Part 2: All’s Well That Ends My Way

“We canna outrun them.”

Reese waved away the proffered spyglass. Courtesy of the full moon, she needed no assistance to see the other ship slicing through the obsidian water like a scythe. Despite the swift, darting movements of the shadow crew on deck, it remained as silent as when they’d it passed at noon.

She admired that bit of strategy, no doubt designed to instill fear in the hearts of their victims by creating the illusion of a spectral enemy, but tonight they had chosen the wrong target for their intimidation tactics. “In that case, let us not delay the inevitable. Drop the sails and prepare for guests.”

Conrad left her side to convey the command to the crew.

The second man flanking her at the rail said, “Their invasion won’t extend beyond the deck. There’s no need for you to be involved.”

She tipped her head back to evaluate whether his face revealed more than his flat tone. Small black eyes peered at her from a pelt-like expanse of beard and shaggy hair. With his unkempt appearance, towering height, and muscular girth, he more closely resembled a bear than a man. Most people were surprised when intelligible speech emerged from his mouth—and very, very sorry if they demonstrated the poor judgment to remark on it.

His serene expression was as devoid of nuance as his voice and probably every bit as deceptive. “I hope you’re not insinuating I can’t hold my own in a fight, Mister Ivanovich.”

“I’d sooner take on a shark with my bare hands. At least I’d know what weapons he brought to the battle.” The scar angling across his cheek flashed silver in the moonlight, evidence that even the most experienced warrior could not escape every battle unscathed. One momentary lapse in concentration, and even a little girl armed with only a teacup could leave a mark that lasted forever. “Your ability isn’t the issue. Only a fool risks injury without good reason, and you’re no fool.”

Conrad rejoined them. “We’re being paid to protect the contents of this ship, good enough reason to put ourselves in front of their guns and blades. Ye get nothing for doing the same, lass.”

The competence of her crew rendered her presence unnecessary, and a scar like Yuri’s would only diminish her value in the event her father made good on his threat, opening the bidding to a lower class of pervert. Though she felt a bit like she’d been asked to leave a party, she had to concede they had a point. “Very well. I’ll be in my cabin. The instant the pirates have been dispatched, resume our homeward course.”

With a final look at the rapidly gaining ship, she retreated below deck.

The hour dictated sleep, but anticipation of the attack banished all possibility of rest. A proper lady would be wailing and wringing her hands. Reese paced the width of the room, thankful there were no such useless creatures aboard, abusing her ears with their whining.

A volley of grappling hooks struck the deck, breaking the silence. The floor lurched beneath her feet as the pirates used the inert ship to halt their own momentum. She sat down hard on the bed as the ship twisted against its bonds.

Pressured by its shifting contents, a cabinet door popped open. Her secret hoard of that unappetizing fruit the cook insisted upon including with her breakfast each morning rolled out—only two since the last time she’d had an opportunity to dump them overboard. One came to rest against her foot, the other in the corner.

The battle commenced, an opera of sound that told a clear story. The footsteps of the players dancing overhead and the thud of falling bodies reverberated through the wood, while that barrier muffled the shouts and clang of steel against steel and explosions of gunfire.

She expected her men to make short work of the pirates, but five, ten, then fifteen minutes passed with no indication of the clash winding down. The enemy had most likely breached the defensive line by that time and advanced beyond the deck. Pirates making themselves at home on her ship seemed an adequate reason to involve herself.

Instinct urged her to find the bastards and carve out their thieving hearts, but if she went searching for them with no knowledge of their whereabouts, she might be caught unawares. In her cabin, she knew the terrain and its resources and could monitor the only entrance. They would come to her soon enough.

She formed a dummy on the bed, threw a sheet over it, and dimmed the lantern. The weak light extended just far enough to suggest the shape of a woman in the bed and cast the rest of the room in deep shadows.

A few quick draws of her blade confirmed it emerged from its sheath without a hitch, but that would be her secondary weapon this time. She stationed herself behind the door, a pistol in each hand. She felt no obligation to give a filthy pirate a fighting chance and no shame about shooting one in the back.

She didn’t have long to wait. A quiet click announced the unlatching of the door. The hinges creaked as the oak panel swung inward. A boot rubbed the floor, a whisper of sound suggesting the wearer was virtually weightless. One more step brought him into view.

A full head taller than she, he was hardly weightless, just incredibly light on his feet. Dark hair bound in a tail contrasted starkly with his billowy white shirt. Tight pants emphasized the muscles of his thighs, flexing with each stride that carried him across the room.

He stopped beside the bed and turned up the lantern. “Let’s have a look at you, lovely.”

Rather than reveal the dummy hidden beneath the covers, he turned on his heel to face her.

Pirates were supposed to be unwashed, unshaven, with pocked skin, brown teeth, and a devastating stench. This one was devastating, all right, but he achieved the effect with firm, sensual lips, high cheekbones, and eyes as inky black as his hair. His skin was surprisingly pale for a seafaring man. His shirt parted at the neck, offering a glimpse of smooth, well-muscled chest.

And then, of course, there were the tight pants.

Very tight pants.

He was, quite simply, the most magnificent male specimen Reese had ever laid eyes upon, and as such, it pained her that she had no choice but to kill the miserable blackguard.

* * *

The woman extended one shapely leg, well defined in her masculine attire, and kicked the door shut. Neither her stare nor the dual pistols trained on Malcolm’s chest wavered. “Look your fill, pirate. It’ll be the last thing you ever see.”

Far from the last, he’d wager, but he accepted her invitation nonetheless. Her hair, the same shade as dark chocolate, tumbled about her shoulders in thick waves. Flawless olive skin that took well to the sun also hinted at some Mediterranean ancestry. In defiance of the rest of her coloring, her eyes were startlingly pale and clear, like aqua sea glass.

His gaze traveled lower, lingering on high breasts that were, alas, covered well within modesty’s guidelines by a white shirt. Over that was a close-fitting bodice of crimson brocade he imagined she wore less for vanity and more for ease of accessing the shortsword sheathed at her hip, though the garment did call attention to the narrowness of her waist and exaggerated the flare of her hips. Without its assistance, she was in danger of appearing boyishly slender.

He’d done well to call her lovely. He sketched a slight bow, mindful of sudden movements and those that would drop his face into her line of fire. “By whom do I have the pleasure of being threatened with imminent death?”

“Reese Hershey.”

Reese. A man’s name to accompany a man’s clothing and a man’s weapons. If his luck held, she’d have a man’s view of taking lovers and spare him a great deal of time and effort circumventing maidenly conventions. “I am Malcolm Maximilian Marrs. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all yours, I assure you.”

“Cruel lady, you will stop my heart with cutting words before using your other weapons against me.” High on soaring hope pertaining to maidenly convention or the lack thereof, he’d neglected to factor into his plans her understandably negative reaction to having her ship attacked, her crew slaughtered, and her cargo confiscated. He had never before faced that particular obstacle, and his confidence in his ability to surmount it would be nil, if not for the fact that she had thus far refrained from filling his chest with lead. All he had to do was identify the source of her hesitation and exploit it to his advantage.

He flipped back the sheet, exposing the mannequin constructed of a pillow and rolled linens. A pair of grapefruit rolled free of the bedding and struck the floor. He nudged one with his toe and sent it wobbling toward her. “You greatly misrepresent your endowments. You have peaches, at most.”

She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I would have used melons if I’d had them. The goal was distraction, not accuracy. How did you know I was here?”

He felt her heat, heard her heart thump, detected a faint whiff of gun oil and sweat lacking the pungent note of man. His senses pinpointed her location, but the ruse hadn’t fooled him for an instant. “If I found myself trapped, I would opt for ambush, so that possibility was at the forefront of my expectations. Next time, consider building your double cowering in the corner. Even my dim-witted cabin boy would find it suspicious that a woman would sleep through a pirate attack.”

“I’ll keep your suggestion in mind, though next time I think I’ll stay on deck and shoot your larcenous brethren before they have the opportunity to befoul my ship.”

Either she expected to survive this encounter, or she was a remarkable actress delivering the finest performance of fearlessness he’d ever beheld. In the case of the former, he could easily overpower her and sink his fangs into her right now, skipping the entire preamble, and find the heavenly taste he craved. If it was an act, however, she’d be ordinary, different from her crew only in her less bristly neck and the scantier volume of her blood.

His fangs ached at the roots, declaring their preference for quick blood, but he hated to risk wasting her when she had the potential to be extraordinary.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Very well. If there’s to be a next time, we’d best get on with negotiating your surrender.”

“Surrender?” She laughed, the same musical tintinnabulation that had first alerted him to her existence. “The seamanship of my crew is scarcely sufficient to keep us on the water rather than under it, but they’re paid handsomely nonetheless. They were hired to protect the cargo, a task for which they have exhibited exemplary talent, as your crew has surely ascertained by now. You chose the wrong ship to attack, Mr. Marrs.”

“Please, call me Malcolm. Or darling. Any endearment will do, in fact.” He leaned back, using the mannequin as a bolster. “What if I told you your cargo is of no interest to me?”

“Then I would say there are better ways to pass an evening than raiding a ship, fighting its crew, and leaving empty-handed.”

His gaze roamed over her multitude of tempting features before settling on her neck. “On that, we are in complete accord.”

“If not the cargo, what do you want?”

In truth, he couldn’t care less about whatever goods rested in the belly of the ship. He and his crew were far more vampire than pirate, more often than not stealing only the blood of their victims, whose claims of late night attack by bloodsucking monsters were later dismissed as tall tales or hallucinations.

Therefore, it was with completely honesty that he responded, “I want you.”

“You can’t have me.”

“That’s settled, then.” He stood abruptly and dusted his hands together. “I shall adjourn to my ship posthaste.”

Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “You’re not going to attempt cajoling me to succumb, or forcing me?”

“On the basis of our brief acquaintance, I deduce you are not the sort of woman who succumbs. Rather, you decide, and you have made your decision clear. I respect your forthrightness.”

She took a step back as he advanced. “Thank you.”

“If I would prefer you take a different position”—he cast a less-than-subtle gaze in the direction of the bed—”I must provide you with a compelling reason to do so, such as punching holes in your hull with cannonballs and sending your precious cargo to the bottom of the Atlantic if you choose to be uncooperative.”

Her full, rosy lips twisted into a smirk. “You’ve provided me with a compelling reason to kill you where you stand.”

“I’m afraid that will do you no good.” He took another step toward her, undaunted by the guns that couldn’t possibly miss at such close range. “If I don’t return, my men will likewise carry out that order.”

Her face paled as her predicament became clear—not so fearless, after all. “Well played, Mister Marrs.” She slowly lowered her guns.

And shot him in the foot.

“Wh—” He grimaced as shattered bone pulled back together. The pain was less objectionable than the sensation the extremity was filled with restless cockroaches. Neither was as objectionable as the blood slowly filling his boot. He needed that, dammit. “Why would you do such a thing?” he grated between clenched teeth.

“My finger slipped.” Her mouth pursed into a pout. “What’s the matter, Malcolm darling? Do you no longer feel amorous?”

He’d succeeded in frightening her. For the sake of his other appendages, he would have to remember her fear lived only long enough to give birth to violent outbursts of rage. She responded poorly to being backed into a corner with no means of escape.

The clever minx had assured he wouldn’t be seducing her that night, but she had only postponed her fate. If anything, he wanted her more. She was no longer just any woman, but a bold one with sharp wits and a hot temper. Even willing, she would grapple with him for control. She’d have fire in her blood, like an exotic spice.

His own blood gathered in his loins. The leak in his foot spared them both an ungentlemanly display. “My intent is not to ravish you tonight.”

“What a coincidence, as my intent is to not be ravished. Perhaps if your intent were more clear, this sort of unfortunate accident could be avoided in the future.”

He’d hardly call maiming him further an accident when her guns were pointed at his knees with her fingers on the triggers, but he saw little benefit in provoking another slip by arguing semantics. “I believe, if you got to know me better, you would find my company much less objectionable.”

She tilted her head, a quizzical frown furrowing her brow. “You wish to court me, pirate? I doubt my father, even with his notoriously low standards, would approve such a match.”

He fought a grin, reluctant to expose his fangs and give her another reason to resist him. “No need to be so archaic. You’re a grown woman, capable of making your own decisions.”

“Which you callously disregard the moment they fail to coincide with yours.”

With the wall at her back, she had nowhere to retreat when one long stride put him toe to toe with her. “If you were suffering from my callous disregard, I’d be through with you by now, and you’d be enjoying the regard of my crew. Make no mistake, Miss Hershey. I will have what I want from you. I’m giving you the opportunity to yield without force, an exceptionally charitable offer considering you shot me.”

Her gaze shifted sideways at the reminder she had squandered all his excess goodwill. “How much time will you give me to prepare?”

By necessity, longer than he would like, now that he’d bullied her into believing a fate worse than death awaited her. “I can be generous, within reason.”

She bit her lower lip while she considered the offer. Finally, she met his eyes. “Three days.”

His brows crept upward at the brevity she’d given herself. “Why three days?”

“Because it has a better chance of earning your agreement than three weeks or months or years.”

And, he sensed, any longer would be cowardly in her eyes. “You have it. Now, if you would be so kind as to accompany me above, we shall advise the warring factions of our truce.”

She declined his arm and marched ahead of him. Up on deck, men remained locked in combat. The air was redolent with spilled blood. Malcolm’s foot throbbed, as much an indication of hunger as the wound. It would be completely healed by next nightfall, but the process would consume as much blood as he’d lost through his torn flesh. He would need a feed long before three days elapsed.

Before she witnessed him falling to his knees and licking the deck clean or noticed the manner in which many of her men were being bled, he whistled sharply, bringing his crew to attention. “Enough! You’ve had your fun, and if you haven’t, you’ve only yourselves to blame. From this moment onward, you’re to be on your best behavior. We’ll be providing an escort to Miss Hershey’s ship for the next three days.”

Her quick intake of breath signaled her surprise. “What?”

Ah, she’d estimated three days to effect her escape. That explained her uncharacteristic acquiescence when he’d expected another bullet instead. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let you out of my sight. I trust you completely, of course, but I have a vested interest in your safety, and you never can tell what sort of rogues you’ll encounter at sea. To that end, I’ll leave you a few of my crew to compensate you for the men you’ve lost.”

“That’s unnecessary,” she snapped, her spark returning. “A few of my men may have been wounded, but none are lost.”

“That will change when I take some of them back to my ship with me.”

Her jaw thrust forward mutinously. “Hostages? Must you stoop so low?”

“I prefer to think of them as helping hands to keep us apace with you during the day. You may have noticed earlier we’re a lazy, nocturnal lot.”

Before she could voice further protest, a man roughly the size of three stepped forward. “I will go.”

Malcolm chuckled and shook his head. “I think not. I’d prefer someone less obviously capable of killing us all in our beds.”

He selected half a dozen of his men to leave behind and an equal number of hers to join his crew, including the Scot filling the first mate’s role, assuming he earned the position by having some greater degree of experience on the water. Reese also seemed more attached to him than the other mercenaries surrounding her, which might prove useful in more ways than one.

She watched the transfer of her crewmen keenly, then turned her hostile gaze on Malcolm. “How can you be certain we won’t kill your men?”

“An eye for an eye, lovely. I give you my word I’ll play an honorable game. I also give you my word, if you cross me, I will rain death upon your crew.” A thin smile stretched his lips. “For you, I shall reserve a special retribution.”

She raised her chin a haughty notch. “I don’t know whether to fear you or laugh in your face.”

“By all means, laugh.” He caught a windblown strand of her hair and merely held it. She jerked her head hard enough to bring tears to her eyes when neither his fingers nor her scalp released her hair. The stubborn chit would do well to accept a bit of advice before she caused herself more serious injury. “When you’re finished laughing, humor me. It suits my purpose to treat you well, but I am not a man of infinite patience or kindness.”

“I will find a way to best you at your ‘honorable’ game, Mister Marrs,” she vowed.

“I look forward to your attempts, Miss Hershey. The three days are yours to plot and scheme.” He made the leap from deck to deck, then turned and held her gaze. “But your nights belong to me.”

Part 3: Booty Is in the Eye of the Beholder