Wherever You Are (34 page)

Paul has known his share of empty headed society women, and fiercely intelligent Catherine doesn’t fit. When he wakes up adrift in a longboat after a blazing night together, he knows why. She took him for a fool—and took his ship.

Plus, the evil little genius has him neatly trapped. If he reveals why he lost his ship, he faces court martial. If he does his duty, he must find her and hang her—the one woman with whom he’s fallen in love. Damn it…
 

Warning: This book includes graphic sex and language, sexy sailors and saucy pirates trying to get one over on each other in the bed…on the floor…on that handy table…

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Wicked Lady:
 

Paul ducked through the doorway into the captain’s quarters and looked around in the dim lamplight. It was only when she moved toward him that he saw her. He blinked in surprise, and all thoughts of ships, masts and pirates fled out of his head. “My apologies—”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that made his belly quiver. Her voice was cultured and refined. A lady of breeding, no doubt. “No apologies required, not that I think you mean them, or you’d turn about, sir. My quarters were in the foredeck, along with all my clothes. They were burned to a crisp, and the dress I was wearing, well, there was a lot of blood. Please, there’s no need to stand on ceremony. I’m Lady Catherine Harcourt, but you may call me Catherine. Everyone does.”

“Lieutenant Ambury, captain of the
Newquay
.” God, she was a bold one—and the name… Hadn’t Matthew said something about a Lady Harcourt? He couldn’t remember. He was too busy staring. She stood in a pool of lamplight, dressed only in a silk shift stained here and there with blood. The light shone through the thin fabric and showed every curve and line of her body. Her fair hair fell loose around her face, unbound in contrast to the tightly pinned hairstyles or wigs women wore in public. The caress of hair over shoulders was something he’d only ever seen on a woman as she lay in his bed, and was instantly erotic to him. So was her complete lack of embarrassment and the way she watched his face carefully, a hint of mischief in the little half-smile. No simpering in her, no blushing modesty, just a clear intelligence and humour that mocked him. He shifted his feet and hoped the blood didn’t rush to his face, and elsewhere too, obviously. She laughed again at his discomfiture and motioned for him to sit.

He hesitated once more. He should at least pretend to be a gentleman, even if he wanted to be anything but right now. What he wanted was to see what was under that shift. What he wanted was to have her believe his lies, the sweetest lies that got women into bed. He looked up from a furtive glance at her body and caught her knowing gaze. He was lost for words. Any lady of class would have had a fainting fit by now, but she seemed to be enjoying herself at his expense. He wasn’t quite sure how to react, feeling on the back foot for once. Time to remedy that. “Lady, forgive me, but your reputation, if I should—”

“I told you to call me Catherine, and if I’d a reputation to lose, then perhaps I’d protect it.” She sat gracefully in a chair, pulled her legs up underneath her, curled almost like a cat, and leant forward to pour him a tot from a bottle of cognac. Good cognac too.

Paul tore his gaze away from where her body pressed into thin silk. He sat opposite her, took the glass and gulped down some brandy. Catherine poured one for herself, and a drop of blood fell onto the table and splashed the stem of her glass.

“You’re bleeding. Are you all right?” Paul put down his glass, glad to have a distraction from his thoughts, which were becoming more ungentlemanly by the moment.

She looked down in surprise and then laughed shakily. “A small cut, nothing too bad.” She turned her hand palm up and showed him a cut along her wrist. “One of them got a bit too close. Unluckily for him, my father made sure I knew how to defend myself.”

He couldn’t resist the perfect opportunity to touch her, and took her hand to make a show of inspecting the cut. A waft of perfume came from her, a spicy scent that seemed to lay heavily on his senses. “Really?” he asked, more for something to say than because he thought she wanted an answer. The cut bled freely, though it wasn’t a bad one, but if he bandaged it, he’d have to get closer. At the moment, that was all he could think of. That, and just how glorious she’d look naked.

She leant in, and now he could smell the woman under the perfume. Feel the heat of her arm along his, the hint of her breast pressed into his shoulder. He looked up and her face was next to his as she inspected the cut along with him. She looked at him from under her lashes with an enticing smile. Was she trying to seduce him? If so, she was doing a good job. His breeches had become decidedly uncomfortable. He’d never known a woman to behave like this, as though she knew what she wanted and was doing all she could to get it. At least not any woman who wasn’t a whore. Her audacity was almost as intoxicating as the breast that pushed gently into his arm, her perfume or the soft curve of her lips that begged to be kissed.

Her flirting completely unnerved him for a moment, but, being the man he was, only for a moment. He cleared his throat. “I think I’ll need to wrap this, to be on the safe side. Do you have anything to use for bandages?”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. They were a dark blue-grey, like the sea, and full of impish fun. She raised an eyebrow. “Well, there’s always my shift.”

With a laugh, she bent down and, with a little difficulty, tore two strips from the bottom of the shift. It was very hot and stuffy in the room all of a sudden, and Paul passed a hand over his forehead to blot his sweat. He took another gulp of brandy. A few minutes were all he’d wanted to spare. He
should
be out on deck. He’d bind her cut, then go and check all was well. Get some air. For the first time in his life, he cursed his choice of career. Maybe he could come back later…

Catherine handed him the strips of cloth. “Will this be enough?”

He had to get a hold of himself instead of behaving like a half-wit boy on his first time.
Take charge, man!
“It’ll be plenty, I’m sure.” She held out her arm, and he began to wrap it. After every other twist, he smoothed the cloth down with a thumb, making sure he went well past the actual cloth. The beat of her pulse at her wrist fluttered under his touch. Once the first strip had been finished and tied, he let one hand linger on her wrist and stroked his thumb along the soft skin there.

Her pulse sped up under his thumb, and a rash of gooseflesh ran along her arm. The corner of her mouth rose in a satisfied smile, and she reached out with her other hand to pick up her glass. “To Lieutenant Ambury. My hero.” She toasted him and took a tiny sip.

His own glass in his spare hand, he toasted her in return and let a long, slow smile spread across his face. There was an unspoken promise in her look, and he intended to collect. He had her. He shifted to relieve the ache in his crotch. “To Lady Catherine, my damsel in distress,” he said and drained his glass.

Her gaze followed every drop as he drank, and he put the glass down with a frown. It was still very hot, hotter than it had any right to be. Sweat trickled down his back and face, sliding off him in waves. All his skin was on fire, not with heat, but with emotion. Catherine’s face blurred before his eyes.

“I think that’s enough for you,” she said. “Don’t want you passing out just yet, do we?”

Paul tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t hold him. They’d turned to wet rope. He slumped into the chair, blinking heavily and shaking his head, sure he’d heard some muffled thumps and shouts from out on the deck.

“The bosun is a devil with the crew,” she said as she leant over him. “Shouts and screams half the day.”

“What in God’s name—” He tried to push her out of the way, but his senses swam. All he could see was her, sensuously swaying with the ship. All he could smell was her perfume. Anger and lust swirled through him, each vying for his attention.

She undid the buttons of his coat, and moved onward, her hands gliding over the smooth cotton of his shirt. Her breath tickled his cheek, her lips softly parted, and he forgot the shouts, forgot his anger at his helplessness. Lust won.

Fate rarely obeys the will of men…or women.

Prisoner of Desire

© 2010 Mary Wine

Learning she is bound on the next tide to marry a Caribbean commissioner, Lorena St. John is devastated. Yet she must obey her iron-handed stepfather, or her beloved sisters will suffer the consequences.

She arrives in Bermuda with hope, but finds her betrothed is a slave master who views her as chattel. Defiance gets her locked out of his house, vulnerable to the harsh tropical sun—and a band of desperate men.

Captain Warren Rawlins isn’t above using Lorena as a shield to rescue his brothers from the British fortress. Once aboard his ship, though, he finds Lorena is no fragile English bloom. She’s a delectable handful with a sharp sense of honor—and an even sharper tongue.

Despite her initial outrage, Lorena finds herself softening toward the rough crew of the
Huntress
who have more nobility than a thousand “proper” gentlemen. And its captain finds himself fighting a losing battle against the need to take her in his arms, propriety be damned.

All too soon Boston Harbor looms, but the danger isn’t past. Warren once again takes to the sea to fight for the woman he loves. Winner takes all…

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Prisoner of Desire:

It was amazing how a little water could restore a person’s resolve. Lorena sighed and drew a last deep breath. Yes, she felt much better now. She smelled the fresh air again and felt the cooling night breeze on her cheeks. The burning heat was being carried away as she listened to the slap of the palm leaves.

A hand clamped down over her mouth, dragging her back against a solid body. She bucked frantically, trying to twist free. Whoever held her, lifted her completely off the ground. One thick arm bound her around the waist while the hand remained over her mouth, stifling any sound she tried to make. Two large steps and she felt her feet dangling over the water. Her eyes rounded when she noticed the rowboat. The bonnet still pinned to her head only allowed her to see directly in front of her. What had been empty except for oars was now full of dark shapes. They reached up for her feet, hard hands closing around her ankles. She kicked frantically, her mind searching for any means of escape.

She sank her teeth into the fingers pressing against her lips.

“Viper…”

The hand left her mouth instantly, but he released her waist too. She fell toward the boat, landing on top of the men in it. Pain shot through her back and shoulders. Her dress became a tangled mess, and she kicked at it, trying to get her feet on something solid.

The boat rocked dangerously and the men grabbed her to keep her still.

“Ease up there or we’ll capsize.”

Lorena snarled at the warning. “Unhand—”

The same hard hand slapped back over her mouth. “Make for the gate lads or we’re done for.”

Her captor spoke in a harsh whisper but the tone terrified her. It was solid as steel. He imprisoned her against his body again, this time throwing a leg over hers to trap her completely. She strained against his hold but it was like iron. Blood seeped over her lips from where she’d bitten him, but he kept his hand in place.

The other men dipped the oars into the water. The boat headed for the small arches that led to the sea. The iron gates were still raised and they slipped quietly out of the inner fort.

“Now, men, row! Row for your lives!”

Her captor gave the command. The men dug into their task, working their oars in unison. Light from the fires on the wall shone down on them. The hand over her mouth released her lips but returned with a knife. He pressed the cool blade against her neck.

“I suggest you stay still if you want to keep your skin uncut.”

She swallowed and even that motion made the blade press uncomfortably against her throat. Her heart accelerated, making everything seem as though it was moving in slow motion. On top of the walls, men pointed their rifles directly at them. She could see the soldiers looking down the long barrels of the weapons to line up a perfect kill shot. Terror choked her for one horrible moment which felt like an hour. Her ears strained to hear the explosion of the rifles being fired.

“Hold your fire!” The command echoed up and down the wall. The men looking down their guns hesitated but raised their heads and the muzzles of the deadly guns.

Breath rushed back into her chest, but it lodged in her throat when she realized how fast the boat was pulling away from the fort.

And taking her with it.

She kicked again, frantic to escape from the unknown men holding her. The knife slid into her skin, spilling warm blood down her throat.

“Damn it. I said hold still.”

Her neck burned and the scent of her own blood filled her nose. “I don’t care. As if I’d do anything you tell me to.”

The arms around her tightened, locking her so hard against him she struggled to breathe. The knife remained at her throat and a soft sound passed her lips. She couldn’t prevent it; helplessness was filling her so full it bubbled over.

“I’m sorry but you will do what I say.” He spoke softly next to her ear. A whimper of self-pity tried to answer him but she clamped it behind her teeth, refusing to show him any more weakness. She tried to push the hand holding the knife away from her neck but he didn’t move, not even a tiny amount.

Men were filling the walls on the fort and holding torches high to try to cast light far enough out to illuminate the boat. But the efforts of her captors were pulling the small craft out farther and farther into the darkness. The oars slid into the water with smooth sounds and the men working them panted. They were rowing to freedom and she could hear them straining toward their goal.

She couldn’t blame them…

But she hated the one holding her. In the blackness she felt his heart beating against her back. He’d raised his head, no longer hiding his behind her own.