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The Pirate's Reckless Touch
Linda Skye
Juliana Wright is on the hunt.Her father discovered an ancient treasure map—and was killed for it. Now she's determined to find the treasure for herself in time for Christmas and escape the brigands pursuing her. To complete her mission, she needs the help of devilishly handsome Captain Rawden Wood, a notorious pirate revered throughout the high seas.He is the only one capable of protecting her aboard his ship, but Juliana knows that with one single touch he could dishonor her—and worse, reveal her biggest secret
Juliana Wright is on the hunt. Her father discovered an ancient treasure map—and was killed for it. Now she’s determined to find the treasure for herself in time for Christmas and escape the brigands pursuing her.
To complete her mission, she needs the help of devilishly handsome Captain Rawden Wood, a notorious pirate revered throughout the high seas. He is the only one capable of protecting her aboard his ship, but Juliana knows that with one single touch he could dishonor her—and worse, reveal her biggest secret…
The Pirate’s Reckless Touch
Linda Skye
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 9781472008138
The Pirate's Reckless Touch
© Linda Skye 2012
First Published in Great Britain in 2012
Harlequin (UK) Limited
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, including without limitation xerography, photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
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All characters in this work have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Version: 2018-07-18
Contents
Copyright (#ud0f91b2d-1578-5177-8d8d-a278ae8b305e)
Chapter 1 (#u7b3c9161-3862-5cc5-94d3-bc5eb6fa9729)
Chapter 2 (#u9981054e-759d-5766-9502-73f8c51e9233)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1
Rawden scowled at the winter chill, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his woollen trousers. Thick, heavy snowflakes drifted down lazily in circular patterns all around him, and a crowd of ratty street children bustled around his legs, laughing and sticking out their tongues to catch the flakes. It was only a few days until Christmas Eve, and even the poorest boroughs of London seemed to have swung into the festive season. A few of the local taverns that lined the narrow alleyway had even hung evergreen wreaths from their doors.
But to Rawden, it just didn’t feel like Christmas.
Not when his ship, the Golden Maiden, was in such disrepair that he feared going to Davy Jones’s locker every time they were at sea. Not when his mutinous, grumbling crew had to be kept in line with constant threats of keelhauling. And not when his personal coffers were practically empty despite months of scouring foreign seas for booty-filled ships.
So it was not the warm glow of the Yuletide season that had brought him back to the London docks; it was the hope of finding information about fresh plundering grounds.
Rawden’s eyes scanned the row of seedy back-alley taverns, stopping to rest on the crudely carved placard of a familiar door. The Mucky Duck. A favourite watering hole for London’s less savoury merchants. He strode over quickly and pushed his way past the heavy oak door and into the dank, dimly lit pub. Ignoring the late-night revellers and flirtatious ladies of the night, Rawden made his way over to the bar and lifted a finger. A heavy earthen mug slid his way almost immediately, filled with a dark, frothy brew. He quietly nursed his drink as his sharp eyes discreetly searched out the room for known traders or informants.
But all thoughts of piracy evaporated the moment he spotted her across the room. He didn’t know who she was or where she had come from, but she was almost blindingly beautiful. Her golden tresses were loosely pinned up so that a few wayward curls framed her delicate face. Her pale, slender neck was as elegant as a swan’s, and her bare arms were the colour of the finest fresh cream. Her light and flimsy frock was cut dangerously low, the sleeves just barely skimming the edges of her slim shoulders.
A drunken sailor might mistake her for a common whore—but Rawden knew better. Though her dress was similar to those of the other pub wenches, the fabric was too white, too clean. And rather than flitting from man to man with a salacious grin, she awkwardly wandered about, subtly cringing when meaty hands reached for her. But most of all, her dovelike face was just too innocent and too sweet to be mistaken for that of a tart. It was painfully obvious that she didn’t belong, despite her very best efforts to blend in. An amused smirk quirked the corners of Rawden’s lips as he watched her stumble from table to table. He wondered, briefly, what misguided notion had caused the young woman to engage in such a bold and foolish masquerade.
And then a cool blast of December air washed over him as the pub door swung inward and two marine police walked in. Conversation stilled for a moment as the burly men sauntered toward the bar.
Rawden frowned into his mug of ale before tipping it back and draining the bitter drink in one long gulp. Tossing a few coppers onto the bar, he stood abruptly, fully intent on leaving the scene. Finding information with police in the tavern had just become impossible, and he had no desire to get caught up in any shenanigans with the law. He had enough trouble as it was.
As he turned, he saw that the police had stopped in the centre of the tavern, their eyes roving over the raucous crowd of sailors and merchants. Feigning indifference, he casually ambled toward the exit. He felt the officers’ eyes on him as he approached, and he carefully kept his eyes averted. A flash of golden hair caught his eye.
Perfect, he thought to himself. Something to pretend to look at.
Rawden fixed a leer on his face, gluing his eyes onto the young woman and grinning like a hungry dog. He heard the police snort disgustedly as he passed. But even after the police turned their attention elsewhere, Rawden could not tear his eyes from the innocent girl. It didn’t help that she was heading in his direction. Just before he managed to make it to the door, she seemed to trip on some invisible obstacle—which sent her careening into his arms.
A cacophony of catcalls and whistles erupted from the onlookers as Rawden steeled himself against the young woman’s soft flesh. She had landed against his chest in a tangle of smooth limbs, and her silky hair was brushing the underside of his stubbly chin. She pulled away more slowly than he expected, bracing her palms on the rough leather of his vest. Then, with her ample bosom still pressed up against his chest, she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Rawden’s arms tightened around her slender frame as he looked down at her sweetly upturned face. She was even more beautiful up close. Thick lashes fluttered over sea-blue eyes, and her pink lips were slightly parted in surprise. Rawden inhaled sharply, and he was overtaken by her pure, bright scent. She smelled clean and fresh, like a crisp summer’s day.
Too clean, a voice niggled at the back of his head.
Rawden sighed, remembering himself. He slid his hands to her elbows and steadied her as he stepped back resolutely.
“You should go,” Rawden said gruffly as he watched the police from the corner of his eye.
His suggestion was met with silence, and he glanced down at the girl with a dark frown. She had tilted her head to one side and was studying him curiously, blue eyes unblinking.
“Why?” she asked quietly.
Rawden’s fingers tightened at her elbow and he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.
“Because I know you don’t belong here,” he breathed, his warm breath moistening her neck.
He leaned back, certain that the daring gesture had shocked her to her senses—only to watch incredulously as the girl took a bold step forward and placed an open hand on his forearm. Leaning against him, she rose to her toes and mimicked his actions, pressing her open mouth to his temple.
“And what makes you think that?” she whispered, allowing the very tip of her tongue to graze the ridge of his ear.
She smiled and slid down the length of his body, letting him feel her every curve glide down the steel planes of his torso. Rawden felt raw heat surge through his limbs, pooling where her hips meet his. Logic lost to lust as he revelled in the warm glow of her body pressed to him. His eyes dropped to trace the curve of her bare shoulder and the swell of her breasts. His rough hands fisted in the fabric of her airy shift and he walked her back into the door—through which he had been trying to escape just moments before. He pressed her firmly up against the rough wooden surface and smoothed his hands down her sides to grip her hips. She responded by wrapping her arms around his middle, her fingers tracing a distracting pattern on his lower back.
“Girl,” he growled low in his throat, “this is a dangerous game.”
“So?” she answered coyly, nipping at his chin. “Are you going to play?”
“Perhaps,” he said as he twisted his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her head back. “You certainly need to learn a lesson or two.”
“Oh?” she questioned playfully, allowing him to plant a row of rough kisses up the length of her exposed neck. “What lessons would those be?”
“Foolish lass,” Rawden grunted as he reached down to give her pert bottom a light pinch. “For one, that innocent, high-born girls should not pretend to be strumpets in sailors’ taverns.”
“I’m innocent, am I?”
Rawden stilled immediately, closing his eyes. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine her creamy legs wrapped around him, her pliant flesh yielding to his desire and her cries of passion at his ear. He could have her now if he wanted—let her think she’d won at her game of masquerade and sate his lust with her sweet body without caring about her reputation. And then…he would leave her ruined and sullied.
His breathing heavy, Rawden reluctantly pushed away from her. Planting his palms on either side of her head, he lowered his face to hers. Yes, he thought as he took in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, you’re still innocent. Though her seductive confidence may have been the result of some previous carnal experience, her expression was not the jaded, calculating look of a wharf prostitute. Neither was her face marred by the bitter wrinkle lines of a woman forced to pleasure others at her own expense. He inhaled deeply. Her skin was too soft and smelled of expensive oils. Rawden sighed.
“You don’t belong here,” he repeated gruffly. “Go home before someone ruins you.”
“Someone?” she asked, arching an aristocratic brow.
“Not me,” he warned through gritted teeth, pulling her away from the door. “But if you stay here, someone else will certainly force you to do something you’ll regret.” He stood back, his eyes hard. “So go home, little girl.”
With that, he brusquely brushed past her, pulling open the tavern door with enough force to send it slamming into the wall. He stalked out into the cold, frustration clawing through his veins. He tried to banish the phantom feeling of her body under his as he strode hurriedly away. It was so darned cold, and he quickened his steps. He shoved his hands back into his pockets—and then stopped cold.
Slowly, he reached deeper into his trouser pockets, fingers fumbling and searching. Jaw dropping, he turned out the fabric to be absolutely sure.
Nothing, he thought in disbelieving wonder.
That innocent young girl had just stolen all his money.
Chapter 2
Juliana Wright pulled her thick cloak more tightly around her shoulders and hurried through the twisting alleys. She was on a mission. She’d finally found the right man for the job—a rare type of honourable villain—and then he’d vanished into the night without so much as whispering his name. She frowned crossly. For a moment in that seedy tavern, she had really thought that she’d had him in the palm of her hand. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken too long for Juliana to pry his name off of a few inebriated sailors; apparently he was legendary for his former exploits abroad.
Captain Rawden Wood.
He had once been one of the wealthiest pirates in the Western seas, ravishing treasure-laden ships along the Mediterranean and African coastlines. His ship, the Golden Maiden, had been a shining example of marine engineering—a sleek and swift pirate vessel equipped with the latest cannons and the most cutthroat mercenaries. ‘Twas a shame for him that the illicit gold had all but dried up in Europe. It caused his ship to fall from the pinnacle of its past. It had his crew biting at the bit with restless greed. It made Captain Rawden Wood desperate for money.
And that made him perfect for her job, Juliana thought to herself with a sly smile. Just perfect.
Now, she just needed to find him again.
Her steps were light and sure as she skipped toward her destination. But when she rounded a corner, she almost stumbled to a stop.
A trio of shabbily dressed thugs was casually leaning against the walls, as if they had been expecting her. One of them was picking his teeth with the tip of a nasty-looking dagger. He turned to size her up, and a cruel grin lit his face. He took a menacing step toward her.
“Well, well, well,” he said in a voice as gritty as sand. “What do we have here?”
Juliana spun around, ready to run back the way she came. But another pair of goons emerged from the gloom, their grubby hands reaching for her. She ducked out of their reach and turned to face their leader, realising grimly that she’d been cornered. Her eyes darted from him to his cronies and back again. Their clothes were crusted with salt, their hair matted with dirt and their fingertips blackened with grime. She recognised the sort immediately. Swabbies. They were the grunts of a ship, spending most days mopping up the deck. Their leader—a heartless, soulless pirate, no doubt—was still grinning maniacally as he invaded her personal space, thrusting his face close to hers. His greasy, foul smell assaulted her nostrils, so she did the only thing she could think of.
She turned up her nose at him.
He laughed. “Is that any way to treat an old friend? Surely you remember me—good old first matey Clegg?”
“What do you want, you dirty sea dog?” she demanded, tinting her tone with arrogance.
“You know what I want, my little lassie.”
“I am not your little lassie,” Juliana hissed.
She suddenly felt very crowded as the small group of scallywags tightened their circle around her, cutting off her view of the end of the alley. Her hand slipped instinctively to her thigh and she hitched up the hem of her dress.
“Plan on giving us a show?” the pirate asked suggestively, waggling his bushy brows at her exposed leg.
“Not likely,” she snorted as her fingers found the hilt of her concealed dagger.
“Come on now,” Clegg chuckled. “Just hand it over.”
“Not on your life,” she bit out.
“My life?” Clegg asked with a false smile. “I don’t think it’s my life you should be worried about, lassie.”
Juliana did not answer. She kept her eyes trained on his every move, her hand tightening on her weapon.
“Just give us what’s ours, and we’ll be on our way,” the pirate said, his voice unnaturally coaxing.
“It’s not yours. And it never will be,” Juliana declared.
The pirate’s face turned ugly in rage. Before she could blink, he grabbed her by the upper arm and began to shake her violently.
“Stupid wench,” he shouted, spittle flying. “Give me what’s rightfully mine!”
“Oh? That’s an odd coincidence.” A deep booming voice echoed off the alley walls. “That’s what I want too.”
Her assailant’s hand slipped from her arm as the thugs turned to see who had spoken.
Well, well, well, Juliana thought sardonically, if it isn’t Captain Rawden Wood. What impeccable timing.
But this was not the way she had wanted to approach him, and she considered slinking off into the dark—except that the swabbies’ bodies formed a solid wall against her back. She tensed, waiting for whatever would happen next.
“Just be on your way, bucko,” Clegg sneered. “We have some unfinished business with this here lassie.”
