The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway by Erica Ridley Page A

not return to the ship with the treasure…or return alive, for that matter.  
    That was always the game. That was why he played. He loved the rush. The uncertainty. The challenge.
    Much like how he felt around Clara.  
    Warily, he sat down on one of the chairs to remove his boots.  
    She was stretched beneath the covers of his bunk. Lips slightly parted. Fast asleep. He wasn’t certain if the skip in his pulse was a sign of relief or disappointment.  
    He hadn’t lain with a woman since the last time Clara had been aboard his ship. There’d been opportunities—there were always opportunities—but they had filled him with ennui rather than excitement. He hadn’t been saving himself for her, of course. He had never saved himself for anyone, and besides, he’d had no real expectation of ever being more than a specter in her memory.
    She was no longer in his memory. Now she was in his bed.  
    He shucked off his coat, his stockings, his waistcoat. There was no cravat to untie. He’d neglected to wear one.
    Just like his crew had neglected to properly secure the ship whilst docked at the Port of London. If anything like that ever happened again, he’d sack the whole lot of them.
    He crawled across Clara so his back was to the wall and then pulled her into his arms. Her body was soft against his. Warm. Inviting. He should not have touched her. He should have given her the entire bloody cabin and taken a hammock at the bow with the rest of the crew.
    Perhaps she was a siren. She certainly tempted him to the very limits of his control.
    He still could scarcely believe she’d stowed away on his ship. That she’d had the temerity. That it had even been possible. He fought the urge to stroke her hair.
    From a certain perspective, he ought to thank her. His men had become cocky. He had become cocky. It had been so long since last they were challenged that they’d simply stopped believing it would ever happen.  
    They could not afford to make such foolish assumptions. What if the stowaway had not been Clara, but rather the Corsair and his entire crew?  
    Most of Steele’s men were armed even in their sleep, but a single shot pistol would not have bested a sneak attack by pirates armed with knives and cutlasses. And if they’d been taken by surprise whilst the only thing in their hands was a hunk of bread or a mug of ale…
    Clara burrowed her head into Steele’s chest, mumbling in her sleep.
    He lay his unshaven cheek against the top of her head and wished he wasn’t tempted to wake her up and give her precisely what she’d been asking for.
    Did he want to? Of bloody course. He was testing the limits of his self-control. Despite having no contractual obligation to resist her, she was a respectable woman. Or at least, she had been before he’d brought her aboard his ship.  
    Blackheart was many despicable things, but he was not a despoiler of innocents. Or a defiler of widows. Very attractive, clever, stowaway widows. Who might be foolishly trying to trap the uncatchable into settling down.
    He gritted his teeth and prayed for sleep. And strength.  
    Resisting the urge to take what was offered would be the hardest mission of his life.

Chapter 15

    Clara did not understand men…but she did understand rejection.
    Steele was not immune to her. His kisses, his smoldering looks, the hard feel of his body pressed against her in his bunk—everything pointed toward a shared attraction. Yet although he might want her, he would not consummate their mutual desire.
    Fine. He might be the most handsome, charismatic, exasperating pirate captain to cross her path, but he was meant for turning her eye, not capturing her heart. She should take care not to develop a silly tendre for the man.
    He was not the sort who settled down.
    She was the sort who needed to.  
    Once this fairy-tale ended and she was back in England, she would focus on the things she could control. The things that mattered. Like finding a cottage of her own.