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Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 21

Spectator Sport

The story so far:

The auction’s over. As Jack promised, everyone seems to have obtained their heart’s desire – except Duka. Desperately worried about the First Mate’s Happy Ending, Kate follows Jack into the forests of Sweet Sisters Isle

You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html

Warm lights twinkled in the darkness ahead. Kate tugged on Jack’s hand, drawing him to a halt on the path. “Wait,” she said. “Jack, this is all wrong. Duka’s not the right sort of man. Someone’s going to get hurt.”

Jack gazed down at her, his eyes fathomless pools in the moonlight. “Oh ye of little faith.” In the dark shadow if his trim beard, his teeth flashed in a grin. “Is Peter happy, do you think?”

Kate quivered as a warm questing breeze caressed the nape of her neck. Even without the assistance of the Hormone Harlots, her imagination supplied a mental picture of Peter entwined with big Tom Cavanagh. Peter was nuzzling the First Officer’s chest, his hands busy somewhere else out of sight. Tom’s head fell back and his mouth opened in a helpless groan of pleasure. Kate could have sworn she heard Peter’s delighted chuckle floating on the still night air. “Uh, I guess so,” she said.

“Remember how you pleaded for him, pretty Kate? The crafty little shit.”

Kate wet her lips. “Perhaps I did.” She stiffened her spine and glared. “What of it?”

“I said you’d owe me for that.”

“I never agreed to any such thing!”

Jack’s grin had the devil in it. “Near enough, sweetheart.” He caught her up against his chest, brushing his warm lips over hers in a tingling caress. “Near enough.”

When he set her down, Kate had to clutch at his arm for a moment.

“C’mon,” he said. “Just around the bend.”

Every nerve ending throbbing in concert, Kate let him wrap her fingers in his and draw her forward.

Duka’s home turned out to be very like Jack’s, a large palm-thatched bungalow, but Jack led her to an inconspicuous gate half-hidden by a great overhang of some delicious-smelling flowering vine. Bending his head, he murmured, “You can speak, but not too loudly. All right?”

At Kate’s nod, he opened the gate, ushering her into a dark space full of the gentle rustle of fronds and the pale faces of topical blossoms. Cool, velvety grass brushed her ankles as he led her over to a rattan-cane couch, long and low, furnished lavishly with pillows and cushions and throw-rugs.

In contrast, the empty room they looked into was lit up like a stage, big brass lanterns hanging from the rafters, sliding screens drawn away to open it up one entire to the night breeze. To anyone indoors, she and Jack would be cloaked by the darkness of the garden, virtually invisible.

Voyeurs.

***

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To my mind, this video encapsulates everything about the joy of love. It bubbles with happiness, with optimism and strength.

If this doesn’t work, go to YouTube and search for Jill and Kevin. You’ll find it.

Didn’t you love the gerberas? Such a cheerful “in-your-face” flower. And the expressions on the faces of the congregation are simply priceless. I bet the reception was an absolute hoot!

I love weddings, though mine was um, interesting. In the weeks before my GARDEN wedding, it rained cats and dogs every single day. The result was a flood of such major proportions that the city ground to a halt. I still remember my mother-in-law-to-be sobbing to my Mum on the phone that there was 20 feet of water between her family and the GARDEN wedding. My Mum cried too. When I stood next to My Beloved in front of the minister (INDOORS), I looked up at him (My Beloved, not the reverend) with so much love in my heart, thinking, well at least I have my darling. His beautiful blond hair was in wet rats tails and a big drop fell off the end of his nose. *sigh*

The electric organ didn’t work, so we had an out-of-tune piano. The cake was on the other side of the aforementioned 20 feet of water. Half the guests couldn’t make it, so we invited all the neighbours. When I tossed the bouquet, it landed on the top of a tall cupboard. Someone shoved a chair at me, so I climbed up, grabbed it and re-tossed.

Because the airport was closed, we spent our wedding night in his little flat - full of bachelor housekeeping - musty towels, old newspapers etc And a squillion slugs who were so wet they’d crawled in under the door looking for a dry spot. I cried so hard, he let me choose the hotel for the next night. The one I picked got flooded the following day. I waded out of the hotel foyer in my bikini and the water came up to my armpits. It was cold. And dirty. Blech.

It was all “up” from there. And has been ever since!

Ah, weddings! Any good stories? And did you like the video? Did you feel like dancing down the aisle? *smile*

Don’t know what a twofer is? No, not a toothache! It’s a cricketing term, though more usually cricketers talk about a “five-fer” - that is, a bowler taking five wickets in an innings.

Well, my dears, I’ve got me a TWOFER - and I’m so pleased and proud I could just burst!

You may remember STRONGMAN was a finalist in the Passionate Plume Awards for erotic romance (Futuristic/Fantasy/SciFI category). Well, it WON!!!!

Yip-yip-yipee!!

That is wonderful enough, but the most exquisite icing on the cake is that this makes TWO YEARS IN A ROW. (Sorry about the shouting, BTW. I’m a trifle - ahem - excited. *grin*) TAILSPIN won the same category last year.

Is that not cool?

 I’ll have a pair of these cute charms to put on my bracelet. 

I am writer, hear me jangle. *smile*

I’ve had a quick look at the list of Passionate Plume winners and I don’t think anyone else has got a twofer before. But then, I was very excited at the time, so I could have missed it. (Passionate Ink is a Special Interest Chapter of Romance Writers of America for erotic romance writers.)

The other reason I’m so pleased is that STRONGMAN is a male/male erotic romance and this is an “open” category. The judges must have considered not only the fantasy aspects, but the love story strong enough to win.

Don’t forget, members of my monthly newsgroup can read the free epilogue to STRONGMAN (try a taste here). You can join the newsletter here.

And I’ll be offering a free download of STRONGMAN in my next newsletter (in the next few days) to celebrate. Be there or be square. *grin*

 It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 20

Shrink to Fit

The story so far:

Somehow, Peter has managed to obtain not only Tom Cavanagh, but also his cat, the Lady Meroe. Now there’s only the Comte left. But who’ll be brave enough to bid?

You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html

The stage was strangely empty without Tom’s huge glowering presence and Peter’s sweet smile. Duka turned to wither the Comte de Nothos with a warning glare. “Keep yer mouth shut, matey, if ye know what’s good for you.”

By way of answer, the Comte’s lips pulled back from his teeth exposing his pointed canines. As his fists clenched, the lamplight gleamed off the silver chains around his wrists. Kate stared. She’d seen him flinch as sparks arced off the metal. Or had she?

Transylvanian Central Casting, without a doubt. She’d thought it from the first moment. That crazy Rossetti.

“Should be interesting,” murmured Jack, his breath stirring her hair.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at their faces.”

Kate studied the crowd. For once, the pirates were relatively subdued, muttering together, flicking sidelong glances at the lithe, dangerous form of the Comte.

What am I bid?” shouted Duka.

Silence.

Then, “A keg o’ brandy!”

“Three bolts o’ raw silk!”

“Five gold doubloons!”

Duka sighed as he glanced at Jack. “Cap’n?”

Jack shook his head.

Duka turned back to the crowd. “Ye ain’t even reached reserve, ye craven bastards.”

“If ye like him so much, take him yerself!” yelled the pirate with the eye patch.

Kate clutched Jack’s arm. “You promised!”

“Promised what?” His teeth grazed her earlobe as if he were deciding which delicious portion of her body to devour first.

Kate twisted to stare straight into those gold-shot hazel eyes. “You said the magic of Sweet Sisters Isle would work – that they’d all find their heart’s desire.” Thinking of the Comte’s sinister handsome face, his darkly seductive voice, she shivered. “Even him.” The words came out in a shaky whisper. Not like her at all.

Jack’s brow darkened. “Why won’t you trust me, Kate? I always—”

He needs someone to love, observed Ess, alighting on the toe of Jack’s boot and slithering down to recline against his top of his foot like a tiny, pink-clad houri.

***

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page. Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

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When I saw this, I laughed out loud. don’t know what it’s like in your car, but in the Rossetti-mobile, it’s EXACTLY like this.

I have no clue why My Beloved soldiers grimly on, getting us lost, but it drives me around the bend and back again. (Sticking grimly with the metaphor here.) I suspect it’s something to do with that caveman instinct buried in the male hindbrain.

We bought one of those GPS navigator thingies to use while driving in the US and Canada. Guess what? He argued with it. He still argues with it. For the voice, we chose “Jane”, the cultured British gal. Sounds like she’s just stepped out of the BBC office for a mo to freshen up the lippie. For a while there, I was sure dear Jane was impervious to the ranting, but now I’m not so sure. She’s been dropping the occasional H. What’s next? Dropping the entire bundle?

Mind you, she and I might dead heat on the KER-SNAP!!  With the emphasis on dead.

Do you know any man who asks for directions? Do they even exist?