Corsair Cove Read online

  “Damn, I suppose I’ll have to get this over with sooner or later.” Another rap. “Looks like it’s going to be sooner,” she spat, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks and huffing toward the entrance.

  Jacque was leaning casually against the frame when she opened the door, a brilliant bouquet of red roses held proudly in hand and a sheepish smile curling those oh-so-heavenly lips.

  “For you, mademoiselle.” He threw her that damnable sexy grin, bending slightly forward and holding there for a respectable moment before straitening again. She didn’t take the extended bouquet from his hand, though she was tempted.

  Brilliant black eyes focused on hers. “I could have spent a lifetime searching for a flower to match ye exceptional beauty, though I fear such a blossom doesn’t exist.”

  Damn the rat. His cursed smile could charm a pauper out of his coat.

  A hint of playfulness sparkled behind his almond shaped gaze. “I had no choice but to make do with these. I hope ye find them to your liking. If not, I shall throw myself off the nearest bridge for bringing you such displeasure.”

  Esa stood in the doorway shaking her head. “In that case, why don’t you go back out the way you came, hang a left and walk about a mile and a half down the road? I believe that bridge shall meet your needs.” She wasn’t going to give in. Not this time, not ever again.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Why don’t you take the flowers and give them to your girlfriend? Dawn, was it? Better yet, why don’t you gather all your belongings and stay at her place?”

  “Ye don’t like the flowers, Cherie?” he asked, a smug grin playing about his mouth. The rogue actually appeared flattered by her jealousy.

  “You don’t get it, do you Jacque? I don’t want your damn flowers!”

  “What do you want, love?” He winked and that irresistibly dark, sexy grin returned to taunt her. Bastard.

  She cursed herself for the umpteenth time for her stupid offer to shave him. The shadow of stubble did nothing but add to his sensual air.

  “Whatever ‘tis ye desire lass, I’m sure I can find a way to…” he paused, letting his eyes idly roam the length of her before returning to her fiery gaze. “Accommodate ye. Anything. All ye need do is ask.”

  Esa swung the door toward his all-to-handsome face, but he stopped it with his boot. Offering her the roses once more, he added, “I’m sorry, mademoiselle I seem to have but one thing on me mind when I’m near ye. Will you hear me out?”

  “You seem to have one thing on your mind when you’re around women in general, Jacque. You’re nothing but a cold hearted player,” she sneered. “Just get your things and…and get out!” To her horror, she screeched the last words through a sting of tears.

  Jacque flinched as though he’d been struck. “Please,” he whispered. “Five minutes, Esa. Please?”

  Her name slid from his tongue like rich golden honey, warming her frigid manner. Helpless to fight the lusty trance, she stepped back and he waltzed inside. Taking a seat on the sofa, his hand patted the empty space to his left, encouraging her to join him.

  Throwing her hands up, she stomped to the sofa and plopped down beside him. “Five minutes Jacque. Five! The clock is ticking,” she spat, glancing at her watch for emphasis.

  “Ah, where do I start?” He smiled and she snapped her head away to stare at the opposite wall.

  “The beginning is always a good place.”

  “Aye, that it is.” Jacque sighed. “Very well. When I awoke to ye half naked body on the beach yesterday, I came damn near to drowning in me own testosterone. I’ve never seen a woman fairer, more desirable, not even in me dreams.” His tone was smooth and rich as the darkest chocolate. “Surely by now ye must know what ye do to me?”

  How could such lies drip from that amorous tongue?

  “If ye’ll recall, ye refused to so much as kiss me, and well…after ye sent me off to find me ship, I met the two wenches—”

  “Two wenches?” Esa’s head jerked back around to glare at him. “Two!” The rogue had been with two women! Her mouth opened and closed in revolt.

  “Ah,” Jacque cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “So it would seem. Avast, the point is I’m but a man, and a man has needs.” He stopped abruptly and stared at her through eyes the size of quarters.

  Her breath came hard and fast. Heat rose to her face and shifted through every shade of red. “You’re a man—and a man has needs, eh?” When he nodded and flashed a patronizing grin, it was all she could take.

  She threw the flowers in his lap and sprang to her feet, waving an incensed finger about as she laid into him. “Let me tell you something, you arrogant, pig-headed gigolo! Men aren’t the only ones with needs. Women have needs too, perhaps even more so for having to deal with you overbearing pricks. You, however, are an exception Jacque. You seem to be led around by that stick in your pants. Don’t think for one minute that I haven’t seen it. I’ve watched how you treat women. And I must say, it appears that you’d lay just about anything with a hole.”

  Jacque looked as if she’d pierced his testicles with a steak knife. Brows furrowed, he glared at her, and for a fraction of a second she wondered if he would hit her. Then his expression suddenly softened, and he teased, “Ah lass, but ‘tis ye—”

  Esa’s open hand struck his cheek.

  Jacque shot to his feet the next instant, his towering dark form intimidating and matching narrow black beads that made her want to seek shelter in the nearest burrow.

  What the hell was she thinking to strike such a bloodthirsty beast? She’d forgotten whom she was dealing with. That caged power had commanded many a lethal swindler, taken possession of countless ships, cut short many a life before its time. That alone was enough to weaken her bravado. The ground seemed to move beneath her and she prayed she wouldn’t faint.

  His voice was low and reeked of placid hostility when he finally spoke, “Ye have no cause to quarrel with me, wench. I don’t take to thrashing women as habit, nor will I stand for unmerited malice from one either.”

  “A-Are you threatening me?” she choked out, unable to keep her lip from quivering. She was terrified. Her hands clasped her thighs to keep from trembling, though Jacque seemed too enraged to notice.

  “I don’t make threats, only warnings. And ye get but one of those,” he snarled and brushed passed her to enter the bathroom. “Ye’d fair well to remember that woman!” The door slammed shut.

  Esa stared at the closed door in stunned silence. A morbid chill rushed through her. He wouldn’t dare raise a hand to her, would he?

  The answer was in those savage eyes. Of course he would. Such a barbaric act was second nature to his kind. The brute was a self-proclaimed murdering thief! When had she let her guard down? Only a fool would behave so fearless around such a savage.

  Her apprehension had as much lifespan of one of LaFleur’s enemies—short. The sound of the shower running tickled her prior annoyance until the remnants of fear had been vanquished entirely.

  Damn him. He pranced about the suite as though it were his. She hadn’t said he could stay. As a matter of fact, she’d told him to leave. And she would remind him of that just as soon as he opened the blasted door.

  This was the 21st Century. The rules had changed a great deal since pirates governed the seven seas. There was no need to fear the roaring monster. A superior smile spread her face. All she need do should he lay a hand on her was summon the police.

  With a reassuring glance at her cell resting on the coffee table, Esa crossed determined arms over her chest and parked her plump rear on the sofa in wait for the next battle of wills with the infamous oaf.

  Jacque must have been in there for a good twenty-five minutes before coming out, wearing nothing but the flimsy white towel that barely covered his most precious gems.

  She took one look at him, leapt from the sofa and dashed into the bedroom. Damn him! As desperate as she was to win this particular battle, she didn’t dare
confront him dressed, correction, undressed like that. His physical presence was tantalizing, possessing a dark power all of its own, bewitching her thoughts to those of unabashed wanton hunger. A stalwart force she wasn’t experienced enough to reckon with.

  So that was it? She was just going to give up as usual?

  No, she wasn’t. No longer would she cower beneath the hooded stare of an arrogant man! Revving her engine, she grasped the doorknob intent on throwing it open and booting the condescending desperado to the curb.

  Instead she slowly, quietly pulled the door ajar and peeked out a thin slit. Her words got tangled amidst the web of lust in her throat.

  Jacque was lounged on the sofa, his long powerful legs stretched out in front of him. Esa opened her mouth to tell him to collect his things and be on his way, but her cursed tongue fell prey to his fleshy spell once again and she spoke as though under a hypnotic trance, “I’ve decided not to go with you to Guadeloupe. I’m going home, to my fiancé. I’ll see that you have your money before I leave in the morning.”

  “Avast! ‘Tis high time ye came to your senses woman. I’d just as soon not have a foul-mouthed wench aboard me ship, largely one wielding a tongue so sharp as to challenge the finest of daggers.” Jacque’s full attention rested on the television remote, he didn’t bother to so much as snarl in her direction.

  The mercury of her internal thermostat burst through the top and she stepped just beyond the safety of the threshold. “Your ship? Your ship? Careful Mr. King-a-the-Cock, or you’ll be looking elsewhere for a damned charter!” She slammed the door shut and spouted every harsh name she could think of under her breath before she crawled into the cold bed. The nerve of the cad! He acted as though he hadn’t heard a word she said, nor cared too. Typical male.

  ~ * ~

  Ouch! Jacque winced at the slamming door. He stared at the television but didn’t see the comedy already in progress. Esa had wounded him. Not with her hand, but with her words. He wasn’t so sure he didn’t deserve it after the way he’d behaved today. She’d said nothing about him that wasn’t true, he realized after some thought.

  If there was a loose link in his character chain, it was his insatiable craving for soft women. Loose link, hell! It was that sole flaw had enabled Keats and the rest of his rebellious crew to catch him unguarded. The root cause of his family’s suffering that ultimately resulted in their unpardonable fate at the ruthless hands of King Louis. Hands fisted, his chest tightened as if he awaited a merchant ship carrying insurmountable riches.

  It was his flaw, and not her place to pass judgment. The saber-tongued lass had no leg to stand on, no plausible cause to be angry with him where the wenches were concerned.

  And no other woman had ever thwarted his advances, yet the perplexing Esa Keats held firm to an all too inviting yes in those fascinating eyes, the sway of those womanly hips, accompanied by a salty little no on those overly luscious lips.

  For some reason unbeknownst to him, his lust stretched well beyond the flesh when it came to the spirited woman beyond the locked door. When he took her, he wanted to possess her, body, mind and soul.

  He ran a weary hand through his damp hair and sighed heavily. After tomorrow, he would be off to find the king’s treasure. And Esa would be on her way back to that skinny ghost of a man she was betrothed to. The thought brought bile to the back of his throat. Betrothed, indeed. What did she see in the vile little rat anyway?

  His heart sank low in his chest. Visions of Sid’s wiry hands upon her satiny skin caused every muscle in his body to stiffen. Not even Sophia had been able to emit such jealousy in him.

  What was it about Esa that turned his innards to putty? Filled him with the desire to fall at her feet in worship? He shut the television off and stared at the ceiling fan for hours, telling himself he would be much better off without her constant distraction aboard the ship anyway. His genitals stayed in a constant state of arousal around the unyielding wench as it was. Had she actually referred to his shaft as a stick?

  “A big stick! A tree-trunk to be exact,” he spat, sneering down his nose at the closed door. “Pity you’ll never get to make the comparison.”

  Nine

  Jacque’s eyes shot open. What the hell was it that had awakened him? He sat up, scanning the shadows for Dingo or Keats or…wait a minute. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t in his hammock. And this wasn’t his ship. Memories fanned his mind. Godsteeth, this wasn’t even his world!

  His heart drummed in his ears as his head jerked toward the wench’s private chambers. The door was open. He looked toward the lavatory, but that door was slightly ajar and dark as well.

  “Mademoiselle?” he called softly. When she didn’t answer, he shot from the sofa and started toward her room, pausing to snatch the sheet. Wrapping it around his midriff, he proceeded to her forbidden quarters. “Esa?” he called again, stopping at the threshold. He knocked softly, but still she didn’t answer. A pang of fear rose in his chest. Was she all right? Pushing the door fully open, he burst inside and glanced at the bed through eyes half shut, afraid her throat might lay open from some ruffian in seek of a few meager coins.

  But she wasn’t there and Jacque wasn’t sure if he felt relief or panic. A fair combination of both he supposed. He stomped back through the living area and flipped on the bathroom light, losing the sheet somewhere in between. Damn, where the hell had the wench gotten off to? More importantly, had she gone willingly, or by force? Nostrils flaring like a rabid beast, his breathing picked up its pace.

  If her burdensome fiancé played any part in her disappearance, if he dared hurt Esa again, this time there would be no mercy. He didn’t care how angry she became; he would see an end to the bastard’s life!

  The bilge rat had been warned.

  ~ * ~

  It was pitch black and Esa hadn’t thought far enough ahead to bring a flashlight. Down the beach a ways in either direction she could see the glow of a bonfire, could smell the burning embers mix with the salty musk of the sea when the breeze blew just right.

  She walked back to the hotel pool area and drew a chair up close to the railing where she kicked off her sandals and propped her feet up. Resting her head against the soft cotton padding of the lounge chair, she closed her eyes and listened to nature’s musical lilt.

  Ah, she could easily sleep here. It was almost as if she couldn’t help herself. The ocean had the same nurturing effect on her as a mother’s womb and soon she succumbed to the peaceful call of slumber.

  ~ * ~

  “Where is she ye bloody land lubber?” Jacque demanded, holding Sid by his collar, his feet dangling a few inches above the floor of the hotel lobby.

  “I don’t know, I swear it!” Sid’s voice held a nasal quality and shook with anxiety. His black eyes bugged as he gasped for air. Jacque felt a sense of satisfaction staring at the bandage across his nose, reliving the feel of his fist smashing into the coward’s face.

  “If I find out you’re lying, I’ll rip ye heart out with my bare hands!” He gave him a hard shake for emphasis.

  “I’m not lying, I swear! I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

  “Aye?” Jacque cocked his head and studied him. Having lived out a great deal of his adult life assailing and looting gullible ships had evolved him into a callous man. A man didn’t survive the hardships he’d been exposed to by breaking beneath the cruel tactics of the enemy. To live an unpredictable and dangerous life at sea, one had to learn to read people if he hoped to see another day. And he’d mastered the art.

  Much to his amazement, the bilge-rat appeared to be telling the truth. Releasing his hold, Sid’s shoes made a soft thud as they hit the carpet. “Why are ye still here?”

  “I, er, leave in the morning,” Sid stammered.

  Was the yella-belly always so fidgety? He looked to have a severe case of the vapors.

  “You’ve quarters here then?”

  “Er, yes. I was just heading there now, er, to my quarters.”

/>   The shady macaroni’s word wasn’t enough. Jacque escorted him, none too gently, to the reception desk. “Does this man have accommodations here?”

  The clerk frowned. “Mr. Cromwell? Yes, of course he does. Room 207.” The suspicious man turned his attention to Sid, concern creasing a heavy brow. “Is there a problem Mr. Cromwell?”

  Jacque held one of Sid’s arms behind his back and bent it slightly upward. Sid winced and shifted uncomfortably. “Er, no, e-everything is fine. Er, you haven’t seen Miss Keats about tonight have you?”

  “By the pool, last I checked.”

  “Merci,” Jacque uttered, leading Sid away from the baffled clerk. He stopped in the middle of the lobby. “Heed my warning, I’m a man of my word and little tolerance. Avast, I know where to find ye.” He grinned. “Now, where might I find this pool?”

  Sid pointed a shaky finger toward the glass double doors. “I doubt if she’s there. You two have a fight?”

  Jacque’s lip curled in revolt. “I fail to see where that would be any concern of yours?”

  “Sorry. Just trying to help.” Sid shrugged. “She’s probably on the beach. She likes to be near the water in times of stress. It’s the only thing she ever really gave a damn about besides her father. And now that he’s gone, well you’re obviously no fool, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  Something in his sneer caused Jacque to ready his fists for combat. Too bad there were so many witnesses about, even at such a late hour. He’d like nothing more than to straighten the crook in Sid’s nose, and his character. He dismissed the slant with a curt nod and started toward the pool area, when Sid’s next words froze him mid stride.

  “Er, Mr. LaFleur, is it?” The mockery in his tone caused Jacque to wince. His knuckles whitened with the itch to pound the life out of the measly ruffian.

  Sid obviously didn’t believe he was Jacque LaFleur. In fact, Jacque vaguely recalled the fool referring to him by another name in the hotel room. Rafeull. Not that it mattered. He didn’t care. Given the circumstance, he’d feel the same should someone claim to be from another time in his century. Hell, a troubled soul would be locked away in an asylum before his next meal if he were to make such outlandish declaration in the 18th century.