Through the Maelstrom (6 page)

"Wow." Becky Ann fanned herself in earnest and flung her legs over the side of her chair as she stood, tossing her shades into the abandoned seat. "B.R.B,
Serena
. I need to dunk myself in the ocean before I combust." Then the traitor twirled away, leaving a deep indention in the pinkish white sand. Leaving her there.

To die of mortification.

Serena glared at her friend's retreating back, the multicolored strings from her sugar skull-designed bikini waved with each step. Not only had she revealed her name to the scoundrel frowning at her friend, but she'd also abandoned her to talk to him. Did anyone ever stop and think maybe she didn't want to talk to this guy?

I'm going to kill her while she sleeps tonight.

"What is B.R.B?" Christophe asked, finally saying something to break their tense silence.

Maybe he didn't use social media or text much. "Shorthand for 'be right back.' Shouldn't be used in actual conversation though; she thinks she's cute."
She's not.
"You look different."

Christophe smirked and crossed his arms. "My clothes are being laundered. Seems I smelled strongly of a sea battle." He dropped his gaze to her mouth, and she shuddered, recalling the gunpowder scent. "So the siren has a fitting name. Serena suits you well."

Resentful of the butterflies taking flight under his gentle tone and flattery, she had no choice but to sully the moment. Misunderstandings or further insults wouldn't be flung her way, and she'd scare him off to ensure it. "So I'm a siren now and not a wench or a whore?"

He cringed and then glanced away briefly. "I apologize. I—"

She held up a hand, pointing. "If you dare blame it on my clothing, I will call security and tell them you're harassing me. It's 2015. Get over it. Women dress this way. Every woman on the ship is dressed this way, and it's not an invitation into our pants."

Shifting uncomfortably, he rubbed the back of his neck and moistened his lips. She hated herself for staring and absolutely loathed the warmth coursing through her abdomen. How could she
still
be attracted to him? He'd insulted her, infuriated her, yet being the subject of his attention excited all while intimidating her. It had to be the pirate look from the night before. Merely a fantasy created by the romanticizing of an era through film and literature. It was easy to imagine letting a rogue ravish her until her toes curled, but in reality, the lack of respect ruined the moment. She wasn't that kind of girl, and Christophe wasn't really a pirate. He should know better.

"Right...2015." His voice was different and almost...tense. Like she'd said something weird, but Serena brushed it off when he lifted his shoulders high and dropped them again, slipping his hands into his pockets. "There's a perfectly good explanation as to what occurred last night, love."

She'd figured out the change in his voice. His accent had lost the island inflections from the night before, though a strong English accent remained. She liked it better. Made him seem more of this world and not from another.
What an odd thought.
"Oh?" Serena said pointedly. "And what would that be?" This one she had to hear. What constituted insinuating someone was a whore while attempting to sleep with them as okay?

He shook his head sadly, but his smirk held the hint of amusement. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I'm not certain I believe it."

She rolled her eyes and replaced her sunglasses. "Whatever. I have tanning to do, and you're blocking my sun." She waved her hand dismissively, feeling emboldened by her own defensiveness. Flirting she had trouble with. Being dismissive she could do without fail.

His smirk grew into a dazzling grin as his gaze locked onto her hand. It was predatory. He was preparing to pounce. Her attitude wasn't deterring him at all, and her body's reaction wouldn't give up.
Crap
.

"Shall we begin anew?" Christophe changed the subject and kneeled beside her, taking her hand in both of his.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

She tried to pull it away, but he held tightly, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. His touch was warm, and those fingers she'd been so intrigued with caged her, trapping her at his mercy. She couldn't think straight with his hands on her. Serena gaped at him, anger seeping out of her, only to be replaced by sheer bafflement.
What does it take to scare this guy off?
It wasn't that she wasn't interested. Telling herself otherwise would be a lie. But she would not tolerate disrespect, and the night before had been pretty damning.

While her hormones continued to dance to the song of their "people" through her loins, Serena had lost sight of Becky Ann. But at that precise moment, flailing arm movement caught her eye. Behind Christophe, in the surf, Becky Ann gestured for her to grab Christophe and swiftly began undulating against the waves in a provocative manner.
Yeah, like I'm going to do him right here on the beach.
She narrowed her eyes. There wouldn't be any of that happening at all.

Christophe turned around to see what had diverted her attention from him—because he probably knew he was pretty difficult to ignore, the jerk. His jaw dropped, giving Serena a chance to yank her hand free, nearly sending her chair toppling in the process. Becky Ann froze mid-thrust, dropped into the water, and then proceeded to doggie paddle around, staring into the air, oblivious. If they were closer, Serena would bet she was even whistling.

"
She's
not a whore either," she said dryly, feeling the need to protect her friend's virtue, despite the way she could come off promiscuously. "Look." Serena stood and wrapped her towel protectively around herself. Though she wore a clingy tankini, Christophe had done a pretty fair job at maintaining eye contact. She, however, couldn't do the same. Eye contact was an issue for her, especially with attractive men.

Which is how she came to acknowledge how interesting the sand was on the beach. Beige with hints of browns and even shades of pink the island was known for, but it was more noticeable near the water. "First impressions go a long way." She'd finally found her voice again, not loving the squeak to the end of her sentence. She cleared her voice before she continued. "It's clear to me that you saw me as a one-night stand waiting to happen, payment or not, and I'm not that person."

He nodded. "Aye. You wish to be courted properly, and I've come to do so. I've procured a midday meal." He held his hand out to her, and she couldn't do more than stare at it like she'd never seen a man's hand before. "Shall we?" Touching him wasn't a good idea. She could walk without making skin-to-skin contact, and would be all the better for it.

Biting her lip, she turned so he couldn't see the yearning that shot through her. How she wished she could be more extroverted. To take a man's hand freely, act on desires and steal kisses of her own.

What was she thinking—that would not happen with this guy. Besides, what did he say?
Courting? Who said that anymore?
Now he wanted to fully freaking date her at the tail-end of a cruise? Did he really think she would fall for this spiel and tumble into bed with him anyway? She started to laugh, nervously, and had to ass-plant back on her chair to keep from doubling over.

"What ails you?" He crouched next to her and skimmed the back of his hand against her forehead. His brow was furrowed as he frowned down at her.

Great, now he thinks I'm batshit crazy or ill.
Serena pushed his hand away. "I'm fine. Did you really think that would work?" It was a shame he had to be so attractive. That wisp of stray blond hair at his temple tickled her face in the breeze, and she clenched her fingers together to avoid the impulse to brush it behind his ear. She'd have trouble not thinking about him, about this whole situation, when she returned home.

She wiped her laughter-tears away with her index finger, and then he snagged her hand and brought that digit to his lips. She jerked, and he wrapped his left arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him as she forgot how to do anything more than gawk.
Get it together, girl!
His tongue was hot on her finger as he licked the moisture away.
Why is that so sexy?
Why did she have to find him attractive at all?

"I seek to beg your forgiveness, love." As he spoke she nearly nodded, but snapped out of it.

"I'm not your love." Her voice hadn't sounded breathless...had it? The corner of his lips twitched. The bastard knew he'd affected her.
Damn.

"Yet." It hung in the air between them—which technically wasn't a lot of space, so it crowded her out.

Serena shoved him back and tried to stand. "Ever." It sounded weak, even to her
.

Before she could react, he scooped her up into his arms. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck instinctively, clinging lest she fall. The towel she'd wrapped around herself as a barrier tumbled to the sand. His hands were on her bare flesh, under her knees and where the tankini had ridden up over her waist.

His touch burned her, but in ways that forced her to stay completely still so she didn't arch into it like a cat receiving a good stroke. She continued to gape at him, debating if she should hold tighter or fight. As if her dilemma was written all over her face, his grip tightened. He caressed her thigh above her knee with his thumb and she gulped.

"We shall see," he remarked. Then the barbarian actually started to walk off with her.

She came to her wits and attempted to wiggle out of his grasp, which only made him laugh and hold her closer. She kicked her feet, and he smirked down at her.

"Put me down!"

Christophe shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Cease your struggles. You'll exhaust yourself."

"But..." She peered up at him, at his stunning eyes and chiseled face. A slight cut was healing across his jawline, barely visible behind his scruff. Without realizing why, she reached out and traced it with her finger. His golden stubble was coarse, but the skin beneath it warm. His breath hitched.

"I frighten you." His gaze dipped to her lips, and Serena's cheeks heated in response.

But not from embarrassment. She hated that he could read her so easily. Hated not being outgoing. Hated being afraid of looking foolish or saying the wrong thing. Hated that it
mattered
to her how people saw her. She didn't care what anyone thought, not really, but it affected her nonetheless. It could be so crippling, disparaging—burdensome. "I can't go with you." Her voice sounded meek, even to her. "It would be rude to ditch my friend."

Christophe glanced back briefly and chuckled. "I think she'll manage."

Serena checked on Becky Ann and found her making out with some guy in the waist deep water. There went her scapegoat. "But..." She was running out of excuses, and the part of her actually curious about what he was up to refused to let her totally freak out and cause a scene. Besides, scenes brought attention to her. Witnesses that would be on the cruise for the rest of the trip, remembering her acting like a crazy person.

Christophe held her tighter against his chest—his rock hard, very masculine chest. Serena swallowed, realizing she was good and caught, and her best friend was
letting
it happen. Probably thought she was doing her a favor.

"You will allow me to correct the slight I committed?"

All Serena could do was stare at him. What if it had been a horribly bad pirate joke? Could she forgive him and find out why he was so hell-bent on spending time with her? "Do I have a choice?" His grin was knowing. If she said no, she had the feeling he'd keep walking anyway. "How do I know it's safe to go with you?" Was she really having a don't-talk-to-strangers moment at twenty-eight?
Stranger danger!

Danger was right. She was in danger of her hormones bursting into little horny flames and consuming her. When was the last time a man had touched her like this? She didn't think her exes had ever picked her up either. It made her feel so dainty and strangely feminine in a time where feminism frowned on such frivolities.

Christophe halted mid-step. "I'd never harm you, but your resolve against me, aye, that
is
in peril. I will penetrate that wall, and when I do, you'll be wanting me to do so."

The word
penetrate
maneuvered its way through her pores, sinking deep. Her toes curled and all she could do clutch the collar of his shirt and try not to react.

She was failing horribly.

S
ilence stretched, tense in the hot climate of the island. Inside the building, a metal instrument whirled around like a horizontal windmill from the ceiling, creating a manmade breeze. The rush of cool air was appreciated, but did little to alleviate the equally intense heat of Serena's scrutiny. Christophe had taken her to the location Mrs. Baker mapped out for him the night before after buying him some strange clothing which made him uncomfortable. It was lighter, had strange fastenings that opened and closed on metal teeth, and the footwear...the strange slippers would not hold up the way a good pair of boots would.

Mrs. Baker and her son were to arrive soon to help explain his circumstances to Serena—because there was no way she'd believe him. He scarcely believed it himself, but for the clear advancements of ships, lighting, and devices, not to mention the changes to the island itself. Unless the entire ship full of people, newspapers, pamphlets that read like colorful books, and the natives of Bermuda were in on a grand jest. Nothing was as it should be. He'd been on this island a number of times, but everything had changed, even though landmarks and beaches appeared the same. Which meant time had passed, and a lot of it. There was no other explanation.

If he
had
traveled through time, all he could do was adapt. It could be temporary, but he didn't have a way to know for certain. He could either allow himself to panic at the changes, or adjust. As he had with the life of piracy, adaptation was the better option. He'd observe, note the change, blend in as well as he could. He'd survived the past year doing that, and he'd do the same now. Only he wouldn't be doing it alone.