Kate Hoffmann - The Pirate

"Hi," she cooed. "You're new around here, aren't you?"

He looked down into her inviting gaze, then at her pouting red-painted lips. Ripe and ready to be plucked. It didn't matter which century he was in, he knew what she wanted. And what he should want, as well.

But instead, he found himself comparing this woman to his sweet Merrie. Merrie who smelled of fresh air and soap. Merrie who needed no paint to enhance her pretty features and whose slender, almost boyish body had curled against him in sleep. Merrie who asked nothing of him, but gave him so much.

Griffin reached into his pocket and pulled out what was left of his money. He pressed the wad of bills into the woman's hand. "I thank you for the drink," he said, "and the tempting offer. But I fear I cannot stay. I am in the…" He frowned, groping for the word. "Doghouse," he finally said. "I am in the doghouse and must find my way out before morning."

With that, he turned toward the door, leaving the woman gaping with shock and staring after him. No, he couldn't stay and enjoy what she offered. Merrie was waiting for him at home, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he found more pleasure in the prospect of spending the wee hours of the night standing over Merrie's bed and watching her sleep, than he would losing himself in a stranger's body.

Griffin banged his shin on a small table as he stumbled through the living room in the dark. He cursed softly, trying to remember how it was the lamps turned on and off, then paused for a moment and let his eyes adjust. A sliver of light shone from beneath Merrie's bedroom door.

He knocked softly and when she called out, he opened the door. Merrie looked up at him from her bed, her spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She held the little box that she called a laptop computer, and papers were scattered about her on the coverlet.

She looked so fresh-faced and lovely that desire welled up inside him and he had to fight the impulse to cross the room and pull her into his arms. Lord, he needed a woman right now, and he wanted that woman to be Merrie.

Fighting back his impulses, he forced a smile, an expression that she hesitantly returned. "I am glad to see I am not in the doghouse anymore," he said, strolling into the room to sit on the edge of the bed.

"The doghouse?" she asked.

"You are not angry with me."

"Why would I be angry?" she asked.

He frowned. "In my century, a woman does not like a man to stay but late at night, drinking ale and telling tales with his friends."

"Is that what you were doing?" She sniffed, then crinkled her nose. "Which one of them was wearing the cheap perfume?" she asked dryly.

He ignored her last question in favor of the first. "Not ale. Rum." He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a handful of tiny parasols and plastic flowers. "And a fine drink it was. I brought these for you." He pushed a parasol up and down, still amazed at how they worked. "I don't understand why they are used to hold fruit, but I found them interesting."

Merrie picked up one of the parasols and played with it, smiling. He found his attention captured by her mouth… her soft, moist lips that cried out to be kissed… kissed by him… long and hard.

"Thank you," she said. "That was very thoughtful." She counted the umbrellas. "You drank six of Tank's rum punches?"

He blinked and turned his gaze away from the intimate study of her mouth. "They tasted good and he kept placing them in front of me. It would have been rude to refuse."

Merrie sighed and looked at him with large, green eyes. "I'm sorry that you're so unhappy here," she said softly. "I wish I could help you, but I don't know how. I'm trying my best."

He was struck again by how beautiful she looked. He reached out to smooth the lines of worry from her forehead and a rush of warmth traveled though him, pooling at his core, as he touched her silken skin. "I have a bad temper, that is true, but I don't mean to abuse you with it." Griffin slowly moved his thumb across her lower lip, resisting the temptation to cover her mouth with his. "I am sorry for my harsh words. And I am thankful for what you have done for me, Merrie-girl."

"But you want to go home," she said, her eyes wide.

He sighed and picked up her hand, then wove his fingers through hers, wondering at how tiny and delicate she was. "I have no choice," he said, forcing himself to believe the words. "I must."

She drew a deep breath and he felt her fingers tighten around his. "My friend, Kelsey, stopped by while you were out. She was on her way back to Williamsburg from her symposium."

Griffin snapped his head up, his heart stopping in his chest. "What did she say?"

"The only advice she could offer for now was that we should try to duplicate the conditions of that night. Then maybe we can find the hole in time that you stepped through."

Griffin bit back a curse. "Duplicate a hurricane? Unless you have found a way to change the weather in this century, that sounds nearly impossible."

"Maybe we don't actually need a hurricane," Merrie explained. "Hopefully, any storm will do. Maybe even a good hard rain."

"So we just have to wait for a storm?"

"For now. Until we figure out another way."

Griffin pulled in the reins on his temper. She didn't deserve another of his angry outbursts. He had put her through too much already. "You told your friend, Kelsey, about me?" he asked evenly.

She shook her head. "I just gave her a hypothetical situation. I told her I was thinking of writing a novel. If I'd told her the truth, she would have put me on the first bus to the funny farm."

Griffin opened his mouth to ask just what a "bus" and a "funny farm" were, then realized he was still in the dark about "nooky." He ignored the impulse to investigate further. Instead, he pushed himself off the bed and began to pace the room. He felt her eyes following him. "What time of day did you find me?" he asked.

"Midnight," she replied.

"And what were the conditions?"

"Very weird," she recalled. "The storm was raging outside, and then all of a sudden, it stopped. It became so calm it was frightening."

"And how did you find me?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure, but I remember feeling compelled to go outside. I was just looking around and there you were."

"Where?"

"In the backyard."

He stepped to the bedroom window and pulled back the lace curtain. "Where, precisely?"

"About five yards straight out from the big cedar," she replied. "The water was really high. The waves were almost halfway across the lawn."

Griffin stared out into the dark and considered all she had told him, trying to remember something, anything, about that night. But from the time he'd fallen overboard and hit the water until the time he'd woken up on her sofa, his mind was a blank.

"There is one other thing," Merrie said softly.

"What is that?"

"I-I was thinking that maybe my beach isn't the place this started. Maybe it's just where you ended up."

"I don't understand," Griffin said.

"I called a charter service after I spoke with Kelsey and I've rented a sailboat for a few days. If the weather is good, we can leave tomorrow. I thought we could sail across the Sound, up the Pamlico River and find the spot where you fell in. We might find a clue. It's a long day's sail, so we can moor the boat in Bath and spend the night there, then sail back the next day."

"That is a clever plan, Merrie-girl," he said, turning to her in surprise. "Do you know how to sail?"

"My father and I used to have a little boat when I was a child. And what I don't remember, you can fill in. I don't think sailing has changed that much over the past three hundred years."

For the first time since he'd arrived in this place, he felt a sense of hope. If he could get back within a week, he might be able to salvage his plan to bring Blackbeard down. He would be glad to leave, for there was nothing of interest to him here… except Merrie.