equal!”
“Oh, but that is not true, is it, Cristabel Albay?” he teased her. “For you’re trembling.”
“Because I am angry! ”
“ So you claim,” he began, allowing his lips to travel over her shoulder—to her neck—to her tender cheek. “And yet you are found out, love…for you are riddled with goose bumps…a certain evidence that your flesh savors my touch. Thus, though your mouth will not speak the truth to me…your body does.”
“Oh, unhand me! Unhand me!” she cried.
Cristabel was frantic to escape him—not because she feared he might indeed ravage her but because her trembling and goose flesh were evidence of her pleasure at his attentions.
Navarrone the Blue Blade was a rake! A rogue, a blackguard, and a pirate! There was nausea churning in Cristabel’s stomach—nausea borne of the sudden knowledge that she was as affected by his charm and allure as easily as any other woman he had endeavored to seduce. Yet she would not be as weak-minded as the others—as weak-willed as the wife of South Carolina’s governor.
He raised her wrist and somehow spun her in his arms so that she faced him, her hands pinned at her back in his strong grip. Her body was flush with his, and she was breathless as she glared up into his face—breathless with fear, morbid desire to be kissed by a rogue, and self-disgust in even owning attraction to him.
Cristabel felt tears fill her eyes , though she struggled to keep them from escaping—to show no further weakness. Still, her heart was aching, for she had hoped there was some measure of good in his character—entertained notions that he might not own so black a heart as it was said he did. Yet now—now she knew the truth of it. Navarrone was a pirate. Whether or not he went wenching in taverns while in port, he was a seducer and defiler of women, and the disappointment frothing in Cristabel’s stomach was insufferable.
“Do not struggle so vehemently, love,” he said. The soothing tone of his voice drew her attention, and she frowned at him—did cease in her struggles. “It will go better if you simply choose to—”
“Is that why you returned?” she interrupted. “After all I’ve confided in you…after all your proclaiming that you wish to ransom me for a price…to best the traitor that is William Pelletier? You returned to your cabin to…to…”
“Ravage you?” he finished when she could not speak the words.
She nodded, frustrated with herself for not being able to hold back her tears.
“No, love,” he said. He still held her hands at her back, but she felt his grip loosen. “I returned to take rest in my berth. But opportunity presented itself…and you are a tempting little morsel after all. What man would deny himself such a savoring of succulence?”
“Please, sir,” Cristabel begged in a whisper as near panic overtook her. “Please…I am certain Richard will pay you well to have me returned…unharmed.”
He had her! Navarrone had her in his power once more. Certainly he felt sickened with himself for having been so brutal—at having threatened her with despoiling. Still, he yet sensed much was at stake—much more than simple wealth gained in besting one British ship. And Cristabel Albay was too willful and undaunted a woman for him to allow her to own much confidence, else she endanger herself and the crew of the Merry Wench .
He chuckled and released his hold on her, certain she understood she should yet fear him.
“I would not have harmed you, my ripe little pomegranate,” he told her. He leaned forward—whispered in her ear, “I would simply have bathed you in such ambrosial bliss that you—”
He startled as her slap stung his cheek.
“Enough!” he growled. The little vixen was too pertinacious for her own good. “I’ll bed you this moment or slice your throat and forsake any ransom you might bring!”
Cristabel gasped—cried out as the pirate Navarrone stooped, scooping her up onto one
“Oh, but that is not true, is it, Cristabel Albay?” he teased her. “For you’re trembling.”
“Because I am angry! ”
“ So you claim,” he began, allowing his lips to travel over her shoulder—to her neck—to her tender cheek. “And yet you are found out, love…for you are riddled with goose bumps…a certain evidence that your flesh savors my touch. Thus, though your mouth will not speak the truth to me…your body does.”
“Oh, unhand me! Unhand me!” she cried.
Cristabel was frantic to escape him—not because she feared he might indeed ravage her but because her trembling and goose flesh were evidence of her pleasure at his attentions.
Navarrone the Blue Blade was a rake! A rogue, a blackguard, and a pirate! There was nausea churning in Cristabel’s stomach—nausea borne of the sudden knowledge that she was as affected by his charm and allure as easily as any other woman he had endeavored to seduce. Yet she would not be as weak-minded as the others—as weak-willed as the wife of South Carolina’s governor.
He raised her wrist and somehow spun her in his arms so that she faced him, her hands pinned at her back in his strong grip. Her body was flush with his, and she was breathless as she glared up into his face—breathless with fear, morbid desire to be kissed by a rogue, and self-disgust in even owning attraction to him.
Cristabel felt tears fill her eyes , though she struggled to keep them from escaping—to show no further weakness. Still, her heart was aching, for she had hoped there was some measure of good in his character—entertained notions that he might not own so black a heart as it was said he did. Yet now—now she knew the truth of it. Navarrone was a pirate. Whether or not he went wenching in taverns while in port, he was a seducer and defiler of women, and the disappointment frothing in Cristabel’s stomach was insufferable.
“Do not struggle so vehemently, love,” he said. The soothing tone of his voice drew her attention, and she frowned at him—did cease in her struggles. “It will go better if you simply choose to—”
“Is that why you returned?” she interrupted. “After all I’ve confided in you…after all your proclaiming that you wish to ransom me for a price…to best the traitor that is William Pelletier? You returned to your cabin to…to…”
“Ravage you?” he finished when she could not speak the words.
She nodded, frustrated with herself for not being able to hold back her tears.
“No, love,” he said. He still held her hands at her back, but she felt his grip loosen. “I returned to take rest in my berth. But opportunity presented itself…and you are a tempting little morsel after all. What man would deny himself such a savoring of succulence?”
“Please, sir,” Cristabel begged in a whisper as near panic overtook her. “Please…I am certain Richard will pay you well to have me returned…unharmed.”
He had her! Navarrone had her in his power once more. Certainly he felt sickened with himself for having been so brutal—at having threatened her with despoiling. Still, he yet sensed much was at stake—much more than simple wealth gained in besting one British ship. And Cristabel Albay was too willful and undaunted a woman for him to allow her to own much confidence, else she endanger herself and the crew of the Merry Wench .
He chuckled and released his hold on her, certain she understood she should yet fear him.
“I would not have harmed you, my ripe little pomegranate,” he told her. He leaned forward—whispered in her ear, “I would simply have bathed you in such ambrosial bliss that you—”
He startled as her slap stung his cheek.
“Enough!” he growled. The little vixen was too pertinacious for her own good. “I’ll bed you this moment or slice your throat and forsake any ransom you might bring!”
Cristabel gasped—cried out as the pirate Navarrone stooped, scooping her up onto one
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