ChapterTwenty-Six
The clock in my living room chimes, filling the room with the baritone rumbling of metal keys clashing in a short melody.Years ago, when Mom was still alive, it sounded light and pretty.Age hasn’t been kind to the old clock, changing its melodic tune to something clunky like a broken music box.But that seems fitting for the state of my life right now.I glance up at its weathered face.It’s after eleven o’clock.I really should get some sleep, but I can’t.I’m not ready to dream about the shadow that lingers above my bed when I close my eyes.I’m not ready to dream abouthim.
I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and curl my legs up onto the couch before my eyes drift back to the book in my hand.Some of my tension melts away as I run my fingers along its stiff edges.Then, I let it take me away.I let the words drag my consciousness somewhere else.It flits away from my couch, away from my home, away from my world, until it hovers over a vast, dark ocean.
Mary Landry stood on the deck of the most feared vessel in the Pacific, the Ocean’s Curse.She wrapped her fingers around the chipped railing, pressing her chest to the wood as she stared down at the blackness of the sea.If she could only reach the pinnace, she could be free.
She pulled a tattered shawl over her shoulders as a cold wind whipped through the night, spraying salty droplets over the bow.Her body trembled when the frigid water began to seep into her nightdress, soaking her bodice.She knew there was no going back now.Even if it meant her death, she had to find a way to escape.
A low groan of creaking wood sounded from behind her.She whipped her body around so quickly that she scarcely kept her footing on the slippery flooring.She squinted her eyes against the darkness as a figure stepped closer.She saw his eyes first.They were bright, as if illuminated by firelight.His eyes were as blue as the sea itself, and seemed deep enough to hold all of its secrets.
She held her breath as he approached, a man whose past was so dark that it gave the ship its name.A man who sparked fear into the hearts of all who had the misfortune of meeting him.The captain of the Ocean’s Curse, Morgan Blackwater.
He stepped closer, until his chest was mere inches from her own.The scent of the ocean seemed to become stronger in his presence.The soft, gray-light moonlight cast shadows over his face, highlighting the hard line of his stubbled jaw.For a moment, Mary wondered how anything so deadly could be so beautiful.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and raspy.It rumbled like waves crashing to shore.“You're not where I left you.”
As he inched closer, Mary pressed her back into the railing until she felt slivers of old wood bite into her skin.
“Locked up in a dark hole?”Despite all the vitriol she pumped into the words, her voice still cracked with fear.“I’m not a woman to be caged, pirate.You cannot keep me prisoner!”
He reached forward, his calloused palm grazing her cheek.His eyes seemed to grow darker, his gaze permeating her very soul.Her legs trembled as a shiver wracked her body.
“Oh, princess,” he dragged out the title as if he was tasting it on his tongue.“Do you truly still wish to pretend you’re my prisoner?
“I am!You’ve taken me hostage with the hope that you can trade me for gold and?—”
“No!”His hands slammed down on the railing, caging her between his arms.“You are my prize.You are my gold.”
I hear his words as if they’re being spoken into my own ears.I feel their power, the emotion swimming through them.My stomach tightens and a rush of warmth floods my cheeks.
Mary flinched when his hand found its way to her hip.She could feel his warmth through the thin cotton of her nightdress, reminding her that she was practically naked in front of this man.She looked down at his hand and traced the tattoos on it with her eyes.
My breath quivers as I exhale heavily, letting my hand slip beneath my nightgown.My fingers snake a path from my knee up to my pussy.My skin heats as my fingers dance over my clit.I imagine Morgan Blackwater’s hands on me as I stand on the bow of theOcean’s Curse.His icy, blue eyes bore into me.His tattooed hands squeeze my waist.
Then, almost as quickly as this flood or arousal began, it cools.I skim back over the pages I’ve just read before tossing the book to the floor.Morgan Blackwater doesn’t have tattoos.His eyes are brown.I wasn’t picturing him at all.I was picturing Gray, his eyes, his hands.I was picturing my stalker.What does that say about me?
“Shit,” I exclaim, scrubbing my palms over my reddened face.Even in my own fantasies, I can’t get away from him.My mind glosses over the details of what’s written and replaces it with him.I shake my head, hoping it will dispel the thoughts of him from it.
Click, click, click.
My eyes rocket to the front door where the metallic clinks of lock tumblers moving have morphed into deafening booms.My breath comes out in ragged pants.My limbs stiffen and twitch.My fingers suddenly feel cold.
Click, click, click.
No one else has a key to my house.I try to think about what could be happening, but I can’t hear myself over the thundering of my heartbeat.It explodes in my ears.Without permission from my brain, my body tumbles from the couch.My knees crash painfully into the floor, shocking me back to my senses.I crawl behind the arm of the couch.Balancing on the balls of my feet, I keep my legs poised to run.
The door squeaks open and clicks shut.I peek around the corner of the couch and my eyes widen.As if my own thoughts had caused him to appear, Gray stands in my living room.He pushes his leather jacket off of his broad shoulders and hangs it on the coat hook by the door.His hands reach into the pockets of his jeans, pulling out car keys and loose change, which he places on a small side table.
I loosen my jaw to stop the ache that’s building in my temples.This asshole is making himself at home.He’s making himself at home, in mygoddamned house.My foot totters beneath me, sending my palms crashing to the floor with a thunk.
I hold my breath as Gray’s head swivels in my direction.Leaning down, he tilts his head to the side until our eyes meet.His lips tip up into a grin, but it’s not the look on his face that has me suddenly gasping for air.The lamplight glints off of something red along his hairline and on the sides of his neck.Blood.There’s blood on him.
My thoughts become staggered, misshapen things.It whips through and tumbles over the possibilities.Is this it?Is this when he hurts me?Is this when he kills me?How can I get away?Where can I go?I dutifully ignore the nagging piece of my brain that says,stay.It cries out,he’ll never hurt you.I know that can’t be true.Men always want to hurt me.They always have.
I stand on shaky legs.They quiver and clench, but don’t move.I’m firmly rooted in place, pinned to the spot by ice-blue eyes.His eyebrows quirk upward, asking me, questioning me, daring me to do something.So I do something.I spin on my heels and run.
The ends of my nightgown flap behind me, bouncing against my heels as I run through the hallway.The flowered wallpaper blurs as I rush by.I stop fast in front of my office door, causing my bare feet to slide painfully against the wooden floor, but I don’t go inside.Instead, I yank the door shut, forcing it to slam so loudly it vibrates against its frame.My feet pad softly down the hall until I reach the cellar door.
