fell forward with her hands spread on Kyle’s heaving chest and watched over her shoulder as Jack entered her from behind. Once buried, he leaned forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. With his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, he started a slow, easy motion, withdrawing to only half his length. Kyle fondled Star’s breasts.
Star’s soft sounds of pleasure grew louder as the trio continued, Jack thrusting harder and drawing her up tighter, and Kyle pinching and twisting her beaded tits. Star’s skin began to glisten in the firelight, and muscles tightened in her arms and legs.
“Oh…shit,” Jack breathed, suddenly fucking her harder and then burying his cock in a final thrust.
Star grunted softly.
The couple remained joined for a moment, and then Jack collapsed onto his back.
Star crawled off the bed, raking her hair from her face as she walked to the fireplace.
Pulling back into his body, Benjamin opened his eyes and frowned into the darkness. Star had not reached a climax.
He barely fought the urge to run in and choke both men, the incompetent bastards, and had no idea why such anger welled up inside him. He had no reason to care about any of these mortals, no matter how much any of them reminded him of the past.
The scent and sight of Star’s aroused, glistening body stayed with him as he silently climbed the stairs to his room.
Star enjoyed the warmth of the fire. She stabbed the largest log with the poker and watched sparks dance up the chimney. She’d never lived anywhere that had a fireplace, but vaguely remembered camping with one of her foster families once and enjoying the fire.
The desire in her body cooled as she stared at blue and yellow flames crawling up the smaller log. She wondered if Wendy ever faked orgasms. They certainly seemed real enough.
It wasn’t that Star had no sex drive. She’d been masturbating since she was fifteen. All she had to do was picture Brad Pitt and she was off and running. It was just that no man had ever brought her to a climax. But they didn’t seem to notice.
Maybe they didn’t care.
It was time for her to strike out on her own. She could hitch a ride into Boston and find work somewhere; there wasn’t much she hadn’t done before to earn a living, short of selling drugs and prostitution. Boston was far enough away from Atlanta to be safe from Jones. She didn’t need to go all the way to Maine just because the others wanted to. It wasn’t like any of them had ever been there. Kyle idolized Stephen King. That was the only reason for their destination. Jack and Kyle were okay, but she had no desire to spend the rest of her life with either of them, and even Wendy’s friendship wasn’t enough to keep her with the group.
“Hey.” Wendy sat on the floor next to Star, raising her palms to the fire’s warmth.
A snore from behind them suggested at least one of the guys was already asleep. Probably both.
“This is a crazy place, isn’t it?”
Star raised her gaze to where shadows slid across the high ceiling like cobwebs in a breeze. “Yeah.”
“And the old man, what the hell is he?”
“He’s not that old,” Star said. Staring into the fire, she could picture the spark in Benjamin’s dark eyes as he spoke. He was commanding, and kind of sexy in a weird sort of way. “He’s probably in his late thirties.”
“You got a thing for him?”
Star glanced at Wendy. “Are you nuts?”
Wendy chuckled. “Good. For a second there, you had me worried. Kyle figures the guy has millions in antiques in this place, and probably some cash stashed somewhere. If we can get the van running while he’s not around, we could really make out. Maybe we’d even have enough to buy a place in Maine.”
Star stiffened. “You think he’d just let us walk out of here with his stuff without calling the cops?”
Wendy shrugged. “Kyle thinks he must have something to hide, since he didn’t throw us out.”
Drawing one knee up and resting her chin on it, Star returned her attention to the crackling flames. For some reason, the idea of stealing from Captain Benjamin Bartlett didn’t sit well with her. It wasn’t that she had such high moral standards; she’d stolen food before when she was hungry, and smokes and booze when she couldn’t afford them. It was just that the man trusted them in his home, even though they were total strangers. When had anyone ever really trusted her?
Maybe he did have something to hide.
But who didn’t?
3
Benjamin took one last look out the window at storm clouds blowing past, then rose from his chair and ambled down the stairs. In his study, he drew the screen across the fireplace, turned out the reading light, and stopped a moment to listen. Rafters creaked under the wind’s wrath and windows rattled, but all else was quiet.
With practiced ease, he drew out the top book in the corner of his bookshelf, pressed the button under the chair rail, and stepped through the hidden doorway when it swung open. It creaked shut behind him.
Although shrouded in darkness, he didn’t slow. He knew exactly where every item in the room waited, could see the colors and textures in his mind, had long ago memorized the smells. This had been his sanctuary longer than he cared to consider.
Drawing a match across the striker, he raised the glass chimney and savored the tang of sulfur as he held the match to the lamp wick. His room took on a yellow-orange glow, and he unbuttoned his shirt as he watched the flame sway.
Cassandra gave him grief about his affinity for lamp and candlelight, pointing out that fire was one thing he wouldn’t survive. But he was willing to take the risk to enjoy flames that sometimes gave his quarters a dreamy quality, and other times cast a light of clarity into the darkest corners of his thoughts.
His mind turned to those darkest corners as he shed his clothing, stretched out on his bed, and folded his arms behind his head. Somewhere back there was the memory of sunshine and life, and of his last day pacing the shoreline, futilely searching for signs of his men. He remembered sitting on a boulder, shivering, watching the reflection of a red sun setting behind him until the sky grew too dark to see the divide between water and clouds. Thundering surf drowned out all but the inner voice that cursed his fate. How could he have survived when all others perished? It shouldn’t have happened that way. He should have gone down with his ship.
“They’re gone, Benjamin,” Cassandra said. “Face the truth and release your sorrow.” She slid her hands gently across the back of his shoulders as if smoothing creases from his coat.
“How can I? If not for me, they’d still be alive. Collingswood, Fox, Ashby, all of them. Young Jeffery Veech had barely reached his fifteenth year. How am I to tell his mother that her boy won’t return?”
“You need not tell anyone anything. Stay here with me.”
“I can’t abandon my duty.” He rose to face her. “I have responsibilities.”
She
