Corsair Cove Page 10

  The door swung open only to reveal a fuming Sid standing in the hallway. Sid! She’d completely forgotten about him.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand fearing her lips must be a telling red and swollen from the spine-tingling kiss.

  “What took you so long to…” Sid broke off, eyes fixed on her mouth before moving over her face, her body. She winced, unable to mask the guilt-ridden expression. Damn. She’d never been a good liar.

  His eyes left her and followed the path of scattered garments leading to the weathered masculine boots on the floor behind her. Sid stormed to the center of the room and picked up a pair of black pants and flagged them at her. “What the hell is going on here? Is this why you thwart my company?”

  “Er, it’s not what you think Sid,” she began, realizing how cliché she must sound. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t listening. His attention was drawn to the bathroom door and the sound of running water…accompanied by the unmistakable timbre of a crooning male. Scornful eyes turned on her before he dropped the pants and stormed to the door, throwing it open.

  “You two-timing bitch! You’ve found yourself a lover! I assume this is the man that’s been looking for you? Jacque LaFleur? And I’ll bet a months salary AKA one Mr. Rafeull!” He scowled at the lofty silhouette behind the beveled glass then turned his rage on her. “You deceitful whore!”

  The rapid beat of her heart caused her body to tremble in fear. She’d never seen him like this before. His eyes had that glazed over look she’d heard some people had just before they blacked out and went postal.

  She took a step back, too stunned to move in any gear but first. The sting of Sid’s hand across her cheek caused her to stumble backward and fall to the floor. Her head slapped the table and for a few moments, she saw nothing but stars.

  Jacque stepped out of the shower just in time to witness the assault. In two strides his dripping form towered over her raging fiancé. A fatal glare adorned drenched features. A good six inches taller, he lifted Sid by the front his shirt and held him high in the air. “Avast! It appears ye have a death wish mate!”

  Sid met with dark dangerous eyes and paled. Esa could see the shocked fear in his eyes and knew he didn’t want to battle with this giant. “S-She’s my fia—”

  Pow! He didn’t complete his sentence. The powerful execution of Jacque’s right fist made contact with his pert nose, sending him spiraling into the wall behind them. Jacque marched over in all his shiny wet glory and scooped him up again.

  Lip curled, he gave Sid a brisk shake and spoke in a bone chilling tone she could only imagine had seen him through many perilous raids. “Be warned, ye mousy scalawag, if you dare come near the lass again, I’ll run your throat. Now be gone with ye before I change my mind and do it anyway just for sport.” He carried Sid to the door as though he were a sack of thrash—and just as offensive—and dropped him into the hall before slamming the door shut and coming to her side.

  She’d watched the barbaric exchange in stunned silence. Afraid to so much as breathe and sure Sid’s life would meet its tragic end at any moment. To her surprise, the barbarian was able to cage his bloodlust and now kneeled beside her on the carpet.

  “Are ye alright, Cherie?” he asked, and she could have sworn there was genuine concern in his voice.

  She averted her gaze so she wouldn’t be tempted to gawk at his most perfectly proportioned dimensions. “I’ll live. You didn’t have to do that, you know. He’s my fiancé; I owe him an explanation. I would have been just as upset had the tables been turned and it was me on the opposite side of that door.”

  “Are ye telling me ‘tis acceptable for a man to hit a woman in ye time?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Coming to her feet, she forced her eyes on anything but his divinity. “Get some clothes on for chrissake! It’s not fitting to parade naked in front of total strangers.”

  Back straight and jaw squared proudly, Jacque followed her to her feet. “I’ll not apologize for me actions, mademoiselle. Where I come from, that coward would have met his demise for such a callous act. Had I not been robbed of my dagger, he surely would have. Although…” he paused, his gaze holding hers in frisky challenge… “one could argue the latter of ye statement, from what I recall you were wearing.” He paused thoughtfully and added, “Avast, forgive me, what I meant to say was what ye were not wearing on the beach when we but met.”

  “Oooh!” She stomped her foot. “Why did I even bother? Why couldn’t you have washed up in the Bahamas?”

  He chuckled and she wrung her fist, marched into the bedroom and slammed the door all the while mumbling to herself.

  If she thought her life a chaotic mess before, this closed the book on it. Poor Sid. She hoped he was all right. In a few hours, when he’d had time to cool off, she’d call him and try to explain things. And pray he would understand why she had a naked barbarian prancing about her suite. Good grief, she’d have better luck trying to explain the reasoning behind her father’s betrayal.

  But what explanation did she have concerning her strange feelings toward the lethal pirate? A man she’d but known for the better part of a day. Knowing what she did, why did she still feel so compelled to help him?

  “Damn you Jacque LaFleur,” Esa breathed, flinging her hairbrush on the dresser. “Damn you for being so arrogant, so troubling, and so damned desirable!”

  ~ * ~

  The nerve of the ungrateful wench! Perhaps she liked being man-handled, maybe he should have just stayed out of their lovers quarrel.

  Jacque shook his head. No, it wasn’t in his nature to see a man turn his strength on a woman. Fiancé’ indeed. He’d noted the rock on her finger and paid it as much attention as he had all the rest. What did it matter if they were married, unmarried, maiden or whore? He took what he wanted and drifted into the next part, onto the next wanton wench.

  And it had all happened so fast. He’d been attempting to regain his composure after the fiery kiss as the cold water pummeled from the spout and doused his bulging desire. Damnation, but Esa Keats was one fiery wench. Never had a single encounter left him with such raw need.

  He wanted the spirited woman more than any other he’d ever tupped before. But if he’d learned anything in his years at sea, it was patience. How many times had he waited for a lone ship to come into his field so he and his men could board and plunder its goods? Its women? His crewman claimed he had a sixth sense when it came to locating the vessels bringing the highest booty. Perhaps he did for his persistence never failed to pay off.

  And just as sure as he was about those profitable raids, the day would come when at last he held the wench’s voluptuous bare body next to his, taking his pleasure over and over again until they lay spent from hours of passion. And he would relish every stolen moment of their coupling.

  ‘Tis just a matter of time, he mused with a smug grin.

  What sounded like an enraged man shouting on the opposite side of the door interrupted his fantasy. Someone threw the door open. His instincts were correct; it was a man. Was the untimely intruder yelling at his luscious angel of mercy? His heart picked up its pace as the scuffle escalated. Not on his watch.

  Nostrils flaring, he’d stepped out of the shower in time to witness the foolish man strike Esa. Black rage seized his heart. His hands fisted in anticipation of wrapping them around the dead man’s throat.

  It had been instinct, and perhaps a bit of possessiveness that caused him to hinder the bilge rat from causing the lass any more harm. And she had the audacity to be angry with him.

  The ungrateful wench.

  ~ * ~

  Jacque was pulling on his boots when Esa stomped back into the living room. “I’m not going, the deal is off. I think it would be best if you just left. Now. I’m going home.” She held out a yellow Post-it Note for him to take. “Here’s a number of a man that might lend you a boat.”

  He took the paper and looked at the numbers and shrugged. “What’s this, Cher
ie?”

  “I just told you. If you call that number, someone can help you rent a boat.”

  A crease of concern wrinkled his brow. “Call?” He stared at her as if she spoke a foreign language. He flipped the paper over when it stuck to his fingers to inspect the backside.

  For a moment, she was taken aback by his look of genuine dismay. He honest to God had no idea what she was talking about and acted as though he’d never seen a Post-it Note by the way he marveled at it. “For crying out loud. I mean you can use the telephone to call the number and rent a boat.” When had her fear of the deadly cutthroat transformed into rage?

  She ripped the hotel phone from the end table, dragged the line across the carpet and placed it in front of a bewildered Jacque. Lifting the receiver, she took the Post-it back and dialed the number. “Hello, Mr. Mankin? This is Esa Keats.”

  “Mr. Mankin? Have ye lost ye senses mademoiselle?” He said with great concern, coming to his feet as she endeavored to carry on a normal conversation with the man on the phone.

  She held up a hand and nodded. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you about renting one of your boats.” So she wouldn’t have to explain why she wasn’t willing to rent one of her own—correction—one of Mr. Rafeull’s boats, she handed the phone to the bewildered privateer.

  Jacque held the phone in his hand as though it were a foreign object, pulling the coil of cord as if to try and figure out what he was to do with it. He looked perplexed as to what to do next.

  “Hold it next to your ear,” she urged with an annoyed grunt, physically taking the hand that held the receiver and lifting it to his ear before letting go. Jacque didn’t say a word, but continued to gape at her as though she’d lost the last thread of her mind. “Say hello!”

  Brows furrowed, he complied with her wishes. “Hello.” His eyes rounded and she could have sworn she saw fear flash across his expression before the receiver fell to the table.

  “Bloody hell!” Jacque roared and stepped back.

  “Jacque!” she cried, scrambling for the phone. “I’m sorry Mr. Mankin, he’ll have to call you back.” She settled the phone back in its nest and ran a bedraggled hand through her hair. “Are you all right?”

  “H-How can a man fit into such a small space? Is it magic?” His usually bronzed features had paled. “Are you a, are you a witch?”

  She laughed, unable to stop herself. “Oh Jacque! Calm down, it’s perfectly all right. No, I’m not a witch. Honest,” she added at his look of disbelief. “It’s a modern day invention. A wire transmits a person’s voice so another can hear them.” Good grief, she hoped that would suffice, as she was no electronics major by any means.

  His wounded gaze melted the ice that had formed over her heart. He looked as though he could use a good hug, and someone to tell him everything would be all right.

  It suddenly occurred to her just how vulnerable this brawny rogue was. Tears stung her eyes but she battled to keep them at bay as a bazaar feeling settled over her. There was no questioning his sense of reality any longer. The time for denials had reached its apex. This was no act. This man was the Jacque LaFleur.

  She didn’t know why or how or for what reason Fate had displaced him, but as he stood there looking at her the wails of his anguish closed over her heart and she knew if he were to ever get back to where he belonged, he needed her help.

  Seven

  “All right Jacque. I’ll help you. But I swear, if you ever try another stunt like you did in the bathroom, the deal is off. Understood? You can find your own way. I don’t need this right now. I’m very vulnerable at the moment and I don’t want to do anything I’ll regret later.”

  Ungrateful wench. “Aye, lass. As ye wish.” Her loss. He didn’t like to bind himself to such trivial deals, but he would make a conscious effort to honor her wishes. That is, until she realized she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. It would help matters if his rescue angel weren’t so bloody damned irresistible.

  Besides, she was willing to help him. That’s more than anyone else he’d managed to cross paths with in his short time here. And there was more than one way to woo a wench.

  Esa plopped into the chair next to the phone and, without so much as looking in his direction, proceeded to poke the tiny digits with her fingers. He studied her every move. The miraculous inventions that had surfaced since his time were fascinating, and more than a little startling!

  The painting on the wall above her head captured his attention and held him entranced by its beauty. Although somewhat striking, he found it lacking at the same time. He marveled at artist’s use of color, but felt a medley of brush strokes would have added the much-needed texture to breathe life into the scene. A few more lines edged with deep yellows and reds would make one think they might step right into the frame and smell the lilies floating in the pond. His hands craved the smooth feel of his own brush as he traced the shapes with his invisible tool.

  Esa’s musical chuckle drew his attention away from the painting. His heart gave a thud. He grinned, analyzing her profile as she spoke to someone who wasn’t there. She had the look of an angel. How fitting. A face like hers should be captured forever on canvas.

  Even when she was angry, her soft features betrayed her innermost feelings, so gentle as to be almost childlike. Yet, she possessed the underlying fire of a woman in the throes of passion. He was glad she’d changed her mind and decided to help him. Did that mean she believed him?

  No matter how many incredible inventions he may come across, as he sat there admiring her exquisite beauty, he knew life in the 21st Century would be pretty dull without Esa Keats in it.

  ~ * ~

  Nearly forty-five minutes later, Esa had found a local jeweler willing to pay top dollar for the exquisite ruby. But she still had one call left to make.

  Her heart warmed at the familiar voice on the opposite end of the receiver. “Esa! How are you fairing dear?” Jeff, her father’s right-hand man, inquired.

  “I’m surviving. Can you tell me if we have any charters freed up for the next few weeks?”

  “Hmmm, I know without checking the books that we have the Abigail as Cromwell just docked her yesterday morning. I’ll have to look—”

  “Sid took a charter out? When?” Her pulse quickened. Sid hated boating. He was more of a behind the scenes type of guy. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d taken a boat out over dinner last night.

  “About three days ago. Is everything alright, sweetheart?”

  “Of course, I’m sorry, Jeff. Everything is fine. I’m still trying to get over my losses. The Abigail will be just fine. Can you have someone deliver it? And I’ll need some staff to man the ship.” To keep my mysterious travel companion in check.

  “Of course, I’ll see to it right away, dear. Is tomorrow morning soon enough?”

  “That’ll be fine. Thanks Jeff, my love to Sara.” Esa absently hung up the phone. Why hadn’t Sid told her about the charter?

  She glanced at Jacque, who stood in front of the television gaping at his reflection and waving his hand in front of it. Seeing the remote undisturbed on the table, she picked it up and flicked it on, causing him to jump back a foot and clutch his chest.

  “Blimey!” he spouted in surprise. She couldn’t help but laugh. He was silent, spellbound by the little people trapped inside the small box and bending cautiously to have a closer look.

  “It’s called a television.” Esa gave him a rather brief rundown of some of the numerous changes in technology since his era so he wouldn’t be so surprised should they encounter any. To the best of her ability, she educated him on trains, planes, computers, etc. which only led to a multitude of questions to which some she could explain, some she couldn’t.

  An advertisement for shaving cream came on and initiated a whole new line of questioning. Hmmm, she mused and not for the first time while studying his rugged profile.

  What did he look like under all the hair?

  She leapt from her seat and dashe
d toward the bathroom. “Follow me Jacque!”

  ~ * ~

  Jacque quirked an inquisitive brow when Esa called him to join her in the shower chamber. Had the wench finally recollected her senses? He’d thought he’d have to thwart his desire a few more days, at least. Feeling like a kid in a candy store, he followed her, eager for the abundance of sweet treats awaiting him inside.

  His arrogant aura quickly dissolved when he saw the scissors in her hand. That wasn’t exactly what he’d pictured her holding as he so blindly honored her request.

  “What’s on ye mind, wench?” He folded his arms over his chest, not quite sure if he should trust her with the sharp object or not. Perhaps she was still angry with him for throttling her boyfriend and planned to get even.

  Her smile broke through his skepticism. “Relax Jacque, I just want to see what you look like under all that scruff. And stop calling me wench, will you? It’s not very flattering.” She produced a small pink stick and allowed him to inspect it.

  “Aye lass, do ye mean to shave me with that? Do ye not have a—”

  Her chuckle was like a ray of sunlight breaking through the frosty remains of a long winter. His name rolled off her tongue like honeyed wine. Sweet, smooth and with a lazy ease he could easily grow accustomed to.

  “This is a modern razor. It’s disposable, and perfectly safe. I’ll need the scissors to cut some of the longer stuff out of the way first though. That is, if you don’t mind my shaving you?”

  “Do ye like ye men clean shaven, me fair beauty?” He used the sultry purr that saw most wenches begging for him to take them. But Esa wasn’t like most women; his charms seemed to have no effect on her.

  “Forget it.” She started to replace the items in the small carpetbag when he reached out to touch her. Remembering his promise, he drew back as though scalded, his hand hovering just above her arm.

  Hand slowly returning to his side he said, “Forgive me, lass. I’d be much obliged if you’d do me the honor of shaving my whiskers. I admit ‘tis been awhile, though one doesn’t have much need of shaving while at sea. Helps keep a man warm in the frigid air.” He took a seat where she motioned atop the porcelain stool and tilted his head back to allow her easier access to his face and neck. He flinched as every nerve ending in his body stood on end when she touched his skin.