Defying a Pirate Page 10

  Gemma looked at the glass as the woman looked on expectantly, before Gemma turned around to look for James. She saw him only a short distance away. He did not look set to rescue her and she pursed her lips before taking a sip of the horrible liquid and coughing as it burnt her throat.

  Chapter 16

  Gemma choked down some more of the brown liquid—which turned out to be rum—before she’d had enough. Her glass remained fairly full even though the woman sitting next to her was still eyeing it expectantly.

  “Have you lived here long?” Gemma finally asked out of need to say something.

  “A few months, maybe a year,” the woman said. “So, what’s it like to steal Captain Jack Mallory’s heart?”

  Gemma’s mouth dropped open as she tried to think of something to say. Even the idea of what the woman had said was ridiculous. “I’m not entirely sure he has a heart,” she finally said when nothing else would come into her mind. The woman roared with laughter.

  “You’re probably right there,” she said through attacks of laughter. “But it’s the first time he’s come here claiming a woman.”

  “Oh?” Gemma said. She hadn’t known that; she didn’t actually know anything of his history. He could be married for all she knew. “Surely not the only one,” Gemma said incredulously.

  “Oh, he churns through them alright, but he’s never claimed one.”

  He’s never needed to, Gemma said to herself pointedly. The only reason he was here with her was to bolster his reputation. “So there is no...wife?”

  “Not that I’ve ever heard. His heart has always been on chasing ships.”

  Gemma was glad to hear it; she didn’t want to think how awful she’d feel right now if she’d kissed a married man. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her before, that he might have dependants—children even. Children seemed so far removed from the life he led, she’d just assumed that he didn’t have any and he’d said it was something he’d sacrificed when he took on his profession.

  Keeping to her own thoughts, the people around her laughed at the retold antics of a priest who came to try to set the people of this town on a righteous path.

  Food appeared on the table and shortly after they were done eating, Marie appeared too. She swayed into the room like she owned it and demanded a drink. Studying the woman discreetly, Gemma could see the pride in her. She noticed other women in the tavern, all of them drinking and some sitting on men’s laps. They were all prostitutes Gemma realized, even the red-headed woman next to her. The men stole at sea and came back here and spent it on these women.

  She also noticed that it had gotten louder in the tavern as it had grown dark outside. There was music playing and she hadn’t even noticed it starting. A man played the accordion, while another played a fiddle. The tune was very upbeat when Gemma finally listened to it. She was completely unfamiliar with the song, but then she wasn’t normally exposed to sea shanties. Blushing, she realized that the song was actually about voluptuous thighs of a woman named Mary.

  “Drink some more, girl,” the red-headed woman said. “You’re much too serious. It is not every day Jack introduces a girl; it’s time to celebrate. Truth be told, any excuse to celebrate around here.” She pushed the glass of rum over to Gemma, who felt her throat constrict at the thought.

  “I prefer wine, if I’m completely honest.”

  “Wine? Why didn’t you say? Charlie, a wine for Jack’s woman,” she yelled at the man cleaning an eclectic assortment of glasses and mugs behind the bar. Before long, a glass of wine appeared in front of her. It wasn’t good wine, but it was better than the rum. Sipping the wine, Gemma looked around to see James talking to a group of men she hadn’t seen before. They all looked menacing and if she would have seen any of them in London, she would have run the other way. She still couldn’t believe she was in a tavern with this present group of people—it was surreal and extraordinary. She’d never in her wildest dreams ever thought something like this would happen to her.

  She felt an uncomfortable niggle like someone was staring at her, until she searched the room and found the Marie woman’s narrowed eyes on her. The woman was bold enough not to look away when her scrutiny had been detected. Gemma looked away, not interested in entering a staring contest with some half-dressed harlot. She wondered again if the woman felt she had some kind of claim to James; she couldn’t think of any other reason why the woman was staring at her with what—if Gemma didn’t know better—could be described as malice.

  Gemma turned back to her more immediate company, who was altogether more welcoming. The wine was slowly starting to taste more palatable. She had no idea where it came from; wherever it was, it must have travelled far and not fared well in the process. Portuguese she suspected, although this was technically a French Island, so perhaps from one of the lesser growing regions in France.

  “Here’s my Bertie,” the red-headed woman said and reached her arms out for a man, whom she pulled into the seat next to her. Bertie turned out to be a weathered man of indeterminable age. His skin had seen a lifetime of sun and his whole face wrinkled when he smiled back at the woman who welcomed him. “Catch anything?”

  “The little buggers weren’t biting today.”

  “Bertie fishes,” she explained.

  “Come from a long line of fishermen in Wales,” he said. Gemma could hear the Welsh accent when he spoke.

  “You’re a long way from home,” Gemma said.

  “No, Rosie here is my home,” he said and patted Rosie’s knee and Rosie beamed, giving him a shove. It was obvious that these two cared for each other and when they conferred, they seemed unaware of anyone around them. It was actually quite sweet that two people who had obviously lived hard lives had ended up finding one another and being happy. Gemma felt like she was intruding on a private moment.

  “And from whence do you come?” Bertie asked and turned his attention back to Gemma. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

  “This is Jack’s woman,” Rosie said.

  “You don’t say? Well, I never...” he drifted off. “Well that makes up for the fish not biting.”

  “He stole her,” Rosie filled in.

  “He is a rascal—a good sort—but a rascal.” Bertie laughed and Rosie joined in. Gemma started laughing as well because their mirth was contagious and she really needed to laugh. It felt like it had been years since she’d laughed and it seemed to come so easily amongst these people. There hadn’t been much joy in her life lately. There used to be when her father was alive, but everything changed when he’d died. It had been just the two of them for a long time and they’d always got on so well. Vivecka and her family were lovely, but it wasn’t the same. Gemma missed having that one person who she could depend on and confide in. Rosie had obviously found her person, Gemma thought smiling at the couple.

  “Now why don’t you dance a bit,” Bertie said.

  “What?” Gemma said and sobered out of her reflective mood.

  “Oh, let’s,” Rosie said with excitement. “Come, let’s dance. It’s a day to celebrate.”

  Gemma wasn’t so sure, but Rosie had her by the arm and pulled her into the center of the tavern.

  “Fiddle for your life, Johnnie,” Rosie demanded of the thin man playing the fiddle. He seemed eager to comply and started a faster beat, some kind of jig. Rosie started jumping around and Gemma tried to follow the steps, but she couldn’t find rhyme nor reason in them and soon gave up. She threw caution to the wind and jumped wherever her feet would take her. A younger man joined in, stamping his feet and clapping his hands.

  Giving herself over to the dance, she found herself jumbling up steps from lots of different dances without following anything as she should; she just let herself move to the fast tempo of the fiddle. She gave herself over to the joy of it and the wine that warmed her body.

  Rosie was surprisingly agile for a larger woman and at one point they skipped around arm in arm before breaking apart and repeating with the men dancing as
well. Gemma danced with a young man with long blond hair and clothes that were made for a larger man. He was smiling despite his bad teeth and clearly enjoyed the dance. He was someone Gemma would cross the street to avoid back in London and she felt the sting of her own unfairness at being so judgemental on appearances.

  Seeing James standing nearby watching her, she felt nervousness fill her, but dismissed it. She was having a good time and she was not going to let anything ruin it. She still couldn’t avoid feeling his presence even if she turned so she couldn’t see him.

  She twirled around, then felt a sharp tug as she was lifted off the floor onto the shoulder of some man. It happened so fast that she didn’t know who it was, but she knew it wasn’t James. She felt sheer panic and helplessness as there was nothing she could do to stop it. The man’s running steps jerked her body around painfully while she yelled her protest. A sharp jerk knocked them both and then hands around her waist as she felt herself falling, pulling her back. She was in James arms.

  “Matey,” James roared, “as if you would ever get away with that. Nobody steals my girl.” She felt further movement, but she had her face buried in his chest. James pulled her back into the center of the tavern with his arms around her. “Sorry about that. Some of them just don’t know how to behave. Poor impulse control.”

  Gemma looked back at the man lying on the floor. She felt her sense of terror kick in now that the incident was actually over.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you,” James said reassuringly and Gemma looked up at him believing every word. She didn’t want him to let go, she felt safe here with his arms around her. “Come, dance.”

  He moved her around, but Gemma had lost her rhythm when that man had tried to steal her away. She couldn’t even think what would have happened to her if he’d succeeded. Turning her eyes back to the man who was still lying on the floor, James took her gently by the chin and urged her gaze back to him.

  Unable to register what was happening, James leant down and kissed her. She noted that there was cheering, but it seemed an abstract concept compared to the soft touch of his lips. It wiped everything else from her mind as the warmth of it took over her whole body. He demanded entrance to her mouth and she relented. As he deepened the kiss, Gemma lost herself tp the feeling that was suffusing into every part of her body.

  And then he withdrew and she felt the stark absence of his lips. He hadn’t let her go and he was looking down at her when she opened her eyes again. There was no malice or judgement in his eyes, they were just there seeing every part of her. Her lips pulsed with the absence of sensation and the taste of him seemed to command her entire mind. She didn’t want the kissing finished, she wanted more.

  “I think Miss Montague has had enough of your company for one day,” James said to the crowd around them. He turned his attention away from her, but he didn’t let her go and she hoped that he wouldn’t. Feeling nothing but vulnerable, she needed him to be there right then. “Unless you want to stay,” he said turning back to her.

  She shook her head. She wanted to be away from there—from people she didn’t know and the staring eyes that were constantly watching. She wanted the security of the little cabin she’d been living in for what felt like a long time.

  Chapter 17

  Jack was drunk—not enough that he couldn’t take care of himself or the girl, but enough to feel the placating effects of the drink in his veins. All was well with the world; Gemma had done her part and even Samuels couldn’t find fault in her. And now she clung to him, her large eyes wide and she sought his protection. It fed something deep in him—a pride that was powerful and independent of everything else. If he was a prisoner in a dark dungeon, he’d still feel like he was the king of the world right now. If he wasn’t in his cups, he wouldn’t admit it, but he loved being her protector. He absorbed the adoring looks she gave him like it was the elixir of life. She’d played her part well—too well perhaps, and he had to be careful or he will be deceived by it himself. But he found that for a moment, he wanted to forget all that and just believe it was true.

  Leaning down, he kissed her again. He didn’t surprise her this time, she knew his intentions and she welcomed him. He felt pleasure and joy radiate out with the touch. Her mouth was sweet and warm, soft in the way one dreams of. Pulling her to him, he lifted her off the ground. He had to get her home, his body was on fire. They had to go or he was about to stop caring that there was a tavern full of people watching—people who actually wouldn’t mind if he took her right here on the floor. But he didn’t want to share this with anyone; her sweetness was just for him and no-one else.

  “Let’s go home,” he said and she nodded her agreement. He didn’t want to go through the effort of moving, instead just wishing he could close his eyes and they would be back in the cabin when he opened them again.

  The night air was cool outside, the moon was high and clear, and there was a cooling breeze coming off the sea. Keeping his hand on the small of her back, they walked back toward the docked ship. He felt like he had to touch her lest she disappear like mist in front of his eyes.

  She had such fire in her, he’d felt it by the waterfall. He hadn’t expected it, but it had burned him, sought to consume him. He wanted to be consumed by it. He wanted to worship her and be consumed in the process. Chuckling, he thought how he had derided the sappy sonnets written by men for women, but he felt the truth in them now. Perhaps it was the drink talking.

  Watching her as she walked ahead of him, all his attention was on her and he couldn’t steal his eyes away. He conceded that he was quite enamored with this girl he’d stolen. She turned and looked at him and he had to steel himself to keep walking and not pull her to him here. He would get distracted and they wouldn’t get back to the privacy of the cabin and the soft bed where he could take his time and savor every moment of this evening. They were almost there but for a few more minutes.

  Helping her board the ship, he nodded to Bobby who’d been left to watch the ship while the others enjoyed the delights of the island.

  The cabin was dark when he closed the door. The moonlight shone in through the back windows, making the skin of her neck and chest glow above her dress. He lit a candle then turned to her. She was standing next to the wall regarding him with her hands behind her back supporting herself on the wall.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For being everything I hoped you’d be tonight, and more.” He moved closer. Her hair was loose and hung down her shoulders in thick, gentle curves. Looking down, she blushed. He wanted to say something about how beautiful she was, but he was completely tongue-tied. Instead he placed his hand on her shoulder and ran his thumb down her neck. Her skin was warm and he felt himself harden completely.

  He felt no resistance in her; she wasn’t fighting or challenging him. She wanted him. The realisation made him feel headier than any amount of whiskey could. Leaning in, he kissed her, letting his lips claim hers softly. The sweetness of it was almost unbearable and she welcomed him into her mouth and let him explore.

  “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said breathily when the kiss broke. He felt her fingers lightly at his sides and he took one of her hands and placed it on his heart. He wanted her to feel the powerful beating of the organ that had that night sped up when she looked at him.

  Seeking out the skin of her neck, he was rewarded with a little moan that reverberated through his head and body.

  Gemma felt like she had a sun inside her, she was burning up. She sought every touch of his body; it fed her and lulled the consuming craving she felt. Wanting to be in his arms, she melded to him. She felt as if he saw everything she was when he looked at her and she wanted him to see. She wanted him to have every part of her.

  She felt like she was rewarded when he finally took that step that brought their bodies together completely. The full length of him was now against her.

  “Please, James,” she final
ly said. Looking down into her eyes for a moment, he reached down slowly for a kiss. He looked as captured by the moment and the sensations as she was. There wasn’t the urgency of the first kiss they’d had—the one that had scared her—this was slow and deliberate.

  She felt him undoing the buttons of her dress, then the slight tug as they gave way one by one. The dress fell and Gemma felt the constriction of it give way. He pulled the top of her nightgown over her shoulders, revealing her skin to the air and to his eyes. His fingers stroked the skin along her neckline and then his hand travelled down and cupped her breast, his thumb traveling over the painfully swollen nub, sending sensations shooting down to her stomach. He kissed her again; bringing her heated body to him. The taste of him drove her, she wanted to taste more of him—she wanted his skin with nothing between them.

  She tugged his shirt out of his breeches and he let her, before cutting the process short and yanking it over his head. She let her eyes and hands roam his chest. He was so warm and solid, utterly beautiful. She let her eyes roam down his abdomen and to the straining bulge in his breeches. Knowing that he wanted to be inside her, she let her fingers lightly roam over the bulge and his eyes closed with his groan.

  Letting her hand touch his manhood with a little more pressure, she saw him steel his balance. She wanted to explore further, but she also felt urgency. She stepped closer, feeling his warm skin to her chest. His arms came around her and lifted her up again, holding her to him and rewarding her with the closeness she craved. His eyes were on her now as he walked her back to the bed.

  She wasn’t scared, she wanted this and the sensations it would bring—wanted him to join with her, for them to be one being for a moment. She wanted the promise of their time in the waterfall, before it was cut short, and to know what lay beyond that point.