Sapphire Dream by Pamela Montgomerie Page A

appearance. If anything, he looked more appealing. Definitely less civilized.
    Their gazes met only for a second, but the look in his eyes shot straight to her core. Accusation, certainly, but heat, too, as if he were remembering what it had felt like to be inside her. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Damp heat gathered low in her belly as she remembered the exciting fullness of him as he’d driven into her.
    He turned and started off without a word, expecting her to follow. Or not.
    Brenna pressed her fingers to her eyes and tried to banish her X-rated thoughts. Oh man, she did not want him. She didn’t.
    They walked in silence through the small town, tension and unresolved passion thick between them. The sun was up, though not high in the sky. The mist lay heavy on the water, its ghostly fingers sliding through the alleys and streets. Brenna shivered from the damp clothes and prayed for an unseasonably warm day.
    She glanced around her as they walked beneath the overhanging upper stories of the buildings lining the street. Dunhaven was cute, though it would have been more pleasant without the ripe smell of decaying fish. The buildings ringed the small harbor, attached like some kind of medieval strip mall. The line was broken only by alleys in a couple of places. She could see other buildings, or maybe homes, on the hillside rising beyond.
    Her stomach rumbled and she pressed her hand to it. Humiliated, hungry, and sexually frustrated, with painfully blistered feet. Great way to start the day. She prayed Rourke was searching for food, but wasn’t sure how they were going to eat when they didn’t have any money. Then again, he was a pirate.
    “How are we going to find Hegarty?”
    Rourke threw her a disgusted look and kept walking. He didn’t have to say the words for her to hear them loud and clear. It was her fault they’d lost Hegarty in the first place.
    The aroma of food suddenly broke through the dead fish smell as they approached a door. Above swung a classic tavern sign: The Ram and Lamb. Rourke pushed the door open and went inside.
    Brenna followed him through the low-ceilinged, smoky room. The smoke emanated from the hearth rather than the patrons, of which there were few. A pair of fishermen in the center of the room laughed and chatted with the waitress in their thick Scottish brogues. In the back corner sat a lone, familiar-looking man. One of Rourke’s pirates, though she’d had no dealings with this one.
    Thank God.
    He waved toward them, then nervously looked away.
    “How did you know he was going to be here?” Brenna asked.
    “I didn’t.” Rourke pulled out a chair and sat across from the man. “Mr. Baker.”
    Brenna slipped into one of the empty chairs, her mouth watering as she took in the bounty laid out in front of the silent pirate. The plate in front of Baker was laden with eggs and ham, a bowl of what looked like watery oatmeal, and a small loaf of bread. Rourke grabbed the plate of eggs and shoved it in front of her, then stole the bread for himself.
    “Eat.” He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “What happened to my ship, Mr. Baker?”
    Brenna dug into the food without protest. He hadn’t forgotten her after all. No wonder the timid pirate had looked at him nervously. He must have sensed the imminent demise of his breakfast.
    “When you dove . . . well”—he colored and looked away—“the lads . . . they did not think me capable of leading the ship, sir. They let Mr. Cutter out of the hold and ordered me to stand down or they’d throw me off the ship.” His pink cheeks turned red. “I cannot swim.”
    Rourke said nothing, just nodded and kept eating.
    “Mr. Cutter directed us into port here,” the man continued. “Then he left the ship to have a word with a pair of soldiers on the docks. Several hours later, Slains’s soldiers were swarming the decks.”
    Brenna grabbed the man’s mug and took a long sip of ale. Funny how manners disappeared when one was