Siren Island: Shipwrecked (An Erotic Adventure Series) Read Free

eyes.
    He smiled crookedly. “Aw now, come on.”
    “I hate you!”
    “Not five minutes ago. You were lovin’ everything I was doing to you.”
    I staggered to my feet, leaves and twigs clinging to my dress. “Never speak to me again, Mr. Carlyle.” I stomped towards the beach to find my chaperone, who had failed me today on several levels.
    Pricilla and I sat in the shade with the other women while the men gathered coconuts and strange looking island fruit. Jack had wandered off to search for a water source. I hope he drowns in it. Feeling worthless and bored, I cut away palm fronds from a nearby tree with a knife a sailor had given me. Georgette Lumley, a young, plain looking woman with curly brown hair, and I weaved the fronds together. A crude shelter had been erected, with bits and pieces of ship wreckage. Blonde and able, Constance Pickering had found a crate filled with bolts of fabric. After prying it open, we had taken the cloth and draped it over anything that stood still, in a bid to dry out the material. The men would be pleased to know that bottles of wine had also washed ashore, the corks still firmly in place. In addition to the usable items, dead bodies also appeared, bloated, eaten by fish and decomposing. We had to figure out what we were going to do with them…and soon.
    I pondered the loss of my virginity. There had been wetness and blood between my thighs. I refused to mention what had happened to Pricilla. It was something I had to keep to myself. I felt shame when I thought of my reactions and how I should have fought harder against my attacker. Jack Carlyle was a horrible man to be avoided at all cost.
    That evening, as we sat around the fire, I gazed at the man who had so brutally deflowered me. He seemed to relish being shipwrecked, the smile never leaving his face. His glossy brown hair blew in his forehead. He was handsome, to be sure, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His slightly crooked nose had been broken a time or two. A scar blemished his forehead; the offending mark appeared to have happened recently because the outlines were still pink. I would never admit it, but he had fascinated me from the first moment I’d set eyes on him. Samuel had warned me about his dastardly brother, reporting his faults in vague detail. After the fight with Samuel aboard The Lady Jane , he disappeared, preferring to drink and gamble with the crew rather than mingle with the passengers. I hadn’t seen him for weeks until this morning.
    You liked what he did to you. Admit it, Lucy.
    No!
    The men had buried the corpses in shallow pits yards away. Water had been stored in empty wine bottles, and someone had caught fish, which were gutted and grilled. We had eaten surprisingly well, and the wine flowed freely. My hair was loose and tangled around me. It was usually done up with pins and combs, which gave me a cracking headache. What had happened to my maid? The poor thing more than likely perished in the ocean.
    We arranged ourselves on the sleeping platform, with the women on one end and the men on the other. I was near the edge, next to Pricilla. The reverend slept already, his robust snoring filling the air.
    “Scoot on over, little lady.”
    “What?” Jack stared at me, the moon hanging over his head, like a wicked halo.
    “I’m gettin’ in.”
    “You most certainly are not, Mr. Carlyle,” objected Pricilla. “The men are on the end.”
    “Somebody’s gotta cover each side, Miss Mayfair.”
    “That’s bologna!”
    “Call it what you will.” He slid next to me; his arm went around my midsection.
    “I strongly object to this, Mr. Carlyle.”
    “Object all you want. Just do it quietly. I gotta sleep.”
    “Ouf! You rascal. Trade places with me, Lucy. Right now. I’ll sleep next to the blackguard.”
    I didn’t mind the proximity to Jack, even though he had behaved deplorably in the jungle today. “It’s all right, Pricilla. Let’s go to sleep. We’ll make our own accommodations