He’d dumped her, so she’d taken his place in the Caribbean. She had more ballocks than most men of his acquaintance did. She’d become a pirate, taken over his territory, and had even fired upon him. Mon Dieu, she had more layers than he’d previously credited her with. For the first time he questioned his actions of that fated night.
Deciding to peel back some of those layers she’d revealed, he leaned back against the door while crossing his arms as well as ankles. “Well, I’m back now, mon amour, so the Caribbean is mine once more, as well as the Sargasso.”
Her head snapped up. “You have no right. That was my father’s sea, and I inherited it.”
First layer stripped away.
He straightened from the door, returned to perusing her navigation tools upon the desk while lying with only a twinge of compunction, “And I am your husband, which makes me in charge of all your holdings and belongings. Women, and wives especially, have no rights, remember, ma belle?”
Fury, fast, wild and primitive, flashed across her face, ripped a guttural shriek from her throat. He stepped back, held his breath in awe of the raw passion distorting her features. Her blind gaze dropped to her pistol, she grappled with it at her belt before pulling it free and raising it. He drew his with ease, pointing it in the center of her forehead.
Their gazes locked over the barrels, held. Hammers clicked, paused. Time spun out. He remained calm under her savage glare. That fact alone puzzled him. He normally granted no quarter to upstarts, even feminine ones.
A knock came at the door. Her stare skittered over his shoulder, than back to him.
“Captain? Sophie? Everything alright?”
It was Limey; blast his interfering soul. Andre jumped into the silence.
“If he comes in here, he’ll try to rescue you, Sophie, and I’ll be forced to fire on him. Do you want that to happen?” He held his breath. Could he even shoot Sophie’s first mate? Or her, for that matter? He hoped to God he wouldn’t be put to the test as he kept his gun trained on the spitfire.
He saw the instant she surrendered, releasing the hammer and dropping her pistol to her side. She drew a shaking breath and called out in a quavering voice, “I’m fine, Limey. Thank you.”
Silence, punctuated by their harsh breathing, filled the cabin as Andre held out his free hand for her pistol and wiggled his fingers to emphasize his command. She handed it over, shoulders slumping. He shoved both pistols through his belt, turned and wiped a surprisingly unsteady hand down his face at the close call.
Available now, through Amazon and Literary Wanderlust Publishing.