The Infamous Rogue (16 page)

And that haunted her.
The cabin door opened.
Black Hawk entered the space. He filled the room with his robust presence. He was dressed in a white shirt, the fabric at his collar parted. The laces dangled, revealing the tufts of dark hair smattered across his strapping chest.
She licked her lips. He had the shirt tucked into his black trousers. Tight trousers. The material hugged his thick legs, his hips…
The swelling muscle between his legs made her heart quiver with longing. She tamped the wild passion into the pit of her soul. He still bewitched her mind. He still stirred her blood. She hated him for it. She hated herself even more for having the feelings a’tall.
He paused to look at her. Blue eyes, so riveting, fixed firmly on her, making her hot and needful—of him.
Could he hear her thoughts? See into her heart? He looked at her as though he could. She felt exposed. She wasn’t naked. She was dressed in a shift. She had removed the formal frock, the jewelry to keep the articles from being wrinkled or broken. But even the flimsy white shift seemed too heavy, too rough against her skin. She wanted to take off the chafing garment. She squirmed as she imagined the pirate lord’s warm, wet body pressed against her sweaty flesh.
She closed her eyes and shuddered. The damnable rogue! She needed to cut out his eyes. The haunting blue pools always put her wits in disorder.
James closed the door and headed for the small table in the corner of the room. The top was slanted, the papers and charts pinned to the surface. He flipped through a few sheets; she heard the rustling.
She humphed. That was the other reason she wasn’t wearing stiff and proper attire; she was alone. Why be uncomfortable? She didn’t associate with the crew
or
the pirate lord. She spent most of her time milling around the captain’s quarters. The blackguard ignored her. He stayed out of the cabin during the daylight hours. In the evening he returned to the room to sleep in the hammock while she stayed in the bed. He said not a word to her. He didn’t touch her, either…He only looked at her with those seductive eyes.
“What did you do with Sophia?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”
The man’s voice was like a low boom in the small space. It made her shiver. “Sophia. The snake. I thought she didn’t like to sleep alone. Did you give her to your sister?”
James snorted and looked back at the papers. “No. She sleeps with the butler when we’re all at sea. Sometimes I even take her with me. She takes care of the rats aboard ship.”
Sophia made a moue. She hated that damn snake. She wished it, too, would drown. But the snake could swim, she suspected. Curse it!
“Why are you crying?”
Was she crying? Sophia wiped her cheeks. There was a single tear there, a lone drop of moisture she had failed to stave off. She rubbed and rubbed until her skin ached. She wasn’t the maudlin sort.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.
He was quiet for a short while, mulling over papers. Then: “I didn’t give the order to set sail with you onboard.”
She humphed. “Aren’t you the captain?”
He gripped the edge of the table. “I didn’t give the order.”
She looked at him. He was so big. He had so much energy. He had so much strength. The blood moving through his veins pulsed with life. A life she sensed. A life she had once craved on the island.
Once upon a time, she had longed for the man every night he was away at sea. She had rejoiced every time the
Bonny Meg
had moored—and he had come for her. It had been more than pleasure, their affair. It had been more than lust…for her. But he had only wanted an island mistress.
Whore.
She wasn’t fit to be his wife then. Now he wanted to let her know he had not devastated her? That he had not set sail with her onboard to ruin her reputation? That he cared?
She snorted inwardly.
He stiffened.
He had sensed her cynicism. Lush lips thinned as he stared at her. Eyes slanted. The beautiful blue pools darkened—and burned.
He approached the bed.
She bristled.
A warmth seeped into her belly: a familiar heat. That look in his eyes! She remembered that look.
Hunger.
He was always so hungry after a long voyage at sea…hungry for her.
It’s good to see you, sweetheart.
She shivered.
But the wily cutthroat paused next to the sturdy sea chest instead. He flipped the lid, the roof landing on the bed with a thump, and rummaged.
She glared at him, pinched her lips together. He had rattled her senses, tossed her wits about with that scorching look.
For naught.
He had wanted to upset her, was all.
Slowly she slipped her foot across the bedding and reached for the lid with her toes. It wasn’t a very heavy sea chest. It was constructed from wicker with canvas stretched across the frame. Still it was cumbersome. She angled her toes just under the clasp—before she flicked her foot and sent the roof crashing.
“Blimey!”
James curled his fingers together, the appendages red and swelling.
He glared at her.
“Oops.” She smiled. “Sorry about that…my foot slipped.”
She started to retract her leg. He grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her roughly toward him.
Sophia gasped as her arse scraped across the linen. The friction warmed her buttocks. She stopped at the edge of the bed, heart pounding. Skirt rucked up to her belly, bottom hanging precariously, she was vulnerable and exposed.
The way he liked it.
The way she liked it.
“You bloody witch.”
James pressed his knee against the sea chest and curled his heavy body over her like a storm cloud. She was captivated by the man’s thunderous expression. It stirred her blood to see the heat in his eyes—for her.
He took her leg and wrapped it around his hip, pressing more and more of his weight against her quim as he settled between her legs.
Sophia gasped again. Blood thumped through her veins. She took in a deep breath. Then another. Quick and hard.
“Are you sure you want to break my fingers?” He slowly licked her lips with the tip of his tongue. “Are you sure you want to cripple me, so I can never touch you again?”
Sophia moaned.
He cupped her breast. It filled his large palm. She was hungry for breath as he kneaded the sensitive mound. The strength, the heat in his hand was pure torture. He moved his fingers in harmony with the waves. It was a lazy caress. But, oh, what a caress! It dazzled her senses.
“Have you missed my touch?” he whispered hoarsely.
He ripped the shift. She stiffened, pulse pounding. She grabbed his wrist. But he still slipped his stalwart fingers into her bodice and plumped her breast.
Sophia whimpered. Cool air rushed over her nipple, taut and peeking through the hole. He darted his warm thumb across the hard nub and rubbed.
Yes! Like that!
She chewed her bottom lip as he stroked the nipple. It lengthened under his masterful touch. It ached.
She
ached. For him. So deep. So strong.
Sophia closed her eyes. She reached for him with her hands. She reached for him with her lips…
He pulled away from her.
Not again!
He was breathing hard. So was she. He was fighting…what? Her? He had a voracious sexual appetite. She remembered the wench prostrated at his feet. Sophia had interrupted him with his paramour. He was still unsatisfied. How much longer would he suffer? How much longer would he make
her
suffer?
James opened the chest again.
She seriously contemplated slamming the lid on his fingers once more.
“I don’t have time for this,” he said brusquely.
She almost choked. She scooted back across the bed, pulled her skirt over her knees and covered her breast. “And what the devil is so important—”
He yanked the Jolly Roger from the chest.
Sophia stared at the skull and crossbones, the hourglass warning prey that time was running out for them.
She blinked. “I thought you’d retired from piracy?”
“I have.”
“Then what are you doing with the flag?”
He looked at her sharply. “There’s a ship tailing us. We’re about to be attacked.”
Sophia wasn’t alarmed. The man had a lusty appetite for sex—and a good fight. Perhaps he wanted the other ship to attack? Perhaps he wanted another thrilling raid at sea? Cravats and coattails didn’t suit him.
“Is it a navy vessel?” she wondered. “Is she here to apprehend you?”
“No,” he said succinctly.
“Are you going to rob her then?”
“I’m going to sink her.”
“Why?”
He said darkly, “She’s my enemy.”
Sophia shivered.
She
was his enemy, too. Would he sink her one day?
“Why is she your enemy?” she said, breathless.
“Do you remember the account in the paper about the pirates?”
“Yes.”
“She’s been posing as the
Bonny Meg
, attacking other ships in my name. I can’t let her do that anymore.”
Sophia’s eyes rounded. “You’re not really delivering cargo to America, are you? This was all a trap to lure the impostors out to sea.”
“That’s right.”
“So that’s your mission?” Sophia stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles. She folded her arms across her chest, too. She had tasted the smoke and blood of a sea battle before. She had endured the cannon’s wrath on her father’s pirate ship. She wasn’t worried about the skirmish, and with Black Hawk at the helm, she’d bet her fortune he’d come out the victor. So…“Why are you letting
her
chase you?”
He regarded her thoughtfully. He then gathered his features, hard and inscrutable. “I don’t want to frighten her off. I want her to come closer before I hoist the flag and attack her. I want her to know the
real
Black Hawk destroyed her.”
That was the coldhearted devil she remembered from the island. That was the vengeful brute she had encountered at the earl’s picnic—the very barbarian who might destroy
her
one day, too.
He headed for the door. “Stay here, Sophia.”
“I hope she sinks
you
first!”
He paused, muscles stiff. “If anything happens to me, William knows you’re here. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll take you home.”
James left the cabin without sparing her another glance.
Sophia humphed. She hoped the blackguard drowned. She hoped a cannonball smacked him straight in the belly; he deserved it.
She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She napped…a minute later she jumped from the bed and started to pace.

The cannons blasted. Footfalls pounded overhead. Men shouted for gunpowder. Smoke and sulfur seeped into the hull, drifting through the ship and into the cabin space.
Sophia sneezed. Water filled her eyes. She wasn’t crying, but the sting from the sulfur pinched her eyes and afflicted her vision.
She had to squint to see the lock. She angled the blade through the keyhole, digging. “Open!”
The door obeyed.
The lock snapped.
Sophia blinked. But she quickly smothered her wonder and slipped the knife back between her breasts before she scrambled to her feet.
Slowly she opened the door and peeked into the corridor. Empty. Good. She didn’t want another pirate to see her, to know she was onboard. If her reputation wasn’t already ruined, one word uttered by a foxed tar in port would see to it that it was.
Sophia sneaked through the passageway, her belly in a knot. She wasn’t seasick. She had sturdy sea legs. However, the muscles in her midriff ached. Ached with dread.
She braced her hand against the wall for support as the ship lolled perilously. There was a ringing sound in her ears. Crackling drumbeats. The blasts resounded. One after another. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Sophia reached the stairs. In the violent upheavals, she grabbed the steps and ascended them like a ladder to keep her balance.
She popped her head through the hatchway.
Topside, dark clouds of ash and soot rolled across the deck. She choked back the fumes. The smoke was thick. It was hard to breathe—and see.
Where is he?
She was positioned astern, the length of the
Bonny Meg
stretching before her. She searched the deck. She searched for him.
“Rake her!”
Sophia’s heart thundered. She shifted her eyes to starboard. He was alive! So alive! Pinched nerves eased. Warmth rushed through her veins. She trembled. She was so weak. She had wasted so much energy fretting. It had been for naught. He was alive. He was still alive.
James moved across the deck in harmony with the thrashing waves. He was one with the ship. Chaos stormed around him, but he ignored it. He cut through the smoke. He moved with confidence, avoiding hazards even with a wall of soot obstructing his view.
The
Bonny Meg
belonged to him. Sophia sensed he’d move across the vessel with the same assured gait if he was blindfolded. He knew the ship so well. He was comfortable with her, too. If she dipped, he arched his body in the opposite direction to compensate. He maintained his balance. He never lost his footing. He was strong and in control. He was in his element. And Sophia was captivated.
“She’s getting away!” cried James.
The
Bonny Meg
maintained the weather gage, bearing down on the enemy ship. The other rig was desperate to escape, turning downwind. As she rolled, she exposed her hull.
“Aim for the belly!” James ordered.
At the same moment the enemy’s cannons pointed up at the
Bonny Meg’
s sails. A series of blasts thundered through the heavens.
Sophia’s heart was in her throat as splinters rained. She ducked. The shards of wood pierced the deck like daggers. The fore and mizzen masts remained untouched. The mainmast was crippled, but standing.
Sophia poked her head through the hatchway once more…but Black Hawk was gone.
The deep, quick raps of her heart filled her head as the pressure in her skull mounted and throbbed. Blinded by the dense smoke, she screamed, “James!”
A big shadow loomed. It was a dark and familiar silhouette. A gust of wind pushed the gray wall of fumes across the deck, revealing the pirate captain looking haggard.
But alive.
Sophia’s heart quickened. The black devil was covered in soot. It was smeared across his features, too. The black smudges stressed the dark fire burning in his deep blue eyes as he glared at her.
“Get below!” he blustered.
He was hoarse. The shouting and smoke had ravaged his throat, deepened his voice…made it huskier, more seductive.
She shivered.
She glanced at his dirty shirt, ripped. The muscles underneath glistened in the sunlight, the flesh stained with gunpowder and sweat—and blood.
He was hurt.
But he was alive.
She might not be for too long, though. He looked murderous. But she didn’t budge from the hatchway. She waited another minute for the other ship to take flight before she was sure the battle was over—and he was still alive.
Sophia descended the steps, coughing. She beat the air with her hand, shooing the smoke as she returned to the captain’s cabin to wait for him.
Chapter 15
J
ames grabbed the ratlines. He curled his arm around the coarse rope and clenched his teeth. Lungs heaving, he glared after the enemy vessel sailing away and cursed the craven crew. He had come so close to sinking the impostors.
“Shit!”
William approached him, looking bedraggled. “I second that.” He wiped the dark smudges from his brow. “At least we frightened her. She might not venture out to sea in our name again.”
James gritted, “She didn’t even balk when we raised the flag.”
“She got a good beating, though.”
“Aye, but she’ll recover from it…and set sail again. She’s cheeky.”
“We can always give chase.”
James glanced at the mainmast. Sunlight bled through the pockets in the smoke. He squinted and observed the ravaged tip. “We’re hit. It’s too dangerous to give chase. See to the repairs, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“And the crew?”
“No casualties,” reported William. “A few broken bones, though. Cuts and bruises, too. Quincy’s tending to the injured. He’s got a steady hand with a needle and thread…Do you want me to summon him?”
James glanced at the wound smarting at his breast: a long gash that cut across his pectoral. Not too deep, though.
“No,” said James. “Let Quincy see to the other men first. I can wait.”
James looked at the
Bonny Meg
. There was still smoke drifting through the rig, but a strong wind quickly pushed the heavy fumes out to sea.
He surveyed the damage for the first time: tattered ropes and sails, smashed planking. The capstan was missing a few bars. But the rig was still in good order. The repairs would take a few days. A week, perhaps. But the
Bonny Meg
had weathered worse storms and battles. She was strong.
“Set a course back to England,” ordered James.
“And the impostors?”
“We’ll get them yet, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, Captain.”
William walked away, shouting orders to the tars. There was rapid movement as the able-bodied men cleared the debris and set to work on the repairs.
James glanced at the hatchway. He imagined the ghostly image of Sophia—and stiffened. He
would
throttle the witch. But not now. Now he had to inspect the rest of the ship belowdecks, the crew. But later…
An hour later James opened the cabin door. The viper had busted the lock. There was nothing to protect her from the rest of the men. Not that the tars would hurt her; James trusted the crew. But she had risked her own precious reputation. Was she daft?
Sophia was sitting on the bed. She jumped to her feet as soon as he entered the room.
She was ragged. Shift stained with soot, cheeks with ash. He glared at her. He moved his eyes from her head to her bare toes. No blood. No bruises. She was all right.
James let out a loud and heavy breath. He sensed he had been holding it for the last hour.
“I told you to stay in the cabin,” he said darkly.
“I don’t take orders from you.” She glanced at his chest. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart…I know you wanted me dead.”
She cut him a wry look. She crossed the rubble in the room and collected a canteen of fresh water from the floor. “Take off your shirt.”
Muscles twitched. “Like hell.”
She grabbed a small towel off the floor, too. The room was a mess after the stormy battle. She had to circle tossed linens and toppled chairs to get to him.
The long wisps of her dark brown hair hugged her torso like a thick and woolly blanket. Wild. Sophia.
That
was Sophia.
“Let me tend to the wound,” she said, eyes alight.
“I don’t need your bloody help,” he returned stiffly. He would endure the pain, the filth. He would stomach the blood and the ash before he’d let her touch him with a kind hand. A deceptively kind hand. The woman was cold. She had ice for blood. No heart at all.
Sophia tucked the towel under her arm. She pinched her elbow against her rib to keep the linen in place. It rested against her breast, pressed against the tear in her shift.
He eyed the soft, creamy patch of flesh that peeked through the tattered fabric. James fisted his palms. His fingertips pulsed with the memory of her plump breast in his hand, her nipple hardening and lengthening under his thumb’s ministration.
He shuddered. She reached for him with her free hand—and yanked the scruffy garment off his shoulders.
“There,” she said smugly. “Now we’re even.” She tossed the rags away. “Sit on the bed, Black Hawk.”
He didn’t budge. Every muscle was taut. Blood pumped through his veins and into his cock. He was fighting hard to keep the fire in his belly from burning through what was left of his clothes.
Sophia pushed him. She splayed her fingers and pressed her palm against his midriff. She was hot, too. The heat in her hand—her eyes—betrayed her true feelings.
He sat down with a grunt. He glared at her, trembled softly. He watched as she popped the cork and soaked the linen with the fresh water.
She set the canteen aside. She looked at him with beautiful, bay brown eyes. Mussed hair. Wild lips. Sophia.
That
was Sophia.
She stepped between his legs to better reach the wound; his thighs quivered.
Softly she dabbed at the gash across his chest. He was quiet, unmoving as she nursed him tenderly. Not Sophia. She was not Sophia now. Sophia wasn’t kind. She wasn’t tender.
She mopped the blood. He ached to the bone. He ached for her. Seven years ago he had engaged in a battle. As now. Seven years ago he had returned to the plantation house after the raid, needing her. As now. But she had vanished. She had deserted him.
She had killed him.
He slapped her wrist.
She dropped the towel. It landed on his boot.
“What was that for?” she demanded, bemused.
She had touched him too much. She had liked it too much. It was there in her eyes. But the past was dead. He wanted revenge.
He kicked the towel across the room. It smacked against the wall. “Keep your hands off me.”
She pinched her lips. There was a dark fire burning in her eyes. “But you’re hurt.”
“I’ll heal.”
He got off the bed. He was sick. There was a heavy, almost crippling sentiment in his gut. It stifled his movements.
James headed for the door. “I have work to do.”
He had a ship to look after, a crew to heal. He didn’t have time to waste with the witch. Let her cast her spells on some other poor sap, like the earl.
“Wait!”
“What?” he barked.
She slipped between him and the door. There was longing…lust in her eyes.
Burn, sweetheart.
He rasped, “Move.”
“James,” she whispered weakly.
“Oh no.” He caged her. He pressed his hands against the door and looked deeply into her wicked eyes. “You can scream my name, Sophia. It won’t do any good. I’m not interested.”
“Liar,” she gritted.
She was breathing hard. He inhaled the woman’s sweet musk. It thrilled him, set his bones shaking. She was making him weak with her arousal.
“What do you want, James?”
I want you to beg me.
She reached for him, hand trembling. “Please.”
He cuffed her fingers. Blood pounded in his head. He wasn’t sure he had heard the word. “What?”
She mouthed the word again. “Please.”
He gnashed his teeth. “Louder.”
“Please.”
He pressed his lips softly against her mouth and whispered, “Louder.”
“
Please!
”
The aching cry resounded in his throat. It was his undoing.
He crushed his mouth over hers. So soft. So hot. She tasted like the sea. She tasted like smoke. She tasted like Sophia.
Sophia!
Long, strong arms gripped him. She pinched his neck in need. Such savage need. She opened her mouth for him and let him ravish her. She took everything he gave her—and she still wanted more. He sensed it, the woman’s insatiable desire.
James grabbed her and thrust her against the door; the planking shuddered. Blood throbbed through his veins. He reached between her breasts and removed the small knife. “Spread your legs.”
She obeyed.
He bussed her sweet lips before he dropped to his knees. She wanted to sink to the ground, too, for her knees buckled.
“Hold still,” he ordered.
She spread her fingers apart, bracing the door for support. She whimpered. He loved to hear her wanton whimpers.
Come for me, sweetheart.
James pierced the shift with the blade. In one swift stroke, he rent the garment. She gasped. He dropped the knife. He seized the two halves and split the skirt even more. He split the linen right to her navel.
Sophia groaned as he exposed the folds of her feminine flesh. He groaned, too. He was so hungry for her. It had been so long since he had tasted her.
He trembled as he slipped a finger inside her wet passage and watched the sweet fluid bleed from her womb and soak his hand.
That’s it, sweetheart. Come. Come!
She cried out. She wanted him. She
needed
him. He sensed her every shameless thought, her every throbbing want.
He was one with her. And she with him. She filled the dark and empty places in his soul. Giving her pleasure, joy made him feel alive.
He
made her wet.
He
made her happy. He alone.
He wanted more.
James parted the dark curls at her apex and softly kissed the engorged and quivering flesh, tasting the dewy moisture on her nether lips.
She whimpered and trembled even more.
More!
He wanted more from her. He wanted to unleash every desire she had buried, every passion she had smothered inside her. He wanted her to ache and throb and weep for him. And him alone.
You can’t live without me.
He slowly raked his fingers along her leg, tickled the hollow at her knee. He caressed her warm thigh, stroked her buttocks as he licked her quim. He thirsted for the heady juices.
She cried out in pleasure.
Louder!
She twisted his hair around her fingers, pinched his scalp. She pressed him harder against her core.
“Oh, James!”
That throaty cry; it made him burn. He gripped her buttocks with both his hands, kneaded the plump flesh as he feasted on her most sensitive part.
She lifted one leg and draped it over his shoulder, giving him greater entrance to her pulsing arousal. He could feel her belly heave and quiver against his sweating brow, each gasp a soft cry of bliss, urging him to work faster, harder to give her release.