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Kidnapped by the Pirate

Page 99

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When their sweat cooled, Hawk withdrew so they could rest on their sides, legs tangled and facing each other. It was strange how the bed didn’t rock, no constant creaking of wood and splash of water. He supposed he’d grow used to it.

Quietly, he asked, “How did you know?”

“Sorcery, of course.”

“Ah. I thought as much. A sea nymph after all.” He traced his finger over the tip of Nathaniel’s nose.

“I like it. Michael. An angel’s name.”

Heart skipping to hear it again after so many years, Hawk waggled his eyebrows. “Only devils here.”

Nathaniel’s peal of laughter brightened his face. “I knew you’d say that! I knew it.”

He had to huff. “Am I so predictable?”

“Only to me.” Nathaniel kissed him, tongue sliding inside deep and slow, and Hawk surrendered with a sigh.

“I don’t deserve you,” Hawk whispered when their lips parted. “These past years, some of the things I’ve done…”

“I forgive you.”

He had to smile. “I don’t think England would be so swift.”

“England kidnapped you.” Nathaniel reached to sweep his hand over the scars on Hawk’s buttocks. “Imprisoned you in her navy. Treated you most foully. And then my father tried to strip you of your freedom once again. I’m glad he’s dead.”

They kissed fiercely then, bodies entwined, and Hawk knew that no matter what he deserved, he would keep hold of Nathaniel and never let him go.

They eventually slept, although some time later, Nathaniel began fidgeting so much Hawk groaned and cracked an eye open. “What? Are you uncomfortable?” A thought occurred, and he was suddenly wide awake, pushing up on his elbow. “Are you in pain?”

“No, no. Just thinking.” On his back, Nathaniel took Hawk’s hand and pressed it to his belly, the scar still intact.

He exhaled and flopped back down, shifting onto his stomach so he could keep his hand anchored on Nathaniel. “Thinking can wait for morning.”

“Mmm. Go back to sleep.”

Closing his eyes, Hawk tried for at least thirty seconds. Then he asked, “What are you thinking about?” He wished he could read Nathaniel’s thoughts as well as Nathaniel seemed to discern his.

“Where we’ll settle. We have Susanna’s jewels to ease our way, but where shall we go?”

“Mmm. We need to find a safe place where England has no sway and will never come knocking.”

“Is that all? Should be easy.”

He chuckled, kissing Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Undoubtedly.”

As Hawk started to drift back to sleep, Nathaniel bolted up, knocking his hand loose and nearly stopping his damn heart. “Of course! I know the perfect place.”

Wide awake again, Hawk rolled onto his back. “All right. Where?”

“It will take a great deal of work, but we have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“Sounds promising. Care to enlighten me further?”

A grin lit Nathaniel’s face. “Yes. After we fuck again. There’s so much lost time to capture.”

Smoothing his thumb over the divot in Nathaniel’s chin, Hawk laughed. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Indeed you have, Michael.” He straddled Hawk’s hips and pressed kisses to his chest, tongue teasing his nipples and making his cock stir, hands roaming.

His heart soared. “Still can’t figure out what the fuck you’d want with an old pirate like me.”

Nathaniel raised his head. “I want…” He seemed to ponder it, a little furrow between his brows. Then he shrugged. “Everything.”

“Is that all?” He drew Nathaniel’s face up for a slow, fathomless kiss. By God, Hawk—or perhaps even Michael Biddle, resurrected—would give it to him.

Epilogue

Perhaps the day would come when Nathaniel tired of racing along the windward beach each morning as the sun rose, then again in the evening as it swooped back to Earth and beyond. But after three years, that day wasn’t even a flicker on the horizon.

Clad only in his worn, comfortable trousers, he dug his feet into the wet sand. Sweat trickled down his bare chest, his skin now a tanned color he hadn’t imagined possible so long ago in England.

He brushed a stray curl from his eyes and waved to their neighbor Juan, who was emptying crab traps by the shore before night fell. The haul appeared excellent, and Nathaniel looked forward to the soup he and Michael would make with their share.

Juan called, “I’m going to Hispaniola for supplies. Shall I check for a letter at the post office?”

Nathaniel slowed, answering, “Yes, please!”

Juan was originally from Spain and was one of the trusted few who had joined Michael and Nathaniel’s endeavor at creating a peaceful enclave. Some in their motley community were escaped slaves, others colonists disillusioned with England—not to mention France and Spain. Their island accepted newcomers rarely, and only through strict referral.

Nathaniel wondered if Juan would also bring back rumors of the Sea Hawk’s latest exploits liberating rich English ships of their cargo. Whether it was Alan O’Connell or another successor, Nathaniel wasn’t sure, but it comforted him in a way he couldn’t explain.

Giving Juan another wave and running on, Nathaniel thought of Susanna’s careful script. Although words still bedeviled him, he liked to look at them and smell the faint whiff of lavender on the pages.



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