Books

Rogue

ONCE YOU HAVE FOUND HER…

Waking up on a ship in the middle of the high seas, Bailey Spencer is shocked to discover she’s being held prisoner by Captain Cole Leighton—a handsome rogue who plans to use her as a pawn in his pursuit of vengeance. In all her life, Bailey has never met a man so seductive. She must escape, but his smoldering gaze and caressing touch are irresistible…

…NEVER LET HER GO

Now that he’s found the missing piece in his plot for revenge, Cole has no intention of setting Bailey free, though he is intrigued by her unassuming beauty and courageous spirit. But, torn between his searing passion for Bailey and his vow for vengeance, Cole may not be capable of putting his precious jewel in danger—or of ever letting her go…

 

Excerpt

Was she dead? Bailey felt as if she was floating, an oddly pleasant sensation that competed with the severe pounding in her head. She opened her eyes, blinking several times to clear her blurry vision. She was lying in a bed, but it wasn't her own. As she glanced around the dimly lit room at her unfamiliar surroundings, recollection came swift and ruthless.

The fire.

The pirate ship.

The voices.

God's mercy! She was on board the pirates' ship.

She sat up, nearly passing out with the quick movement. A red blanket that she had been covered with slipped to her lap and she sucked in her breath.

She was naked! She frantically searched her mind for any trace memory of what had occurred after she had heard the voices. Nothing came to her. She spied her nightdress in a rumpled ball on a chair against the far wall. She tumbled out of bed in her haste, snatching up her wet linen gown. She stared at the ugly stains of mud and blood, a testament to the violent night she had endured. Her hands trembled as she slipped the garment over her head, easing it down her bruised body. The nightdress had been a favorite -- altered from one of Mama's own. Bailey blinked hard and swallowed the emotion hardening in her throat. Now was not the time for tears.

Moving on shaky legs, she made her way to the porthole. It was a double window, large enough for her to fit through, if she could just get the latch to open. She pulled with all her strength, but the brass hinge wouldn't budge. Next, she went to the door, knowing with dreadful certainty that the lock would be secure--she just prayed no one was keeping watch on the other side. The lock held as she jiggled the knob, but at least there didn't seem to be anyone out there.

There was only one option left--she would have to fight her way out.

She began looking around for a weapon. The large room had an elegant, yet masculine feel and seemed infinitely in opposition to the slovenly clutter Bailey would have expected to find in a pirate captain's cabin. She assumed the ship must be the prize of a past attack and the unfortunate captain and his crew were probably buried deep at sea now.

Papers, charts and instruments scattered the top of the mahogany desk, along with a worn looking map. She looked at the lettering across the top of the map--Bahamas--and her heart began to race. She flipped the papers around the desk, shuffled through drawers, and checked the small shelf under the bowl on the washstand--no blade or weapon of any kind.

Spinning about, she scanned the room, her eyes landing on a large sea chest at the foot of the bunk. She hurried to the chest, ignoring the lovely ivory work and wide brass nameplate bearing the initials CML. Whoever CML was, she prayed he had a weapon in this trunk.

Clothes, a patchwork quilt, books and three bottles of some kind of liquor were the only contents. With a groan of distress, Bailey dropped the heavy lid and backed away from the trunk. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears, but she refused to give in to them. She turned and caught sight of herself in the mirror above the washstand. Her face was a mass of bruises, purple and black, her lip swollen on one side, the gash at her neck red and caked with dried blood. Her shoulders bore small round finger-mark bruises and her body ached deeply from the beating she had sustained at the hands of the murderous brigand.

No more, she thought. He had done his worst. He had killed her family.

"And he may kill me as well, but he will have no more of me," she whispered to herself. She worked to free the mirror from the pins that held it in place on both sides of the washstand.

Soon she heard voices above, some shouting orders to get underway, others in answer, and some she couldn't make out at all. Her nerves seemed to stretch to their limit as she waited, breathless for what seemed an eternity. All too soon, the sound of boot steps on the wood planks of the deck echoed down to her. Determined in gait, bold and purposeful, they fell with a cocksure stride. No doubt, those footsteps belonged to the pirates' leader.

Her attacker was back. With a last frantic pull, the mirror came loose. She plucked a crisp white square of cotton from a brass rod on the washstand and wrapped it around the mirror, then dashed the glass to the floor. She retrieved the largest, sharpest piece and wrapped another of the fine towels around one end like a makeshift handle. She dragged a chair to the corner behind the door, figuring she would have only a second or two before the pirate realized she was hiding.

Minutes dragged by, yet she remained poised on the chair clutching the mirror with white knuckles, waiting . . . waiting. Dawn was just breaking and she could see through the foggy rain-streaked porthole that they had left the cove. The ship rocked and dipped against a building storm as they moved out to deeper water.

There would be no turning back now. Whatever happened to her, she was stuck on this pirate ship with very little possibility of escape. Her only consolation was in her determination that the pirate would not escape, either. She would see to it.

But that did not keep her heart from leaping into her throat when finally, the heavy footsteps got increasingly louder against the wood planks as the pirate neared. She eased herself up to crouch on the chair. She raised the jagged blade in her trembling hand as the door opened, blocking her from her enemy's view for a few precious seconds.

She held her breath and watched through the narrow crack between the door and jamb as the pirate ducked his tall form under the doorframe. He hooked his booted toe around the bottom of the oak panel and pushed it closed. As he started to shrug out of his wet oilskin coat, she saw her chance.

Bailey hurled herself from the chair with a strength born of desperation, her torn hemline wrapping around her legs as she flew through the air. The ship responded to the wind's raging whims by shifting violently, throwing Bailey off balance just as she pushed up from the chair. The weapon she had hoped to slash the pirate's throat with missed that vital mark, instead cutting a long gash down her enemy's rain-soaked arm as he turned. Her powerful forward momentum caused her to fall painfully on the oak decking and tumble into the table, but she held fast to the bloodied shard of mirror for all her life.

"What the --?" he bellowed.

A mug he had held landed with a loud crack, spilling steaming black liquid across the floor. He spared no time to check his wound, but threw himself at her with a curse, slipping in the spilled coffee and landing with a loud crack on his forearms.

With the power of fear rushing through her veins, Bailey jumped to her feet. Ignoring the pain, she reached the door with lightning speed. Her sweaty hand slipped off the handle once, then again, and she glanced back to see his look of fury as he growled and tossed a chair across the cabin, out of his path. She screamed and whirled around to stab at his dark, angry face, but he leapt back and she heard the loud whoosh of the sharp weapon mere inches from his jaw.

"Give me that damn --"

He was interrupted as the ship lurched again and he bumped against another overturned chair behind him. He fell backwards over the obstacle, giving Bailey the time she needed to fling the door open and run. She fled down the passageway, half blinded by tears, half by fear.

Sweet Mary, what had made her think she could kill this pirate devil? She tripped up the ladder steps on her torn hem and slid back down, crying out as she bumped her shins. Daring to turn around, she could see he had regained his feet and was closing the space between them. Bailey yanked the linen up to her thighs, vaulted up the steps and raced onto the rain-slicked deck.

"Stop, you little hellion!"

He was catching up with her. She darted past a hulking bearded man, oblivious to his stunned expression as she flew across the deck. But the rain had made the deck too slippery. Bailey lost her footing, fell to her knees and slid several feet before grabbing at a line and pulling herself up.

She was at the railing in seconds, her lungs burning for air. Tears stung her eyes as her courage was swallowed up in the mix of rain and sea spray. She prayed for the strength to climb up and jump out of this hell. She was a strong swimmer. She would stand a chance in the ocean, but God help her, she would not survive another beating at the hands of this blackguard.

Throwing one bare leg over the railing, she heaved herself upward. A steel grip fastened around her middle. She was yanked off the polished wood with so much force, she fell into the beast and they both landed on the deck, face up, Bailey on top of her enemy's hard, wet body.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

She struggled like a wild animal, then rolled over his injured arm. He cursed roundly while grabbing her by the back of her nightdress. She felt the wet material give as she struggled to get away. Just as his other hand reached up for her arm, the old linen began to split, slipping off her shoulder as she gained her footing and ran. Rain stung her face and blurred the figures of several sailors who had gathered on the deck to gape.

"Gadso! We've a real live sea-nymph on board, boys!" yelled one.

"A demoness!" cried another. "She's gonna take us to the bottom of the sea!"

Bailey saw the young sailor cross himself out of the corner of her eye as she darted past.

"Get the hell back!" the pirate ordered in a low growl.

It was him! He was gaining on her. Bailey scrambled past the sailors to the railing and started to climb but the pirate was on her in a flash, slamming into her back, knocking her sideways to the ground and then pinning her beneath him.

"Be still, wench!"

"Murderer! Get off me, pirate bastard," she cried, beating her fists against him.

The pirate captured her wrists, holding them in a hard grasp. She thrashed upward, trying to throw his weight from her and felt her head hit the boards of the deck. The hard impact blasted the back of her skull, filling her vision with a wave of darkness. She fought the pull of unconsciousness, struggling against the hopeless feeling that she was about to die.

She felt his weight lift as he straddled her, pinning her arms above her head. Determined to stay conscious, she opened her eyes to stare into the unmasked face of the devil. Water streamed in rivers from thick spikes of dark hair that were plastered to his tanned face. His thick muscled forearms rendered her upper body immobile, but what really kept her still was the deep fury reflected in his cold gray eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" He ground out the words through gritted teeth, his unmasked face inches from hers.

Gray eyes! "You are not . . . him!" She shouted the fact with more than a hint of accusation in her tone while her mind grappled with the sudden unexpected realization. Dear God, this was not the same pirate!

A spark lit in the depths of the man's gaze, but no warmth followed. If anything, the dangerous narrowing of those piercing orbs gave evidence of an even colder, more brittle anger than moments before.

"Who! Who am I not?" His angry command would have been drowned out by the pounding rain and billowing sails if he had not shouted the words so close to her face. His deadly expression told her it would be a mistake to lie to him.

"The . . . the pirate on shore. The one who tried to kill me."

Though not much more than a whisper, she knew he had heard by the way he inclined his head and eyed her with -- what, suspicion? Interest? She did not understand the strange way he was looking at her as if she had sprouted a third eye.

Without a word, he released her arms and leaned back on his knees, his icy glare sliding from her face down her body and back, making her acutely aware of how the damp, torn linen clung to her body. She threw her arms across her breasts and felt a hot flush descend upon her cheeks as she began to struggle underneath his weight.

"I advise you to cease your fighting," he warned, leaning so close she could feel the warmth of his breath tickle her ear. He raised up again and called out to one of his men.

"Bastard! Let go of me!" Bailey tried to keep the trembling from her voice.

The man did not answer, but glared down at her as he shoved wet ebony locks back from his face. He turned his attention to the bearded man who approached them, the man's considerable height emphasized by Bailey's supine position on the deck. As he towered above them, she averted her eyes to inspect the giant's boots as fear spread through her chilled limbs. She held her breath as the giant removed his heavy coat, handing it to the gray-eyed man that he acknowledged simply as Captain.

Taking the garment, the captain dismissed the giant, then turned his dark head to bellow out orders across the deck. The men who had gathered to gawk now scattered like rats. Drawing a ragged breath, Bailey's attention returned to the man who straddled her, his muscular thighs pressed firmly against her cold skin.

"Murderer! You took everything! Why did you bring me here? What do you want now?" Her voice rose with each question, hysteria threatening to break to the surface through her fear.

"You are in no position to ask questions," he said matter-of-factly as he began to rise, scooping her up roughly as he stood. "But you had better be prepared to answer all of mine. And wench, you'd best hope that I am not displeased by what you have to say," he added with menace. His brow lowered with his frown as he captured her chin, lifting it to meet his cold stare.

She stood before him stonily, trying hard to be brave as he reached around her, trapping her within the coat, her arms straight down by her sides. He then picked her up as if she were nothing more than an empty sack and dropped her over his shoulder before moving on long strides in the direction of his quarters.