Wouldn’t launching a boat to
check it out make more sense?”
“If it’s a trap, I want no
man left off this ship. At the first sign of a threat or another ship, I want
the sails full and us on our way.”
Wilbur gave his assent with a
single nod and issued the order.
Tension made the crew silent,
watchful. Several adjusted the sashes around their shoulders where pistols were
tied for ready access. Jason did the same. Wilbur rested one hand on the hilt
of the shortsword in the scabbard by his side as he handed the spyglass back to
his captain with the other.
The snap of the sail was accompanied
by the slap of water against their hull as they drew closer. A gull’s screech
overhead split the silence. Several men jumped, reaching for weapons, then
relaxed when they saw there was no threat. No one laughed.
Jason drew up the glass,
focusing on the skiff. He could see her better now. She was a comely woman, her
shape, from what he could see with her face down, was the hour-glass figure
women—and men—longed for. Raven black hair lay in damp waves down her back. The
splash of blue looked to be a dressing gown. Matching slippers covered her
feet. Ropes of gold chains were tangled in her fingers. It was looking
suspicious despite the absence of other ships.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Wilbur
asked.
Jason frowned. “It’s
beginning to look like it. We’ll know shortly just how unconscious she really
is.”
Wilbur broke his gaze for the
first time since they’d seen the skiff, focusing a scowl on him. “And if not,
then what? Toss her overboard? That’d be just desserts for the likes of her.”
“Don’t be hasty, my impetuous
friend. After all, pirates do give us privateers a bad name.”
He snorted. “It’s not as
though she’s doing the Lord’s work, Jason. If that woman is The Rose—”
“Then we’ll just have to
convince her she’s got the wrong ship. We take her back to port and let her be
gone.”
“Easier said than done. If
that’s her—” He jerked his head toward the boat now being hooked. “—then she’s
after us.”
Jason was well aware of that.
The Rose had become legend during her short run in the Caribbean. Tales of the
exploits and cunning of the pirate hunter poured from the lips of every sailor.
And those tales grew grander each time Jason heard them—her beauty was
unmatched, her lips full and sweet like ripe cherries, the sweetness between
her thighs heaven. Many a pirate captain never regretted the noose that ended
their lives—after laying with The Rose, there was nothing else left but death
to experience. No woman could compare after her. With their last breath, each
whispered her name and died with a smile on his lips.
Fanciful, indeed. Jason
didn’t believe a lick of it. She might be beautiful, she was certainly cunning,
but the rest? And if she were that grand to bed, he wouldn’t mind a sample of
that himself. He wasn’t as easily led by the nose as her previous conquests.
“Still not a stir, cap’n,”
the sailor called up. “Should we haul ’er up?”
“She could be armed,” Wilbur
muttered beside him.
No doubt she was, but there
were at least two dozen men there. She couldn’t fight them all.
“With caution, Mr. Carson.”
The sailor nodded. Tossing a
rope ladder over the side, the man scrambled down as quickly as a monkey
through a tree. The skiff rocked with his weight when he lighted. Jason
monitored his progress over the rail. The woman didn’t stir, not even as he
tied the hoist to the ends. Either she was extremely accomplished at playing
dead or truly out…or, worse still, dead.
Now that would be a pity to have such a beauty lost to
the world.
Jason cleared his throat and
straightened his shoulders as he reined his wayward thoughts to a stop. Just
thinking of the tempting Rose sparked interest where it shouldn’t. That was her
biggest weapon—she used a man’s cock against him.
A dozen hands reached for the
skiff as it cleared the rail. The men hauled it onto the deck. She still hadn’t
budged. Carson rolled her over. Jason’s breath caught. She was a beauty. Her ivory complexion possessed a hint of pink in her
cheeks. Her lips were full, beckoning. The curve of her full breasts rose above
the low-cut dressing gown. A hint of cleavage invited exploration. The blue
gown spilled open at the bottom to reveal a creamy lace nightgown beneath.
His penis now pulsed hard
against his breeches. Jason wondered how many others…suffered. A quick glance
around revealed that nearly all did. Carson stared down at the woman, jaw
hanging, mouth agape. His grimy hand hovered just above her breast. A spot of
anger nudged its way to the forefront of Jason’s thoughts. If the man laid one
finger on her…
“Carson!”
Red-faced, the man jerked his
head up. “Aye, sir?”
“Is she alive?”
He glanced down. “Aye.” His
voice barely carried to the poop deck. He was too mesmerized by the rise and
fall of the woman’s chest.
“Time for a closer look,” he
said, more to himself than to Wilbur.
“Just make sure you guard
your throat,” his first mate mumbled as he followed Jason to the ladder leading
to the lower deck. “You might want to give heed to guarding your ballocks as
well.”
Jason ignored the caution. He
knew what he was about.
The men cleared a ready path
for the officers. As they neared the rowboat, Carson quickly relinquished his
spot to the captain. Jason stepped in, then squatted down beside the young
woman.
She was more beautiful up
close. Long, dark lashes lay feathered against her cheeks. Her lids didn’t
flutter, nor was there any movement beneath them. The slender thread of a
silver necklace draped around her neck and disappeared into her cleavage. Using
his forefinger, Jason tugged it free. A silver cross dangled from the end.
Small climbing roses were engraved upon it. Curiosity satisfied, he let it fall
gently onto her skin.
The hand sprawled above her
head was tangled in loops of gold chain. The other one, tucked against her
stomach, had a small pouch tied to the wrist. He weighed it in his palm—coins,
quite a few from the feel of it.
Her clothes and hair were
damp, but her lips were still moist and her skin not burned. Obviously, she
hadn’t been afloat that long. Jason opened one palm. No sign of injury, just
soft skin. Which meant the skiff was lowered to the water by someone else or it
was already down when she got in. She couldn’t have handled the ropes without
some wear on her palms—her hands were too delicate.
There was a familiarity about
her Jason couldn’t quite place. He put that down to all the stories he’d heard.
Mostly likely, an image of The Rose had already formed in his head. Tales told
had been very explicit in what she looked like. This woman bore a striking
similarity to that. If she wasn’t The Rose, she was her twin.
“Well, gentlemen, we should
probably get this lady out from the sun,” he finally said. “It would be a shame
to mar her lovely complexion with sunburn.”
“Or, heaven forbid,
freckles.” Wilbur scuffed his knuckles over his freckled chin.
Chuckles rumbled through the
men.
“Yes.” Jason smiled. “’Twould
be a sin. We’ll take her to my cabin.”
Carson stepped forward.
“Wants me to hoist ’er there, cap’n?”
He fought a snicker. “I think
I can manage the load. With someone ahead to open doors, we’ll have her settled
in next to no time. Someone fetch a pitcher of rain water. The fresher barrel.”
Carson dashed off to do so.
Jason slid his arms under her
shoulders and knees, rolled her weight to him, and stood. Her soft groan echoed
over the men, its sound almost orgasmic. His testicles tightened. If she was awake,
he applauded her timely ploy. She would most definitely feel his response
throbbing against her hip. No doubt she’d call it a minor victory, one that
would quickly lead to the capture of her bounty. He had a surprise in store for
her—The Rose had met her match.
If she was unconscious, the
small cry spoke of vulnerability. That affected him as much, if not more, than
an attempt at seduction. Protectiveness welled up inside him. He could easily
see himself, sword unsheathed before him, her behind him while he fought every
menace to keep her safe. And afterward, she’d throw herself into his welcoming
arms and drown him in her love.
Yes, he could see it all so
clearly—living with this beauty by his side, her laughing with Cynthia and his
mother, their beautiful children and grandchildren. They’d be the epitome of
Jamaican society, sought after for all the myriad of functions. Dressed in a
beautiful gown of rich blue, her hand on his sleeve—
“Captain?”
He snapped from his daydream.
“Just making sure I had a good hold.” The gold chains dangling from her fingers
slipped free. “One of you make sure those do not disappear. I want the lady to
leave this ship with her property in her possession.”
Taking care not to trip on
the edge of the boat, he stepped out and onward.
She was heavier than she
looked—a lot heavier. He found himself wishing he’d let Carson take her. But he
was stuck now. Giving her up at this point might be seen as a weakness. He
couldn’t afford to allow that to happen, even if this was their last trip.
After retrieving the gold,
Wilbur took the point, opening doors before Jason could reach them. Negotiating
the steps up to his cabin was a bit trickier. Somehow he managed, although he
was tempted to sling her over his shoulder. By the time he reached his narrow
bed against the wall, sweat trickled down his face and back.
He plopped her into the
center as Carson set a pewter pitcher of rain water on the wash stand.
“Anythin’ else, cap’n?”
“That will be all, Carson. We
can only wait now until she awakes and tells us how she came to be stranded.”
The man gave a nod and left.
Jason followed the sound of his footsteps down the steps, then stripped the
heavy wool waistcoat away and wiped his arm over his forehead.
“You all right?” The hint of
a smile tweaked Wilbur’s mouth.
Jason nodded. “Good God, she
weighs a ton!”
Wilbur laughed. “You’re just
getting weak in your old age.”
He had another suspicion, but
wasn’t going to voice that out loud. Not when he couldn’t determine the true
condition of the lady. “Are you certain she’ll be all right here?”
He studied the lady on his
cot. “I’ll lock the door. No one will bother her.” Which also meant, she
wouldn’t be able to leave. There was just one more thing Jason wanted to check.
“You go on. I’ll be with you shortly.”
“I’ll count on that or be
back to check on you.”
He appreciated the concern,
but he could handle one female—no matter how cunning. Forewarned was forearmed.
Jason wandered back to the
bed as the door clicked shut behind him. The lady lay sprawled where he’d
placed her, nestled in the feather mattress. From what he could tell, she
hadn’t moved one muscle. Now it was time to see just how unconscious she truly
was.
He untied the pouch from her
wrist. As he suspected, it was filled with gold and silver coins. He placed it
beside the chains on the washstand, then fingered the material of her dressing
gown. Silk. Very fine silk at that. He traced the line of tiny blue buttons
downward—into the valley of her breasts, over the flat of her stomach, beyond
the cleft of her thighs—until he reached the bottom. As he suspected, the hem
was weighted with more coins. The lady was fortunate—if she’d hit the water,
she would have sunk to the bottom from the treasure sewn into her gown. So her
dampness could be from water splashing into the boat or part of her guise of
shipwrecked lady. Jason opted for the latter, since her skin showed no sign of
having been exposed to the elements overly long. Unless he missed his bet, he
was certain he’d find a ship just over the horizon…if he looked…and he would
not.
“Well, the least we can do is
try to make you more comfortable.” He smiled down at the prone figure. Still no
movement.
He dropped his hand to the
buttons at her bosom; slowly he pushed each seed through its loop until he reached
her navel, then peeled the gown from her shoulders. Sliding his arm under her
waist, Jason lifted her enough to pull the gown down and off her arms. Her
night rail slipped with it, baring one shoulder.
He froze, fixated on the
sight of smooth, creamy flesh. He bet it was as soft to touch as her silk gown,
and he couldn’t resist. With the backs of his fingers he brushed across it.
Gooseflesh rose in the wake of his touch. Smiling, Jason glanced down. The
peaks of her breasts pressed their hard little noses against the sheer lawn
night rail. Dark circles shadowed beneath them, hinting at the pedestals upon
which they were placed.
Jason slowly lowered his
hand. He hovered above her breast, letting her heat waft around him, then
cupped it. The nipple nudged into his palm, into the core of his soul. His cock
was harder than he’d ever recalled it being. Logic tried to put that down to
his long abstinence and the forbidden nature of his attentions. That’s when he
saw it. A movement so slight he barely caught it in the periphery of his
vision—the lady swallowed…hard.
“Where are my manners?” he
said, fighting a victory laugh. “I’m taking liberties I should not.”
He laid her upon the bed and
continued to peel the dressing gown down. It stuck at her thighs. Jason ran his
hands over her hips, down her thighs, tugging at the material. That’s when he
felt the scabbard. The little minx was armed.
One final tug freed the gown.
He tucked it over a peg in the wall, then sat beside her.
“What do we have here?”
Liberties be damned, Jason
slipped his hands under her night rail. A leisurely stroll up her legs found
not one but two scabbards, one strapped to each shapely thigh. He shoved the
lacy lawn up for a closer look. One held a small dagger; the other a flintlock
pistol. From the delicate and pristine condition of her hands, he doubted she
had the skill or strength to use either. That wouldn’t stop The Rose from
trying. Her sheer bravado would convince a man otherwise.
Jason unbuckled both and let
them clunk to the wooden floor. That didn’t mean he had every weapon, though.
He’d heard of women, and men, who hid them in some unusual places. A
well-sheathed knife in a cylindrical container could easily be secreted. He
peeked at the nest of dark curls guarding who-knew-what. A lecherous grin
lifted one corner of his mouth. He couldn’t take the chance of being caught off
guard.
“Anything else…hidden, my
beauty?”
He felt her muscles tense
when his hand drifted to her puss, still she continued the ruse. Locking his
gaze onto her face, Jason parted her folds. Her jaw ticked, her breathing
caught, and moisture greeted him. He circled her entrance, spreading the
slickness as he tried to break her façade. He tested the way with a slow,
gentle thrust. Velvet walls of molten heat sucked him in.
By my blood! She’s tight!
And if she was The Rose, that
was one story tossed aside. It wasn’t possible this woman could be the strumpet
waylaying pirate captains and their crews right and left. She was no virgin, to
be sure, but her tight, slick passage showed she wasn’t well used. Knowing that
made Jason want her all the more…but not at the expense of a noose around his
neck.
He knew he should
withdraw—take her weapons and lock her inside the cabin. The pulse fluttering
at the base of her throat captured him. He inserted a second finger, pushing
deep and high. Her body quivered. The cherry at the point of her thighs swelled
against his thumb. Her chest rose and fell in short breaths she tried to hide.
He traced his thumb up one valley and down the other, carefully avoiding the
beckoning throb of her clitoris.
Jason wasn’t certain how much
longer he could play this game. His body ached to feel her naked flesh against
his. A starving man didn’t want food as much as he wanted his throbbing cock
encased in her heat. He’d learned what he wanted—she was no more unconscious
than he. It was her identity he questioned now. Yet why would a fully cognizant
innocent allow him to do what he was now doing?
He dared a brush against her
hooded guardian. A gasp tore from her throat. With reflexes of a viper, she
grabbed for the cross around her neck. Jason grabbed her wrists as she unseated
the hidden dagger. Using his weight to his advantage, he pressed her into the
bed before she could lash out with her feet. Violet eyes flashed fire at him.
Pinned beneath him, her chest stabbed into his with every heave for breath. He
hauled her hands over her head and twisted the dagger from her grip. One sling
hurled it across the small cabin. It pierced the far wall with a thunk, followed quickly by a clink.
Jason dared a glance in that
direction. The hilt had come loose. Thick liquid oozed from the hollowed out
core onto the floor. He jerked his gaze back to hers.
“For a pirate hunter, you
guard your virtue overly much.”
“Get off me,” she pushed out
through clenched teeth.
“Why? So you can have another
try at my throat?”
“What did you expect me to
do? Allow you to continue to violate me?”
Mad as she was, he rather
liked the feel of her nearly naked form molded to his. If he weren’t a gentleman…
“But you play dead so well,”
he said, smiling.
She narrowed her eyes. “And
had I not, I’d no doubt be at the mercy of your crew of cutthroats…”
“Rather than at mine?”
“If you intend to have your
way with me, do be done with it.”
Jason laughed. “No doubt that
would work well into your plan. You’d have me sated, then a knife at my throat
and a noose around my neck before I knew it.”
She actually had the nerve to
look puzzled.
“Don’t play coy with me,
miss. Your legend precedes you…Rose.”
“My name isn’t Rose.” Each
word came out with measured precision.
“Then it is…?” He lifted his
eyebrow while he awaited her response.
Her chin lifted in haughty
disdain. “Not your concern.”
“Very well. I’m done playing
games.” He yanked her night rail up.
She let out a squeal and
squirmed beneath him, aggravating his situation.
Sitting astride her hips,
Jason hauled the garment to her wrists. Wrapping them tight, he tied the
material over the peg just above the bed until she was helplessly and
hopelessly bound.
“Oh, please… Please, sir, do
not ravish me,” she begged.
He passed a gaze over her
exquisitely perfect figure. “One minute you ask me to get on with it, the next
beg me not to. What a contradiction.” He reached out to flick his forefinger
over her nipple.
She sucked in a gasp. Jason
smiled. One hand dove into her crotch while his lips covered her breast.
Another gasp arched her against him, followed by a soft mew when he suckled
deep. Fingers found their mark in her moist heat.
“Your name,” he said around a
mouthful of tit.
She shook her head.
He suckled again, circling
her maiden until it grew hard and pulsing against his fingers. She twisted
against him as if trying to get closer instead of trying to get away. He slid
his hand to her thigh and heard her barely muttered protest.
“Your name,” he demanded
again, alternately touching and withdrawing until she writhed in helpless
abandon beneath him. “Tell me.” He removed his touch once more.
“Emma,” she gasped out. “Emma
Scott.”
“Good girl.” He pushed
himself to his feet.
To her credit, she didn’t beg
him to finish her, though her need was clearly etched in her passion-clouded
eyes. He watched her breasts quiver and heave with her breath. She’d caught him
by the shorthairs and didn’t even realize it. Slowly, he released the beast in
his breeches. Her gaze widened when she saw it.
He expected her to fight him;
that would give him the excuse to stop and leave. Instead, he swore she
actually parted her thighs when he wedged himself between them. There wasn’t
even so much as a kick. Poised on the threshold of sweetness, he caressed her
cheek. She closed her eyes on a sigh that turned to a slow gasp when he seated
his cock deep inside.
Long legs wrapped around his.
She met him thrust for thrust, her walls clutching and contracting. He felt her
tense, hovering on the threshold of completion, and rubbed hard. Her release
triggered his. It shot through him with a fire all its own, and he knew she
truly could have killed him now because he’d definitely reached heaven.
