Twice In A Lifetime (2 page)

She yanked the rope from around her body and winced at the pain that sliced her bruised ribs. Climbing to her feet, she marched toward the stairs.

“What in the hell are you doing?” she gritted. He needed to get out of here before Daniel saw him.

Ian turned, dark brows arched in question. Then his blue eyes narrowed, a mocking smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

Her breath caught. Damn, why did he have to look so good? Captain Jack Sparrow had nothing on Ian. He was something to see…
But
…How had he gotten into costume so fast? She had just seen him in jeans on the dock. Is this where he had gone? Had he planned this entire thing?

“Excuse me. Have we met, Miss… ?”

Oh, oh!
Anger surged through her. “Don’t even pull that shit.” She pushed the wig out of her eyes again. “What are you doing here? You're going to get arrested.” She poked his chest with her finger. “You're going to get me fired.”

He stared down at her, the same intimidating, bad-boy look as the first time they’d met. Except this time, she wasn’t intimidated.

“Girl, it looks as if you've already been fired. From the cannon.” The men around them laughed.

“Funny.” She glared at him. Her lungs burned, and her head hurt like hell. The whole damn ship pitched, though the ocean was calm. More than she could say for her stomach. She really needed to sit before she fell.

No, what she really needed was for Ian to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. But that wouldn’t happen. She had been wrong. And he would never let her forget it.

“Look, Ian—”

“How do you know my name?” The crooked smile slid from his lips, and his gaze narrowed with suspicion.

Really?
Was he honestly going to be this petty? Izzy glared at him. Bad enough the stunt had gone to hell, now her husband pretended he didn’t know her. Well, enough was enough.

“I
should
know your name, wise-ass. I'm your wife.”

Ian eyed the beautiful girl in front of him as, one by one, his men started to guffaw. Either she was injured or addle-minded. Perhaps both. Not to mention she had the mouth of a tavern wench. Wise-ass indeed.

He gave her an indulgent smile. “I think not, Miss. I'm quite sure I would remember getting married.” Most especially to her. God knew his life was chaotic enough without a wife.

She frowned, then paled and grimaced as if in pain. “Whatever. Be that way.” Hurt filled her voice and her eyes. “Where did you get this ship?” She held up her hand before he could speak. “Never mind. Just take me to the dock.”

Sassy and crazy. Land? He hadn’t seen land for a week.

“What dock?” Ian asked. “We're in the middle of the Caribbean.” He swept his hands toward the horizon. “The only thing around us is what remains of your ship.”

She turned in a slow circle, and her dark eyes grew wide, glazed. “Where is everything?”

Her soft voice shook, all her earlier bravado gone. The confused, wary look made his gut clench. Damn the devil, he had no time for this, and he sure as hell did not need another helpless woman to care for. He couldn’t even manage to keep Alicia from being carried off by pirates.

“This can’t be right.” She turned again. “We’re shooting off California.”

“Shooting? Who was shooting? Was the California your ship?” Ian turned to his man. “Did anyone see another ship in the area?”

“No, Sir. Nothing.”

Ian touched her sleeve to draw her attention. “Miss, I don’t know what—” Red oozed from beneath her sodden wig. “You’re bleeding.” He pulled the drenched curls from her head and let them drop to the deck with a splat. “I suggest you lie down. You may use my quarters.”

“I can’t! I have to check with the rest of the crew to make sure they’re all right and try to figure out why the stunt went to hell and—” Her eyes rolled upward, unfocused. “And I’ve to…to…” She lolled forward.

“Easy now.” Ian took her arm, then turned to his second in command. “Was she the only survivor from the wreckage?”

“Aye.”

Ian nodded. That explained a lot. Some hardened seamen could not take losing an entire crew. No
woman
could. Most likely she just lost her family or friends.

“Shall I see to her, Sir?” The lieutenant seemed just a little too eager to help, just a little too interested in her cleavage.

“No. Just take over loading the salvageable cargo. I’ll see to her.” The words came out harsh, but matched the tight anger in his gut. Anger he could not explain and did not want to explore. This woman was injured and a guest on his ship. That made her his responsibility. It was not anger over the image of another man tending to her. Not at all.

“Aye, Captain.”

Ian wrapped an arm around her waist. “Miss, can you walk?”

“Yes.” She leaned into his body as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her gaze never left his face. Something inside him sparked as he stared into her dark eyes, something that scared him more than a fifty foot swell. A feeling, a connection, something more than physical appeal, though that was most assuredly present too.

It was as if his very soul leapt.

“And lieutenant, tell Edwards to boil some of his medicinal tea for the lady,” he ordered, ignoring the unsettling thoughts.

“Ian, I know you're angry, but don't act like you don’t know me.” She clutched his hand and heat sizzled up his arm. “You were right. I was wrong. But now I'm hurt and need your help.” Tears filled her eyes, pricking his conscience.

He patted her hand for reassurance as they walked. “I’ll be glad to assist you.” He smiled. “
Why don’t you tell me your name? Then I’ll know.”

Her shoulders drooped. “Fine. Whatever. Isabella Douglas.”

“Ah, yes.”
My wife
. She had a nasty cut on the head for certain and that could explain her confusion about being married. But that didn't explain how she knew his name.

He led her to the quarter deck and through the door, her wet skirt slapping against his boots as they made their way to the cabin. The cool, dark air of the interior hall surrounded them, and she shivered as they passed the stairwell to the lower deck, her small body pressing closer to his.

White-blond hair stood out in tufts like a bird with ruffled feathers, exotic, her rich, coffee colored eyes peeked at him expectantly. No, they had never met. How could a man ever forget her?

“Ian—” She stumbled and with an impatient growl, he swept her into his arms.

She snuggled to his chest and laid her head on his shoulder, her arms snaking around his neck.

“Ian, do you hate me? Is that why you’re acting this way?” Her soft lips brus
hed his throat as she spoke, warm, silky, sending erotic images through his mind. Slow, wet kisses. Her body slick with sweat beneath his. Her mouth—

Damn the devil, he needed to get away from her. He did not have time for this. He had to find Alicia!

He increased his pace until they reached his door, then nudged it open and carried

her inside. “That's the second time you indicated I might be angry. I don't hate you— even though you called me an ass,” he assured and kicked the door closed. “I have not known you long enough to even dislike you.”

She gasped and struggled in his embrace. “Damn it, we're married.”

He tightened his grip. “Stop thrashing. You'll further your injury.”

She stilled at his words but looked up at him with a mournful expression. Hell, now he had hurt her feelings.

“Isabella—”

“You only call me that when you're mad.”

He placed her in a chair beside the bed and squatted to stare into her face. “Fine. What do I call you then?” He kept his voice low, hiding the frustration he felt. Maybe it was best to humor her. He didn't have time for feminine h
ysterics. Each moment wasted meant another moment Daniel sailed farther away with Alicia.

“Izzy.” Her eyes were huge, filled with sadness and regret. And pain.

“All right, Izzy. I am not mad. I do not hate you.” He took her trembling hand in his. “I just want to dress your head. Then I want you to rest. Please?”

“Okay.” She gave a weepy smile.

He gave her hand a squeeze and went to dig through his sea chest.

“Here. This will have to suffice for now. It will at least make a proper night-rai
l.” He placed a white shirt on the bed. “Let me find something for bandages.” Turning to the cabinet that held a pitcher and wash basin, he took out a long strip of material and doused one end in rum.

When he turned again
, she was face down on his desk.

“You must sit up so I can attend your wound.”

“Want to sleep.” Her words were muffled against her arm.

“I know. I apologize. Just let me apply this dressing and you can change.” He knelt and inspected the cut. Perhaps a piece of wood caught her, but whatever the culprit, the thick wig prevented serious injury. Winding the strip around her head, he surveyed his work. “There. That should hold.” He stood and splashed a mouthful of rum into a cup. “Drink this. It will help with the pain. Then you should lie down.”

She clutched the drink between shaking hands. “T-thanks.” Her nose wrinkled as she drank. “Jeez, that tastes like rubbing alcohol.”

“It will help.” He accepted the empty mug. “I have some work to see to on deck, but I will check on you later.” He stepped toward the door. “Get some sleep.”

“Wait.” She staggered to her feet and presented her back. “I need help undoing the laces.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Had it been so long since he’d stripped a woman that he forgot about the intricate working of a bodice?

Ian stepped forward, cursing his cock for throbbing to life. She was injured for Christ’s sake, asking for help, not offering her body. Was he so pitifully in need?

He swallowed hard and forced his shaky fingers to move. The silky skin of her back brushed against his knuckles as he parted the dress. Her scent filled his nostrils, intoxicating, erotic.

“There.” He jerked away. “You should be able to manage from there.” He had to

leave. The temptation she presented was too great.

“Thanks.” She peeled the waterlogged dress and chemise free from her slim body and let them fall to the floor as if her nakedness in front of him was common.

Ian forgot to breath. Her breasts were small, but round with tempting pink nipples that begged to be suckled. His heart lurched, his cock hardened, urging him to move a little closer. A pull like he’d never felt. Was this woman a siren? A sea witch?
Damn, he should just leave her to rest. Let one of the crewmen see to her care from here forward.

The hell he would.

“Can you hand me the shirt?” she asked as she peeled cotton drawers from her rounded bottom.

“Um. . .”
He couldn’t move. What she wore under the drawers made his heart stop. A scrap of black lace lay between round, smooth cheeks, a sight that made his ballocks ache. Then she wiggled the lace free. Deuce! His cock lengthened, pressing against the buttons on his breeches. She was smooth everywhere. Smooth and rosy pink and—

“Ian?”

“I, um, yes.” He held the shirt out to her, hanging from the tips of his finger, afraid to move any closer lest he forget she was hurt.

“Thanks.” She tugged the fabric from his grasp and pulled it over her head. The cotton whispered down her curves, settling over her full hips. “Where should I put these wet things?” Her voice was soft, weary.

“I’ll hang the dress in the galley to dry. But those,” he nodded to her undergarments, “you’ll have to hang in here. I don’t think the men need to see them.” Hell, he had not needed to see them. Now he’d have to walk around with a half-mast in his breeches.

She nodded, then gasped and touched her temple. “Later. I— I need to lie down.” The gentle sway of her bottom as she walked to the bed made Ian more desperate to get away. “Could you get me some Advil before you go?”

Her words stopped his trek to the door.

“Why would you want an anvil?” Maybe she was demented.

She closed her eyes on a grimace of pain. “Enough pirate, Ian. My head hurts.”

Rage snapped through him like wind in a crisp sail. “I'm not a pirate. I'm a privateer, commissioned by the British government.” A privateer searching for his sister. Daniel Roberts. Now
he
was a pirate— without a doubt the man who had kidnapped Alicia. Possibly the man who had fired on Izzy's ship.

“Okay. Whatever.” She pinched the skin between her eyes. “Can you just bring me something for pain?”

She looked small and helpless lying in bed. His gut twisted with sympathy, cooling the anger Daniel provoked. Izzy had no blame in the chaos that black-leg had caused.

“I'll have Edwards, our cook, send his son with the brew that will ease you.”

He pulled the blankets over her bare legs, resisting the urge to caress her smooth skin. “After I see to things on deck, I’ll check on you. When you feel better, we’ll talk.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear what you’re going to say.”

He cupped her cheek. “Don’t worry. Rest.”

She closed her eyes, a single tear trailing down her face. What had happened to her? Maybe with some sleep she would come to her senses.

If not… Ian didn't know what he would do with a woman who claimed to be his wife.