She was in a stranger's bed, hating him . . . and wanting him.
Each time Jeanette thought of the Frenchman, she tingled with reluctant delight. He was a mercenary with no morals, no ethics -- a man of reckless daring.
He was the captain of the fastest ships on the ocean, and so she made a deal with him. A deal to transport her cotton and turn it into ammunition and medical supplies for her beloved Confederacy. The Yankees had murdered her husband. Now she wanted to get even.
There was one unusual aspect of their arrangement. The Frenchman insisted on making love to her every time he delivered a shipment.
And Jeanette could not get him out of her mind -- or keep her body from remembering . . .