Taming the Pirate

by Ruth Owen

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

In Ruth Owen’s captivating novel, a woman in danger must hide the truth about her past from the sexy PI who’s bent on protecting—and loving—her.
 
Gabe Ramirez is descended from a long line of pirates who turned their plundered treasures into legitimate fortunes, making his family one of the richest and most powerful in their native Cuba. As a private investigator in Miami, Gabe leads a more mundane existence than that of his ancestors. But when he meets Laurie Palmer, his world is turned upside down. He’s never seen a beauty quite so breathtaking—and as past experience has taught him, a woman this gorgeous can only spell trouble.
 
Laurie and her six-year-old son, Adam, are on the run. The last thing she needs is a PI getting close enough to learn the truth about her—even if her body aches to be pressed up against the hunky detective’s chiseled physique. Though she rebuffs all of his offers for help, Gabe refuses to be deterred. And when Laurie surrenders to the explosive chemistry between them, she prays she can trust Gabe with her heart—and her life.
 
Includes a special message from the editor, as well as excerpts from other Loveswept titles.

Release date: December 9, 2013

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 240

Sample

ONE
 
El Diablo was broken again. Gabe Ramirez lay sprawled on his back on the linoleum floor of his office and looked up into the mechanical guts of his ancient air-conditioning unit, feeling outmaneuvered. Diablo had an uncanny knack of breaking down only on the hottest Miami days, and this morning was no exception. Though it was still only April, the weatherman predicted that the mercury would hit one hundred degrees by afternoon. Judging from the hot, humid air that blew in through his wide open windows, Gabe believed the weatherman was being optimistic.
 
He twisted a strategic-looking valve, and barked a sharp Cuban curse when the knob came off in his hand. Damn! he was sick of this thing. He pushed himself out from under the unit and looked around his small, modestly furnished storefront office, feeling sick of it as well. For two years he’d run his investigation business out of this place, helping his friends and neighbors carve little victories out of a legal system that was heavily weighted against the average man. He made a comfortable living, but it paled to insignificance beside his high-flying past. Sometimes he couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if he’d chosen differently, if he’d said yes to the tainted offer instead of no.
 
You still have your honor, his mind whispered.
 
But a man couldn’t bank on his honor. And he sure as hell couldn’t use it to repair a demonic air conditioner. Smiling grimly, he rolled up the sleeves of his cotton shirt—a ready-to-wear brand rather than the tailored variety he’d worn in the old days—and shoved his lean, powerful body under the unit again, determined to fix El Diablo or die in the attempt. He had just located the broken Freon line when Yoli rushed in, yelling at the top of her lungs.
 
“I’ve found her!”
 
Startled, Gabe sat up, and conked his head on the metal underbelly. Cursing silently he pulled himself out and looked daggers at his secretary. “Found who?” he asked as he rubbed his smarting forehead.
 
“Her,” Yoli said, tossing her frizzy yellow curls in triumph. “The Empress.”
 
Gabe’s hand stilled midrub. He was working three missing persons cases at the moment, and none of them involved royalty. Not for the first time, he wished he’d never given in to the impulse to hire the batty blonde, even if she had needed the job. “Yoli,” he said with long-suffering patience, “we are not looking for an empress.”
 
“We aren’t, but you are,” she replied. “Of course, she isn’t the Empress yet. She’s the Queen of Swords. But she’ll become the Empress after you fall in love with her.”
 
“After I fall …” Gabe repeated, his words dwindling into silence. Yoli had really gone off the deep end this time. He ran his hand over his face, wondering if her sudden madness would prevent her from typing that twenty-page report he needed so badly, when a thought struck him. “You aren’t talking about those damn cards again, are you?”
 
Yoli clutched the quartz crystal hanging from a silver chain around her neck. “You shouldn’t make fun of the Tarot. The cards never lie.”
 
Gabe’s mood hadn’t been great when Yoli entered the room, and her announcement did nothing to improve it. Hot and frustrated, he was tempted to tell Yoli exactly what he thought of her Tarot cards, her tea leaves, and all her other physic paraphernalia. He didn’t, of course. Yoli’s belief in the New Age movement had turned the lonely, timid widow into a lively extrovert. Personally, he thought the whole thing was about as credible as Uncle Carlos’s “foolproof horse-handicapping system, but he kept that opinion to himself. Hoax or not, the change in her was genuine. But that didn’t mean he believed in this fortune-telling nonsense, and he intended to put a stop to it right now. “Yoli, I have a girlfriend.”
 
“You have several,” she stated bluntly, “but no one you truly care about. And no one who truly cares about you.”
 
That remark hit him a little too close to the bone for comfort. “I’m not looking for a long-term commitment. Besides,” he added, flashing her a pirate’s grin, “you know my heart belongs to Dulcinea.”
 
Yoli’s pale brows drew together in a stern frown. She was one of the few women in the city unmoved by Gabe’s rakish smile. It was, he had to admit, one of the things he liked best about her. She had a knack for seeing beneath a person’s exterior, into their hearts. Besides, she was the only secretary he’d ever had who put up with his odd hours and exacting standards.
 
When a case gripped him, he became a man possessed, foregoing meals, sleep, and good manners to see it through to the end. It was this same single-minded determination that had gotten him promoted, and then fired, from the Miami police force.
 
Easygoing Yoli was the ideal secretary for him. She was also crazy as a bedbug.
 
“Yoli, next time ask those cards something useful. Like how to fix this son-of-a-dog air conditioner.” Sighing, he picked up his screwdriver and turned back to El Diablo, preparing once more to do battle with his adversary. He lay down and braced his long legs to push himself under the unit, but before he did Yoli cried out and pointed toward the open window.
 
“There she is. There’s the Empress!” she exclaimed.
 
Gabe groaned aloud, knowing he shouldn’t look. His secretary’s predictions, though frequent, were never right. Besides, he knew everyone in the Calle Ocho neighborhood of Miami’s Little Havana, and all the women under fifty were either married, engaged, or … well, not interested in limiting their enterprise by marriage. Still, he was curious to see what kind of woman Yoli’s dubious fortune-telling powers had chosen as his perfect mate. It couldn’t hurt to look, he reasoned silently as he pulled his lean body to its full six feet height and followed Yoli’s gaze out the window. She’s probably big as a house, anyway.
 
He was wrong. She was as big as two houses.
 
“Carlotta Vazquez?” Gabe said, gaping at his secretary in shock. “But she’s … married.”
 
Yoli made a sound of profound exasperation. “Not her. The other woman. Near the apartment building steps.”
 
Gabe looked again and spotted a slim, leggy figure standing in the building’s shadow. The too-large shirt and shorts she wore hung on her slight frame like rags on a scarecrow. “The scrawny one? Concho, Yoli, I could never take her out on the water. A stiff ocean breeze would blow that one away.”
 
The words had barely left his mouth when a young, dark-haired boy ran down the steps of the apartment building and sailed full tilt into the girl’s arms. She caught him with ease. Gabe’s hawk-sharp eyes narrowed as he automatically read the body language between them, determining beyond a doubt that the boy was her son. “Okay, so she’s stronger than she looks,” Gabe admitted, “but she’s not really my type—”
 
His words ended abruptly as she stepped out of the shadows and the full force of the sun caught her blonde, shoulder-length hair. It was veined with a copper so wondrously bright it seemed to outshine the sun itself. Gabe leaned toward the open window, his heart pounding in his chest. No, not copper. Red-gold …
 
Gold. Centuries ago it had lured his ancestors away from their comfortable Spanish haciendas, driving them to risk the treacherous seas and the hangman’s noose for its gleaming promise. Dozens had died, or been captured, drowned or worse in their lusty pursuit of treasure. But dozens more had lived and settled their families in the secret island harbors of the lawless Caribbean.
 
Pirates all, the Ramirez forefathers gradually turned their plundered treasure into legitimate fortunes, eventually becoming one of the richest and most powerful families in Cuba. Castro’s takeover had stripped them of most of their wealth and exiled them to America, but the lure of gold remained, as much a part of the Ramirez men as their razor-sharp wits or their glossy black hair.
 
Gabe had thought himself immune to the family heritage. He’d never lusted after material wealth, not even when he’d traveled in the glittering circles of Miami’s social elite. But the gold in the woman’s hair stirred his blood in a way he’d never imagined, just as the first doubloon had enticed his many-times greatgrandfather all those years ago.
 
There was a saying in his family, handed down through the generations. Once a pirate, always a pirate.
 
He watched the bright-haired woman and her son walk hand in hand down the street, never taking his eyes off her until she turned a corner and disappeared from his sight. Even then, he continued to stare at the corner, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. He might have watched for her all day, if a muffled laugh behind him hadn’t caught his attention. He turned around, and found Yoli studying him, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
 
Reality doused his passion like a bucket of cold water. Savvy, shrewd, and occasionally ruthless Gabe Ramirez never let anyone get the better of him. He’d built his professional reputation on it. Yet his ozone secretary and a red-haired chiquita had just made him behave like a first-class idiot. ¡Válgame Dios! If this got out he’d never live it down.
 
He shrugged his shoulders and hunkered back down in front of El Diablo, hoping that Yoli would assume he was disinterested and leave. No such luck. Flighty Yoli possessed a steel streak of determination that was every bit as stubborn as his.
 
“Her name is Laurie Palmer,” she said, answering the question he purposely hadn’t asked. “The boy is her six-year-old son Adam. She moved into the Perezes’ apartment building across the street last week.” Then, as if saving the best for last, she raised her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “And she’s not wearing a ring.”
 
Gabe scooted back under the air conditioner. “Save your breath, Yoli. I’m not interested.”
 
“Nonsense,” his secretary continued, undaunted. “She’s perfect for you. She’s pretty, exceptionally bright, and has a great sense of humor. Anyway, you need someone in your life. It’s been almost two years since—”
 
“I’m not interested!” Gabe snarled, his harsh words startling her into silence. “And get back to work. I’m not paying you to stand around doing nothing!”
 
Yoli stiffened. “Well, you don’t have to be nasty about it,” she stated, and left the room without another word.