Delicious Tease Day #33: Juliet Burns

Today I'm welcoming my dear friend and Sizzling Pens blog partner, Juliet Burns. She's a talented writer and a truly wonderful person. So comment away on the excerpt below to win a copy of Secrets, Volume 28, Sensual Cravings, and some extra Pirate's Booty.

THE PIRATE’S POSSESSION Blurb:
The feared pirate Merciless MacGowan and Lady Gertrude (Tru) Fitzpatrick both have reasons to flee Britain in September of 1649. Their narrow escape on the high seas is the setting for my Historical erotic romance novella, The Pirate’s Possession in Secrets Vol 28: Sensual Cravings

My pirate is a sexy, green-eyed Scot, Ewan MacGowan, who’s cargo has been confiscated and his letters of marque revoked by Cromwell. He’s no longer a privateer with permission to plunder Spanish and Danish ships, but an outlaw with a price on his head. Ewan is on the run with no money and no way to feed his crew on the high seas. His only hope lies with a plain Irish lady who claims she has buried treasure at her castle in Galway.

Excerpt
The door flew open and there he stood. Merciless MacGowan. The feared pirate.
And the most handsome man Tru had ever beheld.
Captain MacGowan was breathing heavily, his long legs spread wide. From one large hand swung a lantern. In the other, a brass mariner’s quadrant. He wore no waistcoat, nor coat. Blood and soot stained his shirt which lay open at the collar to reveal a swirl of brown hair. The same shade of brown hair fell in thick, tangled strands to his shoulders. His short beard was a slightly lighter shade and enhanced his pale green eyes. Eyes that cut into her as though he wanted to flay her alive.
She scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, smoothed her hair back, then brushed nervous hands down her wrinkled skirt. “I– I must insist that you knock before entering this cabin from now on, sir.” Pride kept her voice steady.
His lip curled and his laugh sounded more like a disbelieving grunt. Hanging the lantern, he strode to the desk and reached behind him for a chart. He unrolled it and placed the quadrant on it, then pulled a log book, quill, and ink from a drawer and began making notations.
Tru cleared her throat. “Sir, I–”
“Wheesht!” He slammed a palm on his desk and looked up, his eyes glittering in irritation. Tru jumped. Her wide-eyed silence assured, he returned his attention to the book. Reading? Writing? Navigation? For a moment, the man seemed more merchant than pirate.
She’d spied him once at court, elegantly dressed, on one knee before Queen Henrietta. A force had burned in him, just beneath the surface. As if he had to restrain a constant urge to attack someone. She’d never forgotten him, and in her girlish fantasies, she pretended he’d named his ship for her: the True.
Shamefully, her vivid fantasy life had nearly always featured the dashing privateer in quite improper scenarios. But, s’truth! His kiss had been more sensual than any of her imaginings.
As she watched him, head bent over his notebook, the arousing sensations she’d felt upon seeing him in the tavern came rushing back. The shortness of breath, the ache in her stomach. The longing that had assailed her when his mouth had swept over hers…
A knock sounded at the door.
“Yer me possession now.” He waved a hand. “Answer the door.”
Possession? He thought he owned her? Terror slammed into her chest. Then, they weren’t headed for Galway? Was she being taken across the sea? How would she help her people now? And what would happen to her? She’d heard of captives walking a plank, or merchant crews left adrift to die of thirst. Tales of women ravaged. Sold into slavery…
Use your brain, Tru. Why would he be wantin’ ta ravage ye, ye silly girl? And what man would pay good money for the likes of ye?
And wouldn’t her mother cringe to hear her even thinking with an Irish lilt? Her wits had gone begging. In the presence of a dangerous pirate, and she was worrying what her mother thought of her…thoughts.
But ‘twas a fact she’d never inspired lust in a man. Unmarried after eight years at court was the proof of that. How oft had her own mother called her plain at best, ugly if she were in a nasty mood? Even her cousin had said bedding her would be a loathsome duty done only to force her into marriage.
“Well, woman? Doona jus’ stand there!”
Tru flinched and hurried to open the door. A boy of about fourteen years carried a tray with a gold goblet and a bottle. And a wet kerchief.
“Evenin’, Miss.” He eyed her up and down, his gaze resting on her bosom. Her cheeks heated as he shoved the tray into her hands and turned to the pirate. “Cap’n, Mr. Tate reports we’re clear of the harbor.”
“Tell him to set the rudder at tharty degrees waest by nor’waest, Henry. And doona knock again.”
The boy grinned and nodded, tugging his cap brim, and shut the door.
Tru stood, holding the tray while Captain MacGowan continued to make notes in his book. Fear tightened her stomach. Had she fled her cousin’s clutches only to be sold into slavery by a cold-blooded pirate? It mattered not. ‘Twas too late to lament her choice. She would honor her Da’s last wishes. His cryptic note could only be interpreted one way. She must get home to Baile an Chláir and give her people the means to be free from Reginald’s tyranny. And she was determined to see it done. Whatever the price.
She delicately cleared her throat. “Are you taking me to Ireland, sir?”
“Bolt the door,” he ordered without looking up.
Her body began to quiver and her lungs couldn’t take in air. Her palms dampened. Was this her last day on earth? Don’t go borrowin’ trouble girl, she heard Da’s voice advise.
Straightening her spine, she lodged the tray on her hip and slid the bolt home, feeling the heavy wood lock her fate.
The pirate began rolling up the chart and clearing the desk. “Set the tray here and pour me a dram.” Slipping the map into its slot, he stood and watched her, hands on hips. Perchance he only planned to keep her as a servant? She trudged to the desk and did as he asked, removing her gloves before pouring. Her hand shook so badly the liquid splashed over the goblet. When she glanced up at him, he was scowling at her, and she noticed a half-moon-shaped scar creasing his left temple and another on his right cheek, slashing across his beard. How many more scars lay beneath his clothes?
Gertrude Fitzpatrick!
“The rag’s fer yer ding.” He gestured to her jaw and tossed the wet kerchief to her.
Tru caught it and held it to her throbbing cheek. The cold relieved the ache and his concern relieved her fear. Still, her heart pounded.
“I doona hit women, or allow me crew ta do so. T’was a misunderstanding.”
She smiled and heaved a deep sigh of relief.
He took up the goblet and drank deeply, studying her person as if estimating her worth. “Take aff yer clothes.”
***
Question of the day: Juliet writes about pirates, but there are a lot of other sexy hero occupations out there in romance today. What kind of heroes (job-wise) appeal most to you?Today’s winner will receive a copy of Secrets, Volume 28. Just comment here for the chance to win.