expanse of ropes rigged to it.
Man, this is so cool!
"Ahoy there!" a voice boomed from above.
Looking up, Celia spotted a man dressed like a pirate captain—or at least the sort of pirate captain she’d always fantasized about. A white, ruffled shirt open to his waist adorned his muscular chest. His pants were tight and black, leaving little to the imagination. The bright red silk sash tied around his waist only accentuated his manly bulge. A pair of high boots cuffed at the top rounded out his outfit.
He slid down the ropes and drew his cutlass as he approached. "What business have you aboard my ship, wench?"
Wearing a bandana around his head and a Zorro-type mask across his eyes, his face was a mystery. His voice was smooth, like perfectly aged brandy, and his body was to-die-for. His tanned forearms, visible through the lightweight shirt, were strong and sinewy, the dark hair covering them lightened to a golden shade by the sun. Her gaze wandered across the scarlet sash at his waist and lingered a moment, appreciating the way his upper torso slimmed, then flared at his legs. Damn, he had nice thighs. Encased in the tight-fitting pants, the muscles bunched and relaxed with each movement. Her mind wandered, conjuring images of how his body would look without clothes. Her breath caught. He would be magnificent.
"What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, kitty?" he asked, trailing the blunt side of his cutlass against her bare arm.
She shivered as the cool steel slid across her skin. The feel of it was dangerous and alluring at the same time. This is role-playing, Celia. You can do this.
"S-sir, I need passage on your ship."
"Women are not allowed." His amber gaze raked her from head to toe.
She cleared her throat, exorcising the nervousness. "But sir, I have already stowed away." She indicated their surroundings. "The next port isn’t for miles. Please. As a gentleman, you must help me."
He sheathed his sword. "Madam, I assure you I am no gentleman." His eyes darkened rakishly. He straightened and held out a hand to her. "Pray, what number have you?"
"Seven." She gave him the slip of paper.
"Ah yes. Lucky number seven." A dark eyebrow arched thoughtfully above his mask as he glanced at the note. "This guarantees you safe passage upon my vessel." He slipped the paper into his pocket. "Come now, wench, before the crew sees you."
Celia followed him below the deck and into a lavishly decorated cabin. There was a huge round bed situated against the back of the make-believe ship. A night scene embellished the windows behind the bed, complete with a full moon reflected against the inky darkness of the night sea. It was so realistic. So far, she was loving this game.
He leaned down to her. "What are you called?" His voice was low and husky against her ear.
Shivers ran up her spine. It was hard to stay focused. His warm breath blew across her skin, caressing her. "Y-you may call me Kitty."
"Kitty," he purred, a small grin lifting his mouth. "I am Captain Rolfe." He closed the doors behind them and turned the heavy iron key in the lock. Withdrawing the key, he handed it to her. "Keep this safe." He sauntered over to the small bar against the side wall. "Would you like a drink? Wine? Rum? Brandy?"
Yo ho ho and a bottle of..."Rum, please?" She slipped the key into her boot.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Whatever you want...Kitty."
A thrill skipped down her spine. From the gleam in his topaz eyes, to the glint of white teeth against his tanned skin, the man absolutely oozed sexiness. A pirate hadn’t looked so yummy since Johnny Depp sailed the Caribbean.
Drinks in hand, he walked to her. "Did I mention I, too, am a seven?" He raised his glass and clinked it against hers in a toast.
"Oh?" She took a long pull of the rum, welcoming the warmth as it tumbled down her throat. "What a lucky coincidence."
Above his mask, a dark eyebrow arched. "And do you know what our having matching numbers means, lovely
Man, this is so cool!
"Ahoy there!" a voice boomed from above.
Looking up, Celia spotted a man dressed like a pirate captain—or at least the sort of pirate captain she’d always fantasized about. A white, ruffled shirt open to his waist adorned his muscular chest. His pants were tight and black, leaving little to the imagination. The bright red silk sash tied around his waist only accentuated his manly bulge. A pair of high boots cuffed at the top rounded out his outfit.
He slid down the ropes and drew his cutlass as he approached. "What business have you aboard my ship, wench?"
Wearing a bandana around his head and a Zorro-type mask across his eyes, his face was a mystery. His voice was smooth, like perfectly aged brandy, and his body was to-die-for. His tanned forearms, visible through the lightweight shirt, were strong and sinewy, the dark hair covering them lightened to a golden shade by the sun. Her gaze wandered across the scarlet sash at his waist and lingered a moment, appreciating the way his upper torso slimmed, then flared at his legs. Damn, he had nice thighs. Encased in the tight-fitting pants, the muscles bunched and relaxed with each movement. Her mind wandered, conjuring images of how his body would look without clothes. Her breath caught. He would be magnificent.
"What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, kitty?" he asked, trailing the blunt side of his cutlass against her bare arm.
She shivered as the cool steel slid across her skin. The feel of it was dangerous and alluring at the same time. This is role-playing, Celia. You can do this.
"S-sir, I need passage on your ship."
"Women are not allowed." His amber gaze raked her from head to toe.
She cleared her throat, exorcising the nervousness. "But sir, I have already stowed away." She indicated their surroundings. "The next port isn’t for miles. Please. As a gentleman, you must help me."
He sheathed his sword. "Madam, I assure you I am no gentleman." His eyes darkened rakishly. He straightened and held out a hand to her. "Pray, what number have you?"
"Seven." She gave him the slip of paper.
"Ah yes. Lucky number seven." A dark eyebrow arched thoughtfully above his mask as he glanced at the note. "This guarantees you safe passage upon my vessel." He slipped the paper into his pocket. "Come now, wench, before the crew sees you."
Celia followed him below the deck and into a lavishly decorated cabin. There was a huge round bed situated against the back of the make-believe ship. A night scene embellished the windows behind the bed, complete with a full moon reflected against the inky darkness of the night sea. It was so realistic. So far, she was loving this game.
He leaned down to her. "What are you called?" His voice was low and husky against her ear.
Shivers ran up her spine. It was hard to stay focused. His warm breath blew across her skin, caressing her. "Y-you may call me Kitty."
"Kitty," he purred, a small grin lifting his mouth. "I am Captain Rolfe." He closed the doors behind them and turned the heavy iron key in the lock. Withdrawing the key, he handed it to her. "Keep this safe." He sauntered over to the small bar against the side wall. "Would you like a drink? Wine? Rum? Brandy?"
Yo ho ho and a bottle of..."Rum, please?" She slipped the key into her boot.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Whatever you want...Kitty."
A thrill skipped down her spine. From the gleam in his topaz eyes, to the glint of white teeth against his tanned skin, the man absolutely oozed sexiness. A pirate hadn’t looked so yummy since Johnny Depp sailed the Caribbean.
Drinks in hand, he walked to her. "Did I mention I, too, am a seven?" He raised his glass and clinked it against hers in a toast.
"Oh?" She took a long pull of the rum, welcoming the warmth as it tumbled down her throat. "What a lucky coincidence."
Above his mask, a dark eyebrow arched. "And do you know what our having matching numbers means, lovely
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