Page 2 of A Pirate's Pleasure

Dax crossed his massive arms over his chest and stared me down. “At sea, where d’ya think? It’s what pirates do best.”

A boulder formed in my stomach. I’d known it was a possibility, but I’d convinced myself that I was due a break, that the universe would do this one thing for me. “How long has he been gone?” When Dax didn’t immediately answer, I jerked my head to the occupied tables behind us. “If you don’t tell me, one of them will. And if there’s one man that doesn’t need your protection, it’s him.”

“Three months.”

The boulder broke up into pebbles, a flare of elation replacing it. Three months meant that the crew of The Navarino and their illustrious and much feared captain were due back any time. Luck was finally on my side. A rare burst of happiness—the first in weeks—had me drinking the rest of the ale in one go. I slammed the tankard down and grinned at Dax. “Another one, and a room for a few nights.” I lifted a finger to point it at him. “And don’t tell me you’re full, because you’re never full. Most pirates would rather sleep on the ship they’ve been stuck on for months than stay here.”

Dax rested his elbows on the bar and leaned forward. “Which begs the question, why you’re ‘ere, doesn’t it? Did yer get sick of playing lord of the manor?”

I met his stare with one of my own. “I thought this was a no questions asked kind of place.” Before he could offer any sort of answer, I got in there first. “And I’d really appreciate it if word didn’t get around that I’m here. Can you do that for an old friend, Dax?”

His lip quirked into the makings of a sneer at the word “friend,” but after a long pause, he gave a nod. I relaxed slightly. “Thank you.”

He jerked his head toward the tables. “Can’t speak for them, though.”

No, he couldn’t, which wasn’t ideal. The only saving grace was that they were about as likely to speak to the authorities as I was, which was to say not at all.

It had taken less than twenty-four hours to grow tired of the interior of The Black Skull. It was a shame then, that two more days had passed after that, still with no sign of The Navarino or its captain. Most people had left me alone. Why? Well, that was a good question and one I wasn’t entirely sure I knew the answer to. Dax’s influence was possible. As was a long memory from a couple of familiar faces.

That had come to a screeching halt the previous day, though—a member of The Poisonous Raider’s crew mistaking me for easy pickings while I’d been sitting minding my own business. He came at me from behind, because it was true what they said about there being no honor amongst thieves. His first mistake was not getting a tight enough grip as he wrapped his arm around my neck. My eyes met Dax’s. Despite what he might think of me, he started forward. One shake of my head had him stopping in his tracks.

The crewmate’s second mistake as his foul breath scoured my cheek was expecting me to be unarmed. Nobody set foot in The Black Skull without being prepared. You were predator or prey in this place, and after playing cat and mouse with the authorities for weeks, I’d had enough of being prey.

It had been years since I’d been forced to rely on my instincts, but muscle memory had proved my savior as I’d wrapped one hand around his forearm to prevent him from tightening his hold as the other dipped beneath the table to withdraw the knife from my boot. I thrust up, using the impetus of my rise from sitting to standing to throw my attacker off balance. It worked a treat, his grip slackening as instinct had him concentrating on remaining on his feet.

In the few seconds before he’d realized his mistake, I was already twisting out of his hold, ducking beneath his grip, and then turning to press the point of my knife against his throat. “Wrong target, my friend,” I said in the lowest and most threatening voice I could muster. It seemed you never forgot some things, no matter how much time had passed. You could take the boy out of Glimmerfield but you couldn’t take Glimmerfield out of the boy. “Nod, if you understand.” His nod was less than enthusiastic, but that was no surprise given the knife pressed to his jugular. It was a nod, though. “When I let go, you’re going to walk away and you’re never going to so much as look in my direction again. Yes?” Another attempt at a nod.

I shoved him away from me, my blade not having broken the skin to leave so much as a nick, deliberate. His hand went to his throat, and when his fingers came away clean, he sneered. He did back off, though. Either I’d taught him a lesson, or I’d just made myself an enemy who’d gain access to my room in the middle of the night and murder me in my bed. I hoped for the former, but recent events said the latter was more likely. Great. Another thing to add to my list of shit that life had dumped in my lap. I slumped back in my seat, Dax offering me a nod. I lifted my tankard of ale in something of a sarcastic toast. Fucking Glimmerfield and all its fucking pirates. Yet, the only one I wanted to see remained elusive.

On day three of my self-imposed exile in the butt crack of Padora, the door of The Black Skull flew open without a hand having pushed it, the small typhoon that swept into the building causing Dax to lift his gaze to the door and for me to twist around in my chair to stare at the empty threshold in anticipation.

And then there he was, his lithe frame filling the doorway.

Zephyr Chase.

If I’d expected the last eight years to have been unkind to him, I was to be disappointed. He’d changed very little. Broader around the shoulders, maybe? His dark hair a little longer? But apart from that, he looked the same. His hair still held that natural wave to it, the luster of it ridiculous for a man who spent most of his life at sea. That same white stripe ran through it. His cheekbones were still as pronounced as they’d ever been, Zephyr apparently not having fallen prey to gluttony in my absence. Not for food, anyway. A dark, brooding stare. A sharp nose that only added to the handsome picture rather than detracting from it. Full lips. No scars that I could see.

He wore a white shirt slashed to the waist that showed off his muscular physique. Strong thighs. Cutlass strapped to his waist. Yes, eight years had been kind to Zephyr Chase. Very kind indeed. No missing eyes. No missing limbs. Everything where it should be and looking better than ever. I was simultaneously glad and annoyed by it.

As Zephyr stepped aside and the rest of his crew streamed into the building, five men got up to leave. Apparently, they weren’t in the mood to share space with the crew of The Navarino, who would no doubt be celebrating having their feet back on solid ground in typical raucous fashion before moving on to whoring.

Zephyr’s sharp, assessing gaze swept across the tavern. Not that sharp, though, considering he missed me altogether. When his gaze met Dax’s, the big, burly man jerked his head in my direction. Zephyr’s gaze slid back my way, and this time lingered, assessing, examining, just as I’d done to him while he hadn’t been aware of it. Despite the tightening of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes, I kicked the chair opposite, shifting it away from the table in an invitation to join me.

He wasn’t pleased to see me, but then I hadn’t expected him to be. It wouldn’t stop me from saying my piece, because I didn’t have any other options left open to me. It was Zephyr Chase or the hangman’s noose.

Chapter Two

Zephyr

Lief Cooper. Back home, and in the last place I’d ever expected to find him. How long had it been since I’d last seen him? Six years? Longer? It felt like a lifetime and like no time at all. While I appreciated Dax’s head-up, I couldn’t help wishing he’d given me more warning. Time to sort through my feelings. Time to overcome the immediate swell of hurt and anger that still engulfed me at the sight of my ex-lover, the one man I’d given my heart to. And who’d trampled all over it like it was nothing.

My fingers twitched, a freak wind picking up leaves and twigs and battering them against the window. Lief turned his head in that direction while I eyed the chair he’d proffered. What made him think I had any wish to join him? I would, though, if only to satisfy my curiosity about what he was doing here. If nothing else, it would give me the chance to say a few things to him. Things I’d never gotten to say when he’d left in the dark of night.

I took my time reaching Lief’s table, Dax already there waiting for me with the bottle of rum he kept just for me, like the faithful friend he was. There was concern in his one good eye, and he hovered by the table for a few seconds longer than he needed to in a silent message of support before returning to the bar.

I sat, lounging back in the chair, and taking a long drink of the rum, the harsh alcohol burning my throat like all good rum should. I took a few more swigs before switching my attention to Lief. He looked rough. Rough and dirty, like neither baths nor sleep, had figured much in his life for the past few weeks. Interesting.

“I don’t recognize any of your crew,” he said.

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