The Following Sea (The Pirate Wolf series) (20 page)

Gabriel’s hands slid down her body, stripping away the chemise, the sheath. He leaned back briefly to lift his shirt up and over his head, then to rid himself of the hose and trunkhose, then joined her, naked, on the bed. His mouth was hot and greedy, exploring every exposed inch of soft, pale flesh. At times he had her writhing, at others he had her arching up and clawing her fingers into his hair or his shoulders, whimpering with awe and disbelief. She offered herself shamelessly to his hands and lips and eyes, barely flinching when his fingers sank deftly into her heated core and probed the inner mother-of-pearl surfaces, finding them sleek and slippery, making them ache for more.

He rose above her, his dark hair falling forward to shadow his face. His body was taut and hard as he pressed her deep into the linens. She felt the driving shock of his strength as his flesh slid up and into her, offering no apologies, no chance to catch a breath or brace herself as he pushed past the last barrier and filled her so completely there was no room for any further doubt or hesitation.

The air was sucked from her lungs on a disbelieving cry. Far from the pillars of hellfire, damnation, and pain she had been forewarned would come on the loss of her virginity, she felt only a solid fullness inside her. And when he moved… dear God even the smallest little sliding thrusts… the pressure turned to pleasure and she nearly lost her senses.

Her body grew astonishingly hot and acutely sensitive; she was aware of every inch of flesh pressing on flesh. She could feel the soft chafing of his chest hair against her breasts, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he tried to govern himself, and the husky warm gusts of his breath growing as ragged as her own.

As his thrusts lengthened, little clutches of spasms began to shudder through her body. She could feel herself tightening around him, squeezing around his sliding flesh. She heard him groan and some primitive instinct bade her arch her hips upward, a move that pulled him deeper and won a growled warning whispered brokenly against her ear. It was too late for warnings, however, and she rose time and time again, matching his movements, meeting each thrust, each fully blooded stroke until the waves of streaking heat ran one into the other and finally exploded in a single white-hot flare of ecstasy.

Dante braced himself on his outstretched arms, watching Eva’s face, hearing her shocked cries, feeling the warm, grasping pulsations of her orgasm grip his flesh and clench around him so tightly that every muscle and sinew in his body ached for release. Finally, when he could hold back no longer, he lost himself completely in her arms, in her body, surrendering himself to the dark, shattering passion.

The pressure flooded out of him in several throbbing bursts; his spine arched, and his hands slid frantically to her hips to hold her high and tight against him. He shuddered through a last, throaty groan, and as the tension drained out of him, he became extraordinarily aware of every twitch and shiver of sensation, from the satiny texture of her inner thighs to the fluttering in her belly as the tiny aftershocks rippled through their bodies.

The weight of his body sank heavily between her thighs, crowding down over her torso, heated flesh to heated flesh as he covered her completely. Neither one moved or made any sound apart from the softly panted breaths needed to bring their pounding heartbeats under control again.

~~

Eva had no idea how she would look him in the eye again, or what she would say when she did. Her body continued to hum with little shocks and shivers. He remained a full and startling presence within her but it was an exquisitely sensual fullness, one that spread a warm, silky glow of satisfaction and wonderment through her body.

Dante exhaled a long, warm breath against the side of her neck. His face was buried in her hair and he lingered there a moment longer before lifting his head and looking down at her. His expression betrayed nothing of what he was thinking or feeling and while she wanted, desperately, to look away or avoid his gaze, she could not.

Strands of her hair had become entangled with his and he slid his hand up to gently brush them aside.

“Your fiancé was a fool,” he said quietly.

She had no response to that and after another long moment, he planted a firm, hard kiss on her lips then gently extricated himself and rolled beside her. Naked but for the stark white bandaging around his chest, he rose and walked to the sideboard, where he filled two goblets with wine. He drained one and refilled it before returning to the bed.

Eva had taken the opportunity to sit up and move back against the pillows, and when he saw how she had drawn a blanket up to her chin, he offered up a little sigh along with the goblet of wine. Her cheeks were mottled pink from embarrassment, which only made him feel more like a cad. He knew he should say something to put her at ease, but what could he say? Thank you? Had he been too rough, too desperate to lose himself for those few brief moments when nothing else mattered but finding and giving pleasure? Had he hurt her? He did not have much experience with virgins; most of the women in his life had come to his bed willingly and many had even taught him a thing or two. Island girls were raised to regard sex as a normal body function and most considered virginity to be an impediment to attracting a healthy mate.

He cleared his throat and sat on the edge of the bed. “That probably shouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “I could have said no, or stopped you.”

Dante glanced, but refrained from commenting on her naiveté. He doubted anything short of a cannonball exploding through the gallery windows could have stopped him.

Gabriel did not like feeling unsettled and Evangeline Chandler definitely unsettled him. She wasn’t mewling or crying. She wasn’t blaming him or accusing him of taking unfair advantage… which, of course, he had. She was confused, hurt, angry, and incredibly vulnerable and he had just taken crass advantage of all of those things.

Jonas would doubtless clap him on the back and praise his powers of seduction. His father would roll his eyes. His mother would likely box his ears.

He finished his wine and stared at the bottom of the goblet. “I hate to leave you like this, but I really should go back up on deck and talk to Stubs.”

“About tomorrow?”
“Yes, about tomorrow.”
“What will you do if they attack?”

“At the moment I have no bloody idea,” he said honestly, floundering a little more as he looked into the wide green eyes, “but I won’t be surrendering the ship… or anyone on it… that much is a certainty.”

He stood and dressed quickly in black breeches and a midnight blue doublet. He buckled a leather belt around his waist and stepped into tall black boots. He fetched his own hat from the back of a chair, a much-abused tricorne with a clutch of hawk feathers jutting from the band, and with a rolled chart under his arm, he strode to the door, looking every inch the magnificent pirate of most girl’s fantasies.

He paused and looked back, uncomfortable with the feeling that there was something more he should say. The usual wit of his tongue had deserted him, so had the casual smile that normally came so easily when leaving a naked woman behind in his bed. But the sight of Eva, so pale and soft and slender, with the blanket still pulled high to her chin, left him wanting only to return to her side and gather her back into his arms.

“Try to get some sleep,” he mumbled finally. “I will send Eduardo down if there is any change.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

Dante found Stubs on the quarterdeck leaning on the binnacle, a long-stemmed pipe clamped between his teeth. The three galleons had not changed position, they sat there like big birds of prey watching and waiting.

The sea was smooth and calm, showing infrequent ripples from a cat's paw breeze as it scuttled across the surface, disturbing threads of mist.

"Air is gettin’ cooler," Stubs said casually.

Dante hadn't noticed. His body was still warm from being entwined by soft arms and legs. He took up his spyglass and studied each galleon in turn. At first he saw nothing overt to suggest Muertraigo was making preparations to attack, yet he sensed that was exactly what was happening six hundred yards away. The gallery windows in the stern of the
San Mateo
were ablaze with lights that fanned out hazily across the water, suggesting the capitan was meeting with his other commanders, sharing information about what he had seen and heard aboard the
Endurance
.

"Air is gettin’ cooler," Stubs said again, joining him at the rail.

"Yes, I can feel the chill in the air, what of it?"

Stubs sighed extravagantly, for it was not often his captain was distracted or too thick in the head to ignore the obvious. He took the pipe out of his mouth and used the stem to point to three specific things: the tiny tendrils of mist swirling beside the hull, the blurred halos around the deck lamps on the galleons, and lastly, the darkness along the horizon where the coast of Espiritu Santu should have been visible now that the moon was in descent.

Gabriel cursed. "Fog. The air is cooling and the fog is coming up."

"Aye-yup." Stubs returned the stem of the pipe to his mouth. "Came down myself to tell ye a mite ago, but... erm... didn't sound like ye wanted to be disturbed right at that moment."

Dante's cheek twitched at the sight of the quartermaster's knowing smirk. "You should have disturbed me anyway."

"Can do a body harm gettin' interrupted that way, if ye know what I mean."

Dante snapped the glass open again and stared long and hard into the darkness. Thick fog banks were not uncommon in the tropics, especially close to land, and from what he could see... or not see... there was a large one forming, spreading out from Espiritu Santu, drifting across the water like a large black cloud, the upper reaches silvered by moonlight.

If they could get into that cloud, they might have a chance to thwart Muertraigo’s plans for the morning.
"Two gigs?"
"Three," Stubs said. "In this calm she'll be a bitch to tow."

"Three then," Gabriel agreed. "Eight oarsmen apiece. Get them in the water as quickly and quietly as you can. Wrap the cleats and winch to muffle the sound and keep the hull between us and their watchers. Bring Betts up on deck with his fiddle, and get a few men singing ditties. If their lookouts report that the crew is drunk and relaxed, they may not pay as close attention. As soon as the moon is gone, I want
every
man on deck, the guns primed and ready to fire. Start trimming the fore and aft riding lamps now so we don't disappear all at once."

Stubs grinned and rubbed his gnarly hands together. "Aye Cap'n! Touch-holes are already covered to keep the powder dry, an' ye've got about three hundred men real happy to hear we're goin' to repay them damn Spaniards for makin' us wear their fancy-ass britches.”

“I believe it was Old Bull who said: you can fight and lose, but you can never win if you don’t fight at all.”

~~

As predicted, the mist thickened, skimming across the surface of the water like pale fingers before creaming up against the hull of the ship. The moon was sinking fast. Longboats had been lowered away with the strongest men on board, ready to play out the cables and tow the
Endurance
into the dense wall of the fog bank. The nimble-fingered Betts had played his fiddle for two hours, with much laughing and stomping for accompaniment. The men had sat under the lights and waved their pannikens and grog cups—which were filled with water—occasionally staggering to the rails to piss over the side with drunken roars.

A few at a time, the gun crews crept back up on deck and crouched behind the ten foot long culverins. Dante had warned the crew captains they would have at best, fifteen minutes to fire off as many rounds of shot as possible before the longboats turned the ship and started towing it into the fog. They would be fully exposed for God only knew how long after that and vulnerable to returning fire from the galleons. It was imperative to do as much damage as possible in the short time they would have surprise on their side.

Dante ordered five of the swivel guns mounted along the stern rails. After sending Eduardo to his cabin to warn Eva to dress, he had another four mortars moved to the gallery windows. They were smaller caliber weapons, mainly used for firing handfuls of small stones, but Gabriel had them loaded with nails and sharp pieces of scrap metal which would slice through flesh like knives through cheese.

~~

With one eye on the moon as it sank into the blackness of the horizon, Dante prepared to give the signal to fire. Men stood ready with lit fuses, the glowing red tips shielded. When the last sliver of silvery water disappeared, he nodded to Stubs, who passed along the order to douse the deck lamps and open the gunports.

The gunners had had more than enough time to adjust the elevation of the guns and choose their targets. When Dante's hand dropped, the entire starboard battery exploded, spitting out clouds of orange-flecked smoke, sending two tiers worth of thirty-two pound iron shot hurling through the night. As soon as each of the sixteen heavy guns fired, it was hauled in, swabbed, loaded with fresh shot, tamped, charged and run out again. The crews worked with determined efficiency, taking under a minute and a half to reload and fire.

Across the water, the three galleons each took direct hits. The shots blasted through rails and yards as the first few rounds were aimed high with the intent to cripple the masts and rigging. Yards came crashing down, tangled in torn shrouds. One of the shots hit the top of the mainmast on the
San Mateo
, the crack of breaking timber echoing across the water.

Gabriel did not allow himself to celebrate or to believe the Spaniards had been caught completely off guard, but he was modestly encouraged to see they took three full rounds from his guns before any of the galleons delivered a reply.

The fourth broadside was loaded with incendiary shot, the fireballs arcing across the water and bursting to release a hail of fiery little tar pellets. The men on board the
Endurance
could hear the shouts and screams as the Spanish crew worked frantically to respond and, just as Dante's gunners had set their aim well in advance, the crews on board the galleons needed no time finding the
Endurance
in their sights.

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