“Do. Not. Move.”
Lucky took the sword from Rider, easily cutting through the belt of Willa’s robe. As her robe parted, exposing her pajamas, Lucky lowered the sword, going behind her back. He slid the robe off, first one shoulder then the other, and the loosened robe fell to the floor.
Willa felt Rider’s eyes drop to her red satin pajama shorts and her red cami. Neither showed any more skin than if she were wearing a tank top and shorts. Regardless, Willa was self-conscious of her plump curves in front of Rider. She forced herself to look at him, seeing him give her a wink, and Willa relaxed.
Rider was her friend, and his casual attitude made her feel comfortable in a strange way.
“What’s your name, lass?” Rider’s voice was gruff as his molten silver eyes glided over her body.
“Willa.”
Lucky raised a brow.
Willa shrugged. What fun was a fantasy if she couldn’t be herself, albeit more sultry and trampy? She firmly kicked her mother’s voice out of her head.
“Are you denying you’re my property?”
“Yes.”
“You leave me no choice but to show you I am your master.”
Before Willa could blink, she was tossed over Lucky’s shoulder and carried across the bedroom floor, placing her against the wall. He grabbed one of her hands, raising it above her head where two paintings had hung. Now there were two hooks that looked like they had been drilled in the wall.
Lucky went to the cabinet and opened a drawer, pulling out two chains with cuffs on one end. He handed one to Rider, and then both men cuffed a wrist and raised it above her head, chaining her against the wall.
Lucky and Rider took a step back, surveying their handiwork.
“Who is your master?” Lucky asked again.
This time, Willa remained stubbornly silent. No good would come out of it if she answered him the way she was tempted to.
Lucky read the stubborn determination in her eyes.
“She’s a fiery lass, isn’t she?”
“Break her, Captain,” Rider said, turning on his heel and going to the nightstand to pick up two scarves and a wicked-looking knife that looked sharper than anything she would have in her kitchen.
Rider strode back, handing Lucky one of the scarves and taking the sword from him before handing him the knife.
Willa watched as Lucky, with a flick of his wrist, used the knife to cut the scarf in two pieces that floated softly to the floor.
Rider then handed Lucky the other scarf that looked thicker and was black. He tied it around her eyes, blocking them from her sight.
“I have her under control now. Go swab the deck,” she heard him order Rider.
The room went silent. She thought she might have heard a shuffle then a loud grunt before the door was slammed shut. Then she heard the distinct sound of a lock clicking into place.
Willa relaxed against the wall, sensing Rider was gone.
Lucky’s French-accented voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t look so pleased with yourself. How do you know he’s really gone? Maybe he’s standing beside the door to guard it from my crewmembers who want to steal away the beautiful woman I captured.” His words cast doubt on whether Rider had left. Only knowing her husband as well as she did calmed her fears. Plus, he won points for calling her beautiful.
“Don’t move. Stay completely still,” he ordered again.
Willa held her breath. She was rapidly learning that, when he ordered her not to move, something was getting cut. She felt the blunt side of the knife on her skin as he cut upward, severing the strap on her shoulder. A second later, she felt the other one cut, and the top slipped to her waist. The blunt side of the knife ran along the length of her leg before then cutting the shorts off her body. Her stomach quivered when she felt the blade against her as the remains of her top fell away. Willa released her pent-up breath.
“Captain Francois, you’re going to owe me a new pair of pajamas and a robe.”
*
Lucky grinned, glad she couldn’t see his amusement. Quietly, he turned, going to the nightstand and replacing the sharp knife before taking out one he had spent hours sharpening when he had bought a new set of knives. He had thrown away the set he had used on other women. No equipment he had used on another woman would ever touch the skin of his wife.
He slid out another knife that was an exact match to the one he had just replaced except for one difference. He had used a scouring pad to blunt the blade. He had checked it a dozen times before, but he still slid it across the palm of his hand to make sure it was completely dull and there were no nicks in the metal to scratch her skin.