His Wicked Kiss by Gaelen Foley Read Free Book Online Page A

order, cuffed white shirtsleeves neatly fashioned in self-conscious propriety, and ebony knee-boots, he looked like a proud and very correct young officer.
    Her heart fluttered. Gracious, he was the handsomest creature she had seen in ages… until, following his progress, her gaze came to rest on the dark, magnificent man that the younger fellow now joined at the rails.
    An indescribable awe—or fascination—came over her as she stared at their kingly leader. She had studied animals long enough to be able to pick out in an instant the dominant male, and there was no question whatsoever that he was it.
    He appeared to be in his late thirties, and good Lord, he was big. He even had an inch or two on Connor, she reckoned, with several stone in pure muscle over Papa. The imposing stranger looked surprisingly at home in the jungle setting. A knotted red bandana hung around his neck in the Spanish style; he wore a loose white shirt, having apparently discarded his coat and waistcoat in the heat. His shirt fell open in a V down to his breastbone, baring his glistening, muscular chest.
    The fine white linen had turned translucent in the rain and clung to his massive shoulders. Below, he wore dun-colored breeches that disappeared into shiny black boots.
    Eden realized something all of a sudden.
    I
know who this man is .
    Lord Jack Knight, the mysterious merchant-adventurer who had turned himself into a shipping magnate worth millions—one of the most feared and powerful men in the West Indies .
    Black-Jack Knight, some called him.
    Kingston Society had swarmed with stories about the enigmatic adventurer, but despite his whispered reputation as a very bad man, the local Quality complained that he was too much of a loner and rarely made appearances at their genteel gatherings. He was the second son of a duke, according to their tales, but he had turned his back on his native England years ago to make his own way in the world. By all accounts, he had succeeded on a grand scale.
    It was said he owned large portions of Jamaica , and had a fleet of eighty ships, with warehouses on every continent. No region of the globe was beyond his reach: furs from the northern wilds of Canada , silks and spices from the East, sugarcane from the torrid zone, and amazing new industrial machines from the north of England . His company, Knight Enterprises, was headquartered in Port Royal , but she had heard he lived outside the town in an elegant, white-stuccoed villa on a cliff above the sea. It had over a hundred rooms, but he lived alone there, except for his servants.
    Some people claimed he had ill dealings with the smugglers who plagued Buenos Aires . Others whispered he had actually helped the Americans during the War of 1812, and since he was British-born himself, that would have made him all but a traitor if it was true. There were darker tales still, rumors of piracy in his shadowed past, but as far as Eden knew, no one had ever dared confront him to find out if all of this was fact or legend.
    Well, blazes
, she thought with a slight gulp, though her stare intensified. I
don’t care if he’s Blackbeard himself if he can get me out of here
.
    Seeing the way he carried himself, it was easy to believe that such a man could wrest his fortune from the untamed sea.
    Power, danger, and bold vitality emanated from every line of his towering physique; he held his head high with an air of intelligent command. His square face was framed by dark sideburns, his tousled hair the same dark, warm brown as the toppled mahoganies his boat was pulling.
    “Look!” the blond young officer suddenly cried. “There’s—” He squinted in disbelief. “There’s a lady in that tree!”
    Oh, dear
. She had been spotted. It was too late now to lose her nerve.
    The crew let out with marveling oaths and exclamations, following the direction of the young man’s pointing finger. The sight of her there, sitting on the branch that overarched the river, must have been