Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 Carol Marinelli (ebook reader computer txt) 📖

Like an ice bucket from the underworld, her father’s ghostly cackles bounced around her head, reminding her that he would always win in the end, even from beyond the grave.

Gasping, though no pleasure lingered, Hel brought the flexed side of her palm down against Drake’s aorta before gut checking him with a one-inch punch to the solar plexus. Remarkably, he remained upright, taking a step back with a grunt, sucking in a breath, eyes squeezing shut, before he cracked open an eye to look at her.

She remained bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard.

Looking up, she caught his open eye.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, Hel’s bangs falling in front of her face, which she knew was a mask of exasperation. She had never been good at hiding her feelings. No amount of practice in front of the mirror could remedy her of the failing.

Then he cracked a one-eyed smile, white teeth flashing, and reached out a hand to her. “Deal?”

Hel stared at the hand offered. It was massive, rope-scarred, marked with faded tattoos, and she couldn’t help herself. Rising to meet his hand with one of hers, the woman who’d grown out of the girl known for making risky wagers with the devil, the woman who had learned to put responsibility above desire, said, “Deal.”

God help her.

CHAPTER FOUR

TRIUMPH WAS TOO small a description for the rush of sensation in his veins. Joy, relief, rage, pride—all of them coalesced into a throbbing new emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn’t closure—that would take bringing his father back, saving his mother from the hard life and exposure that had taken her early from him. But it was close. Close enough that he was tempted to let out a little of the tidal wave.

But he also didn’t respond to threats, not even his own emotional ones, and so none of it escaped.

Once again, he had grasped victory from the jaws of certain defeat. And all he’d had to do to do it was catch a high-voltage current wrapped in moonglow. His plan had hinged on her, that had always been true, but he realized he’d underestimated the power that gave her all the way up to her declaration. The fact that she had a choice had been in his mind the whole time. That she might refuse had never truly crossed it.

He had come this far through relentless self-assuredness, and emerged as the natural leader in every group effort he’d been a part of. He had been irritated by the element of uncertainty she introduced into his endeavor, and yet he’d underestimated it all the same.

Her eyes had steel in them as she’d spoken. She’d been serious. He’d been prepared to break down defenses that were social—they were weak at best. He was an excellent catch and had her disdain for her father on his side. Despite the absurdity of it, he’d never imagined her walls would be of such a deep and personal nature. Nor so irrevocable.

In her gorgeous blue eyes, bright and inviting as the Caribbean Sea, he’d seen her resolution, as binding as his own promise to himself and his mother’s memory. She would not be moved. And in that liquid firmament, his grand plans began to drown. He would return to Calla a failure, just as he’d arrived decades before. The admiral and captain, everything he’d done going down with the ship because in the end, he was just like his father—brought down by the d’Tierrzas.

His offer had been a desperate call to the wind—her simple yes the light of a lighthouse flickering to life on the shore. It had been a risky and near thing, but he’d escaped the gale force just before it tore apart his soul.

So if he’d nearly lost control, nearly let the tide of emotions break free of the dam of his control, it could be understood.

And by the way she’d responded to his kiss, her vow would be forgotten before they even arrived in Calla.

Even accounting for the sucker punch.

He grinned, allowing the expression as his mind raced ahead, plotting and planning his campaign, even as his stomach continued to roll.

The woman had an arm.

But she was naive and as clear as glass when it came to what lovers did.

She was completely ignorant of the rarity of the thing that had sparked between them. It was a feeling even he, as experienced as any respectable sailor, had never had before. And he could use that.

With the heat of their kiss still electric on his tongue and the elation of his success throbbing in his system, he gestured for her to sit, every inch the magnanimous host.

“Would you like anything?” he asked. “The galley is well-stocked. My chef can make virtually anything.”

She must have been feeling the beginning of hunger by now. A body that strong needed regular fuel. And even without the experience of sparring with her, the fact of her strength was impossible to miss when it was muscle tone that gave her body dimension, and, he observed, its hints of curves.

Had she not been the captain of the royal queen’s guard of Cyrano, he imagined she might have had the same willowy slenderness that her mother and aunt had been famous for in their heyday. It had been rare for his mother to speak of the past, but when she did, her best friend, Seraphina d’Tierrza, famous beauty, featured heavily.

Like her mother, Helene was tall and long. Unlike her mother, she had filled out, and incredible strength hummed under the pretty packaging like a high-performance racer.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Anything?”

His grin grew even wider. She doubted him.

He loved it when people doubted him. Their ignorance was his advantage.

“Dragon fruit,” she declared.

Throwing his head back, he laughed, the sound rich and warm and booming. The laugh was his father’s, famous among those who had known him, and just another