whispering across her moist skin entranced her. She
was melting away, caught in a swirling eddy of she knew not what.
Falling deeper and deeper until his words sliced through the
fog.
“This...” Jamie caught the laces of her gown
between his teeth and tugged, “... ’tis what a pirate does to his
women.”
He was a pirate. No better than the one who’d
come before him. Anne stiffened as memories of the other filled her
mind. His foul scent, the bitter taste of blood as the press of his
mouth split her lip.
“Stop.”
The word meant little to Jamie and wouldn’t
have brought an abrupt halt to his ravaging of her breast if not
for the accompanying bite of cold steel against his ribs. His hands
dropped to his side and with an expression of disbelief on his
face, he stepped back.
She looked wild and wanton. Her dark hair
flowed about her shoulders and the lips he found so fascinating
from the start were rosy red and wet. If it weren’t for the knife
poised in her hand Jamie would have lowered her to the sandy path
and taken her on the spot.
But the knife was there. And when he
glanced down toward the burning on his side, he realized the
crimson on the blade was his own blood. She’d sliced through his
shirt and skin leaving a jagged tear that oozed and was beginning
to hurt like hell.
“Damn your eyes, woman! Look what you’ve
done.”
Anne held the knife higher as he stepped
forward. “And I’ll do a lot worse if you dare touch me again.” Her
jab, though striking nothing but air, brought him to a halt.
His stare pierced through her as he sucked in
air, then he shook his head and to Anne’s surprise began to laugh.
“Good God, lass, you’re a strange one.” With one hand he balled up
a section of shirt, bunching the cotton to his wound, attempting to
staunch the flow of blood. He twisted to watch his own progress for
a moment seemingly oblivious to Anne and the knife she held.
But when he glanced back, his gaze riveting
with hers, she knew he hadn’t forgotten her presence or the
shameful way she acted.
“ ’Tis some experience I’ve had in pleasing
wenches, Mistress Anne. And by all accounts you seemed to be
enjoying yourself mightily.”
Anne lifted her chin, and tried to steady her
hand. “I wonder how many other women have fooled you such.”
“Fooled?”
The arch of his brow made Anne grip the bone
handle tighter. She swallowed. “I have no interest in your inflated
ego or anything else about you other than your ability to defeat
d’Porteau.”
His grin revealed strong white teeth. “And I
think it’s a liar you are. We both have an interest in the other
that has nothing to do with that scoundrel d’Porteau. Who by the
by, I have no intention of fighting.”
“Are you afraid of him?” Anne’s own brows
arched in question.
Anger shot through his body, and Jamie opened
his mouth to protest any cowardice on his part. But a certain light
in her eyes gave him pause. He’d seen the same expression when she
tricked him into having tea with her uncle. The woman might have
the eyes of an angel but her mind ran as sharp as a
charlatan’s.
Now she stood waiting for his answer looking
as innocent as you please despite the love-tousled state of her
clothing and hair.
She waited for him to angrily deny any fear.
To even be willing to prove his bravery by doing her bidding. Well,
the wind would blow ice and snow upon this tiny island before he
would let her trick him again.
“Afraid?” Jamie asked as if pondering the
meaning of the word. “Well, I suppose it’s a foolish man who
doesn’t fear the possibility of death.” Her crestfallen expression
made him grin. “But it’s a man with no sense at all who risks death
with no thought of reward. And,” he added, lifting his
blood-smeared hand when she started to speak, “’tis not rewards of
the spirit that interest me.”
“You are a rogue.”
Jamie bowed despite the pain in his wound.
“Captain Jamie MacQuaid, rogue,
was melting away, caught in a swirling eddy of she knew not what.
Falling deeper and deeper until his words sliced through the
fog.
“This...” Jamie caught the laces of her gown
between his teeth and tugged, “... ’tis what a pirate does to his
women.”
He was a pirate. No better than the one who’d
come before him. Anne stiffened as memories of the other filled her
mind. His foul scent, the bitter taste of blood as the press of his
mouth split her lip.
“Stop.”
The word meant little to Jamie and wouldn’t
have brought an abrupt halt to his ravaging of her breast if not
for the accompanying bite of cold steel against his ribs. His hands
dropped to his side and with an expression of disbelief on his
face, he stepped back.
She looked wild and wanton. Her dark hair
flowed about her shoulders and the lips he found so fascinating
from the start were rosy red and wet. If it weren’t for the knife
poised in her hand Jamie would have lowered her to the sandy path
and taken her on the spot.
But the knife was there. And when he
glanced down toward the burning on his side, he realized the
crimson on the blade was his own blood. She’d sliced through his
shirt and skin leaving a jagged tear that oozed and was beginning
to hurt like hell.
“Damn your eyes, woman! Look what you’ve
done.”
Anne held the knife higher as he stepped
forward. “And I’ll do a lot worse if you dare touch me again.” Her
jab, though striking nothing but air, brought him to a halt.
His stare pierced through her as he sucked in
air, then he shook his head and to Anne’s surprise began to laugh.
“Good God, lass, you’re a strange one.” With one hand he balled up
a section of shirt, bunching the cotton to his wound, attempting to
staunch the flow of blood. He twisted to watch his own progress for
a moment seemingly oblivious to Anne and the knife she held.
But when he glanced back, his gaze riveting
with hers, she knew he hadn’t forgotten her presence or the
shameful way she acted.
“ ’Tis some experience I’ve had in pleasing
wenches, Mistress Anne. And by all accounts you seemed to be
enjoying yourself mightily.”
Anne lifted her chin, and tried to steady her
hand. “I wonder how many other women have fooled you such.”
“Fooled?”
The arch of his brow made Anne grip the bone
handle tighter. She swallowed. “I have no interest in your inflated
ego or anything else about you other than your ability to defeat
d’Porteau.”
His grin revealed strong white teeth. “And I
think it’s a liar you are. We both have an interest in the other
that has nothing to do with that scoundrel d’Porteau. Who by the
by, I have no intention of fighting.”
“Are you afraid of him?” Anne’s own brows
arched in question.
Anger shot through his body, and Jamie opened
his mouth to protest any cowardice on his part. But a certain light
in her eyes gave him pause. He’d seen the same expression when she
tricked him into having tea with her uncle. The woman might have
the eyes of an angel but her mind ran as sharp as a
charlatan’s.
Now she stood waiting for his answer looking
as innocent as you please despite the love-tousled state of her
clothing and hair.
She waited for him to angrily deny any fear.
To even be willing to prove his bravery by doing her bidding. Well,
the wind would blow ice and snow upon this tiny island before he
would let her trick him again.
“Afraid?” Jamie asked as if pondering the
meaning of the word. “Well, I suppose it’s a foolish man who
doesn’t fear the possibility of death.” Her crestfallen expression
made him grin. “But it’s a man with no sense at all who risks death
with no thought of reward. And,” he added, lifting his
blood-smeared hand when she started to speak, “’tis not rewards of
the spirit that interest me.”
“You are a rogue.”
Jamie bowed despite the pain in his wound.
“Captain Jamie MacQuaid, rogue,
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