Her Passionate Pirate

His full lips curved into a slight smile. That, coupled with his black eye patch, made him look every inch the rake he was purported to be. “Is that what you call it?” he asked.

Cora placed her hands on her desk and drew a sense of calm from the cool wood surface. “What would you call it?”

“I’m persistent.” His broad shoulders moved in a casual shrug. “It makes me good at what I do.” He paused. “At everything I do.”

She chose to ignore that. “Then I’m sorry you came all this way, but I meant what I said in my last letter. I don’t have time for you to be digging about in my house this summer. I’ve got two classes to conduct each session, and my three nieces are here for an extended stay. You needn’t have wasted your valuable time making the trip. The answer is still no.”

His chuckle lingered in the warm air. “Very impressive, Professor. No wonder your colleagues have such respect for you.”

She frowned at him. “I’d appreciate it if you’d at least take this seriously.”

“I assure you, I’m very serious,” he retorted. “All I meant was that the professor who deftly stuck me with her class full of young women knows how to play a room.” He tilted his head to study her. “Jerry didn’t prepare me for you.”

“Jerry.” Inwardly she groaned. Jerry Heath was her department head. He was notorious for stirring up trouble. “You went over my head on this?”

He held up a hand. “It wasn’t like that. I’ve known Jerry professionally for some time. He lent his expertise to a research project for me several years ago. When you denied my request, I called Jerry to find out if a personal visit would further my chances of getting you to change your mind.”

“And he told you it would?”

“He told me I should meet you face-to-face.” His gaze rested on her mouth. It stayed there long enough to make her aware of dry lips. When he finally met her gaze again, there was an unmistakable sparkle in his dark eye. “I think his exact words were, ‘A head-on confrontation with Cora Prescott is an unforgettable experience.”’

“Jerry has a gift for exaggeration.”

The look he gave her could have melted glass. “I don’t think so. I’m certainly finding it unforgettable.”

Cora resisted the urge to loosen the collar of her blouse. A sliver of perspiration trickled down her spine. “Only because I stuck you in a room with a group of hungry college women.”

“You think so?”

“Don’t kid yourself. I’m fully aware that you are used to having the world at your feet. The way I see it, this will be an educational experience for you.”

“You know how much I want to find the Isabela.”

“It’s good to want things. Builds character.”

That damnable smile played at the corner of his mouth again. “I’m very used to getting my own way.”

“I can see that.”

“And I want this. A lot.”

“Disappointment is the key to personal growth.”

Something dangerously seductive flared in his gaze—something that reminded her why women reportedly went wild over him. With his looks and his charisma, it was no wonder he had a pirate’s reputation. He had a way of looking at a woman that virtually smoldered. “You know—” his expression turned devilish “—I’ve always admired women with quick tongues.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Does that line usually work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, surprise, Dr. Adriano. This time you’ve met your match.”

“You mean you’re not overwhelmed by my persona?”

Was he mocking her? His expression was so serious she couldn’t tell. “I will admit that I find the eye patch a bit over the top.”

“It’s medically necessary,” he said. “I lost my eye in a fistfight when I was sixteen.”

“I’m not questioning that,” she hastened to explain. “I simply think that the, er, look—” she indicated his long hair, the gold hoop in his ear and the patch with a wave of her hand “—is a bit melodramatic.”

He laughed, showing a straight line of white teeth. “I like you,” he said. “I was hoping I would.”

Cora gritted her teeth. “Dr. Adriano—”

“No, really. I feel better about this already.”

“I can’t tell you how that comforts me,” she drawled.

He crossed his long legs so that his ankle rested on his thigh. “A worthy opponent makes any battle more satisfying.”

Cora frowned. “Am I supposed to call you a scurvy dog now or something? I left my pirate/English dictionary in my other briefcase.”

His lips twitched. “A sharp-tongued woman.”

“And an odious egomaniac. What a delightful way to spend an afternoon.”

“You know,” he said, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was mocking her, “you might make a good pirate. You’ve got the wits for it.”

“What a relief,” Cora said, and took a sip of her soda.

“But I’m not sure you have the guts.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hmm.” He traced the edge of his patch with a long tanned finger. “’Tis not enough,” he said, dropping his voice to a gravelly rumble that she could easily picture coming from Blackbeard himself, “just to wear a patch over yer eye, lassie.” He leaned closer. “Ye have tae pick yer teeth with the ribs of a Spanish captain ye knocked off yerself.”

Cora stared at him wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Captain Pigleg Torstenson wrote that to his grand-daughter in 1783.”

“How charming.”

His smile was lazy and seductive. “I like to think he was making a general statement about life. It’s not enough to simply look the part. You have to have the stomach for it, as well.”

He was mocking her, she realized. He thought she was an intellectual, unadventurous, narrow-minded snob and she’d turned down his request because she lacked vision and foresight. She saw the condemnation and condescension clearly written in his smug expression. “While this little philosophical dissertation is quite charming, Dr. Adriano, I think you should know that I’ve never liked arrogant men—especially not self-impressed scientists whose only goal is career advancement and public recognition.”

That effectively knocked the smile off his lips, but instead of the angry retort she’d expected, she saw his eyebrows lift with marked curiosity. “I’m not arrogant, Professor. I’m simply flagrantly dedicated to my research and cognizant of my considerable talent.”

Obnoxious, she told herself. Except that it happened to be true. “Aren’t you the man who said you were the most impressive voice in ocean research today?”

His mouth twitched again. Why in hell, she wondered, couldn’t she manage to keep her gaze from the firm contours of that mouth? “I might have,” he conceded.

“You did. I saw the interview.”

“You’ve been watching my interviews? Should I be flattered?”

“Ha. You’ve been on every major network for the last few weeks. I’d have to hide in a cave to have missed the sight of you. It seems the whole world is fascinated by the pirate archeologist from the Underwater Archeology Unit.”

He sprang his trap by laughing. The sound did funny things to her insides. It was a low, mellow kind of laugh. The kind that said it was used often and well. The kind that ensnared every nerve ending in her body in a web of awareness.

Awareness, she had learned, that was not to be trusted. He’d make her want things if she wasn’t careful. He was danger—in huge capital letters. If she had an ounce of intelligence left in her brain, she’d throw him out on the street and make sure he stayed there.

But he tricked her with that laugh. It took the edge off his presence—made him approachable. And likable. Just what she needed—to like the man. She reminded herself that she found his ego insufferable and his love of public spectacle unbelievably annoying.

Amusement danced in his eye. “The match is yours, Professor,” he conceded as he leaned forward. His faint scent of fresh air, sea salt and testosterone tickled her nose. “I can see why Jerry is so enchanted with you.”

She didn’t take the bait. “You are not getting unrestricted access to my house. I’ve got a life to run.”

“That house is more than just your private property.” As if his energy for the project physically drove him, he levered himself out of his seat and began pacing her office. “Don’t you see? There’s no doubt in my mind that if I can find the rest of Abigail Conrad’s diaries, I’ll have a vital clue to the location of del Flores’s ship.”

“There may not be any more,” Cora pointed out.

He slanted her a telling look. “Didn’t you say there are gaps of several months between the volumes you found?” She didn’t respond. “Has it been your experience,” he pressed, “that journal writers allow months to pass between writings?”

Cora had no answer so she shrugged.

“I’m this close—” his thumb and index finger measured the inch “—are you really going to deny me?”

The sight of him in passionate discourse twisted her stomach. Forcibly she dismissed the thought. Nothing good would come of picturing him in passionate anything. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Adriano,” she said softly, “but my answer is still no.”

His face registered his frustration. He planted his hands on her desk and loomed over her. The sunlight glinted off the tiny hoop in his left ear, and in that moment he looked truly barbarous. Cora tested the description, then rejected it. No, not barbarous. Glorious, perhaps. Her gaze dropped to his long-fingered, bronzed hands. Large. He had large, beautiful hands. Damn him.

“I’m not giving up so easily,” he warned her. “You should know that.”

She looked at his face. A mistake, that. He was too close, his hard-angled features at eye level with hers and mere inches away. She clenched the edge of her chair and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “I’ll consider myself warned. But whatever Jerry told you, I seriously doubt you can change my mind. I have to consider—”

She broke off when the door of her office slammed open. Leslie, Cora’s baby-sitter of less than six hours, rushed into the office with a harried look in her eyes. Cora abruptly stood, filled with the oddest sensation that she’d been discovered and compromised. “Leslie—” she started.

Leslie frantically shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Prescott. I can’t. I thought I could take it, but I can’t.” Without sparing Rafael a glance, she dropped a wad of keys on Cora’s desk. “I just can’t take care of them for you.”

Cora held out a beseeching hand. “Leslie, I’m sure if we—”

A loud crash sounded from the outer office. High-pitched voices mingled with the distinct sound of a barking dog. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I quit.” The girl fled the room.

Rafael stepped back a scant second before Melody, Cora’s large but exuberant collie, vaulted into the room and onto her desk.

“Melody,” she chided. “Get down.”

“Aunt Cora, Aunt Cora. Don’t let her get away.” Kaitlin rushed into the room holding a leash. “We chased her all the way from the parking lot.”

“Kaitlin,” Cora looked at the nine-year-old as she struggled to get the dog off the desk. “What happened? What are you doing here?”

Before the glowering Kaitlin could answer, Jerry Heath ushered six-year-old Molly and four-year-old Liza into the room. Each had liberal splashes of black ink staining their hair, faces and clothes. “They’re destroying the copy machine,” Jerry announced. “That’s what they’re doing.”

Melody barked in affirmation. With a frustrated oath, Cora pulled on the dog’s collar. “Down, Melody. Get down.”

She wouldn’t budge. Rafael chuckled, then held out his hand to the dog. He whispered a few words, and Melody obediently leaped to the floor where she flopped at his feet. Cora gave him a disgruntled look. “How did you do that?”

“I’ve had a lot of experience with temperamental females,” he said, and sat back in his chair. Melody thumped her tail on the floor.

Exasperated, Cora rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. She’d been right the first time. He was obnoxious. “Jerry,” she said, “what’s going on?”

Jerry guided the two girls toward Cora’s desk. “As far as I can tell, your nieces decided to help Becky make some copies. Somehow that led to an investigation of the toner cartridge.”

Cora’s nieces were high-energy kids. Since their arrival three weeks ago, they’d run off six different baby-sitters.

While Cora visibly searched for her patience, Rafael studied her tense expression.

Jerry had mentioned the nieces. At the time Rafael had brushed off his less-than-complimentary description as typical of Jerry’s intolerance of childhood antics. Watching the three girls in action, however, Rafael decided that Jerry had underestimated them—just as he’d underestimated Cora. Her nieces had evidently mastered the tag-team approach in dealing with their aunt. Soon they’d have her surrounded. It was beginning to look as if he’d arrived just in time.

The oldest girl, the one Cora had called Kaitlin, immediately staked a position against Jerry’s accusations. “That’s not what happened, Aunt Cora. It was Leslie’s fault.”

Cora looked at the next-oldest girl. “Molly, how did you get into the toner?”

Molly pointed at the dog. “We were chasing Melody.”

Cora waited. When no additional explanation was forthcoming, she pressed harder. “Why are you all even here? I thought Leslie was taking you to the park today.”

Liza spoke up. “We has gonned to the park, but I forgot Benedict Bunny. I wanted to go back and get him.”

“And Leslie wouldn’t turn around,” Molly supplied.

“Liza kept begging,” Kaitlin added.

Liza nodded, her eyes wide. “I didn’t want to leave him at home.”

Kaitlin picked up the thread of the story. “Leslie kept telling Liza to quit crying and she wouldn’t.”

“I want Benedict Bunny,” Liza insisted.

Kaitlin continued, “Leslie got really mad. So she whipped the car around and came here.”

“Yeah,” Molly said. “She let Melody out of the car before us. When Melody took off running, we had to chase her.”

Kaitlin added, “She almost plowed Becky down in the hall. Liza—” she swatted her younger sister with the back of her hand “—was trying to catch up.”

“Becky was changing the cartridge,” Molly supplied.

Liza, whose face probably looked angelic when it wasn’t covered in black ink, nodded adamantly. “I tried to catch it when it fell.”

Rafael had to suppress a laugh. Standard operating procedure, he supposed. They’d blame it on the baby. She was less likely to get eaten. If Liza survived, then they knew they were in the clear.

Cora’s gaze swung to Jerry once more. “Did you see what happened?”

“No. I heard the noise.”

“Is there any damage other than the mess?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Fine.” She glared at Kaitlin. “Take your sisters and go find Becky. Help her clean up all the ink.”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Kaitlin argued.

“We’ll talk about it later, Kaitlin.”

“But—”

“Now,” Cora said.

Kaitlin paused, her expression belligerent. She studied Cora’s face for long seconds, then finally relented. “Fine.” She wrapped Melody’s leash around her hand. “Are you mad ’cause Leslie quit? Because she wasn’t very good. I didn’t like her.”

“Me, neither,” Molly said.

“Me, neither,” Liza added.

Cora sighed. “I don’t know if I’m mad or not. It depends on why she quit. Probably.”

Rafael winced. Indecision. Never show children indecision. She’d just lost another major battle on the playing field of child discipline.

The three girls filed out of the room with Melody in tow. Cora pressed three fingers to her forehead in frustration. “Sorry, Jerry,” she muttered.

“You’ve got to do something about them, Cora. They’re out of control.”

“It was an accident.”

“Just like the water cooler last week?” When Cora didn’t respond, Jerry met Rafael’s gaze across the small room. “I didn’t know you’d arrived,” he said.

Rafael frowned. Trust Jerry to make it sound as if he’d conspired against Cora. “I just got here.”

“Really?” The other man leaned casually against the door frame. “I’m surprised you didn’t come by my office.”

“I had other things on my mind.”

Jerry’s gaze shifted to Cora. “So I see. Cora, I see you’ve met Dr. Adriano. I won’t bother with introductions.”

Cora slowly lowered herself back into her chair. “No, Jerry, you needn’t bother.” Her voice held all the warmth of the Arctic Ocean.

Rafael sensed the wisdom of a strategic withdrawal. He’d given Cora something to think about. Later he’d press his point. He pushed himself off her desk, then extended his hand to Jerry. “It’s good to see you again, Jerry. Dr. Prescott and I were just finishing.”

“Oh?” Jerry’s hand was clammy. He gave Rafael a quick handshake, but didn’t take his eyes off Cora. “Any decisions?”

“No,” Cora said, and did not elaborate.

Rafael followed her lead. “We have a lot to talk about. I didn’t expect an answer today.”

“Cora—” strained patience laced Jerry’s voice “—I’m sure you realize that Dr. Adriano could be an important asset to Rawlings.”

“I don’t live in a cave, Jerry.”

“I realize that. But I was afraid you’d be stubborn about this. Since the diaries—”

“My tenure contract with the college,” she said through gritted teeth, “gives me the right to decide the parameters of my research of any historical documents I choose to pursue.”

Jerry slid his hands into his vest pockets. “Adriano’s in a position to bring us a lot of good publicity. I don’t think Willers would be very impressed if you refused to give Adriano a fair chance to state his case.”

Bastard, Rafael thought. Jerry had played his ace. Henry Willers, president of the college, was a notorious media hound. Rafael had deliberately kept his correspondence with Cora confidential, knowing that Willers would pressure her to accede. He wanted her cooperation, but not grudgingly. Cora’s hands gripped the edge of her desk. “Jerry—”

“Just something to think about,” Jerry said amiably.

Cora held Jerry’s gaze with barely concealed hostility. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“If you want my opinion, with your tenure hearing coming up, this is the kind of thing you should pay attention to.”

Rafael had to look away to hide his disgust. He couldn’t wait until he got the man alone. What Jerry needed, evidently, was a lesson in academic humility. He could see the anger in Cora’s eyes when she addressed Jerry. “Duly noted.”

Rafael stood, determined to fend off a full-blown confrontation. “I appreciate your time,” he told Cora. “We can finish later?”

She finally tore her gaze from Jerry. “Fine. Now if the two of you will excuse me, I’d like to check on my nieces.” She breezed past them and let the door of her office slam behind her.

Chapter Two

It’s her fire I find irresistible. After so many nights with naught but the cold sea for company, I find such rapturous warmth in her arms. She may consume me, but what a blissful demise!

Juan Rodriguez del Flores

Captain’s Log, 9 December 1860

Jerry Heath, Rafael decided, was an idiot.

The man had deliberately allowed him to believe that Cora Prescott was some prudish college professor he could simply bowl over with a good dose of charm. Rafael had suspected from Jerry’s poorly veiled hostility that he found Cora threatening. Now that he’d met her, he knew exactly why. Cora was twice the researcher and a hundred times the person Jerry Heath would ever be.

“Well,” Jerry said, seating himself in Cora’s recently vacated chair, “what do you think now that you’ve met the inimitable Cora Prescott?”

Good question, Rafael thought as he quickly reconciled his impressions of her with his previous expectations. There was a wealth of treasure to find beneath her facade, of that he was sure. But something—or someone—had put that distrustful, slightly wounded look in her eyes. For a man who’d spent a lifetime carefully unearthing priceless antiquities, the challenge of discovering Cora’s secret was irresistible. He glared at Jerry. “You set me up, Jerry.”

“I did not. I gave you every warning that you didn’t know what you were getting into when you decided to take on Cora. She’s the stubbornnest woman I’ve ever known. I’d be surprised if you got past go with her.”

“Is that why you practically blackmailed her into accepting my offer?”

Jerry bristled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Rafael scowled at him. “Playing the tenure card? That was a cheap shot.”

“Cora can take care of herself, believe me.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Jerry nodded. “She’d like to be department head.”

And she’d be good at it, Rafael thought. No wonder Jerry seemed intent on keeping her in her place. At his age, he was nearing the end of his academic career. Bright new talent scared him. A woman like Cora Prescott probably left him cowering in the corner. Rafael carefully considered all that Cora had said to him. “She’s brilliant.”

“She’s extremely respected in her field,” Jerry acknowledged.

Praise, Rafael realized, but not unqualified. His opinion of Jerry Heath slipped another notch. “So why didn’t you tell me about the whole package?”

Jerry swiveled back and forth in the worn leather chair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rafael gave him a knowing look. “Like hell.”

“I don’t.”

“Then you’re older than I thought,” Rafael said.

Jerry stared at him another few seconds, then understanding dawned in his eyes. He let out a low whistle. “My God. You can’t mean you’re thinking of seducing Cora Prescott.”

Rafael lifted his eyebrows. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I’ve known you a long time. And I know that look you get. It’s the same one you get when you think you’re on the cusp of an important find.”

“You’re being melodramatic.”

“Maybe. Still, you’ll have to take my word on this. She’s not that type of woman. She’s not your type of woman.” Jerry shook his head. “Believe me, other men have tried and failed, and it won’t work. She’s cold as an iceberg. I’m not entirely certain she’s interested in men, if you know what I mean.”

Rafael let that pass without comment. He made a practice of not wasting his time on fools.

Jerry reached for the phone on Cora’s desk. “Look, why don’t you get settled into your hotel, then let Patty and me take you to dinner.” He punched a few numbers. “We can talk about old times.”

Rafael thought it over. As much as he loathed the idea of an extended stay in Jerry’s presence, he genuinely liked Patty Heath. A widely published author and lecturer on ancient Greek culture, Patty could not only provide interesting dinner conversation, but also, he hoped, better insight into Cora Prescott. “I’d love to,” he answered.

“Great. Patty’s been dying to pick your brain about the Argo project.” Jerry finished dialing. While he talked to his wife, Rafael mentally recalculated his strategy for gaining Cora Prescott’s cooperation.

Even Jerry couldn’t be naive enough to think that the aloof mask she wore reflected her true nature. Granted, she had the look down to a science. Tortoiseshell glasses. Hair in a neat French braid. Intelligent eyes set in a classic oval face. She even wore the costume of the conservative academic. Her tailored blouse and simple straight skirt were a timeless style. Most professors wore jeans and T-shirts to class. Cora could have stepped right out of another age.

But that was where it ended. There was absolutely nothing about the woman that didn’t scream of undiscovered passion. Or that didn’t beg for masculine attention. The less observant of the male species, he supposed, might miss it, but what Rafael saw was an underlying edge of raw sensuality that had him struggling for balance.

Some men, he knew, looked at a woman and saw the sum total of her parts. If the balance sheet didn’t tip in their favor, they never bothered to look deeper. He, however, had found that such a superficial examination was generally misleading. Cora Prescott wasn’t classically beautiful or even modernly sexy. She’d never make the cover of a men’s magazine, but then, he’d always preferred the subtle to the blatant.