A Man to Believe In

“He could have at least worn a shirt!”

Cori McLaughlin smiled at her best friend’s comment. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember the last time Marsha Simpson passed up an opportunity to point out a good-looking man. This time she need not have bothered. Cori had noticed the bare-chested pirate the moment he’d arrived at the Halloween party. But admit that to the colorful jack-o’-lantern standing next to her? Never. In Matchmaker Marsha’s possession, such benign information became downright lethal.

Cori took a sip of her wine punch and watched as the man in question popped a shrimp puff into his mouth. She wondered if he’d chosen his costume to attract attention or to show off his powerful frame. Either way, he couldn’t have made a better choice.
For several minutes now she’d been trying—unsuccessfully—not to stare at him.

Well over six feet, the pirate towered over most of the other guests. His shoulders were broad, his chest enormous and covered with fine dark hair. He was just plain big, she decided. And given that every inch of skin showing was deeply tanned, she guessed that he spent a lot of time outdoors.

A nasty-looking sword hung from a scabbard on the thick belt at his waist, and he wore a pair of skin-tight brown pants that looked exactly like the ones referred to in romance novels as ‘breeches.’ Well-muscled legs, trim waist, flat stomach—he was either a dedicated athlete or an exercise fanatic. Probably both, she decided.

“I’ll say this for the man,” she commented as she tucked a stray hair under the ruffled cap covering most of her strawberry-blond hair. “He knows how to put on a good show.”

“No kidding. It’s like having our very own Conan the Barbarian, right here in Glendale.” Marsha took a gulp of club soda. “What a hunk. I wonder who he is.”

“You didn’t invite him?”

“Unh-unh. That was my husband’s doing. Kevin told me he ran into an old school buddy a few days ago and asked him to come tonight.” Marsha plucked a pretzel from the bowl beside her, then frantically waved it in the direction of the buffet table. “Look, Andrea just spotted him. You’d better get over there fast.”

“And barge in on Andrea when she’s having a
polite conversation with a nice-looking man? I couldn’t do that.”

Marsha raised one eyebrow. “Andrea’s never had a polite conversation with anyone in her life. And the man isn’t nice-looking”—she held up the pretzel as if to emphasize her point—“he’s fabulous.”

Cori scooped a handful of peanuts and dropped them into her mouth one at a time, deciding it would be silly to try to argue that point. The pirate was easily the best-looking man at the party. And he
did
look fabulous in that outfit. What there was of it.

“He’s a hunk, all right,” Cori admitted. “But looks aren’t everything.”

“Alan Phillips is ancient history,” Marsha pronounced with a shake of her dark curls.

Ancient history? Cori thought. Maybe so. But she’d been devastated for months after Alan had walked out on her, and she never wanted to feel that way again.

Marsha continued. “And who’s to say that guy”—she pointed at the pirate—“is like Alan? He could be really nice, but you’ll never know unless you give him a chance. Right?”

Cori nailed her friend with a suspicious look. “If this is another one of your attempts at matchmaking—”

“Hey, I don’t even know the man.”

The innocent expression on Marsha’s face didn’t fool Cori. Marsha subscribed to the old-fashioned notion that if a woman fell in love and got married, all her problems would be solved. Cori couldn’t agree. That same philosophy had backfired on her
mother so many times, she needed both hands to count the number of stepfathers she’d had.

She tossed her empty glass into a trash bucket, then headed for the kitchen. “You want me to make another batch of wine punch?”

Marsha threw up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. I get the message. End of discussion. While you’re doing that, I’ll get things organized for charades.”

Once she’d refilled the punch bowl, Cori rejoined the other guests. She hadn’t been to a masquerade party in years, and she’d forgotten how much fun they could be. The variety of costumes amazed her.

While she hadn’t spent as much time making her costume as the Christmas tree or Big Ben, she’d enjoyed putting her outfit together. And dressing as a tavern maid had been a practical decision, since it made it easier to help Marsha with the food and drinks.

She wore the ruffled sleeves of her blouse off her shoulders, and the rounded neckline dipped low enough in the front to reveal a tiny bit of cleavage. Not used to putting on so much eye makeup, Cori had taken several minutes to outline her blue-green eyes with black liner and brush dark mascara on her long lashes. She’d added a few freckles across the bridge of her nose, and bright red rouge to her cheeks. At the last minute she’d decided to wear a tight black miniskirt. So what if she wasn’t remaining true to her seventeenth-century costume? Her legs were her best feature. Why not show them off every now and then?

“Hey, everyone, listen up. It’s time for charades.”

Marsha’s voice interrupted Cori’s thoughts, and she looked up to see her friend waving her orange arms wide. Her bulky costume cleverly hid the fact that she was eight months pregnant.

“Gentlemen, come up here to find out who your partner will be. Ladies, stay where you are. Your partner will find you.”

Cori watched as the others paired up. Marsha’s wicked sense of humor was in rare form, she noticed with a grin. She looked forward to watching an evangelist and Lolita do their charade.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms circled her waist and pulled her back against a hard body. She turned her head and looked up to find the pirate towering over her, his lips a fraction away from hers.

“I guess we’re a team tonight, wench.” His voice was deep, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “The name’s Jean Laffite. And who might you be?”

Cori yanked his hands apart and managed to slip out of his embrace. “Typhoid Mary, and unless you want me to change you into Captain Hook, keep your hands to yourself.”

The man clicked the heels of his shiny black boots together, clasped his hands behind him, and straightened his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am.” With one smooth step he moved to stand beside her. “Have you played this game before?”

“Sure, lots of times.”

“Good, because I play to win.” His mouth slowly curved into a smile. “And it helps to have an experienced
partner,” he added, his warm breath feathering over her cheek like a lover’s caress.

While the pirate listened to Marsha’s instructions, Cori took a closer look at him. He had a straight nose and firm, sensual lips. His dark hair was almost black, and slightly mussed—from a light breeze or a woman’s fingers? she wondered. Long in the back, it would have curled over his collar if he’d worn a shirt. But he didn’t, and she couldn’t help staring at his muscular chest. With curious reluctance she admitted he was just as impressive up close as he had been from a distance.

“How do I look?”

Cori jerked her head up. Great, now he’d caught her staring at him like a lovesick teenager.

“You look fine,” she replied casually, determined to bluff her way out of it. “I was just noticing your … earring. Such an authentic touch.” She arched her eyebrows and stared up at the gold loop, secretly admiring his nerve for wearing it. Even considering the unisex trend in fashions, she still thought of earrings as a feminine accessory. But then, it didn’t look the least bit feminine on this man.

And there was certainly nothing feminine about the way his gaze traveled to her cleavage.

Cori shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, then back again, purposely inching away from the pirate. His eyes lingered over her peasant blouse so long, she had to wonder if it was more revealing than she’d thought. It hadn’t seemed all that daring when she’d put it on. And it wouldn’t seem like it
now if she had a shorter partner. Or one who didn’t stare so intently. She glanced up at him, annoyed with herself for letting him shake her confidence so easily.

Tilting her head down, she peered up at him out of the corner of her eye. “How do
I
look?” she said, hoping her demure pose would make him feel uncomfortable as well. She saw no reason why he should get away with inspecting her so openly either.

His expression immediately turned mischievous. He folded his arms across his bare chest, then held his chin up with one hand as if he were considering his answer carefully.

“You’re a tempting sight for a sailor who’s been too long at sea.” He let loose with a distinctly piratelike chuckle. “You look absolutely delicious.”

“Oh, brother,” Cori muttered, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “Are you sure you’re wearing a disguise?”

This time he tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

So much for putting him in his place, she thought. She should have known better than to take on a pirate. They’ll say anything. They have no scruples.

“We’re up,” he said, closing his large hand over her smaller one and pulling her forward. She’d been so busy criticizing his behavior, she hadn’t heard Marsha call them to do the first charade.

Reaching into the glass bowl Marsha held up, Cori drew out a card. She read the words silently, rolled her eyes, and handed the card to her partner without looking at him. She took a deep breath and, shaking
her head, contemplated the best way to convey the movie title
Lovers and Other Strangers
.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d told the man she’d played the game many times. And since he played to win, he’d probably like to know that she was usually willing to do almost anything to act out a charade quickly and successfully. Out of the corner of her eye she sneaked a peek at her partner. A nagging voice in the back of her mind warned her to be careful. This time she was paired with a pirate. Could be dangerous.

Cori decided to ignore the voice. What could go wrong with so many people watching? Then, before she knew it, her partner gave a signal to the other guests and the game began.

Damn him! How would they ever win if he didn’t give them a chance to plan their strategy? Gritting her teeth to keep from saying something out loud and disqualifying them, she decided the man wasn’t just competitive, he was bossy. Just what she needed—another man with an overabundant supply of take-charge genes.

He reached for her hand and slowly pulled her closer. He slipped his other hand around her waist and drew her to him. Though she was taller than the average woman, she still came up only to his chin and felt tiny in his arms.

She tipped her head back and drew a quick breath as she gazed up at him. The black patch over one eye made him look every inch the pirate he pretended to be. For a moment she imagined what it would have been like to meet this man centuries before. She’d
read enough to know that pirates raided without conscience, that tavern maids provided more tempting fare than tankards of ale and trenchers of watery stew.