Looking for a Hero (24 page)

“Then who?”

“You. Casey.”

“Why?”

“He wants you. Both of you, and he will let nothing stand in his way.”

Casey? Oh, God
.

Kate rushed up the stairs and down the hall. She could hear Morgan behind her, could feel his hands touching her shoulders as she opened Casey's door.

She walked to the bed and looked down at her daughter's precious face. Asleep.

Morgan wrapped his arms about her, and pulled her against his chest. “I will let no harm come to either of you,” he whispered. “Believe me, Kate.”

She turned in his arms, and he looked down at her with heated intensity. Taking her fingers, he led her out of the room and quietly closed Casey's door behind them. He started for the stairs, but she pulled back, then reached up, lightly caressing the scar on his face.

“I believe you,” she said, and before she could smile, before she could tell him that she'd never doubt him again, his lips pressed against hers, hard and passionate. She forgot how to breathe, but that didn't matter. He was breathing life into her.

Opening her mouth to his kiss, she felt his tongue mate with hers, felt his hands sweeping over her body, felt her sundress rising to her waist and being pulled over her head and tossed somewhere across the hall.

His fingers were in her hair, holding her mouth close, so very, very close, as he kissed her deep and hard.

Gradually, the kiss softened, the beat of his
heart slowed, and he cupped her face in his palms and looked lovingly into her eyes.

“I have never loved a woman before,” he said. “I have never wanted a woman so much that all other thoughts but her cease to exist. You have taken away my pain. You have made me happy, Kate, an emotion as bewildering and foreign to me as this century. Much has been written about me. I would imagine that stories about my exploits also abound. Some are true, I am sure, for I do not claim to be a man of many virtues. But many more are probably false. I cannot change any of that. I only hope I can make you believe the truth of my love for you.”

She would have told him she believed him. She would have told him in a hundred different ways that she loved him, but he kissed her instead.

Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to her room. It was cloaked in darkness. She could see nothing, but that didn't matter. She could feel, and she remembered so very well every wonderful thing that she'd felt last night when she and Morgan had made love.

He set her down in the massive Spanish chair made of dark walnut and wide straps of leather that Joe swore had once belonged to a pirate. It was a place for hanging dirty clothes, a jacket or sweater. It wasn't a place for making love.

“What's wrong with the bed?” she asked, scraping her fingernails across his shirt as he pulled away.

“'Tis not yet time for bed.”

“But—”

“Shhh,”
he said, touching an index finger to her lips. “Have you forgotten, Kate? 'Tis my turn to ask a question of you.”

Her fear had washed away and now passion consumed her. He would care for Casey, for her; there was no need to worry. And now she wanted him desperately.

“Couldn't you ask your question later?”

“I could. But I won't.”

“Then ask your bloody question.”

He laughed. “You must answer truthfully. Either yes or no.”

“Okay. I'm waiting.”

His smile did little to ease her frustration. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“You don't often show it.”

“What do you want me to do? Beg you to make love to me every ten minutes or so?”

“'Tis not a bad idea. Perhaps we will practice your begging in a moment or two, but there is something else on my mind at the present.”

“What?”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the emerald and diamond wedding ring that had belonged to his mother.

“'Twas my intention to give this to you earlier,” he said. “'Twas my intention to ask you once more to go with me. But it is a future I want
with you, Kate. I do not want to drag you with me back to my past.”

He knelt before her, lifted her left hand gently in his. She wondered if he could feel the trembling that raced from her fingers all the way down to her toes, wondered if he could hear her heart beating double time.

He slipped the ring onto her finger, then turned his hypnotizing blue eyes on her.

“Marry me, Katie.”

A tear slid down her cheek, and he captured it with his thumb.

“The proposal was not meant to bring tears to your eyes.”

“Do you really want to stay here?” she blubbered. He'd said those words over and over, but she hadn't believed them until now. “Do you really want to marry me?”

He nodded. “'Tis
all
that I want.”

“Oh, Morgan.” She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you so much.”

“'Tis about time you said those words, madam. 'Tis my hope I will not have to give you jewels every time I need to hear them.”

“I've never needed jewels or money or anything like that. I just want to be loved.”

“Then I will give you much. Every day. Every night.”

“I love you,” she repeated, laughing as she kissed every part of his face. “Could we please make love now?” she pleaded in between kisses. “Just like last night?”

“'Tis not a night like that that you need. Last night was much too hurried, for I feared I would be leaving soon.”

“We can do it slow and easy some other time. Just take me to bed, please.”

“Nay, I will not. 'Tis a pirate I am. A thief. You, my dear, sweet Katie, are the treasure I intend to plunder, one jewel at a time. Starting here.”

He kissed her ear, the warmth of his lips and tongue whispering over the curve of her neck while his fingers lightly traced the sensitive skin just below the lacy edge of her bra.

Skyrockets shot off inside her, ricocheting around and around, as his hands inched their way about her back, deliriously tormenting her skin with the roughness of his fingers.

One by one he loosened the catches on her bra, then drew it away from her body, as if he'd done it a million times before. He teased her breasts with the wet tip of his tongue, with his mouth.

“Oh, Morgan,” she moaned. “Please. Make love to me.”

“'Tis what I am doing. Slowly, Kate. Very slowly.”

He pulled her panties down her legs, one torturous inch at a time.

“Do not move,” he said, rising before her.

“Why?”

“You shall see.”

“You can't leave me sitting here stark naked.”

“I will be gone only a moment. I realize patience is not one of your virtues, but trust me,
Kate. I will make the wait worth your while.”

The room was impossibly dark, lit occasionally by streaks of lightning, and when they flashed, she could see the glint of light on his belt buckle. She heard a sizzle. She saw a flaming match, and Morgan's godlike body moving from one part of the room to another, setting fire to candle after candle until the room flickered with fiery glow.

“Where did all those candles come from?” Kate asked.

“I put them here earlier. Before I went to Evalena's.”

“You had this planned?”

“A good pirate always has a plan.” He knelt before her. “You, my sweet Katie, are too beautiful to hide in the dark. As I said last night, I want to see the pleasure on your face as I make love to you.”

He smoothed his hands over her breasts, kneading them gently, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.

“I assume that means you like this?” he asked.

“I like a whole lot of things, so try them all. If you do something I don't like, I'll let you know.”

She saw the devilish grin on his face before his mouth brushed over one breast, then settled on the other. His tongue swirled over one very taut, very needy nipple.

Every ounce of her body quivered at his touch. Her hands shook, but somehow she managed to get them into his hair, wrapping long silky strands about her fingers in an attempt to keep him near.

And he stayed close, very close, lifting her
breasts in the palms of his hands, kissing them, nipping them tenderly until a low moan of pleasure rose from deep inside her.

He looked up and smiled. “Tell me you love me again,” he whispered, half order, half plea.

It was the easiest thing she'd ever been asked to say. “I love you.”

Slowly he stood, his jeans-clad legs nudging her knees apart. Heat rushed to her face. Flames erupted between her thighs. He unbuttoned his shirt while his eyes caressed the secret parts of her body as erotically as the hands of a master seducer.

He threw his shirt to the floor, then lightly stroked her cheeks, her lips. She opened her mouth and sucked one of his fingers between her teeth, tasting the saltiness on her tongue as she swirled it about his knuckles, his fingernails, the very tip.

It was Morgan's turn to moan, Morgan's turn to gasp for breath.

“Do you like that?” she asked.

“Aye.”

Suddenly she was enjoying every moment of her agonizing wait.

He lifted one of her hands to his buckle, but she let it slide over the hardness beneath his jeans. She teased him lightly, watching the dance of candlelight in his eyes, listening to the raspy sound of his breathing as her fingers waltzed up and down the length of his straining zipper.

When she leaned forward and kissed the spot
where her hand had been, he groaned.

“Bloody hell, Kate. I will not last through the night if you do that again.”

She smiled and teasingly kissed him again, releasing the buckle, the button of his jeans, and slowly slid open the zipper.

She tucked her fingers inside his jeans and boxers and cupped him, relishing the silky smooth feel of him in her hand, wanting to feel him inside her. “I'm ready to make love, Morgan,” she said softly. “I think you're ready, too.”

“All in good time, madam. All in good time.”

She might have hated him if he hadn't laughed, if she hadn't known that each moment he lingered increased her desire in full measure with his.

He stood back, and she watched with fascination and awe as he hastily shoved off his boots, his jeans and underwear.

Oh, God, he looked magnificent, and her body throbbed, every sensitive speck of it.

He knelt before her again and smiled his devilish smile as his fingers meandered up the insides of her thighs, followed by his lips and tongue.

She threw her head back against the hard leather, grabbing onto his hair, twisting it, pulling it, as his hands slid under her bottom and lifted her so his mouth could move closer, closer.

“Oh, God!”

She felt the warmth of his lips, the erotic swirl of his tongue aimed at the very center of her body, and for one moment she thought she'd die from the sheer ecstasy of every stroke.

Her insides pulsed so rapidly she was afraid she'd explode, and then she did, again and again and again.

“Make love to me,” she begged one more time.

There was nothing he wanted more.

The time had come and he could wait no longer. He swept her from the chair and carried her to the bed. Flinging back the covers, he lay her soft, sweet body on the cool white sheets and covered her completely, kissing her as he entered her warm inviting haven.

Thunder rolled through the night, through his head, through his body, and wicked streaks of lightning shot across the sky. The windows and doors rattled, the floor seemed to shake, but it was no more tumultuous than the feelings shuddering through him.

He moved within her, slowly, deliberately, savoring each moment, learning as he loved her what stroke brought forth a gasp, which one a sigh.

Suddenly he didn't want to learn anything more; he wanted to take and give and forget everything else.

He buried himself deep within her, rocking back and forth, driving both of them to frenzy.

He forced himself to hold on, wanting her to know the same exquisite joy that he found just looking at her.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, scraped over the scars on his back, and he prayed that she would add one more scar to his body, one that
would always remind him of her love.

Her breath was coming out now in short, moan-filled gasps, and he caught them between his lips, kissing her hard and feverishly, until he could hold on no longer.

The thunder came again, and he rolled beneath her, letting her ride out the last moments of the storm above him. Her face lit up as the lightning struck. Her emerald eyes blazed down upon him, warm and full of love.

Weaving his fingers into her honey-colored hair, he rose up to meet her smiling lips. He kissed their blessed softness, whispered, “I love you,” and spilled his heart and soul and life deep, deep within her.

I
t wasn't much of a noise, but he'd heard it distinctly in between the thunder and lightning and the scratch of a tree branch against the side of the house. Maybe it was just a soft step on a floorboard. But he'd lain awake most of the night listening for even the slightest of sounds, and this one was enough to pull Morgan from the tangle of Kate's hair. Quietly he slipped from the bed, stepped into his trousers, and went to the door.

He listened, but heard nothing.

Kate stirred, rolled over in bed. Still asleep.

He went into the hallway and immediately turned to Casey's room. A sliver of light shone
under the door. He started to move toward it when he heard the footstep again.

The door opened slowly, and a little girl walked out of the room rubbing her eyes.

Morgan sighed with relief, and whispered, “Tis much too early for you to be up.”

Casey smiled. “I couldn't sleep.”

He scooped her up in his arms and she put her soft cheek against his whiskered face. He started to hum, softly, an old tune of his mother's. Carrying Casey down the stairs, he checked the front door, the windows in every room, and the door to the backyard. All were safely locked.

He carried Casey up the stairs, and went through the same ritual of checking windows in every room, before returning her to bed.

“Will you tell me a story?” Casey asked.

“One short one,” he answered, “and then you must go back to sleep.”

Casey turned on her side, tucked her hands beneath her cheek. She closed her eyes and smiled when Morgan began his tale about a man who'd found an angel and fallen in love. He whispered the words, smoothing a fallen curl away from Casey's cheek, and when he knew she was once again asleep, he kissed her brow, and returned to Kate.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, waking only when he crawled back into bed.

“Casey was awake. I told her a story—and checked all the locks again.”

Morgan leaned against the headboard and
pulled Kate against him. Her head rested against his shoulder and she traced small circles over his chest.

“Would you tell me a story, too?”

“I would rather talk of our future.” He kissed the top of her head and let his lips linger. “I love Casey as if she were my own, but I would like more children. Many of them.”

“Joe and I wanted more, too, but…” She raised her head and looked at him. “What if we can't have any more?”

He squeezed her tightly. “Tis not something to fret over. If the good Lord chooses to bless us, we will celebrate. If not,” he said, caressing the silkiness of Kate's skin, letting his thumb swirl over the roundness of her breast, “I do not believe our efforts will have been in vain.”

“What about a job? You'll have to work.”

“Are you forgetting, madam, that here in this very house I have a bag of jewels and another of gold and silver doubloons, which, I have been told, are worth many fortunes? Have you forgotten that I have treasures scattered in many other ports?”

“We can't live off your ill-gotten gains.”

“I do not consider these things ill gotten. 'Tis but a portion of the riches my family had before Thomas Low took everything. This is something I will not discuss.”

She started to protest, but he kissed her instead, rolling her beneath him and pinning her to the bed. “I have thought of one job I might like,” he
said, in between tasting her lips. “I would like to write books—history books, I imagine, ones that tell the truth of my time, not falsehoods.”

“You'd be good at that.”

“I am good at many things, madam. Would you like me to show you one of my greatest skills?”

Kate smiled. “Aye.”

And he did, making love to her until the wee hours of the morning.

 

Kate woke with a long roll of thunder rattling the windows and shaking the picture frames and knickknacks on the dresser. Morgan's hair was wrapped around her hands, and he slept soundless beside her. She smiled, and kissed his brow.

She loved him. She had no doubts about anything any longer.

Outside she heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel and shell path, on the porch, and a knock on the door.

Morgan didn't stir, even when she rushed from the bed and peeked out the window into the storm-darkened morning.

Nikki's patrol car was parked at the curb.

The knock came again, and then Kate heard the door open.

Kate grabbed a pair of cutoffs from the back of a chair and struggled into them, and was pulling a T-shirt over her head when Morgan jerked up in bed. “What's wrong?”

“Nikki's downstairs.”

“Good. We can tell her the truth, and she can
begin looking for Low—even though I'll find him first.”

“You're not going anywhere,” Kate said in a rush. “Give me a chance to tell her everything. If she sees you she'll overreact—she'll probably arrest you and ask questions later.”

She thought he was going to argue with her. Instead, he smiled. “Very well, madam. You talk to Nikki, and I'll check on Casey.”

“Thank you.”

Kate blew him a kiss as she dashed out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Nikki stood in the center of the living room. In her hands she was holding the wallet and ring, and she looked at Kate as if they were strangers.

“Is your pirate here?” Nikki asked.

“No. I told you he left yesterday.”

“I don't believe you. Not anymore.”

Nikki brushed past Kate, her hand moving to her gun as she put a foot on the first stair.

“Don't go up there. Please,” Kate called out, but Nikki ignored her.

Upstairs a door slammed, and Morgan's haunting cry echoed against the walls and through Kate's nerves. “Casey!”

Glass shattered.

Something hit the floor.

Kate ran, but Nikki beat her to the top of the stairs.

Morgan was lying on the floor in the doorway to Casey's room.

Nikki drew her gun and motioned for Kate to
stay back, but all Kate could think of was Casey, and Morgan. She slammed against Nikki's shoulder in her rush to the room, throwing Nikki off balance.

The gun fell to the floor, and Kate saw a booted foot kick it away as Nikki bent to retrieve her weapon.

A hand clamped over Kate's mouth, and she heard the familiar voice.

“Well, well, well. We meet again.”

Thomas Low's arm tightened around her waist, and the fingers that covered her mouth worked their way down to her breasts.

“Let her go,” Nikki said, sounding calm, in control.

“That is not possible. After all, she is what I came here for.”

Kate fought the fear rising inside her. “I was going to tell you about him,” Kate stammered. “He's the one you've been looking for, not Morgan.”

“You?” Nikki asked. “You're the murderer?”

“Aye, that I am,” he said proudly, no hint of remorse in his voice. “Murder is something I do quite well.”

“What have you done with my daughter? Please. Tell me,” Kate cried, struggling to look toward the empty room, the unmade bed, and the man she loved lying lifeless on the floor.

“She is alive. Have no fear. As for your friend—I imagine he's dead.”

Kate tried to control her anguish, to free herself of his hold, but she wasn't successful at either. Tears filled her eyes, blurring everything around her, even Nikki.

But she saw her sister-in-law move in spite of the sword held against her, saw her go for the gun, saw Thomas Low lunge, thrusting the blade into Nikki's stomach.

Kate screamed.

She saw the pain in Nikki's face, saw the dark red stain forming on her shirt as she crumpled to the floor.

Low pulled her away. “Do not struggle, Kate. Be good, and you will see your daughter again.”

He dragged her through the house and kitchen, his hand returning to her mouth to keep her from I screaming. His strength was too powerful to resist, and the knowledge that he had Casey made her willing to go anywhere he asked. The garage door was already open, and he shoved her through the passenger door of the Chevy. He climbed in behind her, coaxing her toward the driver's seat with the tip of his blade.

“Head toward the ship,” he told her.

“I need my keys.”

He held them toward her. “You should not keep these where just anyone can find them, Kate. You made it quite easy for me to get into your house, and now you're making it easy to drive away. Go.”

Her hands were shaking so hard she was afraid she wouldn't be able to start the car, but the engine
turned over immediately and she pulled out of the garage, down the driveway, and headed toward the bridge.

Her heart ached for Morgan, for Nikki. They could be dead or dying, but she could do nothing to help. Right now, she had to think about Casey, and it was her fear that kept her going.

“Where's my daughter?”

“On the ship. If you do as you are told, I might let you see her again.”

“What are you going to do to us?”

“I have not decided.” The edge of the sword wedged at the base of her neck. “You have seen the scars on Black Heart's face and back. Those, as you no doubt have heard, are the results of my handiwork.” He laughed. “Do you think the man you slept with last night will find you as pretty if you are scarred, like he is?”

 

Morgan thought his head had been split in two, but still he managed to push himself from the floor. There was blood on the carpeting. It coursed over his forehead and into his eye. He was dizzy, and then he stumbled over something behind him.

The blond-headed woman he'd seen on the ship lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Nikki—Kate's sister-in-law. He knelt beside her, turning her gently. He saw the agony in her face as her eyes opened.

“Gordon Lancaster,” she whispered, then gasped for breath. “He has Kate…and Casey. You have to help them.”

“Aye. But I must help you first.”

“No. Please.”

He didn't listen. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to Casey's bed, tugged the sheet away from the mattress and ripped away a strip. He folded it into a compress and placed it over I the gash he knew full well had come from the tip of Thomas Low's blade.

“Hold this against you.”

He lifted her hand and put it on top of the now blood-stained sheet.

“Call nine-one-one,” she told him, looking toward the small pink telephone sitting on the table next to Casey's bed. He had never used the telephone before, did not know what “nine-one-one” even meant, but he did as Nikki'd said.

He listened to the voice at the other end, and he asked for help, answering every question he possibly could until he finally shouted, “I don't have time to answer any more of your bloody questions. A woman needs help.”

He slammed the phone down, and smiled weakly at the woman looking up at him with a slight grin on her face and tears dripping out of the corners of her eyes.

“Hurry. Please,”

A moment later, Morgan was downstairs, recovering his weapons from the top of the cabinet where he'd left them but a few days before. He strapped the leather belt about his waist and shoved his cutlass, dagger, and pistol into their? appointed places.

Thomas Low would surely die this day. He ran outside into the driving rain. Thunder bellowed.

Lightning crackled and snapped. And suddenly he was three hundred years in the past, living the horror all over again.