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Wade yanked the woman through the deserted hallway and up a narrow ladder. He pushed her into his cabin and closed the door, locking it soundly behind him. She stood in the center of the room, hands gripping her skirts, knuckles white.
She looked terrified.
Good, he thought. Served her right. What the hell was going on? He was glad his men were either already asleep or drinking in their quarters. What would they say about the dead body in the store or the woman in his room? He poured himself a drink and tossed back the amber liquid.
It burned as it slid down his throat. He slammed the glass down on the desk and turned back to her. She had to know how beautiful she was. Though it had been mere hours since Wade was inside her, he couldn’t help wanting her again, just once more.
He knew she had to go: her and Nelson both. Though he should hang Nelson for betraying him, he knew Julianne was right. Wade would not have been able to deny his own sister passage on his ship, not if she was in trouble as Julianne had been.
Since when had Wade turned into such a softie? His family had died years before, killed while he was away on a merchant ship. The devastation had torn him apart, made him crazy, made him insane. He had turned to piracy almost instantly, seeing it as a way out. He had never, in all his years on the seas, felt the need to protect a woman.
Not since his wife died.
Not since Madeleine.
As he sank into his chair, he realized his legs were simply too tired to hold him anymore. He had a decision to make and it would have to be fast. A body wouldn’t last in the hold forever, and questions would be raised.
How much information should he give the crew? Who else had known about Rupert’s intention to mutiny? Had they all been in on it?
The fear of betrayal suddenly rushed back, thick and heavy. His stomach knotted and he thought he might be sick, but then he looked up.
At her.
The woman from the bathhouse was watching him, curiously. Her hands had loosened and her skirts hung limply around her body. She still looked fresh and lovely from her bath, and he fought back images of bathing her in the water after taking her body, after making her his.
“What is your name?” He asked her. He had never inquired, never thought it important, never thought she would tell him.
“Julianne Rye,” she said simply, and even in the dimly lit cabin, he could see on her face that she spoke the truth. He stared at her for a long minute, but she spoke again.
“Captain,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “If I may be so bold?”
He nodded curtly. Whatever she had to say, she should say it and be done with it. He had too much to deal with to play games. Not now. Not tonight.
“You have had a horrible evening,” she said. “And I cannot imagine what you must be feeling.”
He snorted. That was putting it lightly. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and chugged, not bothering to pour it in the glass. Who had time for such pretenses anymore?
“Perhaps,” she murmured softly, looking down demurely, almost blushing. “I can take your mind off of things.”
He raised an eyebrow. Was she joshing him? The little waif had saved his life and he was not afraid to admit it, at least to her, and maybe Nelson. Without Julianne’s dagger and bravery, he would be the one lying on the storeroom floor, blood pouring through his shirt, staining the wood flooring he was so particular about.
“Perhaps you can, maiden,” he said, making a sudden decision. He took another swig of the liquor. He wanted to see what she meant, wanted to see what she would do. He was suddenly curious about this one. She said she was running away from a man she did not love: a dangerous man. Here she was, though, running into the arms of someone just as dangerous, perhaps moreso.
Did she not understand this game she played?
Julianne carefully unlaced the worn front of her dirty corset. It pushed her breasts up and outward, giving him a delightful view. He should have noticed earlier in the day how dirty her clothes were, how unsightly her appearance was. A tavern wench would never have gone out wearing such faded clothes.
No, a paid woman would choose bright, brilliant colors designed to draw attention to her body. Julianne did nothing of the sort. Wade knew her clothing must either have been selected because it blended in with the average townswoman, or it was simply very old.
She finished unlacing and allowed the corset to fall to the floor. It landed softly and she looked at him, waiting, watching. Perhaps she wanted him to say something. The hardness in his pants, obviously visible to her, should say enough. She was beautiful and though he had already been inside of her, he wanted to see more.
He wanted to see everything.
She lifted her soft, ruffle-necked blouse and raised it above her head. He was surprised she wore no chemise beneath it, but she certainly did not need one. Her breasts were full and round, and, he delighted to notice, were currently sporting several marks from his kisses and bites earlier that day.
She was barefoot, he noticed, and realized she must have removed her boots earlier in the evening, perhaps when she had returned from port. The only things left on her body were her skirts, which she removed quickly and tossed in a pile.
Then she stood before Wade, naked and wanton, obviously wanting him.
