do it anyway.
But she owed him now. She’d been peeking through the tent slit when El Santo angled for it. She had known then she was in trouble and thought Cutlass was long gone. But then she’d heard him call out. There was no good reason for him to have done so, other than to save her.
So now she’d save him and they’d be even. Then she could kill him with a clear conscience.
“El Santo,” she called.
He turned at her voice, and she raised the dagger.
“Put down the sword, or I give you another taste of my dagger.” She looked pointedly at the bloodied tourniquet on his thigh.
El Santo seemed to consider. She could all but read his thoughts. On his one side, Cutlass stood huffing and panting. Killing or seriously incapacitating the wounded man would be easy. He looked at her, at the dagger. She could see him judging the distance. Could he reach her with his cutlass before she could let go the dagger?
But before he could make his decision, the sound of boots and men’s voices filled the night air. At first Raeven tensed, certain El Santo’s other men had found them, but then she recognized the language as English. “My father’s men!” she said, recognizing Percy’s voice among the others. “He’s probably sent them out to search for me.”
“You’re not hard to find with all the gunfire,” Cutlass rasped.
“What is this?” El Santo pivoted toward her then back toward Cutlass.
“ Les Anglais sont ici.” Bastien smiled at her. “The British are here.”
El Santo still looked confused, and the pirate added, “They’re looking for her. You’ve been chasing Admiral Russell’s only daughter.”
“I knew she was no whore.”
“I’d run now, while you have the chance.”
But El Santo was already backing up, moving away from the sound of boots and men’s voices.
“Tell Jourdain we’re not through,” Cutlass called after the retreating Spaniard. “And the next time we meet, he’d better be man enough to face me on his own.”
Cutlass lowered his sword, and she saw him lean on it heavily. She went to him, putting her arm around him to support him. “I’m fine.” He waved her away.
“You’re shot.”
“I have a good ship’s doctor. I’ll make it.” He lifted the sword, attempted to sheath it, but missed. She took it from him and sheathed it for him.
“Can you make it back to your ship on your own? If my father’s men find you here—”
“I understand and have no desire to swing from the Regal ’s yardarm.”
And yet she noticed he didn’t move away. He stood looking at her, his expression unreadable. She looked back, feeling uncomfortable. For some reason she kept thinking about the kiss they had shared—not the hard, perfunctory kiss at the pasha’s palace, but that kiss six months before on his ship. She wanted him to kiss her like that again, and yet she knew if he tried, she’d hit him rather than kiss him back.
“You’d better get out of here.”
He nodded. “I’m waiting to see if you’re going to kiss me good-bye.”
“Kiss you? I’d rather—”
He took her chin with his clean hand. “Just do it, Raeven.” He nodded toward the growing commotion. Her father’s men were moments away. “This might be your last chance.”
It wasn’t. She knew she’d see him again, find some way to exact her revenge. He was wounded, and she could kill him now. She could have killed him ten times over tonight. And yet, she hadn’t.
She didn’t want to.
She was intrigued by him and, truth be told, she wanted him. And so she stepped into his arms, wrapped her hands around his neck, and pressed her lips to his.
His body was hard and warm. She could feel his muscles tense and bunch then release as his arm came around her to pull her hard against him. His mouth opened for her, and she plundered its depth. He still tasted of tobacco and champagne, and she thought the flavors suited him. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue mating with hers, and she let
But she owed him now. She’d been peeking through the tent slit when El Santo angled for it. She had known then she was in trouble and thought Cutlass was long gone. But then she’d heard him call out. There was no good reason for him to have done so, other than to save her.
So now she’d save him and they’d be even. Then she could kill him with a clear conscience.
“El Santo,” she called.
He turned at her voice, and she raised the dagger.
“Put down the sword, or I give you another taste of my dagger.” She looked pointedly at the bloodied tourniquet on his thigh.
El Santo seemed to consider. She could all but read his thoughts. On his one side, Cutlass stood huffing and panting. Killing or seriously incapacitating the wounded man would be easy. He looked at her, at the dagger. She could see him judging the distance. Could he reach her with his cutlass before she could let go the dagger?
But before he could make his decision, the sound of boots and men’s voices filled the night air. At first Raeven tensed, certain El Santo’s other men had found them, but then she recognized the language as English. “My father’s men!” she said, recognizing Percy’s voice among the others. “He’s probably sent them out to search for me.”
“You’re not hard to find with all the gunfire,” Cutlass rasped.
“What is this?” El Santo pivoted toward her then back toward Cutlass.
“ Les Anglais sont ici.” Bastien smiled at her. “The British are here.”
El Santo still looked confused, and the pirate added, “They’re looking for her. You’ve been chasing Admiral Russell’s only daughter.”
“I knew she was no whore.”
“I’d run now, while you have the chance.”
But El Santo was already backing up, moving away from the sound of boots and men’s voices.
“Tell Jourdain we’re not through,” Cutlass called after the retreating Spaniard. “And the next time we meet, he’d better be man enough to face me on his own.”
Cutlass lowered his sword, and she saw him lean on it heavily. She went to him, putting her arm around him to support him. “I’m fine.” He waved her away.
“You’re shot.”
“I have a good ship’s doctor. I’ll make it.” He lifted the sword, attempted to sheath it, but missed. She took it from him and sheathed it for him.
“Can you make it back to your ship on your own? If my father’s men find you here—”
“I understand and have no desire to swing from the Regal ’s yardarm.”
And yet she noticed he didn’t move away. He stood looking at her, his expression unreadable. She looked back, feeling uncomfortable. For some reason she kept thinking about the kiss they had shared—not the hard, perfunctory kiss at the pasha’s palace, but that kiss six months before on his ship. She wanted him to kiss her like that again, and yet she knew if he tried, she’d hit him rather than kiss him back.
“You’d better get out of here.”
He nodded. “I’m waiting to see if you’re going to kiss me good-bye.”
“Kiss you? I’d rather—”
He took her chin with his clean hand. “Just do it, Raeven.” He nodded toward the growing commotion. Her father’s men were moments away. “This might be your last chance.”
It wasn’t. She knew she’d see him again, find some way to exact her revenge. He was wounded, and she could kill him now. She could have killed him ten times over tonight. And yet, she hadn’t.
She didn’t want to.
She was intrigued by him and, truth be told, she wanted him. And so she stepped into his arms, wrapped her hands around his neck, and pressed her lips to his.
His body was hard and warm. She could feel his muscles tense and bunch then release as his arm came around her to pull her hard against him. His mouth opened for her, and she plundered its depth. He still tasted of tobacco and champagne, and she thought the flavors suited him. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue mating with hers, and she let
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