Fiery Tales: Undone Part 13

She turned to face him. "So this is what the Black Demon does, then. Those men...must they die?"

No, this isn't all I did or have done. I convinced my closest friend to join my cause-resulting in his slow, tortured death. "This is war. Return to your cabin, Angelica. This is no place for a woman." She was only causing him more agony.

And he condemned himself enough.

"Three cheers for the captain!" one crewmember shouted. It was followed immediately by three boisterous cheers.

He turned away from her and walked toward his crew; he heard Marta and Suzette behind him, coaxing her from the rail back to the stairs that led belowdecks.

"Simon Boulenger, le Demon Noir, ruler of the seas!" shouted another crewmember. Resounding approval rang out.

He schooled his features, forcing a smile, feigning a gladness he didn't feel.

One way or another, he'd just captured his last silver treasure. To that he swore.

Simon sat bolt upright and muttered an oath.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head in his hands waiting for his heart and breathing to calm.

Another b.l.o.o.d.y nightmare involving Thomas.

Reaching for the brandy decanter he kept in his cabin, he downed several gulps, seeking the amber liquid's numbing appeal. It had taken him far too long to fall asleep, only to be torn out of it all too soon. There was no point staying in his cabin only to toss and turn in bed. He stood.

Yanking on his breeches, then his boots, he ignored the pain in his shoulder where Toussaint had st.i.tched his wound.

One of his men had lost an arm in the battle, others their lives. Soon he would be given the list of casualties from all six ships.

Merde, at least they had a bounty of silver for Fouquet and France! Won't that be comforting to the women on the island who were waiting for their husbands to return, men whose bodies were now at the bottom of the sea in a watery grave.

s.n.a.t.c.hing a clean shirt off the chair, he clutched it in his fist and marched out of his cabin.

He stopped abruptly the moment he saw Angelica exit her cabin. She looked surprised. Good Lord, not her. Not now. He needed solitude to master his vexation, and his lungs burned for fresh air. He didn't want to discuss today. Or anything at the moment.

Her eyes took in his bare chest.

Just having those gorgeous eyes move over his body was already making his c.o.c.k hard. Jesus-Christ. He didn't need this type of frustration on top of everything else.

"You shouldn't be out here at this hour," he snapped.

"I couldn't sleep. I was going to see if Suzette was awake."

"She's helping Toussaint attend to the injured. Go back to your cabin." He started for the deck.

"Simon?"

He sighed and turned around.

"Are you all right?" she asked, softly.

Dieu, what was he doing? He might be battling his personal demons, but she'd just seen her first glimpse of the horrors of war. You don't need to be a colossal a.s.s when she's only showing concern.

He walked up to her. "I am fine. Are you all right?"

"Yes." Her manner was tightly guarded. He couldn't read much into the one word.

"The rest of the voyage should be without incident." Every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to pull her into her cabin, take this beautiful, untaught female, and initiate her into s.e.xual pleasures. He knew the experience would be nothing short of mind-melting with her. By G.o.d, he wanted to f.u.c.k her so badly, it hurt. "Return to your cabin, chere."

Once on deck, he murmured to the men who greeted him and walked over to the starboard side. Gripping the ship's rail, he breathed in the sea air and let it out slowly. The half-crescent moon cast its silver light. He looked out at the dark sea and took in the tiny stars that punctured the blackened sky.

There was the distinct rustling of skirts behind him. He didn't turn around, hoping he was mistaken. Then Angelica stood next to him.

He swore under his breath. "Did you not hear my order?"

"I am not one of your men. I don't take orders."

He turned to face her and rested his hip against the rail. "On my ships and on the island, every man, woman, and child obeys me. I am in charge. Keeping order is paramount."

"Yes, I've noticed you take your responsibilities very seriously."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She pulled the shirt out of his hand and touched it lightly to his shoulder. It was then he noticed he was bleeding. She gently blotted the blood, her ministrations taking him by surprise. For a moment, he forgot everything else, luxuriating in her tender touch.

She stopped and looked him in the eye. "You perform your duty, but it is not what you want to do."

Her insight shocked him. He glanced around to make certain no one had overheard her words.

"That's absurd. I work for my king and my country. It is an honor. I do it willingly, and I am committed to it."

"Perhaps once you were, but how things began and how they are now are very different. You must carry on with what is expected of you, but inside you wish to cease." She took his hand and placed his shirt in it. "You have no stomach for battle any longer. Admit it."

No one other than Robert knew of his true feelings about wanting to walk away. Even his men didn't know of his ill intentions toward Fouquet. The fact that she couldn't have overheard this in the conversation he'd had with Robert, for she'd been unconscious then, meant she sensed his feelings of displeasure. Impossible. He was not so plain about his emotions.

Was she guessing? Was she attempting to draw out his secrets?

Keeping his tone even, giving nothing away, he said, "No man ever has the stomach for battle. To ever develop a tolerance for it would be very bad indeed."

Angelica drank in the masculine perfection before her. Strong shoulders, a muscled chest, and an abdomen so beautifully sculpted she had an enormous desire to reach out and run her fingers over every gorgeous dip and ripple. To draw near. To feel his touch again, for his touch always felt so wonderful.

He was courageous, capable, and had undoubtedly encountered his share of obstacles in his life, meeting each challenge, hiding from nothing. How she admired that.

She'd questioned his decency and honor. Today proved that this man was no cutthroat. Not once had he boasted about the victory or the killing related to it. Despite his attempts to mask his emotions, she could tell he derived no pleasure from war and the carnage.

There was a profound unrest in him that resonated inside her, one she understood. It was a feeling that had blossomed in her since she'd met him. A desire for change.

She wanted to know more about this man, to learn all the facets that made him who he was. Yet how could she learn anything when every time she was in his presence, she was helplessly drawn into the sultry heat that sizzled between them? When she was forced to pull away, to fight against something she wanted to give in to but was afraid to.

"Something is causing you great distress, Simon, whether you wish to admit it or not." She turned to leave, recognizing that the flare of arousal was becoming hotter the longer she remained. That warming from the inside out, her nipples pressing hard inside her chemise, eager for his attention, and that familiar ache between her legs-all conspiring against her. Not trusting these physical impulses he alone inspired, frightened by how strong they were and what they beckoned her to do, she thought it best to return to the safety of her cabin.

He pulled her back. Placing his hands on either side of her on the wooden rail, he had her hemmed in.

"Oh, there is something that is causing me great distress. You."

His body, though not actually touching hers, practically surrounded her, her anxiousness to leave clashing further with the temptation to remain. "Me?"

"Yes, you. I may be upset because I lost men today, but you cause me distress."

"How so?"

He leaned in and tilted his head, his mouth all but touching hers. "Because I want you." His warm breath caressed her lips. A thrill rippled through her. "I want to take you to your cabin and strip off your gown. I want to take you, hard and fast, then again, slow and deep. I want to make you come for me, over and over until we're both sated."

"Oh..." Oh? What sort of answer is that?

"In this world, bliss is difficult to find. I've learned that you must seize it in whatever form it takes, for you never know when or if it will be offered again. It would be sheer bliss being inside you, chere. But I can't take you below and indulge in that bliss, can I, Angelica?"

Her pulse raced, and her every nerve ending hummed with desire. Speechless, she was alarmed and inflamed by his words. He's waiting for an answer. What was the answer? "No?"

"No." He straightened. "Return to your cabin, Angelica. You don't want me to escort you there-unless you are willing to partake in some s.e.xual excess."

She remained fixed to her spot, staring up into his light blue eyes, not wanting to leave, yet afraid to stay. Finally, she drew in a ragged breath and let it out slowly.

She couldn't do this.

As much as her heart and body screamed yes, a dark voice reminded her of her past and roared, NO. Forcing one shaky limb before the other, she walked away.

Chapter Eleven.

A clap of thunder exploded.

Angelica jumped.

The heavy seas rolled the ship, the tempest sending huge waves crashing against the hull.

Clutching the bed linens, she sat on the edge of her bed, trying her best not to topple off. Tense, she battled back dread. There had been other storms over the last several weeks of the lengthy voyage. But nothing like this.

Taking a deep breath, she then let it out slowly, willing herself to remain calm. But disturbing thoughts of the sea vessel's ability to withstand the storm's abuse ate away at her confidence.

Trying to distract herself, she thought about the pleasant afternoons she'd spent with Suzette, teaching her to read. Evenings in the galley with Marta and the ship's two Italian cooks, brothers Lucio and Nicolo, whose lively fiddle music equaled their fine culinary skills.

The ship surged sharply. The menacing roar from the angry skies a.s.sailed her ears.

She moved to the floor before she fell there. Bracing her back against the bed, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. The ship groaned and creaked. Her thoughts ran to the man who had brought her on this voyage.

She'd barely seen Simon in weeks.

She was permitted to be on deck at midday. Each day, she found her gaze roaming away from the sea to the deck, searching him out. Occasionally, they would pa.s.s each other. He would offer her a pleasant greeting-wreak havoc with her pulse-and go on his way.

Thunder boomed, followed by another violent surge of the ship as the storm continued to howl and enrage the sea.

Pushing back the panic, she refused to think about perishing. Not when the undeniable truth was that she hadn't truly lived. Not really. She hadn't just been hiding from her stepfather.

She'd been hiding from life. Simon was right. It was true.

Though this storm was one experience she could have done without, she wasn't as certain that she wanted to forgo the ones she'd had with him.

She'd shut so much out of her life. Dwindled her existence and experiences down to barely anything.

She wanted more. Deserved more. And she knew exactly what she wanted more of.

Simon.

His words echoed in her mind: "In this world, bliss is difficult to find...you should seize it in whatever form it takes, for in life you can never know when or if it will be offered again..."

She was being offered an opportunity for a bit of true bliss. And for once, she didn't want to deny herself. Simon made her feel alive. He made her body feel things she'd never thought possible. Whenever he was near, he made her feel like a woman-desirable, whole-despite the scars deep inside. She loved it when he touched her, and trusted in his touch.

She tightened her arms around her legs.

Could she, for once, push away her past and give herself over to the desire that burned between them? She was determined to try. But she wasn't naive. Simon wasn't likely to propose marriage afterward. After what her stepfather had done to her, marriage was out of the question, but some bliss was attainable.

All she had to do was surrender to it.

Simon walked toward his cabin. He had been through many such storms. They were common in the West Indies at this time of year. It had finally begun to subside. Now he looked forward to some rest.

His eyes were drawn to Angelica's cabin door. She couldn't have slept through the storm. Was she frightened? Crying? She was the only female he knew who restrained her flow of tears in any way.

He stopped in front of her door and pressed his ear to it. Silence. Was she hurt? Perhaps she had fallen and was injured.

He wrenched open the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

Seated at the edge of the bed, she quickly rose.

He took in the vision she made. The gown she wore fit her body so tantalizingly, its pale color a contrast to her dark hair and those bewitching eyes. His blood warmed.

"You have news, Simon?" she asked, sounding anxious.

"News?"

"Yes, about the ship. Its condition. If the ship is badly damaged, please tell me. I wish the truth." She lifted her chin, trying to appear brave.