The Pirate Ruse (28 page)

“You’re not leaving me now, are you?” he asked, still holding her ankle with one hand.

“I-I…of course I am,” she managed. “I promised your mother I would not tarry, else you begin to think I—”

“Stay a moment more,” he said, gently tugging on the hem of her gown
, “for you have accused me of being a rogue who cannot be tamed. It is only fair that you allow me the opportunity to prove myself otherwise. Do not judge and hang me unjustly…the way the Salem magistrates judged and hanged my innocent ancestor.”

She sat down promptly then
. Yet he wondered if it were because she had decided to stay with him or because his attention to her ankle had weakened her knees. She sat opposite him, her back to the sea in facing him.

“As I said,” he began, releasing her ankle
, for he did not want to press her to trepidation, “today I am but a simple man on the shore. A simple man…begging a pristine kiss from a lovely young woman of his acquaintance.”

As Trevon Navarrone sat staring at her, Cristabel swallowed the excess moisture suddenly flooding her mouth. Her body was yet alive with goose flesh, the residual bliss of his having grasped her ankle. She was trembling—weak—mesmerized by the smoldering depths of his dark gaze. As he sat, one long leg stretched out before him, the other serving as support of his strong arm, he appeared quite approachable in a manner. Yet as the breeze caught his dark hair, blowing several long tendrils across his forehead to slightly shade his eyes, Cristabel was suddenly terrified! He held some dark power over her—some dangerous allure she had never experienced in the presence of any other man. It was as if his very soul beckoned hers. She felt that if she were ever to succumb to his beguiling charm, he might actually absorb her somehow—consume her very essence.

“May I kiss you then?” he asked.
His voice was low—provocative—laced with some bewitching tone that echoed in her mind like a reverie. “Just one pristine kiss…politely applied?”

“Of course…if you are truly able to politely apply anything with a semblance of refinement,” Cristabel answered.
She feigned calm, though her heart beat so brutally within her bosom she feared it might beat itself dead!

“I can do anything I put my mind to, love,” he said, reaching out to brush her cheek with the back of his hand.

He leaned toward her then, and Cristabel held her breath as he gently took her face between his hands—pressed his lips to hers—applied a sweet, pristine kiss that lingered only several brief moments. He drew away from her then, trailing one thumb over her tender lips before releasing her.

“There you are, love,” he mumbled, donning a mischievous smile.
“Polite and pristine…just the way you prefer it.”

“I never said I prefer it, sir,” she reminded him, weakly rising to her feet.
“I only said you could not do it. And you have proven me wrong. Therefore, I offer my congratulations.”

An odd mingling of emotion was brewing within Cristabel.
She was suddenly overwhelmed with a sad sort of disappointment. Still, in the same moment, the physical effect of his kiss had sent her body into flushing warm and desirous. She wanted to cry—yet fancied giggles were bubbling in her throat.

“This?
Resignation…from
you
?” he chuckled, rising to his own feet. “Easy acceptance of defeat from Cristabel Albay…the rebellious, rum-drinking vixen?”

She quivered as he trailed the back of his hand over the tender flesh of her arm.
He took her hand, loosely lacing his fingers with hers.

“I have only ever once partaken of spirits…out of sheer desperation of thirst imposed by you, Captain Navarrone,” she said.
“And I assure you, I will not be partaking of them ever again.”

He grinned—ran his palm from her wrist up over the sensitive flesh of her inner arm
, sending goose bumps rippling over her in waves of breathtaking tingles. She should run from him, bolt for the tree house and his mother’s company. Yet she could not move—for he had bewitched her.

Trevon moved to stand behind her.
He brushed her hair to one side—trailed his warm breath along her neck and shoulder.

“Are you fond of me, love?” he asked
, his voice low and, again, wildly alluring.

“Of course not,” she lied
, barely able to speak. He exhaled a breathy chuckle, and she felt his hands at her waist—trembled as they slid to her stomach and lingered.

“Why not?” he whispered
, and she felt him press a kiss to her neck.

“Y-you’re a pirate, for one,” she answered.
“And you’ve held me captive for quite some time.”

“I would hold you captive forever if I could, Cristabel Albay,” he whispered in her ear.
He kissed the tender curve of her jaw. “Were I a different man—a better man—I would endeavor to keep you…to own your kiss…your body and your mind. Were I a better man…I would endeavor to hold captive your heart.”

Tears brimmed in Cristabel’s eyes.
His words were those of a lover, and they were as a dagger in her heart, for she was desperately in love with him—in love with Trevon Navarrone and not some pretended man on the shore.

“Are you not at all fond of me?” he asked.

“P-perhaps a measure,” she stammered.

He chuckled again—took hold of her arm at the elbow.
“Come with me,” he ordered softly, turning her to face him. “Unless that daring, rum-drinking she-pirate in you has lost her courage.”

Cristabel was overwhelmed at the sight of him then.
His eyes smoldered with desire. His shirt hung open, unlaced and revealing the bronzed condition of his sculpted torso. His dark hair, square jaw, and strong brow all combined to create the most attractive man of her imagination. Her attention was drawn to his mouth, and hers watered for want of his kiss.

“I-I have as much courage as I did the day you cast me from the deck of
the
Screaming Witch
,” she bravely told him—though in that moment, it was not true.

“Then come along, love…for we are too much in view of others here.”

Cristabel’s heart hammered—pounded—caused her pain so brutal did it beat within her. As Trevon Navarrone kept hold of her arm, leading her from the open shore and into the trees beyond, she knew she should run from him—flee whilst she was still able. And yet he had beguiled her, and the joy she knew each time she lingered in his company was forefront in her mind—and her heart.

The cypress grew thick where Trevon Navarrone stopped at last. Cristabel was breathless—both from the hastily trod escape into the privacy of the trees and from the effects of being kissed by her pirate. She gasped as he took hold of her arms, none too gently pressing her back against a cypress trunk.

“Now tell me, love,” he rather growled, leaning toward her
, “as I have only just proved to you I can be tamed…if I so choose.”

“However…” Cristabel breathed as hope welled in her heart—hope that the pirate in him was about to emerge once more.

He smiled, pleased with her prodding. “However…the pirate in me would be a far better lover.”

Trevon watched as a visible, smoldering desire illuminated Cristabel’s violet eyes. She was no timid lily, and as her lips parted in indication she would speak, he sensed what words would fall from her pretty mouth.

“Then loose the pirate, Captain…and prove that as well,” she whispered.

“Aye, my pretty temptress,” he mumbled, taking her face between his hands. His breath was already labored simply for the euphoric sensation washing over him as he softly caressed her parted lips with one thumb. He could feel her trembling—trembled in slight himself as he felt her palms press his chest—slide under his arms—around and up his back to cling to his shoulders.

Her touch was his undoing
, and he took her mouth with his own—claimed her. He was ravenous for the taste of her kiss, desperate to deepen their exchange. He pulled her away from the tree and into his arms, holding her to him, reveling in the feel of her soft body pressed to his own.

Where was her decorum? Where was her sense of propriety? Cristabel’s mind struggled to think with a semblance of order, but there was nothing but Trevon Navarrone! Nothing but the rapturous joy of being held in his powerful arms—the wild, sublime pleasure induced by his mouth melding with hers. She thought of his words, the words he had spoken after he had kissed her as the tamed man on the shore. He had claimed that if he were not a pirate—if he were a better man—he would endeavor to hold captive her heart. Yet Cristabel knew he could not be a better man than he was, for he was everything a supreme man should be. Furthermore, he already held her heart captive. She was his prisoner—body, mind, heart, and soul!

She wondered for a moment if he truly wanted to own her heart
or if he had simply been toying with her, attempting to lure her to his will. Yet in that very moment, he broke the seal of their lips—held her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. She could hear his heart hammering within his strong, broad chest—could feel the trembling irregularity of his breathing. He nearly crushed her in a desperate embrace, and it was more than carnal desire she sensed in him: it was raw emotion.

“I would own you if I were a better man, Cristabel Albay,” he mumbled into
her hair.

She wanted to encourage him—to tell him he was a better man—the very best of men.
Yet her own powerful emotions struck her mute.

Trevon lowered his head, slowly brushing her cheek with his own
, the whiskers of his burnsides, mustache, and goatee deliciously chafing her tender skin. She felt his shoulders slump in a manner of defeat. Though she knew not what had turned him from kissing her as his lover to near despair, Cristabel would not lose the affections of her pirate—not yet.

“Trevon,” she breathed against his neck. “Trevon…please…I want you…I want you to…”

But Trevon was recovered already.
Indeed, memories of Vienne had briefly intruded on his pleasures in kissing Cristabel—plagued him at the very zenith of knowing pure joy in her affections. The truth of Vienne’s demise had indeed distracted him. Yet as he felt Cristabel’s breath on his skin—as he felt her hands slide up and over his chest to his neck to embrace him—he pushed aside the recollections of his greatest pain and failure. He would not let even Vienne’s death keep him from being Cristabel Albay’s lover for a time. Moments were fleeting—as Trevon Navarrone well knew—and he would not let this moment pass him by. He would have Cristabel’s kiss for as long as she would gift it to him.

He was nothing if not determined and resilient
; thus, he cupped Cristabel’s chin in his hand, gazed into the sweet violet of her eyes, and whispered, “Prepare yourself, love…for I have not yet begun to quench my thirst for you.” He kissed her lightly, grinning as she sighed with delight and adding, “Or yours for me, it would seem.”

Gasping as his mouth captured her own once more, Cristabel abandoned all timidity—allowed her fingers to be lost in the soft darkness of Trevon Navarrone’s hair. She kissed him with full as much fervor and desire as he kissed her—met each ravenous demand of his mouth with the answering eagerness of her own! He would not harm or defile her; she knew he would not, for he had done nothing but protect her from the moment he had found her aboard the
Screaming Witch
.

The common man on the shore was gone, and in his place was the pirate Navarrone—his consummate masculinity further kindling Cristabel’s feminine fervor.
In mere moments more, a fevered passion overwhelmed Cristabel, and she was briefly conscious of tears lingering in her closed eyes. She pulled herself more tightly to him—clutched the hair at the back of his head in trembling fists of desperation. His powerful arms wrapped around her, and he lifted her from her feet as his mouth ground to hers with ravenous, amorous desire.

He set her feet on the ground—briefly broke the seal of their lips as he gazed at her with such an expression of barely restrained desire smoldering in his dark eyes that she gasped
, rendered breathless by the broiling passion evident in his countenance.

She stumbled as he pushed her backward, bracing her against the trunk of the tree
, his hands pressing her waist as his mouth ravaged hers! Cristabel relished his kiss a moment more, but a sudden fear traveled through her—fear of her own will being compromised, her will to resist should Trevon press their passion beyond the kiss.

It was sure he sensed her trepidation
, for he paused, and though he did not release her, he drew his face in slight away from hers.

“I’ve frightened you,” he mumbled.
He frowned an expression of regret and self-loathing—glanced away a moment.

“No
. I…I frighten myself,” she whispered.

Still frowning, he looked back to her
, inquisitively.

“I am not at all certain in this moment that I own the will to…to keep my wits about me,” she awkwardly confessed.