Master of Paradise (7 page)

The men circled them with measuring,
hard-bitten eyes, rubbing bristled jaws or bulging forearms as they
chuckled to themselves. It began as an individual snicker, but like
a battle cry was taken up by another and yet another until, like
the mounting rhythm of native drums, she could feel the lusty
guffaws beneath her skin.

“I need a sword,” she hissed to Cullen. But
his shock rendered him incapable of action. His gaunt face was
completely drained of blood, his blue eyes glazed and stricken with
panic.

She backed away, but they followed, teeth
showing now; some yellow above hairy beards, some severely white
inside thick black lips. More gunfire was heard and she jerked, her
nerves taut, truly alarmed now as she recalled the cavalier way
Wallace had shot the mate in the face, the casual indifference of
the pirate lopping off the captain’s ear.

Captain Watkins was heaping abuse on their
captors, but Gabrielle couldn’t understand the words. There was a
stark ringing in her head that warned of incomparable danger. She
had to get her hands on a sword. As a woman, she couldn’t overpower
them on her own. But with a blade in her hand, she could even the
odds.

A swift inspection of the deck revealed a
sword lying beside a slain sailor. It was wet with his blood, but
she couldn’t afford to be choosy—not with Cullen freezing under
fire, and nothing to aid her but her courage and skill. She made a
lunge for it—actually had it within her grasp—when the grinning
pirate thrust out his boot and tripped her. She went sprawling to
the deck and he kicked the sword aside.

In a panic, she scrambled to her feet and
ran. She heard their laughter behind her, could sense their rising
lust. Her flight was now but a game to them, adding spice to the
chase. One of them grabbed and flung her so she stumbled back
against the giant wheel of the helm. Then they descended upon her,
their patience with games at an end, pinning her flailing arms back
against the wheel so she couldn’t resist. Their hands were on her
then, lifting her skirts, securing frantically kicking legs. She
screamed like an animal, thrashing wildly, determined to break
free. But it was to no avail.

Weakened to the point of pain, she felt
herself sinking into darkness, so at first it didn’t register. Then
she felt the imperceptible shift. The mates’ slavering madness
turned to alert respect.

They moved from her like a parting sea as a
figure stepped through the smoke. Gabrielle’s heart stopped.
Standing before her, with a fierce scowl on his face, was the one
man who could tame these brutes—the pirate lord Rodrigo.

“
Ella â minga,
” he snarled.
She’s
mine
.

In one swift motion, he picked her up and
threw her over his shoulder. Roaring orders to his men in
Portuguese, he strode with her across the deck, then took a length
of dangling rope in his hands and swung across to his own ship,
which was now drifting back from the collision.

She caught a glimpse of ocean far below as
they soared through the air. In that moment, she remembered
everything she’d forced herself to forget. The feel of him, corded
like steel, the hands strong and masterful, gripping her with the
determined possession of a corsair claiming his plunder. She felt
weak with relief when his boots touched the deck.

He swept her below in long strides. A door
was opened, then closed. Placing her on her feet, he left her
briefly to lock the door. She felt dizzy for a moment, having been
righted so abruptly. As her head cleared, she glimpsed his cabin,
stacked high with books, rich with ancient Portuguese furnishings,
the far wall lined with a valuable collection of vintage knives and
swords. They gleamed with gold and jewels, as in days of old. She
wondered briefly if they’d belonged to his pirate ancestors. But
she was immediately distracted by the sight below. For the cabin
was dominated by a wide wooden bunk with brilliant scarlet sheets.
She stared at it, at the flagrantly sexual invitation the rumpled
silk offered from across the room.

Rodrigo was on her in an instant, seizing her
in stalwart arms, crushing her to him with an impact so demanding,
it knocked the breath from her lungs. In the same motion, he
lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his.

She’d forgotten the seductive power of his
kisses. So passionate, so devastating, so compelling. As if he
could spend a lifetime exploring the luscious sectors of her mouth.
As if he meant to plow down her uncertainty with the compulsive
invasion of his tongue.

Lifting her in mighty arms, he carried her
across the room, depositing her in the jumble of scarlet silk. She
couldn’t think. She’d spent the years since his desertion
suppressing any thought of their time together, discounting in her
anger and sense of betrayal any memory of her attraction to him.
Now she felt the old longing surge to the surface, exhilarating and
frightening her at the same time.

He lowered himself on top of her, his body
hard and unrelenting. Grasping both sides of her head, he plundered
her mouth once again, holding her immobile against his chest. She
could feel his erection, straining against her like a barbarian
fighting to be free. What sweet temptation he was. And how
desperately she wanted him!

She moaned and clasped his head to her, all
her stunted passions reignited. It was so good, so unbelievably
delicious. Her body felt alive beneath his expert mouth, sizzling
like the equatorial sun.

“I’ve waited years for this moment,” he said,
never taking his mouth from hers. His voice was more heavily
accented than she remembered, as if being away from England allowed
his true nature to reassert itself. “Years of thinking about you,
dreaming about you, worshiping your memory. Years of torture,
needing you in my arms, and knowing you bedded no other man.”

He couldn’t possibly have said anything that
caused her more pain, that picked worse at the scab of her one
secret wound. She wrenched her mouth from his. “How do you know
I’ve been with no other man?”

“My spies watched your every move.”

She gasped, truly startled by this
confession. She tried to remember if she’d ever felt herself
followed, and couldn’t recall.

He raised his head and met her awestruck
gaze. “Did you imagine I would leave you so readily? That I would
not keep track of what was mine?”

Ella â minga,
he’d told his men.
She’s mine.

He was so confident, so secure in his own
autonomy. Yet there were some things even his carefully placed
spies couldn’t know. Things that had long ago closed the door on
any future with Rodrigo—even if he hadn’t thrown his life away to
become the bloodiest pirate of the seven seas.

She thought of that night, eight long years
ago, when they’d said their farewells. She’d seen the proof back
then of his dark passions, of the menacing sensuality of the inner
self he’d hidden from an unsuspecting world. Of the cold, ruthless
way he could pursue his goals. Hadn’t she learned that night to
pursue her own aims just as coldly, just as ruthlessly? But she’d
never seen this anger, this impression of raw, unrestricted
violence that sparked the air between them. It scared her suddenly,
as she realized for the first time where she was—alone in a locked
room with the one man who was truly dangerous to her designs. With
her skirts up about her hips. With him pressing his
all-too-persuasive body into the softly yielding flesh of her own.
With an erection fueled by years of frustrated desires.

As if reading her thoughts, he softened his
tone. Still holding her head in his massive hands, he said, “But
that’s over. We’re together now. I’ve come here to rescue you.”

She put her hands to his shoulders and pushed
him away. “Just what is it you’re rescuing me
from?
”

“From the clutches of England, of
course.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I
rescued
myself
from England, thank you very much! Did you
imagine I’d wait all this time, like some damsel in distress, for
you to fashion a miracle and rescue me? When I had no indication
that you ever thought about me at all?”

His hand stilled in the act of reaching for
her breast.

“I thought about you always. I never stopped
longing for you.”

“You never sent me word. Was I supposed to
read your mind? Wait for a man who walked out of my life without so
much as a backward glance? Without regrets of any kind?”

“You’re wrong, Gabé. I regretted very much
having to leave you behind.”

“You
regretted?
You knew what you were
going to do and you didn’t tell me. You could have made any number
of choices. You could have taken me with you. If you’d told me what
you were doing and asked me to wait, even...but you’d have had to
trust me, wouldn’t you? I might have told my father—whom I
despised—what you were up to. I can’t believe the arrogance of you
thinking you could waltz back into my life and dictate my future
after all you did to me.”

His hand made the arrested journey and slid
over her breast. “Is a future with me so formidable a prospect?” he
asked in a husky tone.

She shoved him away and fought to sit up.
“Future? What kind of life would I have with you? A pirate’s wench?
Hunted by the law? Hung by the neck till I’m dead? You don’t seem
to understand, Rodrigo. You stand in the way of all I hold dear.
You once told me I didn’t fit into your plans. Well, now you don’t
fit into mine.”

“You have no feelings for me at all, I
suppose?” he said in the tone of a man who was beginning to feel
rejected.

She lifted her head defiantly and said,
“None!”

His eyes narrowed and a hard, calculating
gleam replaced his vulnerable gaze. “You wanted me once.”

“
But I thought you were someone else!
You played your part so well, I believed it. I thought we’d be
married and you’d bring me out here, and together we’d revive Beau
Vallon.”

“Beau Vallon is an empty dream, Gabé. It
always was.”

“It’s not an empty dream to me. And it’s what
I’ve always wanted from you. What feelings I had for you died the
minute you deserted me. I’ve achieved everything I always wanted,
with no help from you or any other man. I’m not the innocent girl
you left behind, looking to you to remedy the injustice of my life.
I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants and knows how to get it.
I just don’t need you anymore. I don’t even need what you once
provided. It was fun pretending with you, I won’t deny it. But you
were an escape from a life I found intolerable. I have the life I
want now. And you just stand in the way.”

“So you choose Beau Vallon.” He got up and
began to pace the cabin. “You don’t know what you’re choosing.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“If you didn’t care about me, why write a
play about me, and act out the part yourself? Why show me to the
world as the image of your secret longings?”

She had an eerie sense that she was once
again an actress in her own play. Except that she’d changed roles,
and
he
was the one in control. “What I
longed for,
”
she said heatedly, “was for my father to give me what he’d stolen
from my mother. I
used you,
Rodrigo. I knew if I could push
the duke far enough, he’d give in to my demands. What better way to
do so than to portray the pirate who was humiliating him in a play
so sensual, it was calculated to shock the whole of England? I
assure you, it was not intended as invitation for you to finish
where you left off. If you misunderstood, I’m truly sorry. But you
can hardly blame me for not divining your intentions.”

“
Sorry?
” He took her wrists and
wrenched her up from the bed so she came crashing against his
chest. The blow was like colliding with a brick wall. “A curse on
your apologies. I
know
you. I know the passions of your
soul. It matters not what you say. You’re mine now. This time I
surrender you to no man. I made a mistake with you once before. But
that,” he added bitterly, “is a blunder I won’t make again.”

You’re mine now.
Staking his claim.
Taking possession of her like a bauble he fancied. As if she had no
feelings. Permitting her no say at all.

“I shan’t let you do this,” she vowed. “Your
men already tried to take me against my will. Do you think I’d
fight them off, just to let another pirate succeed where they
failed?”

He was insulted, as she’d intended. She could
see it in the tightening of his jaw, in the ferocious flare of his
eyes. She pulled away, but he followed, pushing her back to his
bunk as he stepped toward her with stormy eyes. As she backed away
across the expanse of red silk, she came up sharply against the
wall—the one with the collection of weapons within handy reach.

He caught the flash of the blade as she
retrieved it from the wall. Incensed, he grabbed her arm and yanked
her to her feet. But he didn’t know what an expert swordswoman
she’d become. Determined to fight him, she swung the sword around
and put the cutting edge to his throat.

He stood perfectly still, but his eyes were
hurt, disbelieving. “You’d kill me?”

“To keep you from ravishing me, I’d be
willing to hurt you so badly, you’d wish I
had
killed
you.”

He moved to step forward, but in one swift
motion, she shifted the blade to his groin, freezing him in his
tracks.

He didn’t blink. “I don’t have to ravish
you,” he said in a tight, controlled voice. “I could make you want
me so badly, you’d beg me to take you.”

Ignoring the erratic flutter inside, she
tightened her grip on the sword. “I want you outside.”

Still oblivious to the blade at his crotch,
he gave her a long, considering look. “I warn you, I won’t let you
go. When I sail for D’Arros, you come with me.”