Falling For The Pirate Author: Amber Lin

About Falling For The Pirate (Men Of Fortune #2):
Vengeance is a dish best served in bed...
London, 1812
After the deaths of his parents and a dark, troubled childhood, Captain Nate Bowen vowed he would have his revenge. But he never expected to have the tool of his revenge dropped so neatly into his lap. Juliana Hargate is not only the daughter of his enemy, but is destitute, very much alone—and exquisitely desirable.
And now that Nate has saved her life, she’s at his complete mercy...
Captive. All Juliana wanted was to clear her father’s name. Instead, she’s been struck with amnesia—unable to recall even her name—and imprisoned by a tall, imposing, and entirely unscrupulous pirate.A pirate whose eyes seem to look past her skirts and many petticoats, and whose touch sends delicious ripples of desire through her. With every passing day, she finds herself tempted to give him the very thing he’s determined to take...
 

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It was warm in the room. Too warm. The blankets were suffocating, and someone had built a strong fire. She could smell the coal.
Coal. There was something about coal, but she couldn’t remember what. Her head felt foggy, as if filled with water, her thoughts adrift in the murky dark. There was something important she had to remember. Floating just beyond her grasp.
Cuts and bruises all over her body made themselves known as she came awake, as if they awoke too, one by one. Her palms burned, as though she’d fallen and scraped them. Her ankle throbbed—possibly she’d twisted it. Her side ached. What had happened to her?
If she held herself very still, the pain dulled to a muffled roar, just quiet enough that she could focus on other things.
Such as where she was.
And who she was.
Her eyes felt glued shut. She opened them by force of will and stared at a plain drapery striped with light and dark blue. Pretty; serviceable. She was almost sure she’d never seen it before. Almost, because she couldn’t remember what she had seen before. She could only feel certain she hadn’t.
The furniture looked heavy. Good quality. Not ornate.
That detail seemed meaningful to her. Not ornate. As if she had once lived somewhere that was ornate—with fancy tapestries and delicately carved furnishings. Somewhere much colder than here.
A faint memory of freezing water and sinewy shadows came to her, tickling her memory. Sinking, drowning. But nothing moved beneath her now, and her throat felt utterly dry. If she’d been in the water at some point, she was most definitely on land now.
She looked around, letting her gaze sweep the cozy room before landing on a large wooden chair. More to the point, the man sleeping in the chair.
His legs were spread wide—bracing himself, even in sleep. His shoulders were well above the back of the chair, his head leaning against the wall behind. He seemed too large for the furniture, like a grown man sitting on a child’s rocker in a nursery. Only, this chair was quite average-sized.
She had a sense of familiarity, of having seen him before. Which was strange, because she didn’t feel like the sort of woman acquainted with pirates.
And this man was most definitely a pirate.
He wore no jacket. She felt faintly scandalized, except he was also alone in the room with her. He was alone in the room with her, which was far worse than being in shirtsleeves. And if that weren’t shocking enough, the ties at his collar hung loose, baring a portion of his chest. Tanned. Sprinkled with dark hair. And wholly inappropriate for her to see.
She looked away—and right into his eyes. He was awake now. He’d been watching her examine him.
“Who are you?” Her voice came out low and rough. What had she been doing last night to make her voice so raw?
And had she been doing it with him?
The pirate stretched slowly, wincing as his body straightened into order. She had the sense he was rolling himself back up, as if he were a tree he had to trim just to stand upright.
“You asked me the same question last night,” he remarked.
His voice vibrated with sarcasm. He didn’t sound happy to greet her this morning. And, in fact, her sense of familiarity was completely misplaced if she’d asked for his name just last night.
“What did you answer?” she asked.
A glimmer of humor shone from his eyes before they went black again. Black like his hair. Black like the sea. He smiled, and the smile was black, too—with irony and annoyance. “I didn’t,” he said. “I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to thieves.”

 

About Amber Lin:




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