RoxannesPirate

  Roxanne’s Pirate

  Janne Lewis

  Roxanne Cline promised her father she would seek revenge against his blackmailer, but seven years after her father’s death she still hasn’t kept her promise. Roxanne’s guilt has crippled her sex life until she stumbles on Carlos Delgado, who quickly proves he knows exactly how to set her free. This seductive businessman explores her erotic fantasies about a possessive pirate and turns them into stunning reality with Latin dancing, a bit of bondage and a passionate nature that is by turns tender and ferocious.

  When Roxanne learns that John Murkley, her father’s blackmailer, ruined Carlos’ business partner and led to his fatal heroin overdose, she is guilt-stricken. She begs Carlos to help her bring Murkley to justice. But Carlos betrays Roxanne—Murkley’s right-hand man is killed and Carlos slips into place at Murkley’s side. Roxanne has to stop Murkley before he leaves more victims—even if she has to do it alone, even if she has to battle her sexy pirate.

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Roxanne’s Pirate

  ISBN 9781419931123

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Roxanne’s Pirate Copyright © 2010 Janne Lewis

  Edited by Mary Moran

  Cover art by Dar Albert

  Electronic book publication October 2010

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Roxanne’s Pirate

  Janne Lewis

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Batman: DC Comics

  BlackBerry: Research in Motion Limited

  Boston University: Trustees of Boston University

  Chanel: Chanel, Inc.

  George Washington University: Board of Trustees of The George Washington University

  Lagavulin: Diageo Scotland Ltd.

  Lexus: Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha TA Toyota Motor Corporation

  The New York Times: The New York Times Company

  Chapter One

  Roxanne hurried into the hotel lobby and glanced at the electronic announcement board on the teak wall behind the reception desk. According to the information listed in large green letters, she had missed most of the cocktail hour that preceded the Vining Arts Benefit Dinner. She sighed, tucked her gold satin clutch more securely under her arm and headed to the reception desk to get directions to the hotel ballroom.

  Roxanne usually took great pains to be on time—she considered punctuality and honesty as her two most consistent virtues—but lately she had not been feeling her normal rational self. Last week, out of nowhere, what felt like a tsunami of lust had formed on the previously frozen lake of her libido and crashed right into her. She was inundated with desires she had long suppressed. At first she welcomed this surge of feeling as proof that the heartbreak her ex-fiancé had inflicted had healed, but all this sexual heat was becoming a nuisance. Usually she was decisive, especially when it came to clothing. Her standard professional uniform was a silk shirt and tapered skirt with classic pumps. But tonight, she’d looked at her clothes and thought everything she owned was unbecoming and matronly. A voice she had come to think of as “the vixen” had sounded in her head, urging her to search her closet for something clingy, something provocative, something that would catch the eye of an attractive man. Despite her worry about being late, she’d given in to that vixenish voice and gone through everything she owned until she found something sexy.

  The woman behind the reception desk directed Roxanne to the hotel ballroom. Roxanne smiled her thanks and set off, her stiletto heels clicking on the marble tiles. Hurry up, said the vixen, or all the attractive men will be taken. And, as soon as the thought crossed Roxanne’s mind, she scolded herself for being foolish. Just because you’re feeling as randy as a teenager doesn’t mean you have to think like one.

  At the entrance to the ballroom, a blonde woman in a low-cut silver sequined dress stood behind a table covered in a black velvet cloth. “Your name?” the woman asked Roxanne.

  “Roxanne Cline. I’m a guest of Mrs. Cecily Bigelow.”

  The blonde bent to check the guest list. Her breasts swelled over the top of her dress.

  There’s a woman who isn’t afraid to show her cleavage, Roxanne thought. She secured the button on her cream-colored silk jacket. At the last moment she’d unearthed an outfit she’d worn to a cousin’s wedding two years ago. With the jacket on, Roxanne looked demure—remove the jacket and the halter clung to her body, exposing the curves of her full breasts. She’d kept the jacket on at her cousin’s wedding, but tonight, who knew? As the vixen was constantly reminding her, she’d been celibate long enough.

  “Here you are,” the blonde said. She straightened up and handed Roxanne a program. “You’re at table eighteen. We’re asking everyone to take their seats for dinner.”

  Roxanne paused at the entrance to the ballroom and took a deep, steadying breath. She hadn’t been to a social event since the previous January when she and Paul had gone to a party at his boss’s house. At the party, she hadn’t felt like making small talk and had drifted away from the other guests to browse the hosts’ bookshelves—Paul had gotten annoyed with her. Two weeks later he’d announced he was breaking their engagement. Since then, Roxanne had been a hermit, avoiding even the company of her good friends. Now the milling crowd intimidated her. The only person she knew in attendance was her client Mrs. Bigelow.

  Thinking of Mrs. Bigelow cheered Roxanne. She remembered Mrs. Bigelow’s voice when she begged Roxanne to come to the benefit and promised to introduce Roxanne to several “dee-licious” men. In Mrs. Bigelow’s honeyed drawl, the word had sounded positively lewd. Roxanne had laughed and told her not to worry she didn’t need the inducement to attend. But that had been before her hormonal overload. Now Roxanne had a definite interest in meeting a man. But you can’t meet him standing here, the vixen complained. Go!

  Roxanne stepped into the room, took a glass of white wine from the tray of a passing waiter and made her way to table eighteen. She stood behind a chair and sipped her wine. Around her, men in business suits and women in cocktail dresses greeted each other with handshakes and air kisses. She did not see Mrs. Bigelow’s elegant white-haired figure, though she did notice several attractive men. One had curly light brown hair and reminded her slightly of Paul. None, however, were what Roxanne would call delicious—with olive skin, dark hair, dark eyes and a black mustache.

  Roxanne shook her head and smiled ruefully. That was the libidinous vixen talking, looking for her fantasy lover in this crowd
. From some deep well in Roxanne’s unconscious mind, her libido had conjured a mustached pirate as the focus of her pent-up lust. He was insistent, domineering, demanding. During the day he forced her to seek release at work in her office or in a bathroom stall, the waist of her pantyhose sagging around her ankles as he whipped her into submission and she fingered herself to a breathless climax. At night, her pirate insisted she bring herself to orgasm three times before he would let her sleep.

  Put him back down the well, she warned herself. Think about meeting a nice man. Think how pleasant it would be to just talk to a man, how sweet it would be to taste a soft kiss, feel warm hands on your skin. She fluttered the pages of the program. In her dating experiences before Paul, she had never been the one to make the first move. Despite the vixen’s urgings and her body’s desires, she fully expected to go home alone. Still, she had put three condoms in her evening bag. It couldn’t hurt to be ready in case the miraculous happened and lightning struck. Admit it, the seductive voice of the vixen whispered, you are desperate for lightning to strike!

  There was a tap on her arm.

  “Excuse me,” a man said. “Are you Roxanne Cline?”

  Roxanne turned and looked up into the deep blue eyes of an extremely handsome fair-haired man.

  “Yes,” she said. “Have we met before?”

  “I promise you’d remember if we had.” He flashed a self-satisfied smile. “I’m Andrew Watson. Cecily Bigelow asked me to look out for you. She said you were her very sexy, very brainy lawyer. She was certainly right about the sexy part.”

  Roxanne smiled politely. “Where is Mrs. Bigelow? I haven’t seen her.”

  “She felt ill and had to make an early exit. I promised to keep you company. Very charitable of me, wasn’t it?”

  Good-looking but pompous. Still, he was a man. If nothing else, talking to him would scrape some rust off her social skills.

  The other seats at the table soon filled. Roxanne introduced herself to her companions, most of whom were elderly friends of Mrs. Bigelow but lacking in that woman’s spryness and wit. Andrew seemed perfectly content to have Roxanne’s attention focused on him through the salad course and the serving of the entrée.

  Yes, she said in response to his question, she was a senior associate in the New Jersey office of a large multinational law firm. No, she didn’t mind being stuck out in the ’burbs. She liked the quiet and had a condominium with a garden less than an hour’s drive from Manhattan. Yes, she had always wanted to be a lawyer. Her father had been a judge, but unlike him, she had not gone into courtroom work. She did estate planning. No, her clients were not stuck-up windbags. Many of them were extremely wealthy, but quite a few had strong social consciousness and were acutely aware of their responsibilities. She was particularly fond of Mrs. Bigelow.

  “Come on,” Andrew said. “I know the truth about you lawyers and judges like your father too.” He laughed. “Corrupt as they come. Sell your souls to the highest bidder.”

  Roxanne’s stomach lurched. For years she had kept herself prepared for the inevitable joke about questionable legal ethics, but tonight she’d been caught off guard. He doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t know anything about Dad—no one does—he’s just being an asshole. Change the subject. Be charming. She filled her glass with wine. Her hand shook slightly.

  “Enough about me,” she said. “Tell me about you.”

  Andrew leaned back in his chair. His chest seemed to expand as he regaled her with his many accomplishments as an architect. His most recent project was an expansion of Mrs. Bigelow’s Palm Beach house.

  “You should have seen the faces of the local yokels when I walked off with that commission.”

  “You must be talented,” Roxanne said. “Mrs. Bigelow is a demanding lady.”

  “Indeed she is, but I’m more than up to the task.” His smile broadened into a leer. He draped his arm casually over the back of Roxanne’s chair; his hand brushed her long hair away from her neck.

  Roxanne drew in her breath. She didn’t like him, but his touch was pleasant—did she need more than that?

  Andrew kept his right hand on her shoulder all through the after-dinner speeches. The room darkened for a video presentation. He leaned close, his left hand pressed her knee. “I know the perfect place we can go when this is over and get to know each other better,” he said. His breath was warm on her ear. His hand was warm on her leg. The tips of his fingers circled the soft skin above her knee. “I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”

  Do it, the vixen urged. Let lightning strike!

  “Be right back,” she said. “Ladies’ room.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  He patted her behind when she stood.

  Slug him or sleep with him? Roxanne pondered her choices as she sat on the couch in the ladies’ lounge. She turned her back to the mirror. She knew what her reflection would show—an attractive woman with a shadow of sadness in her brown eyes. It was that sadness that had driven Paul away.

  “You know I care about you, Rox,” he had said the night he broke up with her. “But there’s this dark cloud hanging over you. It sucks all the fun out of life.”

  Roxanne sighed and smoothed a wrinkle from her silk skirt. She wanted fun. Would she find it with Andrew?

  The lounge door swung open and two giggling women fell into the room, both of them clutching large balloon glasses filled with blue liquid.

  The woman with red hair and a leopard skirt fell onto the couch next to Roxanne. She sprawled out and rested her head in Roxanne’s lap. “Sorry!” She tried to sit up and collapsed, giggling.

  “No problem,” Roxanne said. She slid out from under the woman’s head.

  The blonde didn’t make it to the couch but sank onto the floor and leaned back against the bottom of an upholstered chair.

  “It’s the drink,” the redhead said. “My boyfriend mixed it up for us. He calls it his special love tonic.” More giggling.

  “He wants us to do a threesome,” the blonde explained. “He’s hoping this stuff will make us lose our minds. I think it’s working.” She put her glass on the floor and leaned forward, her hand slipped up the redhead’s leg.

  The redhead giggled some more, but she didn’t pull away. She spread her legs wide and sighed. “Fuck, why not?”

  Roxanne’s pelvis tightened. She was not attracted to either woman, but their open sexuality made her yearn for release.

  The redhead sat up. “Hold this,” she said. She handed her full glass to Roxanne. “Drink some if you want. It’ll make you feel sooo fine.” She grabbed the blonde’s head and slipped her tongue into her mouth. They both groaned and giggled.

  Roxanne looked at the blue liquid. Why not? She took a tiny sip. It was sweet. Roxanne disliked sweet drinks. That’s your problem—too sad, too serious, no fun. What’s the point of life if you don’t get some pleasure out of it? Someday you’ll regret all the chances you missed. Stop thinking so much. Go for it! She took another mouthful and swallowed.

  “Go ahead, finish it,” the redhead said. She was tweaking the blonde’s nipples through her dress.

  “Take mine too,” the blonde said.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Roxanne said. She put down the empty glass, reached for the one on the floor and drained the second drink. The other women laughed.

  “You’ll be flying soon,” the redhead said. “Want to join our party? You’re really hot. My boyfriend would love to do you.”

  “So would I,” the blonde said. She put her free hand on Roxanne’s knee—the other was busy under the leopard skirt.

  “No thanks,” Roxanne said. “I’ve got a cock I can call my own waiting for me downstairs.”

  She stood, undid the button on her jacket and took it off.

  “Ooow, great tits,” the blonde said. “Who did them?”

  “One hundred percent natural,” Roxanne said. Whatever was in that drink was strong stuff—she felt lighter and freer already. She waved goodbye to th
e giggling women.

  A young man in a leather jacket and white T-shirt was leaning against the corridor wall. “Hey, doll. How are my girls doing in there?”

  “All revved up and ready to go,” Roxanne said.

  The man’s gaze traveled over Roxanne’s body. “Don’t rush off. Stay and join us.” He caught the end of the jacket she held under her arm, tugged it and pulled her close. He touched the curve of her breast.

  She shivered with pleasure. Her nipples hardened. Oh yes. I want more of this.

  There was a cry from the bathroom. The man’s grin widened.

  “Looks like I better get in there before the party’s over. Staying?”

  Roxanne shook her head. “I don’t play well with others.” She almost changed her mind when she heard the noise that greeted his entrance into the ladies’ lounge.

  Her nerve endings tingled. There was a hot ache between her legs. She headed down the hall. Was Andrew what she wanted? No. But until her fairy godmother arrived to make her dreams come true, he would do.

  In a few minutes she realized she had gone in the wrong direction. She was in an unfamiliar part of the hotel near a large door with the words Private—Members Only on a small brass plaque. She turned around to head back in what she hoped was the right direction when she spotted a white rectangle on the floor. She bent over and picked it up, teetering on her high heels. It was an envelope with the name Mr. Carlos Delgado scrawled in blue ink. In the corner of the envelope were the words Hand Deliver—Club.

  The door to the private room opened. A man in a suit with the distinctive gold pin of a hotel employee on his lapel stepped into the hall.

  “Excuse me.” Roxanne waved the envelope at the man. “This is for Mr. Delgado.”

  The man glanced at the writing on the envelope. “You’re not allowed in the private club unless you’re accompanied by a member.” He grinned. “But I’d hate to disappoint Mr. Delgado. Come quickly.”