My Seaswept Heart Read Free Page B

for these parts.” A smile played around his
mouth. “Though she has a sharp enough tongue, I wouldn’t be
surprised if it cut the Frenchman to ribbons if they ever cross
paths again.”
    Keena didn’t seem to appreciate his joke and
Deacon sat sober as you please, so Jamie was forced to laugh at the
witticism alone. That is until Polly appeared with a tray full of
ale and bodice that barely contained her straining breasts. She
deposited the tankards on the table, making certain to give each
man his just view, then settled with a squirm onto Jamie’s lap.
    “Now, Polly, ’tisn’t nice to be tempting the
Deacon so,” Jamie said with a laugh.
    “I only give him a peek at what he’s
missin’,” she cooed into his ear. “But ye know, don’t ye, Jamie?”
Her work-rough hand slipped between their bodies and busily stroked
the front of the captain’s breeches.
    “Aye.” Jamie sucked in his breath. “Now,
Polly, all I was wanting was a bit of brew.”
    “Don’t be foolin’ with me, Jamie MacQuaid. Ye
think I can’t feel you all swollen up and stiff as a mainmast?”
    “And whose wouldn’t be, with the most
experienced hands on the island working their wonders.” Jamie
wrapped his fingers about her wrist, bringing those wonders to a
stop.
    “I can do better with my mouth, Jamie,” she
breathed, rubbing her breasts against his hair-roughened chest. The
billowy bodice lost its hold on her flesh and one large, brown
nipple popped out. Polly glanced down, then wet her narrow lips
with her equally narrow tongue. “As you well know.”
    “That I do, Polly. That I do.” He gave her
rump a squeeze as he lifted her off his lap. “Be a good lass,
though, and run along for now.”
    Polly turned back toward Jamie, not bothering
to cover herself. “I’ll be ’round later, Jamie.” She brushed her
breast against Deacon as she strutted away.
    “Spawn of the devil,” Deacon said, his good
eye staring straight ahead.
    “She’s not so bad,” Jamie said, though at the
moment he shared his quartermaster’s distaste for the barmaid.
There was no denying the woman, despite her expertise in the French
way of making love was coarse and dirty. But then he’d never
thought too much about it till now. Till he compared her with the
woman who’d come into the Shark’s Tooth looking for him.
    And he wasn’t about to tell Polly or anyone
else that the ache in his breeches was ignited not by the
experienced barmaid, but by thoughts of that slim, sharp-tongued
wench.
    He was drinking too much. Familiar as he was
with the gradual blurring of his senses—and the dull ache in his
head—Jamie couldn’t think of a good reason to stop. Keena was
matching him tankard for tankard, but the damn African seemed as
sober as when they entered the tavern.
    “I’ve the blood of kings running through my
veins,” he said once when Jamie questioned him about his capacity
for drink. As if that somehow accounted for his sobriety. Jamie
snorted now, remembering the conversation. Keena certainly didn’t
resemble a king when the Lost Cause picked him up off the
coast of Trinidad. He looked starved and bloody and nearly
drowned.
    “It’s time we leave this den of
iniquity.”
    Jamie peered at Deacon through red-rimmed
eyes. “What’s the hurry? The problem is you need something to
drink.” Jamie slid his own tankard across the table, spilling much
of the contents in the process. Not surprisingly Deacon pushed the
pewter mug back.
    “Deacon is right, Captain. We should return
to the ship.”
    “Who in the hell was in charge here?” Jamie
stared from one to the other. In the part of his mind that still
functioned, he knew his companions were right. But he didn’t feel
like leaving. Something had sabotaged the high mood he was in when
he entered the harbor at New Providence, his vessel’s hold full to
overflowing with riches. “More like someone,” he mumbled, only to
shake his head when Keena questioned what he said.
    “You two