A Captive of Chance Read online

  Assuming the door would of course be barred, he sheathed his bloodstained cutlass, took a step back and with one powerful kick, opened the door. He was genuinely surprised to find the cabin empty. So the little dove had found herself a hiding place, he thought. He could not help admiring such bravery. There were not many a female who would venture away from the safety of their cabin during a pirate attack.

  He strolled to the bed and picked up a silk nightgown that had been discarded in haste. Raising the soft fabric to his face, he inhaled. Jasmine. Chance smiled. The spicy, floral scent always reminded him of his island home. He now felt an even greater pull to find the brave female who wore such silken pieces of nonsense to bed and adorned herself with spicy, musk scents.

  “There you are,” said Drake as he crowded into the cramped cabin space. “Hold is empty. The merchant crew is tied up, all but the cabin boy who is under strict instructions not to untie them till our ship is past the horizon. He damn near wet his britches when I approached him, so I’m certain my command will be followed to the letter,” smirked Drake.

  “There are two women somewhere on board,” said Chance as he turned to Drake still holding the piece of silk. “Grab Gregor and search. I don’t want the crew finding them before we do.”

  “Understood.” Drake nodded as he went to find his twin brother to help carry out the captain’s orders.

  * * *

  Isabelle was going mad. From their repugnant hiding place, they could hear the pirates as they rummaged and pillaged through the items in the hold. There were several close calls when they almost thought they had been spotted in the dim, dank interior. Finally, the pirates had taken all they wanted and once again, the belly of the ship was cast into deafening, dark silence.

  They had no way of knowing if the merchant crew was dead or alive or if the pirates were still on board. They strained to hear any sounds at all. Not daring to venture forth till they were certain. Just when she could take the wait no longer and was about to pull Marina from their hiding place, there was a shaft of light. Someone was coming back to the hold.

  “Gregor you can’t be serious.”

  “I tell you it’s the only place we haven’t looked on this whole damn ship.”

  Gregor was Drake’s identical twin. The only way to tell them apart was the vicious scar that cut through Gregor’s left eyebrow and ended at the corner of his mouth, pulling it up into a perpetual sneer. While not as close with the captain, he was the ship’s Coxswain, third in command in charge of steering and crew.

  “Well it’s going to be a nasty bit of business dragging them out if it’s true,” grumbled Drake.

  Gregor cast the lamp light over the sides of the ship till he found his quarry. “Hello, my pretties,” he said with his almost gruesome half smile.

  Marina screamed in terror and fainted dead away.

  Isabelle threw her shoulders back and with arrogance she did not feel, ordered, “Take me to your captain.”

  “With pleasure,” said Drake.

  * * *

  Chance looked on with amusement as his two next in commands came onto the upper deck. Gregor had in his arms the dead weight of one woman. With her honey brown locks and obviously trim figure, she was definitely a bonny lass, but it was the other woman who arrested his attention.

  She was struggling in Drake’s strong grasp, dragging her feet every inch of the way. Her raven black hair had come loose from its pins and fell in a thick, wild tangle around her shoulders. Her creamy caramel skin set off her sapphire blue eyes, which were presently throwing daggers in all directions. He ran an assessing glance beyond her shoulders and raised an appreciating eyebrow. Her figure was lush and curvy with generous hips and bosom. His cock swelled at the mere thought of pressing against that obviously luscious bottom as he pushed deep inside her pussy.

  “I claim the black haired spitfire,” growled Chance.

  “Thought you might,” said Drake with a smirk as he thrust Isabelle in his friend’s direction. “Gregor and I will take the pretty, docile one.”

  Like true identical twins, Drake and Gregor shared everything… everything.

  Isabelle sputtered in her anger. How dare they discuss her and Marina as if they were purchasing chattel! “Unhand me,” she ground out to the ferocious looking pirate who now held her tight, matching his intense gaze with one of her own.

  Isabelle had always been told pirates were disgusting, unwashed heathens. So she was unprepared for the clean cut, handsome man who had her in a firm grasp. Sure, his hair was longer than fashionable but with his dark looks and chiseled jaw, she could not imagine he would be turned away from any upper-crust ballroom.

  Admiring her moxy and certain she was the owner of the silken gown he had found in the cabin, Chance asked with an amused smirk, “What is your name, lass?”

  “Not for you to know,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Wench it is!” Chance said with humor.

  Affronted at being referred to in such low terms, Isabelle straightened her shoulders and belted out, “My name is Esmerelda Leonor Isabelle Catalina de Recalde el Rojo and you will be sorry for treating me with such disrespect.”

  “Well, then. In all that,” Chance waved his hand about, “I heard ‘Belle’ so Belle it will be. Belle for beauty. Rather apropos,” murmured Chance. He then leaned in close and whispered against her closed lips as he still kept her eyes locked in a steady gaze, “And I haven’t begun to disrespect you yet, my Belle.”

  “My father has wealth. He will pay a handsome ransom for my safe return,” Isabelle blurted out, disconcerted by the effect his nearness was having on her senses. He was a bloodthirsty pirate for god’s sake! She shouldn’t be reacting to his touch as if he were a rake wooing her.

  “I have plenty of coin,” responded Chance. “What I don’t have is a wench to warm my bed.”

  Isabelle sputtered and stuttered her attempt at an angry retort.

  “Your charm has the wench speechless,” laughed Drake.

  “We have tarried long enough. Back to the ship,” said Chance, ignoring Drake’s jibe.

  Dragging a very reluctant Isabelle behind him, he reached the side of the merchant ship that was dragged close to his own with grappling hooks. Pointing to the narrow gangplank that was stretched between the ships, he gestured for Isabelle to cross.

  Isabelle looked at the flimsy piece of wood and backed up as far as his strong grasp on her upper arm would allow. “You’re mad if you think I’m stepping one foot on that, diablos no!” she said with a wild gesture in the vicinity of the gangplank.

  “Very well. Have it your way,” said Chance. With his free arm, he began to unbuckle his thick leather belt.

  Isabelle was horrified. Did he mean to take her virtue here and now on the bloody deck among the wounded and dead? Good god! She had never fainted in her life, but at this very moment, she felt stars burst before her eyes as a wave of dizzying fear enveloped her.

  Chance removed his belt and wrapped it securely around her small waist. Using the belt to anchor a firm grip on her at her lower back, he released Isabelle’s arm and grabbed a rope that was swinging from the rigging.

  “Hold on to me if you want to live, mon petit trésor,” he said with a cavalier smile as he kicked off from the side of the ship.

  Terrorized, Isabelle looked down as she swished through the air, seeing nothing but the churning dark sea beneath her. Before she could even take a breath to scream, the outrageous pirate was already alighting on the deck of his ship.

  Gregor deftly crossed the gangplank with his hold still firm around Marina’s still unconscious form.

  Chance looked down at the woman in his arms. She looked slightly pale but still full of spirit and fire. Damn she was going to be good sport for him, he thought with a smile.

  “Welcome to Fortune’s Fate, Belle. My ship,” announced Chance with no small amount of pride.

  Isabelle succumbed to a fit of hysterical laugher before finally giving in
to the blessed oblivion of a faint. Her last thought was how much she hated the word “fate”.

  * * *

  Isabelle came to sometime later in unfamiliar surroundings. It took her clouded mind a moment to remember the pirate attack and her current predicament.

  As soon as clarity returned, she tried to sit up in a rush, only to realize she was tied down to a large bed. Her arms were raised above her head and secured to the headboard. Even more startling was the realization that her dress was missing. She was clad in her corset and pantalettes, but nothing more.

  “I see you have returned to us,” said an amused voice as it entered the room.

  “Untie me!” she demanded.

  “Tsk, tsk. Such manners,” scoffed Chance.

  “Where is my dress?” asked an incensed Isabelle.

  “Well, my Belle,” said Chance in a conversational tone as he sat on the edge of the bed as if they were chatting over tea. “While you are as beautiful as a rose, you did not smell like one after your time in the bilge. The worst of it being on your gown, so being an obliging gentleman, I removed it.”

  Isabelle yanked on her arms as she yelled, “You scoundrel! Return my things immediately. Quiero mi ropa!”

  A hardness crept into Chance’s eyes. “I see my rose has thorns. You had better be careful. I assure you I won’t be the one to get… pricked.”

  At that moment, there was a discreet knock on the cabin door.

  “Enter,” called out Chance, still keeping his intense gaze on his captive.

  Two cabin boys entered with a large copper tub. “We have your tub and hot water, Captain.”

  “Excellent.”

  There was silence in the room as the cabin boys traipsed in with bucket after bucket of hot water. Finally, they left and she was once again alone with the handsome but very dangerous pirate captain.

  “If you promise to behave, I will untie you.”

  “I promise,” Isabelle said quickly, too quickly.

  No sooner had Chance released her bonds, then she flew off the bed and across the room, desperately searching for a weapon to grab. Luckily there was a small dagger resting on this desk top. Isabelle held it in front of her with both fists.

  “You stay back,” she warned.

  “You disappoint me,” said Chance with a sigh. “Now I shall have to punish you for your disobedience. I was hoping my first view of your delectable ass would have been under more amiable circumstances after we had come to an understanding, but so be it.”

  Isabelle let out a nervous laugh. “You are mad if you think you will be seeing my… my bottom or any other part of my body.” She refused to say the word ass.

  “We’ll see,” said Chance calmly as Isabelle watched him slowly undo his belt for the second time that day.

  “Stay back,” she warned as he took a step closer. Isabelle waved the dagger in front of her as she tried to think of a plan. It was to no avail.

  Chance flipped the leather tongue end of the belt in her direction, effortlessly whipping it around both her wrists. With a sharp tug, she was flung against his chest, the dagger falling uselessly to the floor.

  Releasing his belt, he secured both her wrists with one hand. “And now to your punishment.”

  Isabelle struggled as he dragged her across the room to a small wooden stool. Sitting down, Chance pulled her squirming body over his lap. Isabelle screeched and cursed.

  “I must say I am impressed,” commented an amused Chance. “I had no idea a lady of your caliber knew such low language.”

  Ignoring her further outbursts, he gripped the edge of her almost sheer, white pantalettes and pulled downward, exposing her creamy, caramel skin. Running an appreciative hand over the exposed curve of her bottom, Chance said, “Luscious. Just as I thought it would be.”

  Bending the thick, leather belt in half, he pushed one strong forearm down between her shoulder blades to keep her steady. Raising his arm, he brought the belt down sharply across both her bottom cheeks.

  Isabelle was so startled from the impact, it didn’t even hurt, at first. Then a sharp, stinging pain spread across her backside. Before she could fully register the pain, the strap fell a second time.

  Chance watched as her beautiful ass jiggled slightly from the impact of his leather belt before blossoming into a pretty pink blush with just the faintest red outline from the belt. He directed the next two blows to the tops of her thighs and the sensitive skin just below the curve of her bottom.

  Isabelle fisted her hands as she tried not to cry out and beg the scoundrel to stop. She had never been physically punished in her life. She was completely unprepared for the humiliating heated pain. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, the skin becoming more sensitive and swollen with each blow. Throwing pride and principle aside, she begged.

  “Please stop. I can’t take any more. Please,” she cried.

  Chance gave her two more straps across the center of her bottom for good measure before putting the belt aside. Once again, he ran his hand over her smooth ass, appreciating the heat rising from her pinkened skin.

  The throbbing pain made his touch feel all the more invasive to Isabelle. Not realizing he had set the belt aside, she pleaded once more, “Please don’t punish me anymore. I’ll behave.”

  Covering her bottom once more with her pantalettes, Chance set her on her feet before rising to his full height. His over six-foot frame dwarfing her tiny but curvy five-foot-three. Grabbing her by the chin, he warned, “See that you do, or you will get my belt again.”

  Isabelle reluctantly nodded. Satisfied, Chance took a step back before issuing his next command. “Now undress me.”

  Isabelle just stood there in shocked silence, certain that the pounding in her ears from her head being topsy-turvy when she was over his lap had affected her hearing.

  “Belle, my bath is getting cold,” said Chance in a warning tone.

  Isabelle swallowed as she took a tentative step towards him, grimacing as the movement sent a fresh wave of soreness to her still hurting bottom. Raising hesitant hands, she worked the top buttons of his shirt. The fabric opened to reveal heavily muscled deeply tanned skin. She was surprised to see only a small amount of dark chest hair. In some strange way she would have assumed a man as beastly as him would have a thick mat of animal-like hair under his clothes. Next, she thought she would be searching for horns and a tail!

  When all five buttons were released, she paused not knowing what to do. The linen shirt needed to be pulled over his head, and he was far too tall for her to accomplish the task on her own.

  “Let me help you.” His husky voice broke the silence and startled her. In trying to suppress her unwanted reaction to his nearness, Isabelle had focused so hard on the sculpted chest before her that she forgot the man attached to it.

  Chance pulled the scrap of linen over his head and tossed it aside, carefully watching his little captive’s reaction. Taking in her sudden gasp of breath, her slightly open lips and focused eyes, he knew she was not immune to him.

  “Now the britches,” he ordered in a low voice.

  Isabelle glanced down to the buttons fastening his britches closed and quickly looked away. Her cheeks flushed a deep red that would have rivaled her punished bottom. Clearly outlined against his britches was the evidence of his very aroused state.

  “I… um… I,” she stammered, instinctively licking her lips.

  Chance focused on those glistening pink lips and almost abandoned his much needed bath. Reining in his self-control, he grabbed her hands and placed them on the fall front. “Unbutton my britches, Belle.”

  With shaking fingers, she did as he commanded. It took several tries just to get a grip on the first button. After several tense moments, the buttons slowly came loose and with each one, more skin was exposed. When the flap finally fell open, Isabelle was shocked to her innocent core. He wore no unmentionables beneath his britches!

  She took a startled step back. Chance’s hand whipped out to place a strong
grip on her wrist, preventing any further retreat. Locking his amused gaze with her alarmed one, he slowly pushed the flap completely open and let the britches drop to his bare feet.

  Isabelle knew she should avert her gaze but she could not look away. It was almost menacing in its length and girth. Having occasionally gotten a peek at a man’s member on the local island boys after they had been bathing in the ocean, Isabelle thought she knew what to expect. She was not prepared for his.

  Lost in her observation of his surging member, Isabelle gave a start at the sound of his voice.

  “As much as I would love to stand here as you appreciate my cock, ma petite, my bath is getting cold,” chuckled Chance.

  Isabelle turned her back on him in a huff, placing her hands against her burning cheeks in an effort to cool them. She could hear the soft swish of water as he stepped into the large copper tub. Gritting her teeth at his pleasurable moan the moment the soothing hot water hit his skin, that tan skin covering his heavily muscled body. Stop it, she silently scolded herself.

  Crossing the cabin to get away from his intimidating presence, she was once again arrested at the sound of his voice.

  “Not one more step, Belle.” His casual tone hid the threat under his words.

  Isabelle reluctantly turned to face him.

  Holding up a large sea sponge, he ordered, “Be a love and wash my back.”

  When she hesitated, he added, “I could always just drag you into the tub with me, and you could use your hands to wash my body.”

  Isabelle flew to the side of the tub, grabbing the sponge out of his hand, ignoring his burst of satisfied laughter. Dipping the sponge into the warm soapy water, she began to scrub his back, hard.

  “Ah, it’s so nice to have the…” he broke off with a grimace as a particularly harsh swipe reddened his shoulder blade, “the soft touch of a woman,” he finished sardonically.

  Disregarding his mocking comment, Isabelle continued to harshly scrub his back, very careful to hold the sponge so that the skin of her hand would never brush his own warm skin. Leaning back on her knees, she bit her lip as she surveyed her handiwork. His back was a deep pink and had more than one scratch from the brittle edge of the sponge.