At Her Pleasure

What exactly did the lady pirate mean about “the power of woman”? Weren’t women of her day more powerless than most? As much as Nicole could recall from her college history courses, in those days women weren’t allowed to own property or sign legal documents. They were at the mercy of their husbands or male relatives.

Things had changed a great deal for the better, but she had to admit that one of the things that had hurt most in the whole debacle with Kenneth had been her own feeling of powerlessness. He had held all the cards. When she’d learned of his infidelity and lies, she’d wept and ranted and made demands—all of which he ignored with an unsettling calmness that only made her feel more out of control.

Then he’d fired her, and there’d been nothing she could do. He’d pointed out—also with chilling calm—that as owner of the business he had the right to hire and fire anyone he wished, at any time, for any reason. Besides, he’d added, everyone knew about their affair and that it had ended, and she didn’t want to stay around to become the object of office gossip, did she?

Ha! Too bad she didn’t have the option of turning pirate and making Dr. Ken walk the plank!

I was born Jane Hallowell, daughter of George Hallowell, a successful merchant, owner of a half-dozen fine merchant ships. I was no great beauty as a child, but as I matured I was endowed with a handsomeness that attracted men.

One of these men was a pirate. His name does not matter here, and indeed, I have vowed never to speak it again. He wooed me with pretty presents and exciting tales of his adventures on the seas. He mesmerized me with smooth words and aroused in me feelings I had never experienced before. He stole my virtue—nay, I gave it gladly, knowing that I was in love and one day would soon wed.

What a naive child I was! On the very day when I waited on the docks for my lover to arrive and take me away with him forever, I learned that my father’s fleet of merchant ships had been attacked, and had suffered a grievous loss. My poor father wailed and buried his face in his hands. When I asked who had done this thing, he uttered the very name of my pirate!

The man I had loved, to whom I had given my all, had never loved me. He had used me to learn the secrets of my father’s business—the routes of my father’s ships and their cargos. He had struck like a cobra, taking all, destroying my father.

Destroying me.

Or so he thought. But I would not be destroyed. Not when the creditors came to auction the house and all our belongings. Not when my father took his own life by shooting himself with a pistol. I died, too, then. Jane Hallowell died.

But Passionata was born.

Fascinated, Nicole read on. She learned how Passionata took her father’s last remaining ship and sailed to the pirate’s haven of Tortuga, where she searched among the brothels and bars for other women like herself—desperate women with nothing to lose and a determination to take revenge on the male sex who had used them so cruelly. From one of the women she learned of the deserted atoll where she made her headquarters and began almost sixteen years of seduction and destruction.

Yes, we were women. The so-called weaker sex, without the physical strength of men. But we have something greater. We have the mental stamina that only women have.

And we have the one weapon that can bring all men to their knees. For every man—as long as he is a true man, and not the other kind, who, indeed I have found to be great allies—will succumb to the power of a woman’s sexuality. Since Adam bowed before Eve, men have always been defeated by this power.

I have devoted my life to teaching all women who want to learn how to use this power. A woman who knows the power of her own body will never be at the mercy of a mere man again.

Nicole reread these last words out loud. “‘A woman who knows the power of her own body will never be at the mercy of a mere man again.’” A man like Kenneth, she thought.

She eagerly turned to the next chapter in Passionata’s tale. Adam had told her she’d enjoy the book, but he probably hadn’t anticipated she would take it so much to heart.

For the first time since cleaning out her desk at the surgical center, she began to feel hope. This book—and this vacation on the island where Passionata had made her home—was Nicole’s opportunity to start fresh. She’d devote this time to learning what the lady pirate had to teach her, and she would never be “at the mercy of a mere man again.”

IAN MARSHALL MOVED THROUGH the packed marketplace in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, easing around clots of T-shirt-clad tourists and craning his neck to see into the vendors’ stalls, while at the same time trying not to appear too interested.

“Come and see. I have nice souvenirs for you.” A man with Rastafarian dreadlocks motioned him toward a table of wood carvings.

Ian shook his head and backed away. The vendor picked up a carving and advanced toward him. “You like a little smoke? A little ganja? I have a lighter for you.” He slid down a panel at the bottom of the carving of a man and revealed an oversize penis-shaped lighter.

Ian shook his head and darted away, only to collide with a tableful of straw baskets. “You want to buy a basket?” the woman asked, never missing a beat as she straightened her wares. “Very beautiful. Very useful.”

Ian stopped to consider the baskets. He could probably use something like this, to store food or collect specimens. And he had almost upset her stall. He picked up a large round basket. “How much for this one?” he asked.

She named a price that sounded more than reasonable. He quickly paid her and moved on. He didn’t have much time and he still had a long list of supplies to obtain. He was going to be on the island for three months and had to take with him everything he’d need to survive. The guide at the wharf had told them there was a surplus store near here that could outfit him, and he’d cut through this market thinking it was a short cut.

Bad idea. He couldn’t move two steps without someone imploring him to come inside their stall and “Just look.” And every minute he lingered here was costing him. He’d agreed to be back in two hours to board the merchant ship on which he’d booked passage. They would drop him off on the island in the morning. If he didn’t show up, they wouldn’t hesitate to sail without him, and his work would be delayed.

Up ahead, past the cluster of stalls, he spotted part of a large overhead marquis. Could that be the place he was looking for? Head down, he moved as swiftly as he dared through the crowd, deaf now to the cries of the vendors.

A dark hand reached out and grabbed hold of him. When he tried to shake it off, the fingers tightened around his arm. “You don’t want to pass up what I am offering,” said a honey-smooth voice.

Annoyed, he glanced to his right and found himself staring into a pair of intense black eyes. They belonged to a woman wearing a red and yellow headscarf. Her face was smooth and unlined, but those eyes looked as if they’d seen a lot. “Come in here,” she said, pulling him toward her stall. “I have something for you.”

“No, really, I don’t have time—”

But already they were at the door of the little shack that served as her shop. “You will not regret making time for this.” She reached up to a shelf and chose a small blue glass bottle and pressed it into his hand.

The shack was filled with such bottles, in every color of the rainbow. He stared down at the one she’d handed him. It had no label, but he could see it was three-quarters full of some dark liquid. “What is this?”

She smiled, showing large, yellowed teeth. “It is a love potion. You put some in the drink of a woman you desire and she will be unable to resist you.”

He wondered if it would have worked on Danielle, his most recent ex-girlfriend. She’d certainly found him easy to resist. When he’d suggested she accompany him on this trip, she’d actually laughed in his face. “You’re going off to some deserted island to play Robinson Crusoe for three months? You won’t last a week.” She’d patted him on the shoulder, a patronizing gesture that had enraged him, though he’d kept his emotions in check. “Ian, the only things you know about life you learned from books. You live in your head, not the real world. But I’m out here where real life is happening. I want a man who can be there with me.”

“Let me guess, you’ve already found him,” he’d said.

She didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm. “I’ve found a real man who makes me happy,” she said.

Doctoral students who spent most of their time in research libraries and classrooms didn’t qualify as authentic males, apparently.

One more reason to take this trip. He’d spend the summer living by his wits, relying only on his own labor and strength. He’d prove to Danielle—and to himself—that he had brains and brawn. That he was a real man.

So what would Danielle think if she could see him now, being bullied by shop venders?

He shoved the bottle back at the woman. “I don’t need any love potions,” he said. “There aren’t any women where I’ll be spending my summer.”

She narrowed her eyes, then grabbed his wrist in an iron grip and drew his hand toward her, palm up. She lowered her face until her nose was almost touching his skin and stared. He tried to pull away, but he might as well have been trying to free himself from a bear trap.

The woman raised her head and looked into his eyes. “No, you won’t need a love potion. But I have something else you will need.” She dropped his hand, whirled and chose another bottle from the shelf.

This small flask was purple, and was warm against his skin when she pressed it into his hand.

“What is it?” he asked.

She grinned again. “Drink this and you will be able to make love to any woman for hours. You will stay harder and larger and will give her pleasure like she has never known.”

He almost dropped the bottle, and felt his face grow hot. “Um, I don’t think I’ll need this, either.” No woman had ever complained about his, um, stamina before. “I told you, there aren’t any women where I’m going.”

“You are wrong. There is a woman in your future,” she said. “A seductress whose goal will be to wear you out.” She tapped the bottle with a long, painted nail. “With this, you will never wear out.”

A pair of tourists had entered the shop and were staring at him with open interest, obviously hearing every word the woman was saying. Ian pulled out his wallet, desperate to get rid of her. “How much?” he asked.

“Ten dollar,” she said. “Worth every penny.”

Ten dollars was robbery, but he paid it, anxious to be out of there and on his way. He shoved the bottle deep into his backpack, then ran the rest of the way toward the surplus store.

He told himself it was only his imagination that he could feel the woman’s eyes burning into his back as he escaped.