THE question had nagged Martin relentlessly since the day the pirate ghost saved him from the hurricane that destroyed his Jamaica mansion. Why? Why had this ghost come back at that time to rescue him? He had to know.
Martin’s yacht was barely visible in the dying light of the sunset where it was anchored just past the pounding surf. A hidden coral reef lay submerged there between ship and land, alive with flitting fish. A little to the north, a spit of land with a rocky cliff added drama to the otherwise flat landscape.
Behind him, the jungle was noisy with chattering parrots, macaws, and other bird life. The beach was broad where he’d built up his fire, then stretched south to curve away toward the west and disappear. The Yucatan Peninsula was back in that direction, a mere twenty or so miles but seemingly a world away.
He was alone. He’d ordered his Captain to deposit him here and return to the ship. He would spend the night with his bonfire, the abandoned beach, and if he was lucky, supremely lucky, his ghost.
This was the island; he was absolutely sure of it. In his wild dream, or spiritual visitation, or whatever the hell it had been, William Heathcliff, the long dead buccaneer, had fucked him here in the sand. The memory was crystal clear, though brief. The trouble was, there had been no beginning nor end to it. Just the middle, with pirate cock up his ass and a sense of ecstatic, exotic pleasure in his bones. How had they gotten to that island? And what was their relationship back in the past? Was there a relationship?
Martin gazed into the crackling flames as nightfall descended to wrap him in its dark embrace. He thought over the past six months, wondering how he’d managed to maintain a calm outer façade when his emotions were in such turmoil. Only Cecilia knew about the ghost. He’d told his sister how the ethereal visitor had lured him into the bowels of his own Jamaica mansion just in time to save him from the hurricane that destroyed it. She believed him.
“Now you just have to find him again. Find out what he wants, or what it is he offers. Love, maybe?” she had teased.
Cecilia knew him well. He hadn’t ever been even close to falling in love. There was no money in it, and as a banking financier, money was his priority. Or at least it had been.
Now, he’d simply gone nuts—over a pirate ghost.
He leapt up, startled out of his reverie by an unexpected sight beyond the flickering flames and hazy smoke of his bonfire. Another bonfire down the beach! How could that be? He’d ordered the crew of his yacht to stay aboard. It couldn’t be any of them.
He realized it wasn’t that far away, only a couple of hundred yards or so. Impossible! The fire was large and roaring, but there hadn’t been any sign of it before now. Shadowy figures surrounded it, cavorting in and out of the light and shadow, doing little jigs, raising jugs of wine and rum to their lips.