Within A Captain's Hold. Lisa A. Olech
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taps sounded on the door. Jaxon frowned and went to open it. Cookie, again.
“Capt’n, don’t mean to interrupt yer fun, but a shout just came down from the nest. Sail off the port bow.”
“Flags?”
Cookie shook his head. “Not close ’nuff to see.”
“Tell Quinn to drop the Jack, and I’ll be joining you on deck in a minute.”
“Aye.”
Jaxon closed the door. One moment his back was to her, the next he struck like lightning. He growled as he caught her and pinned her to the wall. Two hands shoved her arms above her head. One held both wrists in a crushing grip as he plucked the cutlass from her and sent it clattering behind him. Using his free hand, he encircled her waist, locking her to him.
Annalise struggled to buck him off. He only tightened his hold and straddled her leg, making it impossible for her to move. The cut in her chemise pulled tight across her thigh, and the fine fabric tore. She fought to breathe.
An iced gaze bore into her, and he spoke to her through clenched teeth. “The next time you decide to draw a weapon on me, you’d best kill me.”
“I-I’m n-not afraid of you.”
“Then you’d be a fool,” he growled into her face.
The muscle in his jaw jumped as his powerful body surrounded her.
“I’m a fool then.” She gasped as his body crushed hers. “And I’ve got nothing left to lose. One shout from me and I’ll bring your entire crew down on both our heads.”
Anna tipped her head back and hoped she had enough air left to scream. Jaxon silenced her before she could make a sound. He covered her mouth with his in a hot, punishing kiss.
A fire surged through her as his lips claimed hers. Locked against him, he stole her last breath. Breasts pressed tight against his chest. Hips pinned beneath his as his thigh forced her legs wider. The power and heat of his body singed her skin. He stripped her of any strength she had left. She whimpered and gave way to the sensations of his mouth on hers, his body enveloping hers, his hands holding her hostage.
He moaned low in his throat as his hold shifted. His fingers pushed into her hair and held her head as he angled his mouth, and his tongue swept hers. Her legs failed as fear and survival gave way to a need so overpowering it threatened to destroy her.
CHAPTER 7
A strangled cry tore from her throat and she renewed her struggle against him. The sound of ripping cloth sent a fiery rush through his body. His mouth stopped punishing but still claimed hers as he released his hold on her wrists and slid his hand down to capture a fist full of soft hair. Jaxon’s arm about her waist held her fast against his growing heat as his tongue swept into her mouth. A whimper escaped her. It sounded of surrender--and fear. He eased his hold, and she shoved against his shoulders.
Jaxon pulled back, his breath coming hard and fast. If he didn’t rein himself in, he would take her right there. He’d never forced a woman against her will, but he’d never crossed paths with a woman daft enough to challenge him either. Even through his anger, he admired her courage. He knew men three times her size who wouldn’t have been so daring.
Annalise stared at him with eyes that shown like molten gold. His gaze fell to her lips. They were swollen and trembled, and her breathing matched his. Jaxon fought the unwelcome longing of his body. She’s sure to be the death of me.
He pushed away, releasing her. His body shook with unresolved fury, or was it something else? Anna held tight to the wall while she covered her mouth with the back of her other hand. Jaxon snatched up his baldric and slung it over one shoulder. Before retrieving his cutlass from the floor, he reached into his pocket, then tossed the key on the bed. Unable to resist, he stole a glance at her and ground his teeth in frustration.
Damn this woman. Hair a riotous mess; her undergarment, torn now to her hip, exposed the full length of a shapely leg. Blood rushed to his cock at the sight. Her reddened lips parted as she drew in each shaky breath. The very image of a ravished woman. His body shouted at his addled brain. Take her.
She’s a virgin. His brain screamed back.
He gave a low growl as he slipped his cutlass back into its scabbard. “The next time you decide to dance with the devil, be warned, you’ll not be surviving the flames.”
* * * *
Jaxon hit the deck like a rogue wave and snatched the glass from Cookie. He fixed it upon the spot of sail on the horizon. The ship was still too far away to identify her flags. “You picked the wrong day to cross my path, you poor bastards.”
“See ye found yer cutlass, Capt’n.” Cookie chuckled.
Jaxon growled. “How’d you like your one leg to match the other?” He turned his attention and his wrath back to the ship in his sights.
“Hold our flags till I see what she flies,” he shouted to Quinn. “Every man to his station but have half keep their ugly mugs below the gunwales. Second gunners, take cover. Let them think we’re running a skeleton crew. Everyone on your guard.”
He lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. “Ah, my boys, she smells fat. And French.”
The crew scrambled to their posts. A rush of energy spread through them. Pistols were checked and the edges of swords and axes tested. Powder monkeys ran sacks of black powder to each cannon. The men were ready for a fight. Itching for one, if truth be told.
He waited, patience being his finest weapon. Even so, the preparations of the crew around him caused a thread of excitement to run up his spine. The other ship lay low in the water. She was fat, indeed. Come on, come on, show your colors.
As if to answer him across the span of water, the ship raised the ensign of France. Jaxon smiled the slow, satisfied smile of a cat just given a fine dish of cream. “I’m right, me hearties. She be a fine, plump French whore. Were we empty, we could give her chase, but I think we should woo her a bit first. Quartermaster Quinn, raise a Frenchie flag. Let them think we’re coming to say ‘bon jour.’”
Several of the crew exchanged “enchantes,” kissing cheeks and bowing.
Lowering the long spyglass, Jaxon pulled Cookie close. “Secure things below.”
“Aye, aye.”
Their sails drew nearer. The Scarlet Night could easily outfight the French brigantine. Even though she was the smaller of the two, she outweighed them in cannons and speed. Now it was just a matter of waiting.
At full sail, the Scarlet leapt through the waves at more than twelve knots. Rigging hummed as they closed the gap. Jaxon would give the order to raise their true flag soon and the battle would be on, but he didn’t want the French brig to startle.
When the two ships came within range of each other, he shouted to the crew. “Starboard turn. To the port guns.” With practiced precision, the men ran out the cannons along the left side. “Drop the French and raise our reds.” The French flag came down and the Black Bones ran up the mast together with the huge crimson mainsail, announcing to their prey Captain Jaxon Steele and the cutthroat crew of the Scarlet Night were upon them.
“Fire!”
Cannons roared and the Scarlet delivered a mighty broadside assault. The crew swarmed the deck on his order, climbed into the rigging, and began screaming like banshees, swinging their cutlasses. Men beat drums and blew horns as if the devil had arrived.
In no time, the brigantine began its turn then returned fire, but their cannon range drew short, and the gunners of the Scarlet Night kept up their brutal fire. As the smoke cleared, Jaxon could see the brig’s mizzen had toppled from a direct hit of chain shot and the starboard side of the French ship showed fierce damage. He ordered the slowing of the Scarlet as the final shot lobbed across their bow in