Spanish Pirate: A BWWM International Legacies Romance Page 4

  No, this is just my own dumb, bad luck.

  “Now that you’re settled, maybe we can start acting like adults, beginning with you dropping this nun act. I don’t care what the hell those clothes out there say.”

  I know my best defense is once again, silence.

  “I’m fine with you not giving me a name. But I do need to know what the hell you were doing in that lagoon.”

  I tilt my head to the side and widen my eyes in exasperation, as though the answer was obvious.

  The corner of his mouth hitches up into a sarcastic grin. “Ah, going for a swim…naked. Is that right, Sister?”

  I just shrug nonchalantly in response, then give him a pointed look as though he wasn’t exactly part of my plans for this little adventure.

  “Yes, I’m sure I came as somewhat of a surprise. Still, I can only wonder what Our Father, Lord in heaven would have to say about such sinful delights, not to mention Mother Agnes.”

  I stupidly blink in surprise.

  He laughs. “So, you are at least familiar with the convent as part of this act.”

  In retrospect, it wasn’t all that stupid to give that away. If I’m going to screw up in giving him information, it might as well work in my favor. I can still maintain my front as a member of the convent.

  “It should be clear to you by now that I’m not letting you go, not after what you probably saw me do.”

  He scrutinizes me as though trying to confirm that I did indeed see him disappear into that cave. I feign ignorance, my eyes wide with bewilderment. That only causes him to laugh and shake his head.

  “Good show, but I somehow don’t trust you.”

  I maintain the facade, which only makes him laugh harder. I kick out in anger and frustration, no longer caring about my modesty.

  “Stop it!” He growls, grabbing my ankle in a firm hold. His dark eyes are like venom as he stares at me. “Don’t mistake my laughter for amusement. Right now, you are trouble that I don’t need in my life, trouble I could easily get rid of to save me the hassle. I suggest not making yourself more of a headache.”

  That went well.

  Still, I have one more trick up my sleeve, the one that always worked with my father. My lips begin trembling and my face scrunches up. All it takes is thinking about my mother and sisters to conjure up real tears. The mother I never got to know, generous and kind according to my older sisters and father. Lorraine, my oldest sister, who I also never got to know. Layla, who was always indulgent with me, satisfying my curiosity about the world around me. Lucinda, who always challenged me, helping me hone my wits and cunning.

  None of them deserved to die.

  “Tears don’t work on me, Sister,” he says, snapping me out of my sentimental grief. “You’d do better to use those lips to start talking rather than tremble. Or perhaps I can find a better use for them.” His mouth cocks up into a devilish grin.

  Sniffing away my tears, I glare at him. I bear my teeth, letting him know just what he’s in for should he try that option.

  “Well, well,” he muses, giving me a look of mild admiration. “I suggest you maintain that fight inside of you. You’re definitely going to need it, especially when my men get a hold of you.”

  I blink at that. His men?

  What the hell does he mean by that?

  He rises up to stare down at me. I force myself to keep my eyes from wandering down below his neck.

  “I’m going to go get your clothes. No need to leave any evidence of you behind. Perhaps the sisters will assume you’ve been raptured.” He smirks, and his eyes scan my nakedness. “What with being the good little Catholic that you obviously are.”

  His eyes glance up to the handcuffs. “Don’t try to escape while I’m gone,” he says in a taunting voice.

  As soon as he disappears above, I do just that. At first, I tug at the handhold he’s cuffed me to. Even using my full weight as leverage doesn’t cause it to budge. I sigh and stare at it in frustration.

  The next step is obviously to try squeezing my hand through the cuff. That’s another futile attempt, only causing it to go sore.

  When he comes back, he’s wearing pants. I’m almost disappointed. Then, I think about his threats. Perhaps this is for the best.

  “I’ve left your clothes out to get dry after swimming them here. You might as well settle in; we’re going for a ride.” He tosses the sheet back on the bed for me to cover myself. “Since you are so insistent on remaining silent, I suggest you keep that up from now on. If someone else discovers you are down here, that will mean trouble for the both of you. I can just as easily kill two people as I can one. Don’t forget that.”

  He opens a drawer, and my eyes go wide when he pulls out a gun. He makes sure I get a good look at it.

  Before leaving again, he smirks and brings one finger up to his lips, reminding me to be quiet.

  I watch him go and jerk the handcuffs even more, knowing it’s pointless.

  Because not one minute later, the boat stirs to life.

  Chapter Six

  Enrique

  Hopefully, the threat is enough to keep her in line. I’ve already proven to her that I’m willing to kidnap. That should convince her that it wouldn’t take much for me to move beyond that.

  I’m no killer.

  Not yet, anyway.

  I have a few months to exact the ultimate revenge on my biological father. I still savor the thought of watching him take his last breath.

  The son of the man he killed that night, Magnus Reinhardt, has assured me that if I don’t complete this mission by the end of the summer, he will.

  Until then, Richard Coleman is mine.

  I put the thought of that devil out of my mind to focus on this surprising bit of treasure I find myself laden with. As I guide the boat out of the lagoon, I curse my luck in running into her.

  Then, I raise one eyebrow as I reconsider that thought. Her body has a sensual allure, curves in all the right places. The color of her skin, with its coppery glow, is practically meant to be worshiped by the sun, as though it would be a sin to cover it with clothes. That shock of long spiral curls, gives her a rare beauty. She’s like some wild orchid, stunning and unique…but difficult to maintain, especially in captivity.

  I do have to admire her resilience. Even under threat of death, she maintained her silence.

  Which makes me wonder what it is she’s hiding.

  In my profession, those with the most to treasure are the best at hiding it. But I have yet to find a vault I can’t crack.

  And this vault is an especially tempting one with which to put my skills to the test. I smirk as I increase the speed, guiding the boat across the water.

  I’m headed to Ibiza to meet with Ulrich, my second in command. It’s our ritual to meet at a bar for drinks after each heist. I still don’t know where he has his tangible assets hidden, nor does he know where I keep mine.

  When Ibiza appears on the horizon after several hours, I slow the boat down to give myself a chance to think about what to do with the woman in my cabin. I have no idea how to handle her in the longterm, much less for the next few hours.

  The port where I park my boat is too public to depend on her staying silent. Taking her with me is a risky proposition.

  I sigh to myself as the obvious solution comes to me.

  I round the island until I come to a familiar, secluded spot. After dropping anchor, I head back down to the cabin.

  The woman glares at me expectantly.

  “I have to go ashore. Don’t bother screaming, where I’m anchored there’s no one around to hear you.”

  Her eyes widen and she squirms.

  “What is it?” I ask, even though I have an idea.

  She just squirms even more, the universal sign for having to go to the toilet.

  I smirk. “I’m afraid I don’t understand? What is it you’re trying to say?”

  Her arm shoots out to point toward the tiny bathroom on board.

  I look pas
t it at the small minibar. “Did you want something to drink?”

  I turn back at the soft moaning sound stuck in her throat and grin again. “I’m afraid I can’t help you if you don’t talk.”

  She stops when she realizes I’m teasing her. Both her jaw and her gaze harden. When one eyebrow insolently rises, I realize what she’s threatening to do.

  “Do it, and you’ll be sorry,” I warn her.

  She just darts her eyes to the bathroom again.

  “Very well,” I say tightly.

  I pull the key to the handcuffs out of my pocket, and grab the gun, then walk over. Before releasing it, I give her one more warning.

  “If you try anything, I’ll shoot you in the leg.”

  Her only response is to tighten those full lips in anger.

  When I unlock the cuff, she huffs and makes a show of whipping the sheets around her before stalking off toward the bathroom.

  I watch after her, just to make sure she behaves. Shooting her in the leg is an option I’m not entirely opposed to. But it would be a shame to ruin such shapely stems.

  When she exits, I see her turn to look longingly toward the stairs leading up to the cockpit. I wait, daring her to make a move. Swaddled in those sheets, it would be a farce, and I wonder if she truly is that reckless.

  Instead, she sighs and heads back toward the bed.

  “Hand,” I order.

  She gives me a pleading look, obviously wanting me to forgo this little precaution.

  I laugh. “Perhaps if I had your spoken word that you wouldn’t flee?” I taunt.

  She just glares and shoots her hand out for me to take.

  “Good girl,” I say, slapping the cuff back on. “Now then, I’ll be a couple of hours. I’ll bring back some food and water for you when I do. I’ll be taking your clothes with me as well. Can’t be too cautious when it comes to you nuns.”

  She just looks off to the side in sullen silence.

  I laugh again and put the gun back into the drawer. I’m not stupid enough to take it with me to the city, especially now that I have to swim in. It’s far enough away from her that she can’t reach it, even if she could open it after I lock it.

  I have no intention of taking her clothes with me. It’s going to be enough of a pain in the ass to swim the short distance to shore in nothing but my own clothes. Still, I do keep them hidden away in a storage bin up top on the off chance she does escape. It would serve her right to have to swim to shore naked.

  I finish getting dressed and heave a heavy sigh before diving into the water. I’ve anchored the boat close enough that I don’t have to swim too far. The bigger pain is being wet once again.

  By the time I’ve walked the distance to Ibiza town, I’m pretty much dry, even if I do smell like the sea.

  As I approach the bar, I debate telling Ulrich about this morning’s little adventure. It would be fun to laugh about over beers. Perhaps he could even give me suggestions as to how to handle her.

  Some bit of intuition tells me to keep the woman to myself. I have a feeling that whatever it is she refuses to tell me is a treasure worth keeping hidden.

  Chapter Seven

  Enrique

  “I see you’ve started without me,” I announce as I approach Ulrich, sitting at a table overlooking the beach. He’s staring at a group of sunbathing women, a few of whom are topless.

  “You’re late,” he says with a grin, before darting his eyes back to the sun worshipers. “I was just about to seek out more tempting company.”

  Ulrich’s charm and golden boy good looks are usually enough to win him over with the opposite sex. He looks like he should be playing an extra in some American surfing movie.

  I laugh as I catch the eye of the waiter and sit down across from my friend. I order my own beer, then follow Ulrich’s gaze. Those tan, lithe bodies have nothing on the siren being held captive in my boat. Even now, just thinking about all that naked brown skin has my dick getting hard.

  The waiter comes back with my bottle of beer and I hold it up, catching Ulrich’s attention.

  “To another successful job.”

  He tilts his head and taps his half-empty bottle to mine.

  Those piercing blue eyes of his bore into me as he sips.

  “What is it?” I ask, knowing he has something on his mind.

  He takes a long, lingering sip of his beer before answering. “This is almost the end. This last one was especially profitable.”

  “But?” I urge, even though I have a sense of what’s coming.

  Ulrich sets the bottle down. “We were all just wondering, why not take more, especially with Constantin.”

  “I’d say a hundred million euros is not too shabby.”

  “Yes, but the man was worth so much more. And there are so many other wealthy people we could be targeting who are just as corrupt.”

  “You know why I do things the way I do them,” I interrupt.

  “Yes, yes,” he says, picking up his bottle. “This thing with your father.” He still has a hint of his German accent so his “th” sounds vaguely like a mix of z and s, and the w at the beginning of words come out with a subtle v sound.

  “This thing with my father is the only reason why they aren’t still conning old ladies for their pensions, or skimming ATMs, or acting as the muscle for some mobster…or picking pockets in Barcelona.”

  Ulrich laughs and picks up his bottle to take a sip, not showing any hint at being offended.

  “If you and the rest of the crew have a problem, they know they can come to me.”

  I have deliberately kept my team small for the sake of efficiency, but also so that we act more like a family than a boss and his employees. Having started this whole endeavor, I’m obviously the leader, but I’ve always operated with the understanding that any of them could come to me with problems.

  “That is where you are wrong,” he says. “We were criminals out of necessity. You do it for revenge. Yes, we are like brothers, and you have never been anything but fair and equal, but you still have the stench of wealth on you. It intimidates them. We all come from more humble beginnings.”

  I let that one lie, realizing it would be futile to argue the point.

  “And you, do you have any more grievances you’d wish to air?” I ask, with a little more resentment in my voice than I intend.

  Ulrich laughs again and takes another swig of beer. “Me? You know my beginnings. A father who disappeared, but not before cursing me with the name, Ulrich. A mother who was too drunk to hold down a job for long. I grew up being teased for having holes in my shoes.”

  I know he grew up poor in a small East German city, and decided to bum his way around warmer parts of the European Union. At some point, he discovered that robbing tourists was a fine way to supplement his income. Barcelona, being the pickpocket capital that it is, was the perfect place to hone those skills.

  He looks back toward the beach at the particularly lovely view, and chuckles. “Now I’m in Ibiza, sipping beer by the beach with half-naked women lying right in front of me, and several million euros hidden away somewhere.”

  Ulrich turns back to me with a subtle smile. “I have no complaints, amigo.”

  “That’s good to know.” I sip my beer, wondering if it’s especially bitter, or if that’s just my mood.

  I’ve been frank with all four of my men from day one. We target people who have worked with my biological father, Richard Coleman—only for the specific amount they’ve laundered through him.

  It took me a while to figure out not only who it was that my biological father killed that night, but why. David Reinhardt was the vice president of a bank in Luxembourg. He was the first to discover that the bank was being used to launder money as part of a much bigger scheme with multiple banks. Being the cautious man that he was, he investigated before acting.

  Which gave my biological father and the people he worked with plenty of time to frame him for embezzlement. By that time, any evidence he might have
discovered would have been ignored, if not laughed away.

  His fatal mistake was trying to confront Richard that night.

  His son, Magnus Reinhardt, has been on the same mission as I have. In his own way, he’s been taking down the men involved with that money laundering scheme, ending with Richard, who he graciously left for me to finish off. Permanently.

  Although I have no idea what my mother said or did once she left me on that convent island to confront Richard, I know her fate was no different than David Reinhardt’s. I’ve always suspected she used the knowledge of what I saw as some kind of leverage to escape the marriage, leaving me behind just in case things went south.

  As though Richard Coleman could be so easily manipulated.

  When my mother disappeared, her cousin, Sister Clara was smart enough to make sure I did as well, working in conjunction with Mother Agnes. I had been moved to the Catholic orphanage in Spain by the time the world learned of the plane crash into the Atlantic that took the lives of Richard Coleman’s wife and only son. Few people knew the truth, not including my adopted parents.

  “Why were you late? Usually, you’re the one I find already with a bottle in front of you, waiting on me,” Ulrich asks, pulling me out of the past.

  I draw my attention back to him and grin. “You know how hard it is to deal in cold hard cash and jewelry. My hiding spot was slightly more difficult to get away from this time around.”

  I see the gleam in his eye as he takes another sip. “Morocco must be crowded this time of year.”

  I grin and shake my head.

  It’s a game we play, never very seriously. Each of us poses seemingly innocuous questions or comments to get the other to slip up and accidentally divulge our secret hiding places.

  “And you? That plot of land in Florence where you plan on building your villa? It must be a nice, warm time of year to dig and bury your treasure in the ground.”

  I don’t even know if he has land purchased yet. I do know that he plans on living somewhere in the warm valleys of Italy, far away from the dreary, cold of northern Germany.