The pain cleared entirely from his eyes and the gaze that met Sirena’s was free of all doubtful shadows.

  Sirena had never loved him more than at that moment. He had been ready to accept her, to love her, to share his life with her, without any explanations. It would have been enough for him to know that she loved him. He had let the past bury the dead and had come to her for one reason only. He loved her.

  “Sirena, nothing is important. Nothing but you. I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. I loved the Sea Siren and then I came to love Sirena, my wife. Somewhere along the way they merged and became one. It’s you I want to carry my name. It’s you I want to share my house. It’s you I want to be the mother of my children.” Why wasn’t she saying something? Why was she looking at him with such horror? Had he been a fool to listen to Frau Holtz and Caleb?

  Sirena listened to the words and couldn’t believe her ears. Was that God she prayed to finally, after all this time, answering her prayers? Would she really be released from the nightmare of her shattered spirit, of her broken heart?

  It must be a trick, she thought frantically. Or else she was dreaming. Regan would never tell her these things. How could she believe she wasn’t dreaming? Her eyes widened and her hands went slack on the wheel as Regan came closer and closer. She wasn’t dreaming, his touch was real, beautifully, ecstatically real.

  As suddenly as the Rana had entered the squall, just as suddenly they had left it behind. So could the past be left behind. They knew this with a sureness neither of them had ever felt before.

  The air was cool and fresh. No fog spun its disguising, isolating web between them. The moon came out from behind dark clouds and shone down on Regan and Sirena. In the clear, silvery light they gazed at one another and saw the longing and love in each other’s eyes.

  Regan pulled her to him, his lips burned into hers, igniting their flames of passion. Hungrily, she answered his kiss, her body pressed tightly against him. She could feel the life re-enter her soul. He made her alive with his touch, with his kiss. She was warm and loved and happier than she ever dreamed possible.

  He pulled the bandana from around her head. The wind lifted the dark, curling tresses and whipped them about her face. “Why did you do that, Regan?” She smiled, her eyes glowing with happiness, her tinkling laugh sailing across the water.

  Enfolding her tightly in his arms, he whispered, “I wanted to see the Sea Siren just once more.”

  If you enjoyed CAPTIVE PASSIONS be sure not to miss the next book in this exciting series

  CAPTIVE SECRETS

  Read on for a special preview.

  A eKensington e-book exclusive on sale March 2014.

  “Is it important?” the man asked blandly.

  “A man needs a name when he drinks with another man. Every mother gives her babe a name. Mine is Jacobus.”

  The stranger debated a second before replying. The old lush would finish off his jug and not remember a thing. Lies always come back to slap one in the face.

  “Luis Domingo,” he said at last, and smiled—a flash of white teeth in the hazy lamplight that reminded Jacobus of a shark at feeding time.

  Luis Domingo … The old man rolled the strange-sounding name over his toothless gums and thick tongue. He’d never heard it before, but then, his memory wasn’t what it used to be. “You smell of the sea. I like that. Sit down and I’ll begin my tale if you’ll pass that jug along.” When the stranger slid the bottle across the table, Jacobus snatched it and brought it to his lips. After a hearty pull, he wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand and sat back with a contented sigh.

  “She had the face of an angel, the Sea Siren did. She was so beautiful, even her enemies fell about her feet. Her heart was pure, and she always spared the unfortunate souls who sought to attack her. Mind you, she fought fair. Oftentimes she would switch from a cutlass to a rapier without a misstep. Razor-sharp they were. Shiny like a hawk’s eye and just as deadly. I seen her myself, hundreds of times, as she danced across that black ship like the sea sprite she was.” He paused to take several long swallows of the fiery liquid in the jug, then picked up on his words immediately.

  “There wasn’t a man at sea that didn’t hunger for the Sea Siren. Her eyes saw everything at a glance. Like emeralds they were. Her hair was black as yours, and it rode her head like a raven’s wings. Her skin was like cream in a crock. She carried a wicked scar on her arm that men would have died from, but not the Sea Siren. There wasn’t a man that could best her in a duel. Not a single man.”

  Jacobus’s voice became dreamlike as his memories took him back in time. “The black ship she sailed was like a ghost. One minute it was there and the next minute it would disappear. Into nothing. She had this laugh that carried across the water. Made many a man’s blood run cold,” he said in awe.

  “They could never catch her, and hundreds tried. She ruined the man who was the head of the Dutch East India Company. Sank his ships because his men raped and killed her sister. She swore revenge on the bastards and killed every single one of them—fair and square.

  “The Dutch East India Company put a price on her head, and handsome it was, but to naught.”

  “You make her sound like a saint in a costume,” Domingo said coldly. “She was a pirate and she pillaged and plundered ships, so how can you say she—”

  “If you know all about her, then why are you asking me to tell you what I know?” Jacobus said, bristling at the stranger’s words. “I seen her hundreds of times. Once she smiled at me, and it was like the Madonna herself gazing on me. She never hurt those who didn’t deserve to be hurt. She never kept a thing from the ships she boarded but let her crew have it. Rights of salvage.”

  The old man swigged again from the bottle, and then continued, his words slurring slightly. “I think she came down from heaven. That’s my own opinion, because she … she would just disappear in a cloud of fog. You could hear her laugh ringing across the water when she was victorious. My hair stood on end. Such strength she had, it wasn’t human, I can tell you that. I seen her the day she dueled with Blackheart. He was twice her size and twice her weight, and she cut him down. ’Course he was maimed from his first encounter with her, so he wasn’t starting even with her. That blade danced in the sun, I can tell you that. Blood rivered the decks of that frigate.” Jacobus lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “That black ship was … magic. She sailed high on the water with a speed I’ve never seen. Never!” The old man sat back once more and gulped from the bottle.

  Domingo leaned forward on his chair, his dark eyes piercing the old man like twin daggers. “Do you expect me to believe this garbage that a woman, even a beautiful woman sailing a black ship, is something mythical?”

  The anger in his voice jolted Jacobus, who looked up groggily. “Real or magic, I don’t know. I told you what I seen,” he said fearfully, suddenly aware that the stranger’s eyes were angry and calculating. All sign of contempt was gone.

  “Where is this infamous black ship now, and where is the Sea Siren?” Domingo asked harshly.

  The fine hairs on the back of Jacobus’s neck prickled. He’d said too much. He had to hold his tongue now and not give away the fact that he’d been a member of the Sea Siren’s crew. The rum jug beckoned, but he set it on the table. If this stranger had a mind to, he could rip out his tongue and… “Only God knows,” he blustered.

  Domingo laughed, a chilling sound in the sudden hush that had descended over the tavern. “Does this Sea Siren’s god allow her to kill and maim and … disappear into thin air? A fine story from a drunken sot.”

  Jacobus did his best to meet Domingo’s dark gaze. “It’s not a story, it’s true. There is a Sea Siren, and there is a black ship. I don’t know where they are. No one has seen either for over twenty years.”

  Domingo’s eyes turned to slits as he leaned across the table. “Is she dead, old man? Is the Sea Siren and that black ship at the bottom of the sea? Tell me the truth, or I’ll wring that stringy neck of yours. Or is this a fairy tale?”

  Jacobus shook the man’s hands off his shoulders. “It’s no fairy tale. Go to the offices of the Dutch East India Company and see for yourself. A wanted poster has been hanging there for twenty-five years. And when the Sea Siren is needed, her ship will sail again. You mark my words.”

  Domingo stomped from the room, the laughter of the tavern’s patrons ringing in his ears. Were they laughing at him? Was it all a trick of the old sot’s? Tomorrow at first light he’d go to the Dutch East India offices and see for himself. This was the closest he’d come to actual proof that the legendary Sea Siren really existed and wasn’t a figment of his father’s imagination. The Sea Siren and the deadly black ship she’d captained had ruined his father.

  Domingo’s head reared back as he bellowed into the night. “If you’re alive, I’ll kill you for what you did to my father! No quarter given!”

  Photo by M21FOTO

  FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Sisterhood and Godmother series, The Blossom Sisters, Tuesday’s Child, Southern Comfort, Betrayal, Return to Sender and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over seventy million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret.

  Visit her website at fernmichaels.com.

  Fading into the background isn’t the Sisterhood way. Even after all the adventures they’ve shared, the courageous, close-knit heroines of Fern Michaels’ New York Times bestselling series are always ready to embrace another challenge …

  All good things must come to an end. But Myra Rutledge isn’t ready to put the Sisterhood—the stalwart band of friends who’ve become legendary for meting out their own brand of justice—behind her just yet. Though she loves her beautiful home and her husband, Charles, Myra can’t deny that she’s restless. And as it turns out, she’s not the only one longing to dust off her gold shield and get back in action.

  When Maggie Spritzer, former editor-in-chief of the Post and an honorary member of the Sisterhood, arrives with a new mission in mind, Myra welcomes her in. Maggie’s newshound instincts haven’t dulled since she left the Post, and she suspects that two Maryland judges—identical twins Eunice and Celeste Ciprani—are running a moneymaking racket that sends young offenders to brutal boot camps, often on trumped-up charges.

  Soon the Vigilantes are gathering in their war room once more, catching up on the momentous events in each other’s lives even as they plan their campaign. The Ciprani twins are powerful and ruthless, and taking them down won’t be easy. But with the aid of formidable allies—including former President Martine Connor—Myra, Annie, Maggie and the gang concoct a scheme that will bring justice to the innocent—and eave the guilty blindsided …

  Captive Passions is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eKENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 1977 by Mary Kuczkir and Roberta Anderson

  Ballantine mass market edition: July 1997

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  eKensington is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  First Kensington Electronic Edition: February 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-6018-3077-7

 

 

  Fern Michaels, Captive Passions

 

 

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