Too Great a Temptation (4 page)

T
he hammock rocked gently, Mirabelle nestled inside.

It was morning. A pale shaft of sunlight poked through the tiny window, brightening the captain’s cabin.

James was already gone, his bed empty. She rolled her head to the side and decided to nap a minute more.

Her eldest brother had insisted she bunk with him ever since her discovery aboard ship. The man was too overprotective. True, there were forty crew members serving on the
Bonny Meg,
but four were her kin and the rest had sailed under the former captain, Drake Hawkins, her father. No one was going to do her any harm. She had known all the pirates for years…with the exception of Damian.

An image came to mind of the brazen sailor. What the devil had he meant by touching her like that? Making her skin tickle and her heart dance? And what about the way he had looked at her with those predatory eyes? Or the gruff way he had said her name, like a carnal growl? It had made her shiver. It
still
made her shiver, thinking about their brief interlude. Oh, why did
he
of all men have to be the new navigator? Couldn’t James have plucked a sailor from port? Did her brother have to take the rogue chained next to Quincy in the gaol?

Mirabelle had never before felt the way she had the other night, so thrilled and anxious at the same time. Being close to Damian had had a disarming effect on her. One she didn’t much like. She prided herself on her cool composure, and last night Damian had cracked her poise. Just a little bit, but still, it was enough to make her vexed. The cheeky bloke. Did he think to woo her with a mere touch or beguile her with a fluttering look? Never mind that he had come close to doing that very thing, the knave had no right to even try. She was the captain’s sister. Didn’t Damian care? Did he always tread such perilous waters?

Mirabelle hoped not. She didn’t like the thought of such a reckless man guiding the ship…but she did like the thought of Damian in other ways.

Oh, of all the daft things to dream about! She wanted to be a pirate. She should stick to that seafaring ambition. Besides, Damian was just too mysterious for her liking. He deflected any questions about his identity. She didn’t trust the man, remember?

So why was she
still
thinking about him? Mirabelle didn’t feel very collected this morning. She never got any sleep with James in the room. The man snored like a bull. Maybe that’s why she was so befuddled. She could only hope.

After a few restful minutes, Mirabelle rolled out of the hammock and stretched, determined to forget all about her disagreeable encounter with Damian the other night.

She combed her fingers through her tousled hair and let out a gaping yawn. If only she could get some rest. Ever since she’d roomed with James, the maddening man had roused her from her slumber every night, and she had to wonder if he wasn’t merely trying to deter her from her endeavors. Perhaps he thought to plague her with his incessant snoring until she couldn’t take it anymore and, hysterical with exhaustion, demanded to be taken home.

“Well, he can rot,” she whispered to herself. She’d nap when she could and suffer James’s infernal snorts until doomsday if she had to. She would not be discouraged so easily.

Mirabelle shuffled over to a wooden chest. Lifting the lid, she snared a linen shirt.

The lid thumped closed. Slowly she fumbled with the laces of her black leather vest, sniffing the air attentively. Porridge? She scrunched her brow in disapproval. Breakfast was always the same.

She yawned again, and dropped her vest over the back of a chair. Neck sore, she massaged the muscles at the back of her head, realizing she still had on her necklace: a simple gold chain with a ring at the end. She removed the bauble.

A bowl of water had been left out on the table. She headed for it and set the necklace aside. She dipped her finger inside the basin. Cold. She shivered.

She scooped up a cloth saturating in the dish and wrung the excess liquid. With a sigh, she dipped her head back, relishing in the feel of clean water washing away the sweat and dirt from the previous day. She rubbed the cloth across her arms, her neck. She moved it over her belly in swirling motions, then stroked it across her breasts.

The door swung open.

Damian stood rooted to the spot. His lips parted in a soft gasp, his eyes darkened and narrowed on her. Eyes as blue as the high sea—a stormy sea.

The world seemed to fade away in that instant. Gone was the pitch and roll of the ship beneath her feet, the scent of freshly cooked fare, the creak of the deck boards. All those familiar sensations vanished. Only Damian’s penetrating gaze was left, making her heart thump loud and fierce.

Mirabelle didn’t shriek or holler, too enraptured by the intensity in Damian’s eyes to move. He scorched her skin with one heated look, her flesh tingling, goose bumps prickling her arms, her chest. Her nipples, tight and pointy, jutted toward him.

Quickly she wrapped her arms over her breasts. She was trembling. From what, though? She wasn’t cold. She felt quite the opposite, in fact. A fire sparked in her belly, the flames licked by the piercing stare of one dashing rogue sailor.

Men had looked at her before, she thought. Some had looked in admiration, others had gazed with obvious lewd intentions, but no one had ever made her feel so…alive. Every nerve inside her was humming, every bone rattling.

It was peculiar, the way her body responded to him. As if she had no control over her movements. As if
he
were in command of her limbs. And he was demanding she come to him, for her knees were quivering, and it took all her strength to remain entrenched right where she was.

Her mind still awhirl, she did have enough sense to pick up her shirt and drape it over her exposed front.

That seemed to snap Damian from his reverie.

He blinked. “I’m sorry,” he murmured roughly, and stalked inside to grab the sextant.

He was out the door in an instant, the nautical instrument in hand, and she rushed after him to close the barrier.

Panic-stricken, she leaned against the door and let out a desperate groan. Oh, why hadn’t she locked the door behind her brother as he’d warned her to?

Because you’re not used to being aboard a ship, that’s why
.

True, she thought. At home, no one ever walked into her room—the girl’s room—without knocking first. But she wasn’t at home anymore. And she’d best get accustomed to her new surroundings, right quick at that.

Mirabelle thumped her head against the door. Even more distressing was the devouring look in Damian’s eyes. She was in trouble. Big trouble. She was not supposed to cause any sort of disruption aboard ship. James was watching her, to see if she would drive the men to distraction. And Damian had definitely been distracted.

“Bloody hell.”

She swiftly grappled with her shirt, tugging it over her head. If James even suspected she’d captivated the attention of one of his men, he’d never let her join the crew. A distracted sailor was a menace to the whole ship, especially if danger lurked. A distracted navigator was even more menacing, for a few miscalculated degrees and they’d end up in India instead of England.

Mirabelle left the cabin. Forget breakfast. She had to talk with Damian. She understood a man’s nature. She’d overheard her brothers, on more than one occasion, recount tales of romps and would-be conquests. Men were always looking for a tryst, and if she corrected Damian’s misconception now, she wouldn’t have to worry about correcting it later.

But the thought of confronting Damian again provoked a flurry of fluttering sensations in her belly…and all because of that hot and spicy look in his eyes. That ravishing look, she realized, had stirred the jitters in her belly—and stirred them still.

Was this what passion felt like? Did it make you dizzy, even giddy? She had never had the chance to explore anything like it before, always too busy trying to impress her brethren with her nautical skill to bother with such distractions…And why the hell was she even thinking about it?

Mirabelle marched onward. She should not be so curious. The encounter with Damian had been an accident, pure and simple. A mortifying accident, granted, but an accident nonetheless. It would do her no good to dwell on it. And it certainly wouldn’t do her any good to explore something so trivial as passion. For it was trivial, she was sure. Anything her brothers, especially the younger ones, adored was trivial. And Mirabelle hadn’t come this far in pursuit of her dream to flounder over a petty quiver of the heart and a few flickering sensations in her belly—which could very well be due to hunger, she concluded.

Despite all her reasoning, though, she still didn’t want to confront the new navigator. Luckily, a hoarse cry for a “bloody clodpole” stopped her in her tracks.

She opened the door to the cabin and peeked inside.

“What’s the matter, Quincy?” she said, her words clipped.

“Well, good morning to you, too.”

She stepped into the room and took in a deep breath, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. “Sorry, Quincy. My morning’s gotten off to a wretched start.”

“So has mine,” he grumbled. “Eddie promised to bring me breakfast—a half hour ago. I’m starving!”

With a sigh, Mirabelle approached the bed. It was a good sign, Quincy’s appetite. The boy was on the mend.

She sat down on the edge of the mattress and touched his brow. Still warm. She took the compress from the washbasin and placed it over his forehead.

“I’ll go and find Edmund,” she said.

“Don’t bother, Belle. I can rail at the lout all the louder when he finally shows up.”

“But I thought you were hungry?”

“I’d rather have Eddie’s hide.”

He was incorrigible, her brother. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she stood up to leave. “Fine, Quincy. Enjoy your ranting.”

“Stay, Belle, and keep me company for a while.”

“Bored?”

“Utterly.”

She quirked a half smile and sat down again. “Serves you right for getting into that scrape.”

“Don’t harp, Belle. I’ve suffered plenty. Almost lost my head, and all. Isn’t that enough?”

“I suppose it is,” she grumbled. “Will you ever learn to behave?”

He snorted. “This coming from you? A woman who stowed away? A woman who disobeyed the captain’s direct order to stay aboard ship?”

“It’s not the same, Quincy. I had to do those things. I won’t be left behind or treated differently just because I’m a woman.”

“But being a woman
makes
you different, Belle. When are you going to realize that?”

“When you realize there’s more to life than cards, brawls, and wenches.”

“That long, eh?”

She gave him a wry look. “Besides, when I misbehave, I don’t end up in a scuffle, fighting for my life.”

“Point taken.” He sighed. “I’m lucky Damian came around when he did.”

Her tone softened a bit. “And if Damian hadn’t come along?”

“I’d be dead, I guess.”

The thought chilled her. Looking at Quincy, thinking about the young scoundrel not being around anymore, made her heart hurt, and for the first time, she felt a sense of gratitude toward Damian.

“You really think you’d be dead?” she wondered.

“Me against five Americans? Yah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Five!”

He looked bewildered for a moment. “Did I say five? I meant two.”

Mirabelle narrowed her gaze. “You told James the fight was with
two
men. He’ll have your hide, Quincy, if he ever finds out you were daft enough to take on
five
!”

“And since I like my hide right where it is, promise me you won’t tell him.”

There was a pleading look in his wide blue eyes. He even batted his lashes to try and win her over. The scamp.

She wouldn’t rat on him, though. James would skin him alive if he ever found out the truth. And what good would that do?

But she wouldn’t give Quincy the reassurance he sought, either. Let the scalawag sweat a bit. Maybe next time he wouldn’t be so eager to act the reckless fool.

Mirabelle leaned forward and pressed her lips to the ridge of her brother’s nose. “I’ll go and look for Edmund. I think you’ve waited long enough for your breakfast.”

“First promise me, Belle, not to tell James.”

She was up and heading for the door.

“
Belle!?
”

She was out the door, a smile on her face.

Damian looked through the sextant’s eyepiece. The sun was somewhere in the heavens, but he didn’t see a celestial orb reflecting in the mirror. All he saw were the two bountiful orbs of Mirabelle’s breasts hovering above him.

He shuddered, a pang of lust gripping him. He had never seen such magnificent breasts before. The vision had lasted only a few precious seconds, but he had captured every detail in prefect clarity. The lone freckle dotting one globe. The way one swelling breast was slightly larger than the other.

Desire still twisting in his groin, the duke closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep and steady breath, dismissing the erotic vision.

How could a woman engage in the private matter of bathing and
not
lock the door on a ship full of men?

A woman not very chaste, he reckoned. One accustomed to men…so would her brothers really mind if he tangled with her, especially if she had been with other tars?

Damian stomped the thought asunder. He was
never
going to find out the truth to that query. He had to get home to England, and he wasn’t about to endanger his mission to scratch an itch in his pants. He had survived two years without a woman. He could bloody well stay celibate for another few weeks…though he was beginning to suspect celibacy did more to distract a man than keep him focused. Two years of it had certainly taken a toll on Damian. One look at a woman’s breasts and he was a mind-boggling fool.

Damian banished the thought of his unfulfilled lust and peered back into the sextant. This time he positioned the mirror until the sun overlaid the horizon. He then checked the angle on the scale and made a mental note of the figure.