Free Once a Pirate by Susan Grant

it made sense—why Andrew refused to believe her, why he ignored evidence most would consider overwhelming: the last name on her flight suit and dogtags, her speech and appearance.
    Hatred blinded him.
    Whatever the duke had done had wounded Andrew profoundly.
    In one month, she would have to face the duke herself. If he was a violent man, which she now suspected, he might react in a dangerous, unpredictable way when she informed him that she was bowing out of the marriage.
    Dread unfurled inside her, making sleep impossible.
    Rain hissed against the windows. Wind clattered through the masts and riggings with eerie sounds ranging from low, miserable moans to ear-splitting shrieks. The timbers groaned and creaked as Andrew’s silverware and decanters quivered, adding their delicate accompaniment to the chaotic symphony.
    At dawn the storm intensified. Except for the helmsmen, and the men needed to work the sails, no onewent outside. The swells that washed over the deck could easily sweep a man overboard.
    Trapped indoors over the next five days, Carly learned how excruciatingly confining a small ship could be. She read, and mended her uniform and socks. She exercised by doing crunches, stretches, and by dancing barefoot with an imaginary partner to the music in her head.
    When the gale finally subsided, the men set to work cleaning and repairing the ship while Andrew and Cuddy checked their charts and took readings on the sextant to determine their position. The sun burned off the remaining moisture in the air, and the
Phoenix
coasted over waves soaked in joyous summerlike weather.
    Gulping fresh sea air, Carly reveled in the beauty around her, something she could not recall taking the time to do before. Drugged by spring fever, she used her pocketknife to cut off her sleeves. On the main deck she luxuriated in the simple pleasure of afternoon sunshine on her bare arms, wishing she’d cut her pants into shorts. But when she noticed the sailors gaping at her exposed arms, she nixed the idea.
    The men watched her walk past, their eyes bugging half out of their heads. Even Jonesy, the grizzled helmsman, whistled. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. Her petite bone structure and A-cup bra size had never earned her any second glances, let alone downright wolfish stares.
    Now she felt like Mae West. And liked it, too.
    “What have you
done?”
    Carly whirled toward the fury-filled voice. Andrewwas storming across the deck. Apparently, the rumors of her state of undress had reached him.
    “Return to my quarters,” he bellowed. “I will not allow you to run around half-dressed!”
    She lifted her chin. “No.”
    He reared back in obvious and thoroughly entertaining shock.
    “You’re too late,” she said breezily, folding her bare arms over her chest. “I threw the sleeves overboard. I’m cutting off my pants, next.”
    “You would not dare.”
    “Try me.”
    They exchanged frowns.
    “I’ll make a deal with you, Captain,” she said. “If you let me stay like this, I’ll leave my pants intact.”
    He struggled with his outrage, pointedly keeping his gaze from her arms. “Do I have your word?” he growled finally.
    She raised one hand. “Scout’s honor.”
    He stared blankly at her crossed fingers. Then he gave her a curt nod and marched back to the helm.
    Smiling, she watched him go. The man was a downright sore loser.
    Carly stole away to the quiet stern. Lying on her back, she inhaled the tangy scent of the sea and savored the mellow sunshine warming her skin in contrast to the rough planks beneath her head. It felt good to be alive. Particularly after all that had happened during the past few weeks.
    Look.
    She lifted her arm to study the tiny silver hairs dusted with salt. Beneath, faint blue veins carried her blood.
    Listen.
    She heard her own soft, steady breathing, the windwhistling through the rigging, the swells hammering the sides of the ship.
    Taste.
    She drew her tongue across the hint of