Unchartered Territory Read online

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  Whiskey Creek Press

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  Copyright ©2009 by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT

  Other Books by Author Available at Whiskey Creek Press:

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About the Author

  For your reading pleasure, we invite you to visit our web bookstore

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  UNCHARTED TERRITORY

  by

  Ann Cory

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  Whiskey Creek Press

  PO Box 51052

  Casper, WY 82605-1052

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright © 2009 by Ann Cory

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-60313-622-8

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston

  Editor: Sue Vetter

  Printed in the United States of America

  WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT

  UNCHARTED TERRITORY

  "I recommend this book to anyone who loves pirates and the sea, and who dreams of one day having an adventure to take her out of ordinary life and off to a romantic future."

  Sky

  TRS

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Other Books by Author Available at Whiskey Creek Press:

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Mask of the Matador

  Private Dancer

  Dressing the Empress

  Torrid Teasers Volume 2

  Best of Torrid Teasers Volume 1

  Summer Sizzlers Anthology

  Celtic Love Knots Volume 6

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  For the adventurous souls who love without boundaries.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  Charlotte dragged her body along the sand, her dress heavy, making it difficult to move. She longed to close her eyes and rest. Her lungs felt tight, and she wheezed between breaths. Further, she pulled herself along, well away from the foamy water dotting the shore like ruffled lace. She had no idea how far the ocean tossed her, or what island she'd washed up on. Damn the misleading brochures and their exotic promises. Her vacation hadn't gone at all as planned. The weeklong soiree of erotically charged nights with handsome men would remain as nothing more than pure fantasy. Her one time to escape ... to be someone else for a change ... went horribly wrong, and may have sealed her fate.

  She reached up to her cheek and remembered the last few moments before her body hit the icy water. He'd been suave, debonair, a smooth talker who packed a wallop in his pants—and his fist. Her consistent poor judgment in men should have taught her something, at least set off a warning bell to her instincts, but she was a sucker for intelligent conversation, and the hypnotically endowed.

  Charlotte swallowed hard against her dry throat. She stared at her wrinkled fingers, surprised at how the puckered skin made her look well beyond her thirty-two years. The ends of her auburn hair were twisted and knotted with seaweed, a far cry from the elegant French twist professionally done by a blonde stylist onboard. Her reflection at the time suggested royalty and a woman to be desired. Now the illusion was ruined.

  Finally, her arms gave out and she rested her tear-stained cheek onto the sand. As the tip of her tongue slid along her lips, she grimaced. Bitter saltwater and rough grainy sand erased the delicious taste of late vintage Pinot Noir savored earlier on the lido deck. She could only hope someone would notice her absence from the boat and call for a search and rescue team. In the meantime, at least she was on dry land.

  Charlotte attempted another deep breath that rendered her into a painful coughing fit and sent sharp pains throughout her head. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. When the fit subsided, she groaned. Miserable didn't begin to describe how she felt. She must have pissed off someone in a former life without knowing it.

  After the searing pain subsided, Charlotte opened her eyes and noticed a dark object appear a mere inch from her face. A black boot, long and shiny. Someone had seen her after all. She sighed in relief. Clean clothes and a glass of brandy would help erase the nightmare of the last few hours.

  Before she had a chance to express her gratitude, the tip of a sword sank into the sand uncomfortably close to her outstretched hand. She didn't consider it a friendly gesture.

  "I'm afraid you're going to have to move, my proud beauty."

  The deep voice brought on a sudden burst of goose bumps across her flesh. “Please...” Her voice came out faint, raspy, and it took several tries of clearing her throat before she could finish. “Please. I can hardly move. My muscles ache from head to toe."

  "I only be askin’ once, wench. Move."

  From his gruff tone, she didn't question how often he got his way. She stared at the black boot, so defiant and firm in its stance. To add insult to injury, he prodded her shoulder with it.

  Charlotte rolled herself over, and focused on the blue sky. Scattered white clouds in the formation of doves floated overhead almost close enough to touch, or so it seemed. She glanced to her left and sighed. Pain racked through her tired body repeatedly until the owner of the boot had her full attention.

  A devastatingly handsome man stood over her, wearing a black tricorn hat with a crimson feather. The look on his face suggested he knew something she didn't. He squatted down, his long coat opening wide enough to show a white shirt undone to his naval, dark, knee breeches, and bucket topped boots. A chain hung around his neck with a gold coin at the end that swung in a circle above her head. She shivered as a light breeze stole over her damp skin.

  "You're resting on me swag, lass, and nothing comes between me and my swag."

  Charlotte didn't need a mirror to know she looked like hell, but it didn't give him the right to be rude. “I am hardly a hag, sir."

  Laughter broke out, but from where she couldn't tell.

  A smile played across the stranger's lightly whiskered features, enhancing the etching of wrinkles around his sterling blue eyes. “See here, lassie. I'm not one for making idle chitchat; it's not my style. Remove yerself from the place I want to dig or risk a dagger in your bountiful bosom."

  She heard a chorus of “oohs” and “ahhs�
� at the stranger's harsh words, but she still couldn't see the owners.

  "It looks as though the vote is unanimous."

  Charlotte gave him a piercing stare. “Says who?"

  "My crew, lassie.” He winked and then turned around. “She be an addled wench. Beautiful, but addled.” Again laughter broke out followed by applause.

  Of all the nerve. Charlotte had enough of being talked about and mocked. If an audience of perverted men wanted to make her feel inferior, she'd show them a thing or two. She had more than enough of males and their pompous ways.

  She pushed the backs of her arms into the sand and struggled to prop herself up. The sudden movement propelled her into another coughing fit and made her stomach wrench.

  "Easy there, Miss, you don't sound too good."

  She clumsily batted away a gloved hand reaching for her, and tried again to sit up. A kaleidoscope of faint and blurry faces appeared, and then they, along with everything else vanished.

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  "Looks like she fainted, Cap'n."

  Phineas Parr gave a nod to his longtime crewmate and friend. “Aye, Bart. Take her to the ship and put her next to me quarters. She must have gotten a hold of some tainted rum."

  His crew laughed in unison as they hoisted the curvy cutie from the ground and carried her away. Phineas brushed away the sand where she'd lain and knew the treasure wasn't there. He stared at the map, turned it every which way, and then rolled it up. Due east, twenty paces. Due west, five paces. The words repeated on his lips. He'd followed the damn directions and still come up in the wrong place. It had to be the right island. He could feel it in his bones. The three rocks to the left and the V-shaped parting of the trees were as the drawing suggested. Even a child could see that. Frustrated, he kicked at a nearby rock. He was running out of time to find the treasure and that didn't sit too well with him.

  Phineas slid the rolled-up map into his coat pocket and looked out to sea. The only ship in eye distance was his own, The Fortune. How had the mysterious woman come to the island? And how had she managed to end up right where he intended to dig? Two surprises in one. The lady and the absence of his gold. He didn't believe in coincidence. His father said females meant trouble. When the beauty regained consciousness, he'd be there to question her and find out the truth.

  Phineas rested his palm on the sand; the spot still warm from her body. She was a sharp-tongued lass, that was certain, with fiery red hair and a batch of alluring freckles along her peach skin. A sight for sore eyes. The way her torn wet dress exposed her breasts and how the garment fit like a second skin, tight around the curves of her body, stirred his interest to the point of an uncomfortable strain in his groin. It had been too long since being in the company of a woman, and not just for him. The thought of his crew ogling her, as she lay silent, concerned him. He quickly headed toward his ship to check on her. One could never be too careful with a group of sex-deprived men.

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  Phineas entered the small room beside his quarters and to his relief found his trusted friend, Bart, doing his best to wipe away dark smudges from the woman's face with a cloth. His gaze stole over her. Sleeping Beauty in the flesh. She looked peaceful, if not a little worse for the wear. Her breasts rose and fell in a steady rhythm, with her lips parted slightly.

  In a tone he hoped sounded nonchalant, he asked, “How is she?"

  Bart turned and wrung out the damp cloth in a wooden bowl. “Sound asleep, which is what she needs most. Looks like she took quite a beating."

  Phineas reached forward and moved several strands of hair from her face. It disturbed him to see the bluish-purple marks along her cheek and neck. Still, the flaws didn't deter from her loveliness. He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting his attraction for her to be witnessed.

  "Perhaps she hit her head?"

  With a heavy sigh, Bart shrugged. “I have a feeling the poor thing had an unpleasant altercation with someone. The marks suggest a struggle. Do you plan to stay here until she wakes?"

  Parr nodded. “Aye, I can stay.” He was bothered someone would harm such a fine-looking creature. If he knew who and where the culprit was, he'd strangle him to death without a second thought. Now he felt guilty for having spoken to her with such a gruff tone.

  "Good, she shouldn't be left alone right now. I'll go and see to it the crew is busy working. Will we be digging where you found her?"

  Lost in thought, Phineas caught only half the question. “You mind repeating yerself, old friend?"

  Bart tipped his hat. “Just asked if you wanted us to dig, sir, where we found the lass. We've several more hours of daylight and the men are restless. Especially with the woman onboard."

  Surprised he'd forgotten all about the treasure, Parr rubbed his head and nodded. “Ah, yes, but not where we found her. The treasure isn't there. Tell them boys to dig anywhere and everywhere until supper. The blasted chest has to be on the island."

  Bart nodded. “Yes, Cap'n."

  Phineas propped a hand on his friend's shoulder. “We've known one another for thirty years. You know you don't have to call me captain."

  "Aye, Cap'n, but I'll do it anyhow."

  Phineas chuckled and watched his friend leave. They'd been through a lot together and he considered Bart the only man he could fully trust.

  He turned his attention back to the beauty. She was a far cry from the women he'd come across when they docked at ports to restock supplies. Well educated, he would guess, and not from around these parts. He admired her long, black lashes and the way they rested gently along the swell of her cheeks. A perfect nose and equally perfect lips. The bow of her upper lip made his mouth twitch, as if she was magically trying to draw him close. To kiss a woman like her would be dangerous, and no doubt lead to more.

  Phineas shook the thought from his head and forced his gaze to her small, thin hands curled gently into fists. The absence of a ring on her finger surprised him. Surely, she had a lover. Or perhaps the lover had been the attacker. But why? Even in anger, he couldn't fathom the thought of striking a woman. To look at her made him want to keep her safe and out of harm's way. Protect and shelter her from the dangers that lurked in every corner.

  His gaze continued along her figure until he felt his ears brimming with heat. He should be ashamed of himself for gawking without her knowledge. But her breasts, they looked so soft and full. Sexual tension brewed beneath his layers of clothing and made his muscles taut. He'd have to find a way to get her off his boat, nay—off the island altogether or trouble would ensue. Her innocence would become too much for him sooner or later, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her off with an unwanted advance. She deserved a slow seduction. His hands itched to reach out and caress her. Show her not all men were brutes. Prove a touch could be gentle. If he thought it would work, he'd kiss her bruises away.

  Parr again cursed the thoughts that ran through his mind. Which head was he thinking with? Hell, what did he know of her? Nothing. Granted, she was a vision and made his cock so hard it hurt, but he needed to keep his wits about him. For all he knew she'd been sent by his sworn enemy. Sent as a distraction to keep him away from finding the treasure. He didn't want to believe it, especially when she appeared innocent enough. But Phineas knew all too well about mirages, and he vowed to be on his guard. It would take more than a pretty face to lure him into a trap.

  As he took a seat on an old barrel, the woman's eyelids fluttered. He resumed his post beside her and waited for her to come to full consciousness. The sooner he had his answers the better. Spy or not, having a woman onboard meant trouble.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 2

  Charlotte fought to stay wrapped in the erotic lure of the dream. Forget cruises and vacations—this was the romantic escape she'd been looking for. The handsome rogue of a man she'd seen earlier might have tried to scare her off with a sword, but now he had something far more dangerous. He had her body on fire, and a fierce need that couldn't be sated without
his touch. He'd stripped her naked right there on the beach. Whispered dirty sweet words in her ear. Cupped her breasts and darted his tongue out and around her nipples. Teased with his lips and teeth until she couldn't see straight. She pulled him close, his body nestled between her legs, his hard, thick cock drumming along her upper thigh. He waited for her to beg and when she did, the dream slipped away.

  Damn.

  She opened her eyes and tried not to scream when she noticed the man she'd dreamt about standing over her, all six-foot-two of him, with a sexy smirk fixed at his lips. Heat tingled beneath her skin. Charlotte hoped she hadn't given away her racy thoughts aloud.

  He ran his finger along the side of her face and a frown creased his brow.

  "Yer sportin’ quite a shiner there, lass. Lover give you that?"

  His tender stroke momentarily eased the pain. “I would hardly call him my lover. The man who hit me had more than a casual night together in mind.” She slowly sat up, ignoring the dizziness.

  "I don't think much of men who hit women,” he growled and gave her some room.

  Impressed he held some sense of morals, she attempted a smile. “No, I don't either."

  Charlotte noticed him glance several times to her chest. She looked down and noticed the convenient rip in the bodice of her dress. Her breasts were practically falling out. No wonder he couldn't hold her gaze for long. He might have some morals, but he was still a man.

  Determined not to make a big deal of it, she challenged him. “I seem to remember you said something about piercing my bosom earlier, with a dagger no less."

  His entire body shook as he roared with laughter. “Argh. The crew likes it when I talk tough. Reminds them I'm still in charge."

  "I see.” Charlotte watched the way the gold coin around his neck tapped against the smooth plane of his chest when he moved. “Well, so long as it's only talk. I'm somewhat fond of my breasts as they are. Reminds me I'm a woman."