The Pirate Ruse (21 page)

“Succumb to me, Cristabel,” he mumbled against her
mouth. “It is as easy as waking to a sunrise, love.”

He kissed her again
, with less brutality perhaps but with pure as much sensuous allure.

“Sub
mit, my ripe little pomegranate,” he breathed. “You cannot tempt a pirate the likes of Navarrone the Blue Blade and not expect to pay the price.” He kissed her—softly—playfully. “Come now, Cristabel Albay. I endeavored to teach you to evade me. Let me now endeavor to teach you to kiss me.”

“I know how to kiss you,” Cristabel whispered
, breathless and blanketed in goose flesh.

“Do you
, love?” he teased.

“Yes,” she breathed, allowing her hands to grip his muscular forearms as her knees began to
weaken.

“Then prove it
,” he mumbled.

He released her face
, dropping his hands to his side and straightening his intimidating posture to his full height. He was taunting her—challenging her—and did not think she had the courage to spar with him. Yet she was Cristabel Albay—Cristabel Albay who had weathered kidnapping, who had escaped the pirate Bully Booth. She had killed a man, dressed as a man, and lingered in the presence of traitors. Surely Navarrone the Blue Blade did not think her determination to survive would be so easily vanquished. Yet it was not her instincts of survival that had led her to kissing him—but her pure desire to know what it was to feel his lips against hers.

Still, she could not be found out.
Judging that he may be obstinate in her efforts to prove herself to him, she glanced around the room in search of something to better heighten herself. The crate that had once contained a bottle of rum and a tin of Marie Blanchard Biscuits stood against one wall. Quickly, she pulled it to a position directly before the pirate Navarrone, turned it over, and stepped up onto it.

Folding his muscular arms across his broad chest, Navarrone’s eyes narrowed with daring.

“I am not afraid of you, pirate,” Cristabel said.
She had uttered a lie, but only in part, for she did assuredly know one thing: if the pirate Captain Navarrone the Blue Blade had truly meant to harm her, he would have done so already. Furthermore, her mouth was watering for want of kissing him again. She surmised there must indeed be some terrible, reckless creature lurking in her if she were to know such desire. Yet her pride was at stake, as well as her craving to kiss him.

“I am not afraid of you,” she repeated, reaching forth to capture his squared, strong jaw between her hands.
She allowed her thumbs to gently trace the line of his well-groomed mustache—from its center, down over the corners of his mouth, to rest finally at the goatee at his chin.

“You should be, love,” he mumbled
, and she trembled as her hands followed their own will, to slide over his cheeks and into the soft, dark length of his hair.

She would waste no more moments on consideration
, else the courage she fought so bravely to retain would be lost.

Leaning forward
, Cristabel pressed her lips to Navarrone’s. She had not been kissed so many times before. Yet she had spent many hours in secret observation of her stepfather’s servants engaging in the playful, sometimes impassioned exchange of kisses—in the woods, near the river, or in various stables and barns. This, combined with the euphoric example of alluring, ambrosial kisses Captain Navarrone had only recently applied to her mouth, offered Cristabel ample instruction on how to proceed—or at least she assumed it did.

Again she dared to kiss him—to tenderly press her lips to his—and her heart leapt when
she sensed his tentative response. He unfolded his arms from across his chest, and when she felt his hands come to rest at her waist, Cristabel Albay was undone! Instantly, her arms encircled Navarrone’s neck as she kissed him once more. Her lightly parted lips met his, and a sudden fire ignited within her as he pulled her body against his, wrapping powerful arms around her waist. His warm, moist mouth captured hers as he then became the captain of not only the
Merry Wench
but also their savory exchange of desire. Again and again he kissed her—mingled the flavor of his mouth with her own in a rhythmic, impassioned cadence that mirrored the breaking waves of the sea.

Cristabel was undone
—helpless to resist him! As his hands roved over her back, caressed her shoulders, and again grasped her waist, lifting her down from the crate to pull her into his powerful embrace, her body grew weak and pliable to his will. Tears filled her closed eyes—for he was a privateer! Captain Navarrone was not a captain in the regular navy; he was a privateer—a mercenary! He was a scoundrel, a rogue, and a rake! Yet her body begged for his touch, her mouth watering for want of his continued kiss, her heart silently crying out an admission that she cared for him—cared for him in a manner she should not!

Desperate to salvage her pride
, her heart, perhaps her life, she allowed her arms to slide around his waist. She felt his body tremble from the caress—wanted to weep for what she was about to do—what she did not want to do but must.

Grasping the hilt of the dagger he kept sheathed at the back of his trousers, she quickly
unsheathed it, gently drawing the blade to his throat.

At once
Navarrone broke the seal of their lips, chuckling as he released her. Struggling to restrain the tears brimming in her eyes—tears of regret, tears of something akin to heartache—Cristabel stepped back from him.

“I-I could have cut your throat,” she stammered, feigning intention.
She had not meant to best him at his own game, but fear of the emotions that had nearly overcome her in his arms had forced her to it.

A grin tugged at the right corner of his alluring mouth
, and he said, “Well played, love. Well played.” He smiled then, breathed a chuckle, and added, “Though do not attempt to convince me that you would have been so agreeable in Bully Booth’s cabin.”

“S-so certain, are you?” she countered
, though her innards were a chaos of knotted desire and regret.

He smiled again.
“Yes, love,” he answered. “Remember…I’m a pirate. I can taste desire on a woman’s tongue as surely as you can taste sugar on yours.”

“Why are you keeping me?” she asked
, humiliated as a tear managed to escape her eyes to travel over her cheek. Their tryst was over, as was the competition of wills he had set in motion. Thus, she offered him the dagger, and he accepted it, sheathing it in the back of the waist of his trousers once more. “There will be no ransom to collect. Why keep me a prisoner?”

“Perhaps
to satisfy my wanton, pirate lust,” he grumbled, frowning at her.

“
It is obvious that is not your reason,” she said. She glanced to the portrait hanging on the cabin wall beyond him—wondered if the beautiful woman in the portrait had known the warm wonder of his kiss. The thought of his kiss caused her mouth to water. Another tear escaped her brimming eyes.

“Very well,” he said, inhaling a deep breath.
“I do believe you are still of worth as a pawn in my hand.” Navarrone’s frown deepened; his breathing became rapid with restrained anger. “We fought hard to forge this country…and not so long ago. Still, the British are yet moved to test us! Many men died for our freedom, and I will not stand idle by and watch more men wasted under the British thirst for power! I will see your bloody Richard hang with William Pelletier at his side!”

Navarrone had not known she could hurt him—wound him so deeply as she had when she had feigned pleasure in his kiss only to best him at his own game. He had been nearly certain he had sensed a desire in her—a desire for him that was nearly as powerful as his desire for her was. Yet he had been mistaken, fool that he had become. Even yet he trembled within, his innards quivering with hope and desire. The feel of her caress still lingered on his arms, on his face, in his hair.

“And I will gladly
witness it as well,” she said. She looked to him, and he fancied there was pain in her eyes. “But if you do not want me for any…for any carnal purpose, Captain Navarrone,” she began, “then I have nothing to offer in exchange for James Kelley’s flogging.”

He frowned
, for it near seemed she was disappointed that he was not going to attempt to ravage her further. He thought for a moment, reflected on her involvement in their kissing—on the fact that she indeed kissed him first. Could it be there was more to her reasons than the simple besting of him?

“I promised I would not flog him if you gave me what I intend to have,” he said.
“And I intend to see the Pelletiers stretch their necks for treason and slaving.”

She still seemed disappointed somehow
, and he began to wonder if perhaps she had more attachment to him than he surmised. Hence he added, “Thus, come at me again—as if I were your lover and you meant to seduce me—and I will stay his flogging.”

“D-do you mean that I should kiss you again?” she asked.
He grinned when her cheeks pinked with something akin to delight.

“In
deed,” he confirmed. “Kiss me as you would kiss your lover, Richard…though I suppose he is no longer your lover, is he?”

“I-I never kissed Richard.”

“What?” Navarrone exclaimed in disbelief.

“I told you before
. I never liked him.”

Navarrone chuckled.
“Then kiss me the way you would kiss a man you wished to coax into being your lover…and I will stay James Kelley’s flogging.”

“Do you promise?” she asked, tears welling to her eyes.
Oh, how loath she must be to kiss him again. He knew it, yet he would have the flavor of her mouth to haunt his dreams. Once more he would know her kiss, even for her loathing of him.

“I do,” he said.

He watched then as she pulled the old crate to position before him once more—took her place upon it.

“F-for the sake
of James Kelley,” she whispered as she took his face between her soft hands.

“For James Kelley, love,” he mumbled.

Cristabel’s
body trembled with desire, her arms and legs engulfed in goose flesh at the anticipation of knowing his mouth once more. Tentatively she pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss—grew breathless as she felt his lips begin to meld with her own—felt the piloting of the exchange transfer from her will to his.

“Aw
, but I want a lover’s kiss,” he mumbled against her mouth. “For James Kelley’s sake…it must be your lover’s kiss you gift to—”

She silenced him with her
kiss—melted against him as his arms encircled her. Again he was captain of their exchange, sailing her on waves of bliss with the heated moisture of his mouth. She could feel his whiskers at her chin, her cheek, against the flesh of the perimeter of her lips, and she shivered with pleasure at the knowledge the pirate Navarrone was kissing her!

His hands went to her waist
, and she gasped—drew away slightly when his hand inadvertently slipped beneath her shirt a moment. His palm was warm, his touch purely vitalizing!

She blushed
, and he grinned. “Why, you’re not wearing a corset, love. Not even a chemise, for that matter,” he mumbled.

“I-I was afraid I might be found out if…” she stammered.

His hand left her skin, returning to the outer of her clothing, and she frowned—relieved yet somewhat astonished at his not taking advantage of her immodesty. Instead, his hands slid up her back, and he pulled her against him as he ravished her mouth in one last driven drink of her.

“I’ll stay James Kelley’s flogging, Cristabel Albay…and yours,” he mumbled against her mouth.
“For now.”

He released her
, and she stumbled off the crate, leaning against the wall for support, for he had quite weakened her knees with the rendering of such impassioned kisses.

“
Change your pirate’s clothes for your own now,” he commanded, turning and striding to the chaise. “We sail for the bay and a period of respite and planning.”

“Do you mean I am to accompany you to your home?” Cristabel asked.

“Yes, love,” he said, stretching out on the chaise. He chuckled. “I suppose you could say I’m taking you home to meet my mother.”

“My
own mother will think I’m dead by now,” Cristabel mumbled as the thought occurred to her.

“Yes, love.
I suppose she will,” Navarrone said. “Now exchange James Kelley’s clothes for your own. I will avert my gaze.” He exhaled a heavy breath of fatigue and mumbled, “James Kelley…poor lad. I suspect his misery will be punishment enough.”

“His misery?” Cr
istabel said.

“Yes…for
I intend to allow him to believe you indeed sacrificed yourself to me on his behalf,” Navarrone explained. “He must learn that each choice offers a consequence. Mustn’t he, love?”

“I suppose so,” Cristabel mumbled
, knowing full well Captain Navarrone was again playing moral tutor to her.