How To Seduce A Pirate (The Hawkins Brothers Series) by Alexandra Benedict

strokes. He captured
splatters of blue and red and yellow paint: colors of passionate emotions.
Anger. Hurt. Lust. Hope. All screamed at him. And he grimaced in pain.
    Quincy shut his
eyes and envisioned her slender fingers smoothing the conflicting hues, digging
through them, blending them together, then slashing them apart. More paint.
Heavy, thick, emotive color. Soon peace emerged as the fractious pigments
joined in harmony.
    At last.
    He sighed. He
needed those slender fingers to do the same to him, to smooth and dig and blend
and slash until his shattered soul was remade in unified fragments.
    Quincy opened
his eyes, the world still spinning like the artwork. What rot! He was sloshed.
And he tended to make an ass of himself whenever he was drunk. Perhaps now
wasn’t the right time to talk with his wife.
    He was about to
leave the room when Holly sniffed the air. Her concentration shattered, she
looked over her shoulder and her flushed features and breathless beauty punched
him straight in the gut. She had a smudge of charcoal across her fine jaw, and
he had an insatiable desire to wipe away the soot with his thumb.
    He really was an
ass. He shouldn’t have entered the room when he hadn’t full control of his senses.
He barely made it through one of their encounters when he had his wits
together.
    “I smell
liquor.” She made a moue. “Were you at a gentlemen’s club?”
    He snorted. “A
pub. I don’t play the bleedin’ nob when there’s no lady fussing about.”
    She humphed and
returned to her sketch, but her shoulders soon slumped. “I shall have to finish
it another time.” She looked back at him, piqued. “What are you doing here?”
    “It’s my house,”
he growled at her audacious reproach. “I can sit in any damn room that pleases
me.”
    Her brows
arched. “It pleases you to sit in here? With that?” She pointed toward a draped
canvas, his nude. “And me?”
     Quincy scowled.
He hadn’t meant to suggest he enjoyed her company, that he was looking for more
than an orderly, unfeeling marriage.
    “Shit,” he
hissed, reproaching himself for his folly. He pushed out of the chair and
headed for the door. “I think I’ll go to that gentlemen’s club, after all. I
need a good bedding.”
    “I suppose I
shouldn’t expect more from a pirate.”
    He hardened.
Every bone in his body. Stone. Cold. Dead.
    “What?” he rasped.
    “Isn’t that all
pirates do? Pillage and whore?”
    Slowly he turned
around, blood throbbing through his veins, and met her bold stare. “What the
devil did you call me?”
    She quirked
another brow. “A pirate. Or do you prefer cutthroat? Blackguard? What is the
most appropriate term?”
    Quincy couldn’t
believe his ears. How the hell had she discovered his past identity? His heart
hammered, and he sensed himself being pushed into a corner. But he quickly remembered
he was privy to her secret identity. She wouldn’t dare breathe a word
about his piracy and hurt his family, not when he could destroy her. So what
was she doing taunting him?
    Holly hopped off
the stool and reached for a rag, wiping her grimy fingers. “Well, I shan’t keep
you from your whore.”
    She strutted
toward the door, and as she passed him, he grabbed a hold of her arm. Slowly he
pulled her across the breadth of his chest until she was positioned in front of
him. He glared at her. She lifted her chin, undaunted, and returned his stare.
Something kindled in her bright green eyes. Humor? Anger? Hope?  What the
deuces was she thinking?
    “How?” he
growled.
    “How do I know
you’re a pirate? I have my source.”
    “Tell me.”
    “No.”
    Her flat refusal
disarmed him. Damn her! Who had told her about his past? He had to plug
the leak before others discovered the truth, as well.
    “You will tell me,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
    “I don’t see
how,” she quipped. “Unless . . .”
    “Unless what?”
he snapped.
    “I propose a
trade.”
    “I won’t bed
you.”
    His