The Pirate

4

Griffin banged his shin on a small table as he stumbled through the living room in the dark. He cursed softly, trying to remember how it was the lamps turned on and off, then paused for a moment and let his eyes adjust. A sliver of light shone from beneath Merrie's bedroom door.

He knocked softly and when she called out, he opened the door. Merrie looked up at him from her bed, her spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She held the little box that she called a laptop computer, and papers were scattered about her on the coverlet.

She looked so fresh-faced and lovely that desire welled up inside him and he had to fight the impulse to cross the room and pull her into his arms. Lord, he needed a woman right now, and he wanted that woman to be Merrie.

Fighting back his impulses, he forced a smile, an expression that she hesitantly returned. "I am glad to see I am not in the doghouse anymore," he said, strolling into the room to sit on the edge of the bed.

"The doghouse?" she asked.

"You are not angry with me."

"Why would I be angry?" she asked.

He frowned. "In my century, a woman does not like a man to stay but late at night, drinking ale and telling tales with his friends."

"Is that what you were doing?" She sniffed, then crinkled her nose. "Which one of them was wearing the cheap perfume?" she asked dryly.

He ignored her last question in favor of the first. "Not ale. Rum." He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a handful of tiny parasols and plastic flowers. "And a fine drink it was. I brought these for you." He pushed a parasol up and down, still amazed at how they worked. "I don't understand why they are used to hold fruit, but I found them interesting."

Merrie picked up one of the parasols and played with it, smiling. He found his attention captured by her mouth… her soft, moist lips that cried out to be kissed… kissed by him… long and hard.

"Thank you," she said. "That was very thoughtful." She counted the umbrellas. "You drank six of Tank's rum punches?"

He blinked and turned his gaze away from the intimate study of her mouth. "They tasted good and he kept placing them in front of me. It would have been rude to refuse."

Merrie sighed and looked at him with large, green eyes. "I'm sorry that you're so unhappy here," she said softly. "I wish I could help you, but I don't know how. I'm trying my best."

He was struck again by how beautiful she looked. He reached out to smooth the lines of worry from her forehead and a rush of warmth traveled though him, pooling at his core, as he touched her silken skin. "I have a bad temper, that is true, but I don't mean to abuse you with it." Griffin slowly moved his thumb across her lower lip, resisting the temptation to cover her mouth with his. "I am sorry for my harsh words. And I am thankful for what you have done for me, Merrie-girl."

"But you want to go home," she said, her eyes wide.

He sighed and picked up her hand, then wove his fingers through hers, wondering at how tiny and delicate she was. "I have no choice," he said, forcing himself to believe the words. "I must."

She drew a deep breath and he felt her fingers tighten around his. "My friend, Kelsey, stopped by while you were out. She was on her way back to Williamsburg from her symposium."

Griffin snapped his head up, his heart stopping in his chest. "What did she say?"

"The only advice she could offer for now was that we should try to duplicate the conditions of that night. Then maybe we can find the hole in time that you stepped through."

Griffin bit back a curse. "Duplicate a hurricane? Unless you have found a way to change the weather in this century, that sounds nearly impossible."

"Maybe we don't actually need a hurricane," Merrie explained. "Hopefully, any storm will do. Maybe even a good hard rain."

"So we just have to wait for a storm?"

"For now. Until we figure out another way."

Griffin pulled in the reins on his temper. She didn't deserve another of his angry outbursts. He had put her through too much already. "You told your friend, Kelsey, about me?" he asked evenly.

She shook her head. "I just gave her a hypothetical situation. I told her I was thinking of writing a novel. If I'd told her the truth, she would have put me on the first bus to the funny farm."

Griffin opened his mouth to ask just what a "bus" and a "funny farm" were, then realized he was still in the dark about "nooky." He ignored the impulse to investigate further. Instead, he pushed himself off the bed and began to pace the room. He felt her eyes following him. "What time of day did you find me?" he asked.

"Midnight," she replied.

"And what were the conditions?"

"Very weird," she recalled. "The storm was raging outside, and then all of a sudden, it stopped. It became so calm it was frightening."

"And how did you find me?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure, but I remember feeling compelled to go outside. I was just looking around and there you were."

"Where?"

"In the backyard."

He stepped to the bedroom window and pulled back the lace curtain. "Where, precisely?"

"About five yards straight out from the big cedar," she replied. "The water was really high. The waves were almost halfway across the lawn."

Griffin stared out into the dark and considered all she had told him, trying to remember something, anything, about that night. But from the time he'd fallen overboard and hit the water until the time he'd woken up on her sofa, his mind was a blank.

"There is one other thing," Merrie said softly.

"What is that?"

"I-I was thinking that maybe my beach isn't the place this started. Maybe it's just where you ended up."

"I don't understand," Griffin said.

"I called a charter service after I spoke with Kelsey and I've rented a sailboat for a few days. If the weather is good, we can leave tomorrow. I thought we could sail across the Sound, up the Pamlico River and find the spot where you fell in. We might find a clue. It's a long day's sail, so we can moor the boat in Bath and spend the night there, then sail back the next day."

"That is a clever plan, Merrie-girl," he said, turning to her in surprise. "Do you know how to sail?"

"My father and I used to have a little boat when I was a child. And what I don't remember, you can fill in. I don't think sailing has changed that much over the past three hundred years."

For the first time since he'd arrived in this place, he felt a sense of hope. If he could get back within a week, he might be able to salvage his plan to bring Blackbeard down. He would be glad to leave, for there was nothing of interest to him here… except Merrie.

Over the past few days, he'd been surprised at the depth of her spirit and resolve. Though he'd been in a foul mood, she hadn't backed down from him. She didn't run to her bedchamber, weeping at his surly treatment. Nor did she pout for days on end, or send for her mother and her sisters. Instead, she constantly challenged him, forcing him to see this place for what it had to offer.

She was a strong woman, a woman that a man could depend on. And he couldn't deny his feelings for her any longer. He cared about her and her happiness, and he didn't feel at all comfortable about leaving her here alone. But he had a task that he must complete and nothing must stand in his way.

He slowly let the curtain drop and returned to sit on the bed, his back to her. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, then raked his fingers through his hair. "What if I can't get back?" he murmured.

He felt her hand on his shoulder, warm and reassuring, and he closed his eyes, giving in to her gentle touch.

"We'll think about that if and when the time comes," she said.

Griffin turned and looked into Merrie's eyes. As long as he was determined to return, she would support his choice, of that he was certain. His gaze dropped to her mouth again, her lips so lush and ripe. "Why are you alone?" he asked.

She blinked, confusion clouding her expression. "I-I don't understand."

"Why is there no man to protect you? When I leave, you'll have no one. Are you not afraid?"

A winsome smile curved the corners of her mouth. "I don't need someone to protect me, Griffin," she said. "I'm all right on my own."

"But you are well past the age of marriage, and-"

"And where you come from they'd call me a spinster or an old maid, right?"

"A thornback," he added.

"Well, I wouldn't care what they called me."

"Then you prefer to live this way. Alone?"

Her cheeks took on a pink glow and she shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I don't think about it, Griffin. It's not that important to me. The sexual revolution gave me, and all women, choices. I have my career and if I want, I can have a husband, also."

He was going to ask what the sexual revolution was, but decided to return to more pressing matters. "Well, I believe it is important. You must choose a husband. You must not put it off any longer."

"It's not as easy as that," Merrie said. "There are many things to consider."

"What about this Muldoon? He seems like a good man, he is even-tempered and healthy, he owns a large establishment with many patrons. He would make you a fine husband. I could approach this man with an offer if you would like."

"Tank Muldoon and me?" Merrie considered the match for only a moment before she laughed, a warm musical sound that filled the room. "Tank is a very nice man, but he's not my type."

He pressed her hands between his. "He is strong and honest and wealthy and his appearance is not in the least objectionable. I know it is important to a woman to have a man that bathes regularly and has good teeth."

"Let me put it another way. I'm not Tank's type."

"He would be a lucky man to have you."

As would I, Griffin thought. But it could not be, for he and Merrie had been doomed from the start. They came from different lives and places, sharing only this short moment in time before all would be set right.

She pulled her hands from his and idly fussed with the bed linens, tucking them snugly around her. "Griffin, don't worry about me. I'll be fine after you leave. I was fine before you came, wasn't I?"

He nodded then cupped her cheek in his palm, tipping her gaze up to his. "If I lived in your time, I would offer for you."

She covered his fingers with her own. "That would be very noble of you. But I wouldn't want you to offer for me, unless you loved me."

"Many marry without love," he said. He hadn't loved Jane when he'd offered for her. In fact, he had barely known her. Yet over the two years they had been married, they had grown to care for each other. And when he'd lost her, he felt as if his heart had been torn from his body and buried beside her and their baby. Maybe he had loved her, but then, he would never truly be sure.

She had died alone, in their small house in Williamsburg, three days after the fever had taken his infant son- the son he'd never seen or held. And where had he been, but on his way home from London, busy with his duties as captain of the Spiritand gloating over the fine price he had secured for his cargo of Virginia tobacco.

"Griffin?"

He blinked and found her staring at him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Slowly, without speaking, he bent forward and touched his mouth to hers. She didn't pull away or play the coy maiden. Instead, Merrie returned his kiss, parting her lips slightly, inviting him totake more. And when he didn't, she did, touching her tongue to his lower lip, gently tempting, teasing.

What began as a simple gesture of thanks, suddenly vibrated with an overwhelming sensuality. He wanted to feel her mouth beneath his, bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair, then gaze into her passion-clouded eyes.

It took all his strength to draw away. He could not take what she offered, not in this time, not in any time. He had no right, for he could not offer her anything in return. Dropping his hand from her soft cheek, he sucked in a deep draft of air, averting his gaze from the apprehension that colored her deep green eyes.

"I-I'm sorry," she said.

"There is no need to apologize," Griffin replied. "I am the one to be sorry. I acted impulsively, without thought for your feelings, or your honor."

He quickly stood and walked to the bedroom door.

"You don't have to leave," she said.

"I do," he replied. "'Tis nearly midnight. Your friend said that we must try to duplicate what happened. Perhaps it wasn't the weather, but the time or the place. I'm of a mind to wait outside and see."

Merrie sat up straight in bed. "Do you think it will work?"

Griffin shrugged. "We'll not know until we try." He smiled. "Go to sleep, Merrie-girl," he said softly. "And if I am gone when you wake, you will think this has all been a dream."

"I'll never believe it was a dream," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I'll never forget you."

"Nor I you," he said.

Griffin turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving Merrie alone. She would be fine, she had assured him of that fact. Merrie had lived alone for a long time before he had come to her. Still, in a small corner of his soul, he knew he was leaving something rare and precious behind. And if he magically stepped back to his own time on this night, he knew he would always wonder what might have been had he been forced to stay.

He had spoken the truth when he said he would not forget her. He would see her eyes in the sea and her smile in the sun. He would feel her skin when he touched the finest silk and he would smell her perfume every time he brought a flower to his nose.

No, upon his life, he would never forget Merrie.

Meredith flopped back on her pillow and covered her face with her hands. She felt like crying but she wasn't sure why. This man had blown into her life with all the force of a hurricane, and now there was a good chance he'd blow right back out again.

She knew she had to let him go. There was nothing for him here, and he was intent on his plan to avenge his father's death. And yet, she didn't want him to leave. There was something about him, something she felt on such a visceral level, a feeling that she couldn't put into words, something that told her this thing between them was not finished. He was not supposed to leave, not yet.

Meredith fought against the temptation to run out to the beach and try to convince him to stay. But deep down, she knew that would be wrong. She had to let him try, and if nothing happened this night, she would put her feelings aside and continue to help him until he found his way back.

With a groan of frustration, Meredith climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Drawing a deep breath, she pulled back the curtain and looked out into the yard. He stood on the lawn, his form illuminated by the full moon, his hair blowing in the breeze.

He stared out at the water, watching, waiting. A halo of silver light seemed to surround him, gilding his body like some ancient statue of a sea god, lining a shimmering path from his feet out to the horizon. He looked so far away, already lost to her, and she touched her lips with her fingers, hoping to feel the warmth of his mouth still there. But her lips were cold, his touch long gone.

Meredith glanced over at the bedside clock. Her stomach tightened as the numbers changed to 11:57. She let the lace curtain fall from her fingers and numbly walked back to the bed. Shoving all her papers to the floor, she crawled beneath the covers and curled into a tiny ball.

She was frightened, not of what she had been through, but of what the future might be without him. Would she ever feel this powerful attraction for a man again? Or would she be left with her memories of Griffin and her half-finished dreams?

Reaching over, she turned off the bedside lamp and let the darkness envelop her. As she closed her eyes, an image of him flashed in her mind, imprinted on her memory. "Go to sleep," she whispered, rolling over on her back to stare at the ceiling. "What will happen, will happen. If he isn't meant to leave, he won't."

She lay perfectly still for a very long time, listening to the sounds around her and inside her: the waves, her heartbeat, the breeze, her breathing and the silent cry of an abandoned soul. The clock marked each minute and as it did, she was forced to face the fact that he was gone. He'd disappeared from her life as quickly as he'd appeared. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sleep.

Meredith wasn't sure how much time had passed-she'd been afraid to open her eyes and look at the clock. Maybe she'd even drifted off for a few minutes. But slowly, she realized that she wasn't alone anymore. He was here, in the room. She sensed his presence as surely as if the light was on and she was staring at his handsome face.

She heard him approach the bed and for a moment he stood over her, his breathing deep and even. Then she heard him whisper her name. Her heart leaped and she fought the urge to jump up and throw her arms around him in joy. Instead, she keep her eyes closed and her body still.

The bed sank beneath his weight. He moaned softly as he pulled her against him, pressing her backside into his lap and wrapping his arms around her waist. She knew he just needed to be with someone, anyone, right now, but she was thankful he'd chosen her. For the first time, she understood the loneliness he felt, isolated and so far from everything familiar. She'd felt that same loneliness as she watched him on the beach.

Still, though she knew he was in pain, a lazy sense of comfort and satisfaction worked its way through her body. She felt exhausted, yet strangely exhilarated. He was here with her, where he belonged, at least for a little while longer.

When she was certain he slept, Meredith slipped out of his arms and turned on the bedside lamp. The light spilled across his face and she held her breath, waiting for him to open his eyes. But he was deep in slumber, his perfect features tranquil and untroubled.

She turned on her side and faced him, lazily studying every detail of his face. Dark lashes, sinfully long for a man, and flawlessly arched eyebrows, as black as raven's wings, framed his eyes. Taken alone, they would have appeared almost feminine, but amidst the strong cheekbones, the sculpted mouth and the aristocratic nose, they fell into a remarkable masculine balance.

He had changed back into his old clothes before going out to the beach, but he had discarded his waistcoat before crawling into bed with her. His linen shirt gaped open in the front, revealing a wide expanse of smooth chest, dusted with dark hair. She reached out and held her hand close to his skin, close enough to feel the warmth radiating into her fingers, yet not close enough to touch him. Slowly, she skimmed her fingers above the ridges of his muscles, imagining the feel of him, without making contact.

As she explored his body this way, first with her eyes and then with an invisible touch, she marveled at the man who shared her bed… the man who had kissed her earlier… the man who had awakened feelings she never knew she possessed.

She'd had a number of relationships with colleagues on campus, always more intellectual than anything else. But she'd never felt for them what she felt for Griffin. Though she had tried to convince herself she was sexually attracted to these men, when it came right down to consummating the relationship, she couldn't bring herself to go through with it.

In this day and age, her virginity loomed over her like a big scarlet V, a quality that most men felt was more odd than admirable. So maybe she was a little repressed, but all repression aside, she couldn't deny her attraction to Griffin.

He was the opposite of everything she'd thought she wanted in a man-he was a man of action, not introspection. He could be brooding and distant, keeping his emotions locked deep inside. Griffin Rourke was definitely not a sensitive, nineties kind of guy. But she didn't want that. She wanted him-exactly the way he was, with all his simmering arrogance and sensual energy and chauvinistic ideas.

Maybe that was why she felt so at ease around him. In the past, just the thought of making love to a man had caused her paroxysms of nervousness. But Griffin knew nothing about the games that men and women played in today's society. To him, she appeared sophisticated and self-assured, a woman of action, and in his presence, she'd begun to believe as much of herself.

She groaned inwardly. If only that were true. If only she werea woman of action, she might be able to touch him, instead of just holding her hand so near to his body. Or she might have the nerve to kiss him, instead of just staring at his lips. Or she might even make love to him, instead of fantasizing about it.

She watched him for a long time, inhaling the scent of him, committing every detail of Griffin Rourke to her mind, knowing that at any moment, he might be snatched from her life forever.

As her eyes finally drifted shut and she felt herself slip ping toward sleep, she knew that it didn't matter how much time they had left. It would never be enough. And yet, it had to be. For whatever it was-a day, a week, a year-it would have to last her a lifetime.

Rain drummed gently on the roof of the cottage. Griffin stood at the window and stared out at the steel gray sky and the dark water below. The trees in the yard swayed against a fine breeze which blew across the Sound to the mainland. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and deep. With a silent oath, he turned and looked at Merrie. She sat on the sofa, her legs curled beneath her, books spread all about her, perfectly happy to stay inside.

"I have sailed in weather much worse than this," he said. "The wind is perfect for a quick sail up the Pamticoe."

"Pamlico," Merrie corrected distractedly. "And I'm sure you have."

"You would not be in any danger."

She looked up at him with doubtful green eyes. "There is nothing that you can say that will get me out on the water today, so you might as well relax."

"Relax," Griffin muttered. "I cannot relax. I don't understand this preoccupation you have with relaxing. We have been relaxing for three days, waiting for this weather to clear. 'Tis only rain."

After three nights waiting on the beach, waiting for time to swallow him up again, he was anxious to try something new. Their trip to Bath had given him new hope. A visit to where it all began might provide answers to the way back.

"We're in the middle of hurricane season. I'm not going out on the water until the sky is perfectly clear and that's that." She glanced up at him. "Can't you find something better to do than pace the room and curse beneath your breath? Why don't you take a walk?"

"I do not find aimless walking about a relaxing venture," he replied.

"What do you colonials do for fun? You must have something to occupy your leisure time."

"There is fox hunting and cockfighting," Griffin said.

"I meant like a hobby," Meredith said.

"Horse racing, wrestling matches. Sometimes there are parties with dancing and gambling… and drinking, of course."

Meredith frowned. "All right, maybe there isn't much of interest to occupy your time here. We'll just have to find you some new hobbies."

"To what end? What would this pointless activity accomplish? Would it turn me a better profit or make my life easier?"

Merrie blinked, then frowned, a look of consternation crossing her pretty features. "No," she finally said. "But it would give me time to do my own work."

Griffin sighed inwardly at her edgy reply. Would he ever learn to control his impatience? It was his least admirable quality, right behind his stubborn nature. "All right," he relented. "I would agree that during my time here, I could make use of a hobby."

Her smile was worth his capitulation, for it warmed him to the very center of his soul.

"Good," Merrie said. "Now, what did you usually do on a rainy day back in your time?"

He grinned lasciviously. "I can think of only one thing," he teased. "And I would guess things have not changed that much in this century."

"I'm talking about hobbies, here," Merrie said, understanding his meaning immediately. "What would you like to be doing… for fun… I mean, for a hobby?"

Griffin considered the question for a long minute then shook his head. Besides spending a rainy afternoon in bed with a warm and willing woman, the only other thing he could imagine doing was standing on the deck of his own ship, feeling the swell of the sea beneath his feet and the rain on his face, hearing the snap of the sails above his head. He'd been born to captain a ship, to realize the dreams his father had of building a vast shipping empire on the profits from tobacco.

From the time Griffin was a boy, his father had talked as if Griffin's destiny had already been determined. He was an only child, and he and his father had been inseparable, and of one mind. By the time he was ten, he knew every facet of growing tobacco. And he also knew that every crop of tobacco harvested on the Rourke plantation was crucial to realizing the dream.

Finally, after years of planning, the ship was built, and the empire founded. They christened their first ship the Betty, after his mother, and launched the sloop on Griffin's twelfth birthday. And from that day onward, Griffin's life was promised to the sea.

He could still recall with such clarity the look of pride on his father's face as the boat slipped into the water. The Bettywas his father's life, the business of the ship sustaining him after Griffin's mother died.

And then Teach took it all away. The pirate attacked and captured the Betty off the Virginia shore while his father was on board. The brigands stole what cargo they fancied, then scuttled the ship with the rest still in the hold.

"What is the date?" he asked softly, stopping to stare at a strangely silent Ben Gunn.

"September twenty-sixth," Merrie replied.

He stroked the parrot's breast with his finger. "Nearly a year gone by," Griffin murmured. "That is when this tangle began."

"What tangle?"

"Teach and me…and my father." His voice was flat and emotionless. He barely recognized it as his own.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Merrie asked.

Griffin turned away from the parrot and began to pace again, stopping at the window to check the weather once more. "Teach killed him," he finally said. "There is nothing more to tell."

"That's strange," Merrie said.

He turned and stared at her. "And why is that?"

"Even though Blackbeard fashioned a wicked image for himself, he didn't go down in history as a bloodthirsty murderer. We know that sailors on merchant ships were superstitious and they believed him to be the devil himself. But the sources say he managed to capture most of his booty without a fight."

Griffin felt his temper rise. How could she defend such a man? Had the pirate Blackbeard merely become some romantic myth, a colorful hero whose evil deeds had faded with the passage of time? "He murdered my father," Griffin repeated, trying to keep his voice even, "as surely as if he had run him through with his own cutlass."

Merrie drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," Griffin said. "There is nothing more to be said."

"But maybe if you talked about it, you might-"

"No," he repeated. "Talking will not bring back my father, so what is the point to it?"

"All right," Merrie snapped. "We won't talk." She pointed to the place on the floor at her feet. "Sit!" she ordered. "And relax!"

He glared at her through narrowed eyes, then grudgingly did as he was told. She handed him a boating magazine.

"You're making me tense," she said.

He sat on the floor for a moment then sighed and tossed the magazine on the low table in front of him. "You see, I cannot relax. It is not part of my nature."

Merrie placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down. With a frustrated oath, she settled behind him on the couch, pulling him against the cushions, her legs on either side of his shoulders, her bare feet braced along his thighs.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and slowly began to knead the muscles on either side of his neck. Her fingers were strong and warm and he closed his eyes, letting a tightly held breath escape his chest. He'd never been touched by a woman in this manner, but he found the casual contact wonderfully enjoyable.

"You truly are the most impatient man I've ever met," Merrie said.

Griffin smiled. "I inherited that quality from my father. He was never satisfied with tomorrow, or even today. Everything had to be done yesterday. My mother would become so angry with him that she would not speak to him until he would agree to take her for a long carriage ride."

"She sounds like a sensible woman."

"She was." He tipped his head back and sighed contentedly. "My father once owned her and she proved to be so sensible, he had to marry her."

"He owned her?" Merrie asked.

"My father came to the colonies in 1670 when he was twenty years old, straight away from the gallows where he'd been sent for petty theft. And when he arrived, his articles of indenture were auctioned off to the highest bidder. He worked on a tobacco plantation for fifteen years before he was free to start a life of his own."

Merrie's fingers stilled for a moment. "That must have been very difficult for him."

"Don't stop," Griffin murmured.

"What?"

"This thing you are doing with your fingers. Don't stop," he repeated.

Merrie continued to work magic with her fingers, lulling him into a lazy state of languor. He felt like a cat, stretched out in a spot of sunshine, completely content with his lot in life.

"Tell me more," she said.

"By the time he was free, he had learned two things," Griffin continued. "The first was how to raise tobacco and make a profit at it. The second was a deep and abiding hatred of slavery. Instead of owning slaves, he would buy only the articles of redemptioners, those who came to the colonies of their own free will, and after four years of work, he would give them new clothing, a gun and enough money to buy fifty acres of land."

"In 1665, former indentured servants constituted almost half of the membership of Virginia's House of Burgesses," Merrie said.

Griffin twisted around and looked at her in surprise. "I did not know that."

She smiled winsomely and shrugged. "I'm a history professor. I've mentioned that fact in my lectures for years, but it never really meant anything until now. Go on with your story."

"There's not much more to tell. My mother was an orphan from Bristol. As soon as she was of an age, she came to the colonies. My father saw her on the docks that day and fell in love with her, then and there. He bought her papers and she tended his house for five months before he finally convinced her to marry him."

Merrie wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her chin on the top of his head. "That's such a wonderful story," she said. "So romantic."

Griffin smoothed his palms along her arms, enjoying the warmth of her pleasant embrace. How easy it was between them, this gentle friendship that they shared. She seemed to know how to make him happy, how to turn his foul moods fair. He'd never been friends with a woman, especially with a woman he desired.

He had always considered women weaker, less able to handle the stresses of daily life and the concerns of a man's world. But Merrie was equal to a man in every way, strong and determined, independent and stubborn. He felt as if he could talk to her about anything, confide in her about his fears and his doubts, his hopes and his dreams.

"As soon as my father had enough money saved, he sold the plantation," Griffin continued, "and had his first ship built. I remember the day he took me on board. I was twelve years old. He named her the Betty, after my mother, Elizabeth, and he began to sail the coast and the rivers, taking British goods south and bringing tobacco and furs and indigo north to Norfolk for shipment to England. When I turned twenty-one, he gave me a ship of my own and I sailed the route from Norfolk to London."

"That's pretty young for such a responsibility," Merrie said. "At twenty-one, most of my undergraduate male students are more concerned with girls and partying. You were barely a man and you were sailing the ocean."

"I was captain of my own ship," Griffin said. "And I had already crossed the Atlantic more times than many men in my crew. My father put me on board a friend's ship as a cabin boy when I turned thirteen and I worked my way through the ranks. When I was seventeen, I took a year away from the sea for an education. And at eighteen, I served as a lieutenant on a brigantine that sailed between the James River and the Thames."

She slipped her hands beneath the collar of his shirt and brushed her fingers softly along his nape. "You are a very brave man," she said, a tremble audible in her voice.

Merrie's fingers began to work again, but this time, with her touch firm against his bare skin, the contact seemed more intimate. He sank back and closed his eyes. A numbing warmth seeped through his tight muscles, slowly drifting down his torso and awakening a gentle throb of desire at his core. "I am not so brave," he murmured. "But there have been times of late when I wished I was."

"You must be anxious to finish this thing with Teach, so you can get back to your life," she said, her hesitant words clouded with hidden emotion.

Griffin paused before he spoke. He was eager to exact his revenge against the pirate, that much was true. But he hadn't really thought about his life beyond that. Now, as he did, he realized that the future seemed empty, void of the people he loved. His mother had died when he was fourteen. Later, he'd lost Jane and his son. And with his father now gone, he had no one left.

Griffin slowly turned to face her, kneeling between her legs. He grabbed her hands and pressed her fingers between his palms, staring deeply into her wide green eyes. "I cannot stay," he said. "If I could, I would. You must believe this is true."

"I-I wasn't asking you to stay," she said, her gentle voice uncertain.

"You have done so much for me," he said. "I feel that I owe you a great debt."

She tugged her fingers from his grasp. "No, you owe me nothing." Her words were edgy, defensive, as if he'd somehow insulted her.

Griffin placed his hand on her cheek. "You saved my life," he murmured. "And for that I will always be thankful." Her soft skin warmed his hand and heated his blood. She closed her eyes and turned into his touch. Lord, he couldn't help wondering what might come of them if he stayed.

She'd kindled something in him that he'd thought was long dead-buried with Jane-a growing need to share his life with a woman, an undeniable desire to make her his own. "I do owe you more than you will ever know, Merrie-girl."

Griffin bent nearer to her and brushed his lips across hers, relishing the silken touch of her mouth, a caress as soft as the petals of a rose. But he could not stop there, for what began as a simple gesture of gratitude flared into a passion so intense it made his pulse race.

He brought his lips down on hers again, this time demanding a response from her, pressing her back into the couch. A tiny moan escaped her throat and she opened to him and twisted her arms around his neck. He savored the sweet nectar of her mouth, a taste as heady as the finest Madeira, as addictive as Chinese opium. He wanted to stop, yet he couldn't draw away.

He'd never felt such a strong attraction to a woman, an attraction that seemed to overwhelm all common sense and reduce his every thought to the need for physical satisfaction. She used her experience well, drawing him in, making him want her all the more.

In such a short time, Merrie had become his safe harbor, a serene place where he could escape the terrible storms that had racked his existence on this earth. How he wanted to stay here, safe from the wind and the high waves, anchored in the lee of her comforting embrace, lost in the feel of her body beneath him, around him, beside him.

She had offered her body to him by her every wanton action, yet he couldn't help thinking of the other men in her life. Yes, he wanted her, but he wanted his revenge against the pirate even more. And to let her believe otherwise was the mark of a scoundrel, the trait of a blackguard who cared for no one but himself. He would not hurt her as she'd been hurt by men before. Steeling his resolve, he pulled back, inwardly cursing his lack of control when it came to Merrie.

"I am sorry," he murmured, looking down upon her flushed face. "I have taken advantage of your kindness again."

"I-I don't mind," she said, blinking back her surprise at his apology. "I mean, you're not taking advantage. I- I liked it…I mean, your kiss. I wanted you to kiss me. I- I want you."

Griffin quickly got to his feet and stepped away from the couch, putting a reasonable distance between them. "My behavior was unseemly. And for that, I am truly sorry." He rubbed his palms together and forced a smile. "I believe I might take a walk."

She stood and stepped in front of him, blocking his retreat to the door with her body. "I'm not some naive schoolgirl!" she snapped. "I was a willing participant. This is the twentieth century, Griffin, and it takes two to tango. No one," she continued, punctuating her words with a poke to his chest, "and I mean no one kisses me unless I want to be kissed." With that, she turned and stalked to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Griffin frowned, completely confused by her outburst. He drew a deep breath, trying to still his thudding heart and the urge to follow her. Damn, she was inviting his touch, craving his advances! He knew of her low moral character, yet he couldn't bring himself to take advantage. What kind of man had he become that he couldn't make love to a woman with Merrie's beauty and obvious passions?

He glanced over at Ben Gunn who sat silently on his perch, watching him with a suspicious, unblinking eye. "I believe I have put myself in the doghouse again," he said to the gray parrot.

"Have a care," Ben said.

"Fine advice," Griffin replied. He shifted on his feet, wincing at the blatant proof of his arousal and willing himself to relax. "Perhaps a walk would be just the thing right now."