The Following Sea (The Pirate Wolf series) (19 page)

There were few beaches, no natural harbors with deep anchorage, and what bays there were had to be entered with care to avoid being hulled by either rocks or coral.

He had thought earlier, if this was, in fact, the final resting place of the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio
, it could take another twenty years of searching all of the inlets and gorges to find the wreckage.

"I assure you that even the bleakest of islands can hold many secrets and treasures, senora.” Muertraigo had whispered.

“
You are hunting treasure?” Eva had asked.

“
Treasure that has been guarded by ghosts for many decades.”

Dante stared at the island. Espiritu Santu, the island of spirits… ghosts… ghost ships…

“Not possible,” he muttered to himself.

His gaze shifted to the three galleons. That Muertraigo had joined the hunt to find La Fantasma would be a co-incidence to end all co-incidences…and yet… the passengers on board the
Santa Maria
had been carrying personal letters hinting that the search for the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio
had resumed. It was not impossible for every pirate on the Main to have heard those same rumors. But why the hell was Muertraigo here, off the coast of Espiritu Santu? Why was he not looking a hundred miles to the north, where all of the other searches had been conducted?

Dante hated riddles even more than he hated coincidences. He growled low in his throat and turned to Stubs. “Double the watch. I want to know if any of those ships move by so much as a nose hair.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

He pushed away from the rail and tugged at the buttons on the ill-fitting doublet as he walked, uncaring that some popped off the threads and pinged across the planking. He entered the dimly lit cabin and shut the door behind him, scowling when nearly tripped and fell headlong over the heap of Eva's discarded farthingale and heavy overskirt. After kicking both savagely out of the way, he headed directly to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of rum.

Turning as he held the silver rim to his lips, he noted the screen was still standing across the corner of the cabin. A single lamp was burning in a wall sconce, the wick turned low. Eva’s dark shape was sprawled sideways across the bed, her arms stretched above her head, feet hanging off the side. She was face down, covered in the yellow tangle of her own hair.

Gabriel walked to the end of the bed. From the waist down Eva was clad in the loose white underskirt; from the waist up she was still laced into the armor-stiff bodice and stomacher—laces he admittedly had fastened tighter than warranted. For a moment he debated leaving her like that. He was beginning to believe along with the rest of the crew, that he had brought a damned jinx on board. They would have been well through the Channel by now if they had not stopped to investigate the
Eliza Jane
. They would have sailed on past Espiritu Santu like they had done a hundred times, blissfully ignorant of lost treasure ships and missing one-eyed adventurers. Moreover, they would have avoided any contact with Estevan Muertraigo.

And he might never have known who was responsible for taking his mother’s arm and almost her life.

Gabriel took another swallow of rum, savoring the rush as it flowed through his belly and limbs.

He set his cup aside and leaned, with one knee sinking into the bedding, to release the hooks and eyes on the rose silk bodice. He had to move her hair to do so and his fingers lingered briefly in the silky mass, watching the lamplight glimmer off the smooth waves.

When he was almost finished loosening the laces on the stomacher, the stiffened edges sprang open and he heard her suck at a deep breath. The sudden ability to do so brought her instantly awake and, startled to feel hands tugging at her clothing, she scrambled onto her side, then to her knees, the long snout of a flintlock pistol aimed squarely at Dante's chest.

CHAPTER FOUR
TEEN

Gabriel held his hands high and wide apart. “Hold up there. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought you needed some help getting undressed.”

“Yes.” He looked down to where the linen sheath had been twisted up almost to her waist, baring her hip and thigh. “I can see that.”

She followed his gaze and hastily tugged the hem down to cover herself. In doing so the loosened bodice gaped open, revealing the firm little swells of her breasts. The chemise had become molded tight around her flesh like a second layer of skin and was rendered almost transparent by body heat, not leaving much to the imagination.

While she fussed with the hem, the gun proved too heavy for her to hold steady, and as the snout drooped, Gabriel leaned forward and grasped the barrel, plucking the weapon out of her hand.

“You fell asleep with a loaded gun under the pillow, yet you left the door unlocked?”

“I… I forgot to lock it again. I heard voices out in the corridor and went to look.”

He retreated, taking his knee off the bed. He carefully uncocked the serpentine lock and walked across the cabin to set the gun on his desk again. With rum in hand, he stood at the gallery windows, his back to Eva, not wanting her to see how the gun, the dishevelled blonde hair, the bared thigh and exposed breasts had put him off balance. In an evening of unsettling revelations and pent-up frustrations, he did not need to be distracted by soft female flesh.

Either that, or he needed it very much.

He frowned and stared out over the water. The moon was directly overhead, bathing the galleons in an eerie blue-white light that made the yards and rails glow like the bleached bones of skeletons. The moon itself had a hazy ring around it, and he thought there was something he should note about it, but before the message waded through the wine and rum he had consumed, Eva was speaking.

Dante glanced over his shoulder. “Your confidence in my abilities is flattering, but I’ve already lost one ship to my own reckless vanity; I could as easily lose another.”

Eva pushed herself to the side of the bed and stood, then joined him at the bank of slanted windows. “Is that what is troubling you, Captain? You think because you made one error in judgement, all the rest of your decisions will be wrong as well? Dear Lord, if I thought that way, I would never have risen out of bed after being shot. I would never have left Portsmouth. I would never have sucked rainwater off the sails on the
Eliza Jane
to stay alive. I would never—“

Gabriel curled his arm around her waist and pulled her into his chest, smothering whatever else she was about to say with his lips. The kiss was a little harder than it needed to be, a little more fierce than intended, but it served its purpose. When he released her, she was breathless, wide-eyed, and speechless.

“My confidence is not lacking, Evangeline,” he murmured. “But logic is insisting on caution, and logic tells me—from experience—that we are in a pickle barrel at the moment and may require a small miracle to squeeze out of it.”

Eva swallowed hard, her lips still moist with the taste of him. “Is there nothing we can do?”

He eased his grip from around her waist and turned to the window again. “They are over there now discussing strategy. Muertraigo wants the ship and he would prefer to take it without having to fire a shot. And now, of course, he also wants you.”

“But… he thinks I am your wife.”

“I believe I told you once that wedding bands mean very little out here. Men like Muertraigo tend to take what they want and worry about formalities later… like disposing of unwanted husbands.”

“I see,” she said softly. “And so I am the source of trouble again.”

Dante gripped the wine cup tight enough that his knuckles glowed white. After a moment he swore and hurled it across the cabin, smashing it into the wall and splattering the contents across the floor. Eva jumped back, nearly stumbling into the desk.

“You’ll forgive me if my patience has been stretched a little thin,” he rasped, reining in his frustration with an effort. “Believe me when I say it is not directed at you, rather to the fact I have had to pander all evening to the man who damn near killed my mother and who may damn well send us all to hell in the morning.”

“It probably did not help matters that I almost shot you,” she ventured.

“Almost is a very long six letter word. Though I am exceedingly grateful you were able to use it.”

“I should have locked the door again. I did not intend to fall asleep; I just put my head down for a few moments and the next thing I knew someone was unlacing my clothes and I panicked because I didn’t know it was you. I was waiting, actually, hoping to speak to you about… well… about other things that hardly seem important at the moment.”

“Things like: do I think Muertraigo is here to search for the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio
? Do I think he heard rumors that the wreck has been found?”

“Something like that,” she agreed miserably. “As I said, hardly important at the moment.”

“To be honest, I have been wondering about it myself,” he admitted. “I am also wondering how the devil he ended up here, at Espiritu Santu?”

“You said you panicked because you didn’t know it was me unlacing your clothes. What would you have done if you
had
known it was me?”

Eva opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again without making a sound. The way he was looking at her set every nerve ending to tingling and sent ripples of gooseflesh rising along her arms. Try as she might, she could not look away, not even when he moved closer and the tingling spread to places on her body that normally would have shocked her. However, there was nothing normal about being on a pirate ship thousands of miles from home, one that could very well be destroyed come the morning. Nor was there anything normal or even vaguely excusable about standing barefoot before a man and wearing only a flimsy chemise and shift—one which did nothing to conceal her body’s reaction to his closeness. Her nipples had tightened into exquisitely tight little peaks, her belly was trembling so badly the chemise shivered with each shallow breath she took.

The tip of her tongue appeared in an attempt to moisten her lips and Dante’s eyes were drawn to it like metal shavings to a magnet. She knew she should back away, should attempt to at least discourage his intent as he started to bend his mouth toward hers, but the distinction between what was right and proper, and what was wrong and inappropriate had long since become blurred. She might well be dead on the morrow… or worse, be taken captive by the Spaniard… and she could think of nothing she wanted more at the moment than to feel Gabriel Dante’s strong arms around her, holding her close.

She tipped her mouth up to meet his and exhaled a breathless little sigh as their lips touched. She felt one of his hands circle her waist as the other rested briefly on the side of her neck before sliding up and pushing his fingers into her hair. Resistance was the farthest thing from her mind as she melted forward into his embrace, her body pressing into his; she was frightened yet exhilarated at the same time as his lips urged hers open in an intimacy as shocking as it was thrilling. The wet silkiness was more intoxicating than any wine or spirit. The gentle probing of his tongue was startling at first, but then she became aware of a heated drumming in her blood, one that compelled her to part her lips even wider and meet each rolling thrust of his tongue with her own.

The kiss might have lasted seconds, or minutes, for she lost all sense of time and place. Sensations were colliding within her… strange new sensations that made her feel strangely hot and dizzy, cool and purposeful at the same time. When he sought to pull back and end the kiss, she was the one who rose up boldly on tiptoes, sending her arms around his neck to draw him back.

Gabriel needed no further prompting.

This time the kiss was deeper and the hand that rested at her waist grew rigid with the force of his growing need. Their mouths came apart, met again, came apart and met, slanting this way and that as she pressed against him, wanting something she could not even put a name to. His lips set a trail of fire from her mouth to her cheek, to the tender curve of her throat and she was not even aware of his hands pushing aside the flimsy cloth of her chemise until she felt him cradle and lift her breast to his searching mouth.

She heard a groan that could not possibly have come from her own throat; it was low and husky and raw with desire. When his mouth covered her nipple, her knees buckled under the intense stabbing pleasure. Her neck arched and her head fell back; her hands clutched his upper arms and she nearly sobbed as he released the one nipple and caught up the other.

Ribbons of pure pleasure curled downward through her belly and slid between her thighs, further weakening her ability to stand. Somewhere between a gasp and a cry, Dante’s mouth relented, but only long enough for him to scoop her into his arms and carry her to the bed. There, his conscience intruded one last time—while it was still able to do so—and he looked at her with a dark question in his eyes.

Eva knew what he was asking, what he wanted. The answer was in the heated, sweet center of her body, but it came from her lips on a softly whispered, trembling, “Yes. Oh, yes.”