Through the Maelstrom (3 page)

No, she couldn't think about that.

The scent of ocean, sweat, spiced rum, and something she didn't recognize filled her senses, and she could almost believe he
had
boarded from a pirate ship to take anything and everything he wanted—her. She scrunched her nose. "What's that smell?"

Taken aback, Captain Morgan retreated and lifted the lapel of his dark brown jacket to his nose, taking a whiff. "Gunpowder."

Images of him firing the pistol tucked into his sword belt at villainous pirates flittered through her thoughts. Of cannons booming, wood breaking. Splashes as bodies tumbled over the sides of a tall ship sporting an ominous black Jolly Roger. Things she shouldn't find attractive, but somehow did.
Too many movies
. "Right. I didn't hear any guns going off. Only fireworks. Can we drop the pirate act, Captain Morgan? You can be out of character around me. I won't tell your boss." Maybe he'd get in trouble for breaking character like the actors at theme parks.

The pirate frowned, all teasing gone from his features. "The name is Christophe Jones, and I'm no captain. There were no blasts because your vessel was nowhere near when mine sank under fire." Christophe crossed his arms again and muttered, "Not even sure how I came to be aboard this..." He glanced around warily. "...Behemoth." In a way, he appeared a bit worried. About the size of the ship?

Did the crew bring him aboard and put him to work as a pirate to pay his passage after he survived a shipwreck? That was absurd. He should probably call the labor union when they docked. "I'm really sorry to hear that," Serena replied, not knowing what else to say about his odd comments. "But I'm still not letting you in my room."

Christophe smirked at her once more, placing his hands possessively on her hips, pulling her closer. Despite her discomfort as the object of his attention, desire flashed through her. Was this rush of excitement and lust what passion felt like? She'd been intimate with boyfriends in the past, but somehow this seemed different. Because he was dressed like a pirate? No, she was never big on the idea of roleplay. She couldn't put her finger on what it was about him that made him so...interesting.

"I'll make it worth your while." He reached one hand into a pouch tied to his belt and pulled out two old looking coins. "Payment in advance."

Her brain didn't comprehend the purpose. "Payment for what?"

Christophe brought his lips down on hers roughly, almost as though he'd believed he'd never kiss a woman again and wanted to make the most of it. His tongue tasted like Caribbean rum and her head swam. He trailed kisses across her cheek and she tugged him closer, not believing what was happening and wishing it would never end. That way she wouldn't have to retreat and break the spell. Then he whispered, "For your services, of course."

T
he gorgeous half-naked wench ripped herself out of his grasp and slapped him across the cheek. Christophe's head whipped to the side and the prickling sting seared his flesh. Momentarily stunned, he cupped his cheek and gawked at her. A woman had never struck him before.

"Oh, don't give me that look. Sexist jerk." She flung his coins at him and they smacked into his chest before clinking to the ground as she unlocked her door with a strange white square and slammed it shut behind her. Frowning at the absurd key she had used, he listened as a latch skid into place. Christophe rubbed his accosted cheek as he could do no more than stare at the wood that concealed her from him.

How peculiar.
Clearly, by the state of undress the women were in, this was some sort of brothel ship where the women were offered safe passage with their bastard children. He'd seen men around too, obviously clients or crew. Where else could he be? The other explanation was he'd died and now was in a hell filled with partially dressed women who didn't want him in their beds.

No, the women on deck had wanted him. The one
he
desired didn't. Before he was pressed into the service of pirates, women adored him. He'd not had a large amount of time to spend wooing or bedding in the past year, but on the few occasions he had visited a brothel, he'd never seen the reluctant fake smiles other men oft received. He wasn't a hideous ogre who mistreated women or ignored their desires, so what had he done wrong tonight?

Christophe regarded his surroundings and then shuddered. One moment he'd been crashing into a swirling whirlpool, and the next he'd found himself lying on the deck of an enormous vessel, dry as a bone, with far too many people around him, fireless torches brighter than any flame, and odd clothing and phrases confusing him. He'd been bombarded by strange questions and flashing bursts of light and overly enthusiastic females in similar states of dress as his coy temptress. Nothing had made sense, even when he'd regained his footing on deck. Then
she'd
put her hand on him.

His heart had skipped a beat the instant he took in her beauty. Her dark brown hair framed a heart-shaped face with the most kissable lips he'd ever laid eyes on. The chaos around him had diminished, blurring away to nothing. Everything that seemed wrong about the ship had fallen to the back of his mind and only she seemed important. Knowing her, tasting her... He could worry about his strange circumstances later, if only to be in her presence for a little while longer. When she led him toward her cabin, he'd been so confused, so eager—hell, he still was. Perhaps he'd been mistaken as to her occupation, and he had offended her by besmirching her reputation.

He didn't even know her name.

Reaching out, he placed his palm on the door, considering calling her back out so he could apologize for any slight he'd unwittingly caused her. Perhaps he'd been too bold. Judging by her reactions and body posturing, she was skittish but hadn't been unaffected or lacking in desire.

That left him with a dilemma since he didn't know anyone onboard except her. With nowhere else to go, seeking out the captain would be the next course for information, but how did he explain his appearance? How did he convince the man he meant no ill will? He collected his coins and memorized the numbers beside the woman's door. She puzzled him, and Christophe enjoyed problem solving. He'd apologize for his unfortunate misjudgment and win her affection, at least for the remainder of the voyage.

"Sir, you're not a member of the staff." Behind him, a man in a crisp white uniform scrutinized him from head to toe. "I'm going to have to ask that you remove the costume and cease pretending to work for the cruise line." He didn't seem threatening, but his voice sounded authoritative. "Is that a real pistol?" The man stepped closer. "I need you to come with me."

Christophe spared one more glance at the closed door and shrugged. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, and the man seemed concerned—rightly so to find a strange, armed man who didn't belong there—but not hostile, which was surprising. That a weapon was not drawn on him meant one of two things: this ship didn't encounter violence often or at all, or they were way too trusting. Needing answers of his own, Christophe waved a hand for him to lead the way and followed.

A niggling sensation on the back of his neck tempted him to glance behind him one last time. The wench stood in the doorway, but she retreated the moment their gazes connected. He smiled wide.

He wasn't done with her. Not at all.

***

S
erena quickly closed and locked the door a second time before leaning against it and squeezing her eyes shut. He'd thought she was a prostitute! He'd tried to pay her with dingy old coins for sex. Like she wasn't even worth real money?
Maybe he was joking—still in character
. She shook her head. He'd been touching her like he'd expected she'd consent to that awful line of his.

That kiss
. She groaned, comfortable in the solitude of her room to do so without criticism of any source. Serena brought her fingertips to her lips and could feel the memory of his there, the softness, the warmth. The tickling coarseness of his stubble against her chin.
Gah
. Her body had been a live wire until he'd ruined it by calling her a whore. Maybe the proverbial bucket of ice water had been a good thing.
It definitely was.
She didn't know him and had no desire to sleep with someone she just met.

Musical chimes pierced the silence and she jumped. Pulling her cell phone from her back pocket, she hoped the call connected through the ship's Wi-Fi properly since the regular signal was a no go. It was shoddy at best, though wonderful to have the option at all.
Welcome to the twenty-first century
. Upon answering, Serena smiled in relief at how clear her friend's voice sounded.

"I'm so sorry I missed your birthday!" Becky Ann's voice wavered. "I've been on boats before. Maybe I wasn't drunk enough. Remind me to get plastered on the island for the trip home. I should be fine then."

She was happy to hear from her friend. She'd visited her several times during the day, but it was lonely back in the room without her. "It's okay. I'm glad you feel better."

Becky Ann continued to chatter. "I can't wait until we dock in Bermuda tomorrow. I'm going to make the most of the dry land while I can. Too bad we didn't have an extra day on Nassau." Abruptly, she changed the subject. "Please tell me you've at least had a conversation with a man while I've been out of commission. Don't tell me you secluded yourself in the room while I was trapped in this boring place."

She scoffed. "Of course I did." Truthfully, Christophe was the only one. Becky Ann didn't have to know that small detail. "I was too afraid of being thrown overboard if you caught me hiding in the room."
Like I'm doing now.

"And why do I feel like you're lying?" Becky Ann gasped. "It wasn't a bartender was it? That's cheating. If they work for the cruise it doesn't count. You should be ashamed, young lady. I don't care that you're twenty-eight, I'll bend you over my knee."

There was no doubt in Serena's mind that Becky Ann would carry through on that threat. She'd once warned her if she didn't start dressing in more than jeans and over-sized T-shirts when she went into public that she would tickle her until she peed. Serena returned home from the grocery store one afternoon wearing comfortable clothes and was ambushed when she opened the door. She hadn't peed her pants, at least. She'd made it to the bathroom in record time.

"He's some guy cosplaying a pirate on deck. I guess he was a ship worker." She hadn't heard what the guy in the hall had said to him, but she assumed he was in trouble for abandoning his post. Served him right—even if she'd removed him from it.

"Serena!" Becky Ann groaned. "You need to chat up available men, not the ones paid to assist you."

The reminder of the misunderstanding in the hallway made her cringe. She didn't feel like sharing that tidbit, as it chaffed her anyone would think
she
was a prostitute. She could barely retain eye contact with him, so how the hell would she seduce him for money?

"Wait a second." Becky Ann's voice broke off on the last syllable. "Pirate? Was he hot? Did he look like Billy Bones? Charles Vane? You know I love me some
Black Sails
, and it is your duty as a friend to give me every single detail. And also to sleep with him for me since I'm held hostage for my health. I have to live vicariously through you, woman. Go hump him and call me back. I'll wait."

Rolling her eyes, she lay on the bed and described Christophe, leaving out how they parted ways, hoping her friend didn't detect how affected she'd been by the man.

"You. Kissed. Him? I'm so proud of you." A teasing relevance echoed in her tone.

"Um...don't be. He's an ass, and it's not happening twice." Unfortunately, her body hadn't caught up with her mind on that count. And she fidgeted, needing to stop picturing his hands, his lips, or his blue eyes so intent on her and promising wicked deeds a pirate would know all too much about.

A heavy sigh came through the receiver. "You'll never see him again when we return to the mainland. It's your birthday, and a cruise fling isn't going to end in marriage or babies if you use protection. Have fun and cut him loose after. Come to think of it, pirate role play sounds hot as hell. You can have him tie you up and threaten to make you walk the plank if you don't surrender the booty."

That was
never
going to happen. Flustered, she cleared her throat before she started fantasizing everything Becky Ann said.

Serena wasn't an extrovert, and there was no way she could use someone for sex and act like all was normal again after. It wasn't in her blood. To put that much energy into a man she wanted to be intimate with meant she'd wind up fully invested, and first impressions hadn't been in Christophe's favor. She didn't even know why she was letting Becky Ann put the thoughts into her head at all.

He is really attractive. If not for that one debacle...

Stop!

Someone spoke in the background and Becky Ann said she had to go. After promising to wait on her to go on shore in the morning, Serena hung up. Moments later, twiddling her thumbs and thinking indecent thoughts about the man who'd insulted her, she growled and rolled back out of bed.

It was Christophe's fault she was restless and unable to sleep even if she tried. She hadn't brought a book because she believed Becky Ann would be with her the entire trip and they'd have too much fun for down time.

The clock revealed it was a quarter 'til one in the morning. The bars would be open, and a nice tall glass of something with rum would relax her enough to sleep. She was
not
craving rum because she still tasted it on her tongue from Christophe's kiss. She merely liked rum, and it was a Caribbean cruise, after all.

Serena grabbed her keycard, opened the door, and slipped into the hallway. The corridor was clear. For good measure, she went the opposite way Christophe had gone and headed for the poolside bar. She had several drinks on her cruise tab and planned to put a good dent in it before going to bed. Alone.