Taken by You (7 page)

When she noted there was no bolt on the door, Luca did the next best thing. She wedged a chair beneath the door handle. Then she quickly washed, removing the upper part of her robe briefly, then pushing up her skirts to reach her legs. She debated about removing her headcovering and did so reluctantly, her eye on the door lest the pirate burst through the meager barrier and discover her secret. She wished she had her little eating knife so she could cut off her glorious mane of hair.

After she finished washing she eyed Morgan’s desk with interest. A veritable treasure trove, she thought, opening the drawers in rapid succession. The best she could hope for was a letter opener, but if it was sharp enough it would do the job of cutting her locks. Luck was with her. In the bottom drawer Luca found a small grooming shears. She supposed Morgan used it to trim his hair. But when she lifted the scissors to her head, her hands shook. Her hair was her one physical attribute in which she took pride. She knew it would have to be cut when she took her final vows, but until then she had jealously groomed and preserved her long, lustrous locks. Now she was faced with a painful choice. Would she prefer dispensing with her virtue or her hair? It was no choice at all. She must protect her virtue against the virile pirate and his overwhelming power over her.

She worked quickly, efficiently, whacking off great hanks of hair without benefit of a mirror. Tears ran down her cheeks as the pile of shorn hair grew. She had no idea if she was cutting evenly, nor did she care. She only knew she had to finish and get rid of the evidence before Captain Scott returned.

The deed was finally done. Carefully gathering up the black locks she walked to the porthole, which had been left open to catch the breeze, and threw every last strand into the sea. She watched dispassionately as the dark locks hovered on the crest of a wave, then disappeared beneath the sur-face. Then she turned away and replaced her headcovering. And not a moment too soon. The door handle rattled, and suddenly the chair flew away as Morgan burst through the door.

“What did you hope to accomplish with the chair?” The sardonic tilt of his eyebrow told her just how ineffectual he thought her ploy to keep him out actually was.

“I
needed privacy to wash.”

“No one but me will ever enter this cabin without my permission.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Morgan smiled. “Soon, my little nun. Soon you will beg for my attention.”

“When the moon spins and the stars explode!”

“I
can make that happen,” he promised. His voice lowered to a husky whisper. “When I bring you to pleasure you will catch the spinning moon and reach for the stars.”

His seductive words sent Luca’s senses whirling. She had no idea what he was talking about, but somehow she suspected he could make it happen if she allowed it. “Your ego is severely overinflated, Captain.”

“Is it, little witch? Perhaps we should test my theory.” He walked slowly toward her. She turned to avoid him, but he was too fast for her. Besides, there was no place to go. He grabbed her and pulled her against him. She felt his incredible heat through his clothing and hers.

“What is it you want from me?” she cried. “Look at me! My behavior is neither seductive nor lewd. I’m wrapped from head to toe in drab gray, nothing is showing but my face. Surely there are more attractive women than me. I am a nun, a holy woman. I know nothing of worldly things.”

“If you think those robes you’re wearing will make you unattractive, you are sadly mistaken. I would teach you passion, little gray dove.”

His mouth came down hard on hers, demanding, parting her lips. His tongue swept hotly into her mouth, creating a fire that threatened to consume her. She felt his heat against her, branding her. She moaned beneath the furious onslaught of his kiss, held spellbound by his taste and touch.

Morgan was acutely aware of the physical contact between him and Luca. She was flush against him, and through the barriers of their clothing he could feel the length of her shapely legs, the seductive curve of her nips, and the soft fullness of her breasts. She may or may not be a nun but she was all woman. And ripe for the taking. Ripe for him.

Luca realized her danger, felt it with every fiber of her being and seemed helpless to stop what Morgan Scott had begun. If she truly wanted to know about passion, she felt certain that this English pirate could give her a forbidden glimpse of paradise. But she was made of sterner stuff than that Being seduced and discarded by a virile rogue was worse than having to wed a man she didn’t know. Neither choice was palatable. Some way, somehow, she had to convince El Diablo to send her back to the convent. And soon, before he made a mockery of her piety.

Wresting from his grasp, Luca used a ploy that had worked in the past with the pirate. She promptly fell to her knees before he could reach for her again. Grasping her rosary beads in her hands, she raised her eyes to heaven and moved her lips in fervent prayer.

Her devotion touched a responsive chord inside Morgan, and he stepped away with a vile curse. How could he seduce one so pious? So reverent?

She is not a nun, a voice inside him argued.

But Morgan’s ardor had cooled. Not because he held any reverence for her papist religion, but because she struck a chord deep inside him that spoke to his decency.

“Say your prayers, little nun,” Morgan snarled. “But in the end they will do you no good. I will have you, in my own good time.”

Chapter 4

M
organ’s fierce scowl prompted Stan Crawford to speak. “So the Spanish nun is still a virgin.”

Morgan rounded on him. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean, Mr. Crawford?”

“Even the crew is remarking on your foul temper. ‘Tisn’t like you to deny yourself.”

“Perhaps I don’t want the aggravation of deflowering the woman.” He shrugged expansively. “Virgins are rather inept creatures, hardly worm the trouble.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want her? Any one of the crew would jump at the chance to take their sport with her.”

“Including you?” Morgan asked sharply. “Forget it,” he said, not waiting for Crawford’s answer. The crew will never have her. Even if I decide I don’t want her for myself.”

Crawford sent him a measuring look. “Then I take it you will set Sister Luca ashore on one of the Spanish Islands to make her own way back to Spain.”

“Good God, no! Are you daft, man? Have you taken a good look at her? Even wrapped in those hideous robes and headcovering she exudes sensuality. She’s fooling no one by hiding her extraordinary beauty behind the trappings of a nun.”

“You don’t believe her? If you think she’s lying, why don’t you just take your fill of her and kiss her good-bye? You’ve done it before, many times, in fact.”

Morgan stared out across the tossing waves, mulling over Crawford’s advice. Lord knows he wanted the Spanish chit, nun or no. But for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to defile her, on that rare chance that she actually was a holy woman. One way or another he was determined to learn the truth about her. Once she was ensconced in his island home, he would turn his talents to learning exactly who Sister Luca was and why she had lied about her identity. If indeed she was lying. Then he would seduce her. Slowly, with great expertise, until she could no longer hold out against him. He looked forward with relish to the day Sister Luca doffed her gray robes and admitted she had lied.

And that day would come. As assuredly as the sun rose in the east and set in the west.

“In my own good time, Mr. Crawford,” Morgan smiled, “in my own good time. Right now it pleases me to humor her. I assure you, once we reach Andros I will learn the truth. Then I will teach Sister Luca what it is like to be a woman. Tis true I have no love for the Spanish, but perhaps I’ll find some redeeming quality in her. Time will tell, Mr. Crawford, time will tell.”

“What about Rouge? She won’t be happy with the addition to your household.”

“Rouge has no hold on me, therefore she has nothing to say about whom I invite into my home.”

“Something tells me Rouge has other ideas about your relationship. She’d like to make it permanent”

Morgan gave a shout of laughter. “I’m rich as Midas. ’Tis the money Rouge loves. When she became stranded on the island three years ago, I offered her passage back to England. She preferred to remain on the island as my mistress. Do you think I’m her only lover? I know of at least three other men, pirates all, who put into port and service her during my long absences. I’m sure mere are others I don’t know about. When and if I decide to marry, it won’t be to a sensuous tart like Rouge.”

No, definitely not,
Morgan thought silently. Incredibly, the auburn-haired Rouge LeClerc hadn’t once entered his mind since he’d met Sister Luca, a woman whose Spanish heritage made her his enemy.

Luca paced the cabin endlessly, stopping occasionally to stare out the window. More than once her hand found her head, feeling the loss of her hair keenly. And all because of
him.
El Diablo. He was arrogant overbearing, and…

Handsome as sin.

He tempted her. Made her think impure thoughts. Touched her in ways and places that were sinful.

Made her want more.

Perhaps her father had been right, and she was not meant for the religious life. She should have accepted her marriage to Don Diego as the will of God and taken comfort in any children born of their union. But when she tried to recall Don Diego’s face, all she saw was Morgan Scott’s devilish smile. She cried out in sincere alarm and willed his image away.

Actually, Luca looked forward to reaching the pirate’s stronghold, but only for the opportunity it offered. Though she knew almost nothing about the Bahamas, she supposed Spanish ships arrived occasionally, and with God’s help she would make her way back to the convent and take her final vows before her father found out and sent her back to Havana and Don Diego. What she didn’t look forward to was being alone with Morgan Scott any longer than necessary. The dark, fierce emotions he aroused in her were completely outside her realm of knowledge.

Luca spent the entire day scheming and making plans for her escape from Andros. Unfortunately she had no idea that the Bahamas were uninhabited. Though technically owned by Spain, no country seemed interested in the more than seven hundred islands and cays.

A tray of food was delivered at noon and again that evening by Mr. Crawford, who didn’t linger to engage her in conversation. Sometime during the day the cook’s helper, a scruffy young man who said his name was Lester, arrived to spruce up the cabin and carry out the odious contents of the chamber pot. He seemed to take the chore in stride, paying little heed to Luca’s flaming face. To Luca’s vast relief, Morgan didn’t return after leaving her kneeling in prayer earlier that morning.

When darkness arrived and the ship settled down for the night, Luca’s eyes returned to the door again and again, aware that Morgan would return to the cabin soon and her torment would begin anew. She tried to ready herself mentally but still wasn’t prepared when he stormed into the cabin. Arrogant, confident, commanding, the very air around him pulsed with the turbulence of his entrance. He searched her face, and once again Luca found herself cast too quickly beneath his spell.

The spell of a man who would ravish her, a man who hated her for her Spanish blood.

She stared back at him, stunned by the tempest in his eyes.

He smiled, and his blue eyes turned a peculiar silver, a mesmerizing silver. Was it desire she saw in them? She’d had too little experience with that emotion to know. She did not smile back.

“I’m surprised to find you still awake, Sister. No doubt you are accustomed to retiring early and arising with the dawn to begin your prayers.”

Her tongue refused to work, so she nodded.

“Then I suggest you get into bed.”

Her eyes grew wide. Her mouth went dry. Her voice was hoarse when she finally found it. “I will sleep on the floor.”

Morgan unbuckled his sword and tossed it on the chair. He had removed his jacket earlier in the day since the air was quite balmy in the southern waters they now sailed. Hands on hips, legs spread wide, he could be the answer to any young woman’s fantasy. But Luca’s fantasy was for a saintly life among the nuns.

“You’ll sleep in the bed… with me,” he added, watching her closely. Her eyes were on his sword, and she looked ready to bolt for it Morgan reacted swiftly. In two long strides he was beside her, his hands spanning her waist. He lifted her effortlessly and tossed her onto the bunk. She bounced once, then settled down.