“I mean it! I made a mistake that I’ll regret for the rest of my life. This is a chance for you to walk away. I want to give you the gift of honesty,” she says, meeting my eyes. Her hands drop to her sides before she wraps them around her middle. She looks small, cold, wounded, and completely unlike the Captain Betts I fell in love with. This vulnerable, scared, shy Bettina is the woman nobody sees—the one Richard tried to destroy.
I can’t hate him more than I do in this moment. Not for cheating on his wife or taking advantage of Bettina. Everyone involved was a consenting adult, whether they knew all the factors or not. I hate him because his name is still on her lips, and his wound is still on her heart. It will take time, love, and patience to erase him from her list of fears and lock him in her memories where he belongs.
“We both know I’m not a fan of honesty,” I say, gathering her into my arms again. I prepare myself for the sobs that will likely be unleashed when I confess how much I love her, because she’s not ready for what I’m about to say. However, I don’t want to reopen this conversation once it’s done. I start with a vague way of conveying my undying love for her and my lack of concern over her ruined state. “In Boston, a lady’s fertility is no business of a man—even her husband’s. It’s part of her aura of mystery.”
“But this isn’t a mystery. I ruined myself.”
“Ruined? Yeah, you feel ruined,” I tease as I run my hands under her shirt. Vague didn’t work, so let’s try flirting.
“You taste ruined,” I say as I kiss her shocked mouth.
“Ruined must be a synonym for delicious, luscious, or precious. In fact, I’ll take you ruined over any righteous woman. Say you will be mine, Betts. Don’t let this stand between us. We will figure it out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out. I can’t conceive your baby.”
“I accept that,” I state in the tone that I use when I mean business. If flirting and teasing aren’t the way, then perhaps she needs my masculine strength to take control of this situation. I won’t allow her to spiral out of control and throw away what we could have over the issue of unborn, unconceived, possible children. It’s time to show her the ridiculousness of her doubts with a firm hand.
I hold her at arm’s length so she feels how her words push us apart. What she doesn’t see is the longing on her face when she’s around Catalina. While I fantasize about her carrying my child, her holding an orphan baby in her arms tugs my heartstrings the same way. It’s her sadness that brings out themasculine fury in me because I know I can’t save her. There’s nothing I can do to make it better, but I accept the whole mess.
“Because you’re worth it to me, Bettina. To me, you are worth more than the stars that surround us,” I declare, stooping so we’re eye level, where she can’t hide from the truth in my heart.
“You could lovejustme?” The question is the tiny opening I need to worm my way into her soul…by offering the life I know she wants more than anything…
“Somehow, I don’t think it will bejust usfor long,” I say with the left side of my mouth quirked in a smile. “Eze says his home island is crawling with abandoned children. I bet those street rats will board as an army of cabin boys. I’ll have a dozen sons and half a dozen daughters before we set sail again. I see that smile. I know you. Don’t cast your eyes down when I air your master plan to the light of day. Just because you claim you’re infertile doesn’t mean we won’t be parents or that my seed won’t saturate your womb each night. The only question is whether you will be an honest woman or my working girl trying to feed all those urchins by using her charms on a wealthy pirate.”
She gasps as I turn her around and bend her over the side of the basket. I unlace my pants, and they fall with gravity due to the weight I’ve lost while working on the boat. I kick her feet apart as far as her damn pants allow. I collect her arousal on my tip as I test her readiness. As heavy as our conversation was, I said just the right things to keep her with me. She’s soaking wet for me. The best part is that I meant every word.
I’d rather raise street rats with her than pass my family’s legacy to a legitimate child whose mother I love less. For there’s nobody I could love more than my prickly, complicated Bettina.
“Surrender your arse, you half-penny-upright, and earn your spot in my bed—”
“You mean my bed.”
“That’s not how role-playing works, wench!” I spank her soundly to hear her squeal. “Good thing we have time for me to teach you all the ways we can have fun. It may be my life’s work.”
I slide home. Both of us sigh as I bottom out and our connection solidifies. The boat’s gentle sway moves us as a unit to tender bliss. Together, we’ll reach the stars, and I will make all her dreams come true. She wants to adopt every orphan from here to the Atlantic? I’ll sew nametags to remember who is who. She wants to settle us in a village where we’re the only parents for miles? I’ll build her the most crooked, unwieldy, unstable grass hut she’s ever seen. With each beat of my heart, I mentally promise her the world, and when I reach around to tap her pleasure button…
She whimpers that she loves me.
19
Flint
I don’t know who snores louder, Eze or Betts. They compete in hammocks on each side of the helm as I navigate us toward Eze’s home island. The man stayed awake the entire trip across the Caribbean—crossing it a fortnight faster than ever recorded—only to collapse on the day we arrived. I think his panic subsided, leaving him an empty shell. Captain Betts ordered someone to bring up his hammock so he would be close to the helm while we landed the ship. She lost her battle with exhaustion a few hours later.
Now, the safety of the boat and crew weighs heavily on my shoulders. I’ve sailed in calm waters, stormy waters, and dark waters, but never shallow waters. The boat quivers in fear when it rubs the sandy bottom and bucks up like a horse when encountering a rock. The noises are terrible, which makes me grateful for my companions’ snores.
Due west lies the shores of Eze’s home island. The white sand gleams in the sunshine without a sign of the she-devil vampiress reputed to be guarding her shores. If it weren’t for the netting over the center palm trees, I would say this island was deserted. Elle, our elephant bird, calls to the birds on the shore, who answer her with squeals and shrieks.
Are those monkeys too? The only monkeys I’ve heard were in traveling sideshows in Boston, but I distinctly hearmonkeys’ calls coming from the island. Yes, the animals are so in tune with the inhabitants that they make the sounds of a deserted island. I bet the bugs chirp at night and bats take flight. Could Magda be one of the bats? I can’t wait to ask her.
My musings are interrupted by a deep-throated groan from the hull.
The wheel creaks as my sweaty palms slide between the rungs. My heart thumps against my ribs. I clear the fear from my throat in a hoarse growl. The icy fingers of terror threaten to choke me. Everyone on board is depending on me to get them to the island without a dock, port, or buoy system. The inhabitants don’t want visitors, so why would they make landing easy?
I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but…
I wish Chub were here. He’d know what’s making that God-awful noise and how to stop the blasted thing from self-imploding.
