Read Online The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five) by Temple Hogan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Temple Hogan
Tags: Romance
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He strode away, his long powerful strides carrying him quickly to the woman’s side.
“Your Highness,” Basa said, bowing slightly.
“I don’t wish to get into the coach just yet,” Azara said. “Help Oma and the rest of my women.”
Basa took a step backward and went to do her biding. Azara openly watched the scene before her.
Rajak had reached the woman who had flung herself from the carriage and into his arms. Laughing up at him, she rained kisses over his face. She was very beautiful, Azara saw, with the tawny skin of a half-caste and a tall, voluptuous figure, well displayed in a low cut gown. Her black, shiny hair was arranged in a cluster of curls that bounced when she tossed her head. Her hold on Rajak, indeed, her whole reaction to him, was possessive. Azara felt a frisson of jealousy run along her spine, which faded when Rajak pushed the woman away and spoke to her. Although she couldn’t hear his words, she could see the woman’s face and her angry reaction.
She screamed at him, slapping him several times before climbing into the carriage where she took up the whip and applied it to Rajak until he caught hold of it and jerked it from her hand. Still enraged, the woman slapped the reins against the backs of her team, urging them away. They bolted and galloped away from the busy dock, nearly running over a few people who had to scramble out of the way.
“Now, I will get in the coach,” Azara said.
But before Basa could move forward to help her, a man stumbled against her, nearly bearing her to the ground. Though well enough dressed, there was something in his dishevelment and the smell that enveloped him, that made her know he was drunk. In his attempt not to fall, he threw his arms around her, his hands clutching for a hold. She screamed when his hand closed over a breast.
“Whoa, ho,” he cried. “What have we here? It’s a beauty, it is.” He grabbed hold of her veil and stripped it away. His eyes widened when he saw her face. “Christ Almighty, but you are a goddess.”
“Please, sir,” Basa cried out, stepping forward quickly to put himself between Azara and the man.
“Is she for sale?” the man asked. Something had changed about him from the sloppy, good-natured, well-intentioned drunk to a man whose black eyes were filled with lust and greed.
“How much do you want for her? I’ll pay any price,” he offered in a heavy, oily voice. He held up a sack heavy with gold pieces. “Come, my good man, name your price.”
Basa stood as if frozen.
“I am not for sale,” Azara said coolly, replacing her veil across her face. “Be on your way.”
“Do you know who I am?” the man exploded, all vestige of good humor gone from his demeanor. His expression was hard and dangerous.
“Do you know who I am?” Azara returned.
She met his gaze with all the disgust she could muster. She saw anger flame in his small, reddened eyes. Whoever he was, he was a man used to getting what he wanted.
“You are a princess,” he said lightly, “but that doesn’t matter. I would pay a king’s ransom for you.” He thumped himself on his chest. “I am Boghos, Lord of Madagascar and you will be my lady.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him, dipping his head to plant a kiss on her mouth. But the veil was in place and he spit it out in disgust.
“Bah,” he cried. “You have no need for this.”
He ripped away the veil and tried again to kiss her. She cried out and struggled against him, but he was too strong for her. Basa tried to intercede, but with a mighty sweep of his arm, Boghos knocked him to the ground. Basa’s head hit against a large stone and he lay still. There was no one to help her now except Oma who rushed forward with her walking stick and began to beat the man. Boghos merely laughed at her puny efforts and crushed Azara against his chest.
“She is mine!” he shouted.
“No, she is mine!” a voice said calmly and Rajak stepped forward and grabbed hold of
“Your Highness,” Basa said, bowing slightly.
“I don’t wish to get into the coach just yet,” Azara said. “Help Oma and the rest of my women.”
Basa took a step backward and went to do her biding. Azara openly watched the scene before her.
Rajak had reached the woman who had flung herself from the carriage and into his arms. Laughing up at him, she rained kisses over his face. She was very beautiful, Azara saw, with the tawny skin of a half-caste and a tall, voluptuous figure, well displayed in a low cut gown. Her black, shiny hair was arranged in a cluster of curls that bounced when she tossed her head. Her hold on Rajak, indeed, her whole reaction to him, was possessive. Azara felt a frisson of jealousy run along her spine, which faded when Rajak pushed the woman away and spoke to her. Although she couldn’t hear his words, she could see the woman’s face and her angry reaction.
She screamed at him, slapping him several times before climbing into the carriage where she took up the whip and applied it to Rajak until he caught hold of it and jerked it from her hand. Still enraged, the woman slapped the reins against the backs of her team, urging them away. They bolted and galloped away from the busy dock, nearly running over a few people who had to scramble out of the way.
“Now, I will get in the coach,” Azara said.
But before Basa could move forward to help her, a man stumbled against her, nearly bearing her to the ground. Though well enough dressed, there was something in his dishevelment and the smell that enveloped him, that made her know he was drunk. In his attempt not to fall, he threw his arms around her, his hands clutching for a hold. She screamed when his hand closed over a breast.
“Whoa, ho,” he cried. “What have we here? It’s a beauty, it is.” He grabbed hold of her veil and stripped it away. His eyes widened when he saw her face. “Christ Almighty, but you are a goddess.”
“Please, sir,” Basa cried out, stepping forward quickly to put himself between Azara and the man.
“Is she for sale?” the man asked. Something had changed about him from the sloppy, good-natured, well-intentioned drunk to a man whose black eyes were filled with lust and greed.
“How much do you want for her? I’ll pay any price,” he offered in a heavy, oily voice. He held up a sack heavy with gold pieces. “Come, my good man, name your price.”
Basa stood as if frozen.
“I am not for sale,” Azara said coolly, replacing her veil across her face. “Be on your way.”
“Do you know who I am?” the man exploded, all vestige of good humor gone from his demeanor. His expression was hard and dangerous.
“Do you know who I am?” Azara returned.
She met his gaze with all the disgust she could muster. She saw anger flame in his small, reddened eyes. Whoever he was, he was a man used to getting what he wanted.
“You are a princess,” he said lightly, “but that doesn’t matter. I would pay a king’s ransom for you.” He thumped himself on his chest. “I am Boghos, Lord of Madagascar and you will be my lady.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him, dipping his head to plant a kiss on her mouth. But the veil was in place and he spit it out in disgust.
“Bah,” he cried. “You have no need for this.”
He ripped away the veil and tried again to kiss her. She cried out and struggled against him, but he was too strong for her. Basa tried to intercede, but with a mighty sweep of his arm, Boghos knocked him to the ground. Basa’s head hit against a large stone and he lay still. There was no one to help her now except Oma who rushed forward with her walking stick and began to beat the man. Boghos merely laughed at her puny efforts and crushed Azara against his chest.
“She is mine!” he shouted.
“No, she is mine!” a voice said calmly and Rajak stepped forward and grabbed hold of
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