The Infamous Rogue Part 21

"I understand, sweetheart."

He approached her. She shuddered as he placed the pad of his thumb against her warm cheek. The tender strokes soothed her wild heartbeat like no other touch or word or balm.

"I understand you once had a heart...but now you're a cold b.i.t.c.h like the rest of them."

She slapped him.

His head veered to one side.

Slowly he looked at her again. "A little harder, sweetheart. You know I like it rough."

She slapped him again. Hard. Her fingers pulsed with pain.

The edge of his teeth cut across the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. He wiped the red drops from his mouth. "Was it worth it?"

She was shaking, sweating. The fire in her belly bounced and burned with renewed energy, the fleeting tranquillity quashed by his vicious taunt. "Striking you?"

He snorted softly. "You don't hurt me, Sophia." There was an icy sparkle in his deep blue eyes. "Not anymore."

She fisted her palms. She ached for his tender touch again. But he was a black-hearted devil. He stirred pain in her breast; he always would.

"Leaving the island?" he said coldly. "Was it worth it?"

And leaving me? Was it worth it?

She heard the words in her head.

He glowered at her. "Are you happy here? With them?"

"Yes," she hissed, the word quivering.

He offered her a dark look. It crushed her soul. "I have a s.h.i.+p to catch."

Slowly he walked away from her.

Sophia waited for the man's robust figure to round the corner before she crumpled against the bench seat, weak and alone.

Chapter 13.

S he was beautiful. Her wide belly rested in the stil waters. Moonlight pierced her white sails, unfurled and heaving.

James longed to set foot on the st.u.r.dy deck. He headed for the three-masted schooner like a lover in need, wending through the bustling port. He ignored the rabble and thick movement of bodies. He dismissed the dockside wenches and sidestepped the grimy rats.

He fixed his eyes firmly on her: the Bonny Meg, mistress of the sea. She was everything right in the world. She was home.

Unlike Sophia.

He hardened. The spectacle at the opera house circled in his head. He listened to the derisive laughter and haughty snorts. He envisioned the poor girl trapped between so many cruel smirks, weak and defenseless.

It burned in his breast, the venomous treatment. It disgusted him, the abuse. But it dismayed him even more to know she was like one of the ruthless members of the peerage. She had warned him she had changed. He had not believed she had changed so much.

James crossed the pier and climbed the scaffolding. He boarded the vessel. Boots. .h.i.t wood. He was filled with renewed energy. There was harmony in his soul once more.

Every muscle and bone shuddered with delight.

"Ahoy, Captain!"

He moved with the s.h.i.+p. In sync. In balance. He crossed the deck, saluted the tars in return. He approached the p.o.o.p and mounted it. There the sea stretched before him.

There the black and endless waves welcomed him.

Water lapped against the hull. It slapped and caressed the s.h.i.+p's belly. And James sensed every playful movement. He heard it, too. That seductive call, a siren's song.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep. He inhaled the rich and briny air. It was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with life, the gusting sea breeze. It filled his empty lungs and chased away the dark and stirring sentiments choking him.

"You're late."

William ascended the p.o.o.p, too.

"I know." James stripped the noose, the coat from his body. "I was at the opera."

He frowned. "What were you doing at the opera?"

"Watching a tragedy."

William humphed. "We have to wait in queue."

"How long?"

"An hour maybe."

"Fine," returned James.

"Do you want to change?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

The very idea sounded absurd. He was the captain. He commanded the vessel. She sailed under his word, bared her guns at his order. The Bonny Meg was more than a home, she was a part of him.

"You look like you're dressed for a funeral in that black suit," said William. "It makes the crew uneasy."

James snorted. "I'll be back in an hour then."

"Aye, Captain."

James swaggered off the p.o.o.p and headed belowdecks. He yanked the s.h.i.+rt up over his head, eager to be rid of the confining apparel.

"Easy there, Captain." Quincy strolled through the corridor, chuckling. "Anxious to get your breeches doused?"

James paused and glared after the kid. Was Quincy drunk? He'd clock the pup's head against the mast if he was. He knew d.a.m.n well he wasn't supposed to tip the bottle before a mission.

James snarled and opened the cabin door. He stepped inside the refuge and tossed the disgusting garments aside before he reached for the b.u.t.tons of his trousers.

He paused at the sound of tsking.

"Wil y was right; you are in need of a good bedding."

James glanced up. Moonlight entered the cabin through the small window. There was enough light to make out the shadows in the room...and the sultry figure resting on the bed.

He sighed. "Cora."

The buxom wench slipped off the covers and approached him, hips swinging. She had painted eyes, so dark and seductive. Red lips, too. Even in the dimness he eyed the woman's plump and rosy mouth. The color matched the bright, scarlet locks that coiled across her ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s, thrust high in a tight, low-cut corset.

"You don't sound too happy to see me, Capt'n."

No, he wasn't. Not when the blood in his veins still screamed for an island witch. Even now the mark on his cheek pulsed with the imprint from her hand. His whole body pulsed, in truth.

Curse Wil iam! He had orchestrated the whole blasted affair, thinking a good f.u.c.k would put the captain's head to right...maybe it would.

"The s.h.i.+p is about to set sail, Cora."

"A quick tumble, then?" She pressed her big b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his belly and whispered hotly, "I've missed you."

He scoffed. "You've missed my money."

She smiled. "That, too."

She was honest. That's what James liked about her. She didn't pretend to be a lady. She didn't act with airs. She wanted a gold coin from him. That was all. She didn't want to depend on him or form a family with him. She offered no false expressions of love. She was cold. He liked that about her, too.

She cupped his c.o.c.k. "I see you've missed me, too."

He gritted, "Easy, woman."

She winked. "Aren't I always?"

Slowly she dropped to her knees. James closed his eyes. He let the heat in his bones and muscles cool and settle as the woman deftly fingered the b.u.t.tons of his trousers. She was strong. She could take a rough bedding. A good thing, too, for he needed one right now.

The cabin door opened.

James lifted his eyes, muscles seizing.

Sophia took one look at the prostrated wench-and snapped.

The knife glistened in the moonlight. Sophia had grabbed it from the sheath between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s so fast, he had nary a second to reach for the blade before it sliced at the mistress screaming at his feet-and his cods.

James roared, "Blimey!"

Sophia had almost nicked him.

Cora jumped on the bed, shrieking.

Sophia lunged after the other woman again.

James grabbed Sophia's wrist, her midriff. "Drop the knife!"

A hysterical Cora scrambled from the bed and dashed from the cabin.

Sophia was wild. She thrashed and slammed her body against James, disrupting his balance and sending him cras.h.i.+ng into the wall. He then hit the ground with her in tow.

He winced as he smashed his hip against the flooring.

"d.a.m.n you, woman!"

James wrestled with her. He pressed her against the planking and wedged his knee between her kicking legs. He then grabbed her wrist, squeezing.

She hissed.

The knife popped from her hand.

He reached for it before she scooped it back up again, and hurled it somewhere across the room.

"Hold still!" he barked.

He pinned her against the flooring. He clasped both her wrists, the threads of her reticule curled around his fingers, and stretched them high above her head before he pressed the rest of his weight against her belly.

She gasped for breath.

"Cease, Sophia!"

She stilled.

He was breathing hard, his hip throbbing. As soon as she quieted, he eased his belly away from hers; he offered her room to breathe.

"What the h.e.l.l is the matter with you?" he growled.

She was panting. There was a feral look in her eyes. She had a jealous streak, even a violent one. But he had never seen the woman like this before.

"You're a b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she charged between heated breaths.

"And you're mad, sweetheart."