The Infamous Rogue Part 25

"s.h.i.t!"

William approached him, looking bedraggled. "I second that." He wiped the dark smudges from his brow. "At least we frightened her. She might not venture out to sea in our name again."

James gritted, "She didn't even balk when we raised the flag."

"She got a good beating, though."

"Aye, but she'll recover from it...and set sail again. She's cheeky."

"We can always give chase."

James glanced at the mainmast. Sunlight bled through the pockets in the smoke. He squinted and observed the ravaged tip. "We're hit. It's too dangerous to give chase. See to the repairs, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Captain."

"And the crew?"

"No casualties," reported William. "A few broken bones, though. Cuts and bruises, too.

Quincy's tending to the injured. He's got a steady hand with a needle and thread...Do you want me to summon him?"

James glanced at the wound smarting at his breast: a long gash that cut across his pectoral. Not too deep, though.

"No," said James. "Let Quincy see to the other men first. I can wait."

James looked at the Bonny Meg. There was still smoke drifting through the rig, but a strong wind quickly pushed the heavy fumes out to sea.

He surveyed the damage for the first time: tattered ropes and sails, smashed planking.

The capstan was missing a few bars. But the rig was still in good order. The repairs would take a few days. A week, perhaps. But the Bonny Meg had weathered worse storms and battles. She was strong.

"Set a course back to England," ordered James.

"And the impostors?"

"We'll get them yet, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Captain."

William walked away, shouting orders to the tars. There was rapid movement as the able-bodied men cleared the debris and set to work on the repairs.

James glanced at the hatchway. He imagined the ghostly image of Sophia-and stiffened. He would throttle the witch. But not now. Now he had to inspect the rest of the ship belowdecks, the crew. But later...

An hour later James opened the cabin door. The viper had busted the lock. There was nothing to protect her from the rest of the men. Not that the tars would hurt her; James trusted the crew. But she had risked her own precious reputation. Was she daft?

Sophia was sitting on the bed. She jumped to her feet as soon as he entered the room.

She was ragged. Shift stained with soot, cheeks with ash. He glared at her. He moved his eyes from her head to her bare toes. No blood. No bruises. She was all right.

James let out a loud and heavy breath. He sensed he had been holding it for the last hour.

"I told you to stay in the cabin," he said darkly.

"I don't take orders from you." She glanced at his chest. "You're hurt."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart...I know you wanted me dead."

She cut him a wry look. She crossed the rubble in the room and collected a canteen of fresh water from the floor. "Take off your shirt."

Muscles twitched. "Like h.e.l.l."

She grabbed a small towel off the floor, too. The room was a mess after the stormy battle. She had to circle tossed linens and toppled chairs to get to him.

The long wisps of her dark brown hair hugged her torso like a thick and woolly blanket. Wild. Sophia. That was Sophia.

"Let me tend to the wound," she said, eyes alight.

"I don't need your b.l.o.o.d.y help," he returned stiffly. He would endure the pain, the filth.

He would stomach the blood and the ash before he'd let her touch him with a kind hand.

A deceptively kind hand. The woman was cold. She had ice for blood. No heart at all.

Sophia tucked the towel under her arm. She pinched her elbow against her rib to keep the linen in place. It rested against her breast, pressed against the tear in her shift.

He eyed the soft, creamy patch of flesh that peeked through the tattered fabric. James fisted his palms. His fingertips pulsed with the memory of her plump breast in his hand, her nipple hardening and lengthening under his thumb's ministration.

He shuddered. She reached for him with her free hand-and yanked the scruffy garment off his shoulders.

"There," she said smugly. "Now we're even." She tossed the rags away. "Sit on the bed, Black Hawk."

He didn't budge. Every muscle was taut. Blood pumped through his veins and into his c.o.c.k. He was fighting hard to keep the fire in his belly from burning through what was left of his clothes.

Sophia pushed him. She splayed her fingers and pressed her palm against his midriff.

She was hot, too. The heat in her hand-her eyes-betrayed her true feelings.

He sat down with a grunt. He glared at her, trembled softly. He watched as she popped the cork and soaked the linen with the fresh water.

She set the canteen aside. She looked at him with beautiful, bay brown eyes. Mussed hair. Wild lips. Sophia. That was Sophia.

She stepped between his legs to better reach the wound; his thighs quivered.

Softly she dabbed at the gash across his chest. He was quiet, unmoving as she nursed him tenderly. Not Sophia. She was not Sophia now. Sophia wasn't kind. She wasn't tender.

She mopped the blood. He ached to the bone. He ached for her. Seven years ago he had engaged in a battle. As now. Seven years ago he had returned to the plantation house after the raid, needing her. As now. But she had vanished. She had deserted him.

She had killed him.

He slapped her wrist.

She dropped the towel. It landed on his boot.

"What was that for?" she demanded, bemused.

She had touched him too much. She had liked it too much. It was there in her eyes. But the past was dead. He wanted revenge.

He kicked the towel across the room. It smacked against the wall. "Keep your hands off me."

She pinched her lips. There was a dark fire burning in her eyes. "But you're hurt."

"I'll heal."

He got off the bed. He was sick. There was a heavy, almost crippling sentiment in his gut. It stifled his movements.

James headed for the door. "I have work to do."

He had a ship to look after, a crew to heal. He didn't have time to waste with the witch.

Let her cast her spells on some other poor sap, like the earl.

"Wait!"

"What?" he barked.

She slipped between him and the door. There was longing...l.u.s.t in her eyes.

Burn, sweetheart.

He rasped, "Move."

"James," she whispered weakly.

"Oh no." He caged her. He pressed his hands against the door and looked deeply into her wicked eyes. "You can scream my name, Sophia. It won't do any good. I'm not interested."

"Liar," she gritted.

She was breathing hard. He inhaled the woman's sweet musk. It thril ed him, set his bones shaking. She was making him weak with her arousal.

"What do you want, James?"

I want you to beg me.

She reached for him, hand trembling. "Please."

He cuffed her fingers. Blood pounded in his head. He wasn't sure he had heard the word. "What?"

She mouthed the word again. "Please."

He gnashed his teeth. "Louder."

"Please."

He pressed his lips softly against her mouth and whispered, "Louder."

"Please!"

The aching cry resounded in his throat. It was his undoing.

He crushed his mouth over hers. So soft. So hot. She tasted like the sea. She tasted like smoke. She tasted like Sophia.

Sophia!

Long, strong arms gripped him. She pinched his neck in need. Such savage need. She opened her mouth for him and let him ravish her. She took everything he gave her-and she still wanted more. He sensed it, the woman's insatiable desire.

James grabbed her and thrust her against the door; the planking shuddered. Blood throbbed through his veins. He reached between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and removed the small knife.

"Spread your legs."

She obeyed.

He bussed her sweet lips before he dropped to his knees. She wanted to sink to the ground, too, for her knees buckled.

"Hold still," he ordered.

She spread her fingers apart, bracing the door for support. She whimpered. He loved to hear her wanton whimpers.

Come for me, sweetheart.

James pierced the shift with the blade. In one swift stroke, he rent the garment. She gasped. He dropped the knife. He seized the two halves and split the skirt even more. He split the linen right to her navel.

Sophia groaned as he exposed the folds of her feminine flesh. He groaned, too. He was so hungry for her. It had been so long since he had tasted her.

He trembled as he slipped a finger inside her wet pa.s.sage and watched the sweet fluid bleed from her womb and soak his hand.

That's it, sweetheart. Come. Come!

She cried out. She wanted him. She needed him. He sensed her every shameless thought, her every throbbing want.

He was one with her. And she with him. She fil ed the dark and empty places in his soul. Giving her pleasure, joy made him feel alive. He made her wet. He made her happy.

He alone.

He wanted more.

James parted the dark curls at her apex and softly kissed the engorged and quivering flesh, tasting the dewy moisture on her nether lips.

She whimpered and trembled even more.