something pretty and stylish, but either her hair was
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recalcitrant or she had no talent with hair styling.
Perhaps if she tried securing it up…
“I’m only going to take it down again.”
She jumped and whirled. Bastien stood inside the
cabin. The door was closed behind him, and she
had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Her
instincts must be failing her because she hadn’t even
heard him come in.
“I-I was trying…” She couldn’t think of the words.
He was too handsome, and the way he was looking at
her seared her body, rendering her temporarily unable
to think. Devil take it, she could barely stand. She
wanted to dissolve into a puddle on the floor.
He crossed to her, lifted a hand to her cheek, and
carefully undid all her hard work, loosening her hair
so it fell in a cascade down her back. With both hands
he fanned it out then leaned in and inhaled deeply. He
gave her a roguish smile. “Still smells like cherries.”
“No, it doesn’t. It smells like salt water and—”
“Shh.” He put a finger to her lips. “Just now, were
you trying to make yourself beautiful for me?”
She felt heat and color flood her face. “No.”
“You don’t have to. I already think you’re the most
beautiful woman in the world.”
More heat and color flooded her face. “I told you
foolish flattery doesn’t impress me.”
“It’s not flattery. It’s the truth. Look into my eyes.”
He took her chin between two fingers and forced her
to look into his eyes. “Do you see the truth there?”
She did see the truth, and it stunned her. How
could he possibly think her the most beautiful woman
in the world? She was far from it, especially dressed in
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baggy men’s clothing and feeling as though she were
half asleep on her feet.
“But do you know how you could be more beautiful?”
She was about to shake her head; instead, she
frowned. “Take off my clothes?”
He grinned. “How did you know?” His fingers
hooked around the belt she wore and tugged her to
him. He loosened the belt, and she heard it drop with
a clink on the floor. “I would have thought you”—he
took her shirttail in one hand while he undid the
buttons at her throat with the other—“would be able
to follow orders.”
“I’m not one of your crew,” she said as he drew
the shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything
beneath and had to fight the urge to cover her breasts.
“Much to my regret.” He looked as though he
might cup her breasts, but his hands moved to the
breeches and slid them easily over her hips. She wasn’t
wearing anything beneath the breeches either. “You’d
be the most valuable crew member I had—in here or
on deck.”
She stood naked now—feeling vulnerable and
hardly like the most beautiful woman in the world—
but then he reached out and caressed her cheek. He
leaned close, kissed her lips tenderly, and suddenly
she felt beautiful again. His hands brushed over her.
They traced her shoulders, molded to her arms, slid
down to her waist, cradled her hips, skimmed over her
bottom… and stayed.
“Mmm,” he said into her neck. “Turn around.”
“You can’t kiss me if I turn around.”
“Oh, no? Try and see.”
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He turned her, and his hands came around her
waist, pulled her bottom hard against his erection. She
felt the tickle of her hair as he moved it away from
her neck, then the softness of his lips as he nuzzled
her. Meanwhile, his hands were free to roam. They
circled her waist before moving to test the weight
of her breasts. Finally, his fingers found her nipples.
He teased them until they strained and peaked, until
she was practically thrusting them into his hands.
She could hear her breathing, heavy and hard, but
she didn’t start moaning until one hand slid between
her legs.
He teased her there, sliding fingers in and out and
around, all the time flicking her nipple with two
fingers and tracing his tongue along her earlobe. She
shivered and cried out, wanted to turn into him, make
him sink himself into her.
But he had other ideas. When she tried to turn, he
shook his head, bent her over the bed. The fingers
between her legs never stilled, but she heard him
rustle with his clothing then felt his flesh against her
bottom. He parted her legs with his own—kicked
them apart—and she felt him warm and solid at her
entrance. He slid into her, his fingers still working
their magic as he thrust inside her.
Her body didn’t know which way to move. She
wanted him deeper inside her and wanted his fingers
to move faster. She bucked and writhed, and he
continued the sweet torture.
Finally he cupped her, pressed and thrust hard into
her at the same time. With a shout, she exploded,
rearing back and arching. He caught her, tumbled
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with her onto the berth, and rolled her into his arms.
Before she could think, could breathe, he was kissing
her again. Her senses were overwhelmed, her body on
fire. She didn’t think it could burn any brighter, but
the harder he kissed her, the more he stroked her, the
more she wanted him again.
He pulled her on top of him so she was straddling
him, and it took no persuasion on his part for her to
take him inside again. She needed relief. Again.
She reared back as his hands cupped her hips, held
her locked against him. He moved with her, and just
before her world went white again, she felt his release.
Before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she
heard his breathing change as he fell asleep beside her.
She smiled and thought, thank God. She was begin-
ning to think he wasn’t human.
She awoke sometime later. She wasn’t certain how
much time had passed, as the cabin was still dark. But
she was cold, and she fumbled for the bedclothes, pulled
them around her. She blinked, looked around the
darkness. Bastien was dressing, slowly and quietly, but
deliberately. She watched him don a plain white shirt.
“No lace?” she murmured.
He turned to grin at her. “A battle is no time for a
fashion statement.”
She sat. “Have they spotted La Sirena?”
“No, but we’re getting close. Dress and come on
deck. I could use a g
ood pair of eyes and ears.”
She blinked, more flattered by the plain words than
all the compliments about her beauty hours before.
She didn’t even think he realized how much his simple
trust in her affected her. She felt strong and powerful,
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as though she could have single-handedly defeated
Bonaparte. Her heart swelled, and she felt… beautiful.
When she didn’t rise immediately, he turned back
to her. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said. But she felt her heart constrict in
a way she had never felt before—not even with Timothy.
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Thirteen
This was it, Bastien thought. This was his last
chance. He would destroy Jourdain or be destroyed.
The cat-and-mouse games would end today.
He stood on the bow of the ship and trained the
spyglass back and forth over the horizon. Jourdain was
out there. He could feel the man’s presence in the
prickle on the back of his neck. It was an hour before
dawn, and Bastien had ordered the Shadow silent and
dark. Now he could hear the creak of the ship’s bow
as it plowed through the water, the slap of the wind
through the sails, and the hitch in the breathing of the
woman who stood beside him.
He lowered the spyglass and turned to Raeven.
She was peering through a second glass, but she
held it steady and sure, no longer sweeping it across
the water.
“You’ve found him,” Bastien murmured low and
close to her ear. He knew even the smallest sounds
could travel across the open water. He smelled the
faintest scent of cherries before she lowered the glass
and turned to him.
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“There,” she whispered. “Three points off the
starboard bow. I think I see a light.”
Bastien nodded and lifted his spyglass. If anyone
but Raeven had reported seeing a light, Bastien
would have been skeptical. Jourdain was no fool.
Surely, he’d ordered his men to maintain silence and
darkness as a precaution.
But there were always mistakes. One mistake could
cost a captain a battle. One traitor could mean destruc-
tion for all aboard. Bastien hoped the bastard, whoever
he was, showed himself today. He’d send both
Jourdain and his traitor to the bottom of the ocean.
He gripped the spyglass tighter and stared long and
hard at the flickering light. The ship and the water
moved, hiding the light then teasing him with a
quick glimpse. He lowered the spyglass, looked at Mr.
Maine behind him. Maine’s lips were tight, his jaw
clenched. Probably unhappy at having to give up his
glass to Raeven. “Order Mr. Khan to maintain course,
and make sure the men are at battle stations. Silently.
I want the element of surprise as long as possible.”
“Yes, Captain.” He moved quickly to carry out the
orders, and Bastien turned back to the ocean before
him. He had Jourdain now. At the end of the day, one
of them would be dead.
“Raeven,” he whispered. She’d been looking after
Mr. Maine, and Bastien could see he’d startled her out
of some reverie.
“Don’t tell me to go to your cabin,” she said
immediately. It unnerved him how she could read his
thoughts at times. “I won’t sit and hide while men
fight and die around me. I can fight too.”
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He’d seen that on the gun deck, and he was short
gunners. But firing a cannon was hard, exhausting
work. Even with the best of intentions, she wouldn’t
be able to maintain the strength and stamina to fire as
quickly and effectively as he needed. But he had to find
a job for her to do. A safe— safer—task. He could not
have said why, but he wanted to protect her more than
he cared about protecting himself. Of course, logically
he knew if he was killed, she would fare no better. But
the woman had defied logic more times than he could
count. He wouldn’t be surprised if she singlehandedly
destroyed Jourdain and took over La Sirena.
But she had to survive to do so.
“How are you at sharpshooting?”
She blinked, surprised. “I’m a fair shot. I’m better
with a sword and dagger.”
“I’ll expect you to have my back when we board
La Sirena.” He’d been joking, but she nodded soberly.
“You’ll need someone to cover your back. I’ll go to
your cabin now and retrieve my sword. Do I see Mr.
Castro about a rifle?”
Bastien grinned. “Can you manage a rifle? You
might do better with a pistol. I still have one of my
Samuel Brunn flintlocks secured in my desk.”
“I know. I’ve seen them.”
They were in a locked drawer then locked again
inside a hand-carved wooden box. He was the only
one with the key, and he carried it on his person at
all times.
Of course she had seen the pistols.
“Not that you need this.” He handed her the key.
When she took it, their hands brushed, and even
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with his mind and body tense with anticipation of the
battle, he stiffened at the flash of heat unleashed when
their hands touched. “I’ll see you after the battle.”
She grinned. “You’ll see me in the thick of it.” On
tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “For luck.”
And then she was gone, and he was standing among
his men, most of whom were trying to pretend they
hadn’t witnessed the last exchange. Bastien raised the
spyglass again, feeling for the cutlass hanging at his
side, the pistol tucked into his waistband.
He was ready.
Raeven was ready. She had the second of Bastien’s
beautifully engraved and embellished pistols in her
pocket, her dagger strapped to her thigh, and her
sword hanging at her hip. The weight of it was
comforting. She’d missed it. She was making her way
to the mizzenmast. She’d position herself there and
hopefully take out some of La Sirena’s topmen. Fewer
men manning his sails meant it would be harder to
maneuver the ship away from Bastien’s advances.
She turned as she made her way across the deck
and spotted him standing on the poop deck. Her heart
lurched as she saw the first gray fingers of dawn behind
him. In another hour they’d be visible to La Sirena.
But right now, they were cloaked and had the essential
element of surprise. Her heart pumped fast and not just
from the anticipation of the battle.
Bastien stood with solid legs braced
apart, black
boots firmly set on deck. His black breeches were
tight, and she saw the glint of steel at his hip. His hands
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rested surely on his hips just below his white shirt,
which was open at the neck. His face was grim, his jaw
set. His cobalt eyes burned as they looked out over the
ocean, and his long brown hair had been caught back
by the wind.
Her heart felt as though a fierce wind had caught
it, turned it, and tumbled it around. She didn’t know
when it had happened or how, but she was in love
with Bastien…
Devil take it! She didn’t even know his real
surname. How could she be in love with a man when
she didn’t even know his full name? It was another
sign she’d gone mad. But then hadn’t she been mad
the first time she’d seen him? Hadn’t she fallen in
love with him the first time they’d crossed swords?
It was only now, when she knew she might not see
him again, she could admit to herself the true depth
of her feelings.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t tell
him. Even if they won the day, it didn’t mean their
relationship changed. They were enemies. He was a
pirate, and she was the daughter of a British admiral—
an admiral who was probably hot on his heels at this
moment. He’d have another battle on his hands very
soon if he didn’t rid himself of her. And a sloop against
a man-of-war stood no chance. Bastien might try to
outrun her father, but in the end, the Regal would
catch him.
No, falling in love with Bastien would not save
him. Leaving him and finding some way to convince
her father not to pursue him would do the pirate more
of a service than giving her heart ever would.
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Besides, he didn’t love her. She thought he felt
something for her, perhaps even something more than
he’d felt for other women. She knew he respected her
experience on ships, valued her judgment, trusted her
with his ship and his men. That should be enough for
her. It was more than she’d receive from most men.
But a tiny part of her heart wanted his love too.
Even though they could never be together, she
wanted to hear him say the words: I love you, Raeven.
She heard the sound of alarm bells across the water,
the call to beat to quarters, and knew they’d been