Free Romancing the Pirate by Michelle Beattie Page A

them a might bit better than you have me,” she answered, her gaze never moving from his.
    “You ungrateful wench,” he grated between his teeth.
    Before she could stop herself, her hand flew to his face. In a lightning-quick move he grabbed her wrist and held fast. Alicia was stunned. She’d never hit another person, and she was mortified to have tried now. That it was Blake, the man whose help she was counting on, made her mistake that much graver.
    “Don’t ever raise a hand to me,” he growled, his dark eyes flashing.
    She knew she should apologize but his self-righteous attitude infuriated her. He’d assumed the worst, and rather than ask her what was going on, he’d insulted her.
    “Then don’t be attacking my character. I am well aware of your terms and I did not break any of them. It was he who came to me.”
    Blake dropped her arm.
    “Yet you didn’t step away. Seems to me you were enjoying yourself.”
    “Let me assure you, Mr. Privateer, there has yet to be a moment on this ship that I have enjoyed.” With a final cutting glance, she swept past him and went below.
    In his cabin, she cursed him as she paced the floor. He was insufferable! He was headstrong, stubborn, and arrogant.
    “I’ll be happy to see the last of you when we reach St. Kitts,” she muttered, slipping into her nightdress.
    Only when she’d changed did the reality of her sleeping arrangements sink through her fury. She stood in the middle of the cabin and gazed around, her eyes landing on the hammock that had been set up since she’d left. For her, no doubt.
    She turned to the bed. It was large and soft-looking and far more inviting. She looked back at the hammock. It was swaying slightly. Oh, no, she thought, setting her teeth. She’d been sick all night and most of the day. She’d suffered Blake’s wrath and his bad temper and had been kept in the cabin because the mighty captain didn’t trust her not to turn his crew into a pack of blubbering idiots. She was exhausted and her eyes felt as though someone had thrown in a handful of sand. The least she deserved was a decent night’s sleep.
    Walking to the bed, she drew back the covers and crawled in, pulling the blankets up to her chin.
    If Blake had such a problem with her,
he
could take the blasted hammock.

Eight
    Blake awoke to three very noticeable realities. One, he wasn’t alone; two, he was very much aroused; and three, if she moved any closer to him, she’d be sure to get a surprise she hadn’t figured on when she’d decided to take his bed. But then, he hadn’t figured on this situation either when he’d come down last night—still unsettled by Nate’s barbs and Vincent’s claim that Blake needed answers—to find Alicia in his bed.
    Hadn’t he gotten Nate to set up a damned hammock to avoid that exact possibility? He hadn’t wanted her in his bed. But he’d been tired and frustrated. He’d already changed the direction of his ship, altered his cabin, and had to endure his friend’s badgering because of her. She was bold, ungrateful, and had dared try to slap him. And then she’d had the nerve to take his bed. Well, he wasn’t about to be put out of his own damn cabin, was he? So, stripping down to his underwear, he’d climbed into bed.
    He knew now it had been a mistake.
    Yet he didn’t move away. Instead, lying on his side with his head braced on a folded arm, he watched her sleep and wondered at the tempest of emotions she brought out in him. Anger, certainly, though he knew that wasn’t rational. What Jacob had done was not her fault, but what she represented was a sore that wouldn’t heal.
    Still, looking at her pale cheeks and soft mouth, he was tempted. He couldn’t explain that either, as his taste in women ran to those that were experienced in pleasing men. None of them lingered in his thoughts the way she did, and unfortunately he couldn’t blame it all on anger. At times like this, he could look at her and wonder.
    His gaze slid