Not quite in resignation, she studied his cruel-looking face, saw the skin pulled taut except where it crinkled into a scowl. His eyes found hers and held. She’d known from the night before that his eyes were cold. Now she could see more than that.

 Sutherland looked like a man aboard a sinking ship—who suffered no delusions.

 A whisper of air fluttered over her face when his hand sought the hood of her cloak. As he untied it and pushed the fabric back over her hair, his fingers brushed her cheek as if in a caress. Her whole body quivered from the sensuality of that sheer touch. She still trembled when he studied her face…and when he stroked her hair…and even when he effortlessly lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder.

 Chapter 3

 Nothing surprised Derek anymore. He expected the worst outcome, the worst in everyone, and most times they didn’t disappoint. But when he’d detected the girl from the Mermaid beneath the hood, everything inside him went a little crazy.

 And outside, too. His blood-pounding erection was raw and swift, like that of a rutting animal scenting a ready mate. He didn’t know if his surprise came more from finding the prostitute again or from this aggressive reaction to her.

 She was dumbfounded, of course, to be draped over his shoulder with her backside pointed up in the air and her face buried in his spine. It wasn’t long before she began kicking and scratching with as much spirit as before.

 “Down! Now!” she ordered, punctuating each command with a swat or a kick. “Put—me—down—this—instant!”

 He scoffed at her continued attempts to hurt him, smug because she simply hadn’t the power to do so. A stab of pain pierced his moment of gloating—the Valkyrie had sunk her strong little teeth into the back of his arm.

 “What the hell?” He shook her loose. “Damn it, I’m trying to help you. I don’t see those men around here, but that doesn’t mean they’ve gone.”

 When she had stopped struggling long enough to listen, he continued, “I’m taking you somewhere safe, and if you fight me you’ll only prolong the inevitable.”

 She huffed, “I’ll humor you. For now.”

 His lips nearly curved at her attempt to keep her dignity even though she hung over his back with her cloak bunched around her waist. But he became tense and alert when he reached the corner and searched the area. Confident the men had run ahead, he strode in the opposite direction, toward the Southern Cross .

 “You could let me down now. I won’t run away,” the girl offered after bouncing along for a few steps. He should let her walk, but he didn’t want her to try to get away again. Not until she explained some things.

 “We’ll go quicker this way.” As an afterthought, he added, “Aren’t you done in?”

 When she inhaled deeply and sighed, he felt it on his back. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.

 Fury fired in him as he pictured those men running down this small, defenseless young woman. Yet he became angrier with himself—he’d come so close to leaving her—and his tone was harsh. “Who chased you, and why?”

 She stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”

 “It is now, since I just saved your hide.”

 When she didn’t say anything, he jostled her a little with the arm under her backside. “Tell me now.”

 “You’ll have to shake a lot harder than that to get me to talk. Since I know you won’t—let’s not waste each other’s time,” she said in a nasty voice from behind him.

 The girl was…provoking him?

 “I wouldn’t wager on that, sweet.” His ire, always considerable, rapidly banked. “You obviously lack the sense to be afraid of me.”

 She rose up off his back. “Should I be afraid of you?” she asked in a sensible tone.

 No mincing questions for this one. “That depends on whether or not you keep me happy. And right now I’m not happy.”

 “You don’t look as if you’ve ever been happy,” she mumbled, her cheek resting on his back again.

 He slowed. “What do you mean by that?”

 Derek could feel her as she took another deep breath and rose up again. “You’ve got a deep groove between your eyebrows from scowling, but no matching ones around your eyes like you’d get from laughing. You scowl a lot, don’t you? I bet you are right now.”

 Hell, he was. He despised it when people analyzed him. “You don’t know a damn thing about me—”

 “Clearly, I know you don’t laugh.”

 Enough. He purposely swung her down as if he was dropping her.

 “Wh-whoa!” she squealed as she fell, but he caught her just before she tumbled to the ground.

 After steadying herself, she pushed her thick, tangled hair out of her face and tilted her head. With a hurt expression, she asked in a genuinely confused voice, “What’d you do that for?”

 He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. The wench had a great mane of hair. He took in the piles of curls tousled from the night, curls that couldn’t quite decide if they wanted to be red or gold. They framed her oddly pretty face and curved along her slender neck. His lips itched to kiss that neck….

 He shook his head at such driveling thoughts. “I’m not sure I want to take you anywhere safe. You have a barbed tongue on you and don’t know the meaning of gratitude. You belong at the Mermaid.”

 Her chin jerked up. “You,” she said in a rising voice, “were there right along with me. Or were you too drunk to remember?”

 “Lady, you’re on your—” he began, but saw her eyes dart toward the sound of a fight breaking out not twenty yards behind them. Her face fell, and her body shook. For all her bravado, she was truly afraid.

 Before she could run, he grabbed her waist and tossed her over his shoulder once again. Marching toward his ship, he felt a curious satisfaction as he carried her along.

 He didn’t know what it was about the girl. Perhaps it was that no one had ever looked at him the way she had in the Mermaid, like a siren.

 Like she’d die if he didn’t bed her.

 Derek had told himself he wanted to find her simply to settle his curiosity. It mystified him why a young woman, a young woman who obviously sold her body at the Mermaid and consorted with Lassiter, no less, would look at him the way she had that night. First with desire, later with fury.

 Plus, he’d needed to know if he could want her that badly, or if it had been the drink that night.

 It wasn’t the drink. What was the matter with him? She was a sharp tongued, insulting prostitute who dallied with his worst enemy. And she had peculiar features. Overblown ebony eyes, too dark and large for her small, gamine face, contrasted with the pout of her lips. It was as though one artist, vivid and wild, was unleashed to paint her eyes and hair, while another labored over the faultless bow of her lips….

 The wench began working up her pique once again. She must have thought at that point that he posed the greater danger to her, because she began writhing on his back, straining to break his hold. She weighed so little, he easily held her firm.

 Then she twined her fists together and pounded his back. The force of the hit surprised him, but his stride didn’t falter. It simply earned her a light slap on her shapely backside, so plainly outlined in her snug trousers.

 “You! Oooh, you can’t—”

 He rested his hand there. “Clearly, I can,” he said, using her word. She sputtered in outrage, and his lips crooked up. Then it was his turn to be shocked when she called him names that would make his most hardened sailors blush. It wasn’t just the creativity of her curses or the venom dripping from every word that surprised him. He could expect that with her background.

 No, he’d noted before that she didn’t have a dockside English accent, but in her fury, her words became crisper and less like what he’d expect. In fact, he couldn’t place her accent at all. With a twinge of unease, Derek realized he could determine nothing about her speech except that, barring the colorful phrases, it sounded very cultured and very affronted.

 He dismissed his misgivings. He had seen her in a tap house known for its whores, leaving for the night with a man twice her age. Not exactly the nocturnal activity of a lady.

 Whoever this girl was, he would take her repeatedly this night and enjoy figuring her out later, sharp tongue and all. This couldn’t have worked out better, with the race in five days. Just enough time to enjoy her.

 And then, as always happened with him…to tire of her and sail away.

 With Nicole easily draped across his shoulder, Captain Sutherland stepped onto the deck of his ship and waved casually as he strode past two bewildered guards posted outside. Nicole’s position embarrassed her, but the sight of the Southern Cross was enough to make her suck in a breath and briefly forget about cursing him. She’d never been so close to his ship, and as they boarded, she couldn’t help but look around in awe.

 She’d always scoffed at the sailor’s fancy that a captain resembled his ship. But massive, bold, and dark, the Southern Cross was a credit to the idea. It was hard-planed and sharp-lined.

 And forbidding.

 Just when she’d decided she would attempt another escape, Sutherland reached the companionway. He dropped her to her feet and looked her over, as if making a decision about her. Finally, he said, “Go down the steps.”

 She answered him with a disbelieving look. Of course she wouldn’t. Did he think she was insane? She didn’t know why he’d taken her back to his ship, hadn’t determined whether he’d realized who she was by now, and, most important, she didn’t like taking orders, especially from a man like him. She was opening her mouth to decline, thank you, no .