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  CURVY FOR HIM: THE PRINCESS AND THE PIRATE

  ANNABELLE WINTERS

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  BY ANNABELLE WINTERS

  THE CURVES FOR SHEIKHS SERIES (USA)

  Curves for the Sheikh

  Flames for the Sheikh

  Hostage for the Sheikh

  Single for the Sheikh

  Stockings for the Sheikh

  Untouched for the Sheikh

  Surrogate for the Sheikh

  Stars for the Sheikh

  Shelter for the Sheikh

  Shared for the Sheikh

  Assassin for the Sheikh

  Privilege for the Sheikh

  Ransomed for the Sheikh

  Uncorked for the Sheikh

  Haunted for the Sheikh

  Grateful for the Sheikh

  Mistletoe for the Sheikh

  Fake for the Sheikh

  THE CURVES FOR SHIFTERS SERIES (USA)

  Curves for the Dragon

  Born for the Bear

  Witch for the Wolf

  Tamed for the Lion

  Taken for the Tiger

  THE CURVES FOR SHEIKHS SERIES (UK)

  Curves for the Sheikh (UK)

  Flames for the Sheikh (UK)

  Hostage for the Sheikh (UK)

  Single for the Sheikh (UK)

  Stockings for the Sheikh (UK)

  Untouched for the Sheikh (UK)

  Surrogate for the Sheikh (UK)

  Stars for the Sheikh (UK)

  Shelter for the Sheikh (UK)

  Shared for the Sheikh (UK)

  Assassin for the Sheikh (UK)

  Privilege for the Sheikh (UK)

  Ransomed for the Sheikh (UK)

  Uncorked for the Sheikh (UK)

  Haunted for the Sheikh (UK)

  Grateful for the Sheikh (UK)

  Mistletoe for the Sheikh (UK)

  Fake for the Sheikh (UK)

  THE CURVES FOR SHIFTERS SERIES (UK)

  Curves for the Dragon

  Born for the Bear

  Witch for the Wolf

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  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  Copyright © 2019 by Annabelle Winters

  All Rights Reserved by Author

  www.annabellewinters.com

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  Cover Design by S. Lee

  CURVY FOR HIM: THE PRINCESS AND THE PIRATE

  ANNABELLE WINTERS

  1

  DAARI

  “Princess Daari, your bath is ready.”

  I almost roll off my deck-chair as I desperately try to hide the lurid cover of the romance novel I’ve been reading. Then I quickly pull my traditional black robe closed over my white bikini and glare up at my attendant. I’m not angry, of course. Just embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed. Here I am, the sophisticated virgin Princess of Dikaana, a woman supposedly descended from the heavens, showing her boobs to the Sun-God while reading something that would result in the death-penalty under her kingdom’s own laws!

  Not that Dikaana is a Kingdom anymore, I think as a strange sadness drifts over me like the warm Mediterranean breeze swirling around my bare ankles. You can’t have a Kingdom when the King is no more.

  I sigh as I nod to my attendant and gently wave her away. My father the King died peacefully two months ago, his passing kicking off the traditional three-month mourning period in Dikaana. I dutifully grieved for the first six weeks, wearing my long black robes along with an appropriately solemn expression on my round face, my big brown eyes always lowered so my people could see how heartbroken I was to lose my father.

  My father who I hope and pray is now burning in hell.

  I smile as I stand up and stretch, slowly walking to the railing and staring out over the wild blue Mediterranean Sea as the ocean breeze plays with my long black hair. I didn’t shed a tear for the old man, and the sad truth is none of our people did either. The old King was a tyrant, a paranoid dictator who held on to outdated laws and customs, insisted on traditions that would put even the Saudi Arabians to shame.

  “Well, no more,” I say out loud, narrowing my eyes and taking a deep breath of the salty air as my ship gently rocks and rolls on the swell of the open ocean. “In a month I’ll be Queen, and everything will change. Everything.”

  The breeze picks up as if the universe is agreeing with me, and with a quick look around to make sure none of my attendants are out on the private upper deck of my ship, I take my robe off and stand in my white bikini, raising my arms and sticking my big bosom out with pride. My whole life I’ve been taught that a woman’s body needs to be covered, hidden, is a source of shame, temptation, evil. Well, no more. In one month I’ll be shedding my robes and wearing a crown. In one month I’ll be free. We’ll all be free.

  I smile and gaze at the horizon, where the sea meets sky, where the infinite meets the earth. My body tingles as I keep my arms spread wide, feeling the movement of the ship through my flesh, sense my buttocks bouncing, my boobs quivering, my belly shivering as if every part of me is ready for whatever comes next.

  Then I blink three times when I realize another part of me is tingling too, and I shake my head in embarrassment when I remember what I was reading about, how it made me feel . . . feel down there.

  “That can wait,” I mutter as a sheepish grin breaks on my face. “My country and people come first. I come next.”

  I giggle at the pun on the word “come,” and then I’m covering my face and laughing in shock at myself. I’ve never even held hands with a man, let alone been kissed, heaven forbid touched in even a vaguely sexual way! But here I am in a bikini that barely holds my big body in place, my mind going to places that . . . that . . .

  Suddenly I see a flash of light on the horizon and I freeze. I squint and stare, but I don’t see anything else. Still, it wasn’t my imagination. That flash wasn’t just the sun reflecting off the sea. It was daylight bouncing off glass. Man-made glass. Binoculars or a telescope.

  “Someone’s watching,” I say with a gasp as I blink and look down at myself, brown and mostly-naked in a way not even my closest female attendants have seen! “Oh, shit!”

  Hurriedly I reach down to grab my robe, but just as I do it my ship makes a sharp left turn and I go down on my big bottom with a yelp and a thud! Immediately my two female attendants come up the metal stairs and rush over to me, helping me up as their eyes go wide at my brazen boldness to wear a bikini in the open.

  “What is the Captain doing?” I demand breathlessly as I pull my robe closed and regain my composure. “Is he drunk on seawater?”

  My attendants look at each other and shake their heads. I can see they’re worried. Maybe even afraid.

  “The Captain has seen something on the radar,” says my younger attendant, her eyes lowered in deference. “It appears to be a ship. A fast ship.”

  I snort and exhale. “So what? This is the open sea. There are always ships around.”

  “The Captain says this one appears to be moving . . . aggressively.”

  I blink and shake my head. “Aggressively? What does that mean?”

  The other attendant cuts in. “It me
ans the other ship has plotted a course that will put us right in its path. The Captain attempted to change our course slightly, but the other ship responded by adjusting its own course and picking up speed. It appears to be heading directly for us, Princess. The Captain has already radioed the nearest island to ask for a helicopter for emergency evacuation, perhaps even military aircraft for protection in case the ship means us harm.”

  I swallow hard as I think of that flash of telltale light, a sign that someone was watching. “Harm? Don’t you think the Captain is overreacting?”

  “He says these waters are known for pirates,” says my younger attendant, her eyes wide again.

  I snort. “Pirates? What is this, the 1400s?” I stay calm even as I see the anxiety on my attendants’ faces. I know that pirates are by no means a thing of the past. Still, we have ten armed men on the boat. Any smart pirate would turn around and just wait for easier pickings like the next Greek billionaire’s yacht.

  But again I think back to that strange feeling that someone was watching, and as a chill passes through me, I feel that tingle down there as if I’m still excited! I glance at that romance novel sitting face-down on the deck and shake my head. Well, vacation’s over, I suppose, I tell myself as I sigh and nod at my attendants, preparing to go below deck.

  We step into the cool air-conditioned comfort of the accommodations, and I see my head of security standing with his head bowed, waiting to update me. I nod at him and he looks up.

  “The request for military aircraft was turned down by the local governments because they claim it is not an imminent threat,” he says gravely. “And the closest islands have no helicopters to send us. We have no choice but to run, Princess. Please stay below decks at all times. I will post three men outside your door. The rest will take up positions on the decks, ready to defend you till the death.”

  I nod once, still feeling like everyone’s overreacting. Dikaana is an island kingdom in the Gulf of Oman in the Middle East, and though we have our problems, all our issues are internal. We have no borders with other Middle Eastern countries. No borders means no disputes. So I’m not too worried. Our ship is fast too—and even if they catch us, my head of security wasn’t joking: My men will defend me to the death—most likely the death of the other guy!

  Yes, I decide as I frown again at that strange feeling of anticipation, even excitement. Whoever’s on that ship is making the biggest mistake of his life.

  2

  DESH

  “This is a mistake,” I mutter as I adjust the sight on my telescope. I also have to adjust my breeches, which have suddenly become tight as hell as my cock stiffens to full mast at the sight of Princess Daari in that white bikini, her bronze curves flashing in the sun, her big breasts full and heavy, womanly hips wide and magnificent, smooth round buttocks that I want to dig my meaty paws into, thick thighs that I want to spread wide so I can push my face in there and smell her goddamn scent.

  I cock my head as I finally lower the telescope and look down at myself, at the bulge at the front of my faded breeches. I don’t generally react like this to the mere sight of a woman in a bikini. I’m from the islands, born and raised on the beach. I’ve seen more boobs and butts than an Italian senator. But the sight of this woman is making me dizzy, making my head spin, throwing me off in a way that’s puzzling. I feel like I already know something about this woman from the way she spread her arms wide and stood tall and proud in her curvy glory when she thought no one was looking but then hastily covered up when her female attendants arrived.

  “Yes, I already know something about her,” I mutter as I rub my thick stubble and scan the weather-beaten faces of my men on the lower decks. “And what I know feels at odds with what I was told.”

  “The Princess is an image of her father,” I was told by the bearded man who represented the dead King’s second wife, Princess Daari’s stepmother. “Cruel and oppressive. Ruthless to the point of insanity. Hungry for power and glory. You would be doing our kingdom a service, Mr. Desh. A service for which the King’s widow will pay handsomely for, of course.”

  “How much?” I said, my thoughts going back to my men, to my responsibility, to my word. My crew have sailed with me for years, and many of them are looking to settle down on their home islands, raise families or whatever. Years of debauchery has taken its toll on them, and they have been pushing me for one last haul, a big score that will set them up for life. I’ve done good by my crew over the years, but what they do with their share is up to them. Of course, most of them chose to spend it all on booze and women, and although I often suggest they try to save some, I’m usually laughed off and cursed out.

  “Should we bury our treasure on a desert island, Blackbeard?” they’d say, waving bottles of island rum in a way that makes me want to say, yes, that might actually be a better plan than blowing it all at the next port’s whorehouse just like the pirates of the 1400s did.

  But that sort of talk is now in the past, and my crew are slowly coming to realize that they want more out of life. Many of them already have wives back on their islands. Some of them have kids. I’ve been sailing with these men since most of us were teenagers, and these lugs don’t know how to do anything else. And although I always set the tone for how we conduct our crimes on the high-seas, left to their own devices some of these men could easily turn to the dark side of crime if they need money. I can’t allow that. I accept that I’m a pirate, an outlaw, a criminal, thief, and even a murderer. But I have principles. I’ve never sunk a ship that wasn’t already full of murderers. Never killed a man who didn’t have it coming, didn’t attack me or my crew first. And I’ve never killed a woman. Call me sexist, but that’s a line I will not cross.

  Which was why I simply shook my head and turned down the Dikaanan emissary’s offer. But clearly he was prepared to counter my objection, and when he described in detail what the dead king had done to his people, how he’d institutionalized torture, legalized public floggings, stonings, and beheadings, made it perfectly legal to whip and cane children in the schools of his kingdom, I listened as my anger rose.

  “The Princess stood by her father’s side for years and allowed him to enact his cruel laws,” the messenger whispered as I listened. “Some say many of the policies were actually Princess Daari’s ideas! If she ascends to the throne next month, she will be untouchable. And when she marries and bears children, raising her young with her twisted values, it will seal the fate of our kingdom for generations, perhaps forever!”

  Once again I’d refused. Politics isn’t my concern, and I don’t trust a man whose expression I can’t read. Still, after he urged me to hold off on an answer until I did my own research, I agreed.

  I took a few days, squinting at a computer screen until it gave me a goddamn headache. But my research seemed to back up the man’s claim. The dead King was a goddamn monster, and if anyone had asked me to sink his ship, I’d have done it for free! There wasn’t much information available about his daughter or his wife, though. Not even any photographs of either of their faces without a veil and head-covering. Very few photos of the two women at all, in fact, and not a single of all three of them standing together as a family. Strange. Didn’t royal folks take family portraits all the time? Who knew how it works in the Middle East though. Or in any royal family.

  Still, there’s something strange about this family, I’d thought as I looked closely at the couple of grainy photographs of the daughter and the only one I could find of the stepmother: her wedding photograph from ten years ago, her eyes lowered as she sat silently beside her much older husband. It had struck me that the stepmother’s eyes looked remarkably like the Princess’s, which made me wonder if they might be related somehow. Maybe, maybe not, I’d thought, shrugging it off as irrelevant and focusing back on what I could learn about Princess Daari.

  Well, she wasn’t a child, that much was clear. Her mother, the king’s first wife, had died t
wenty years ago, so Daari was very much a grown woman, certainly capable of understanding that her father was a fucking tyrant. So maybe this messenger was right, I decided. Maybe I would be freeing a million souls from oppression by sending the Princess to the bottom of the sea.

  I take a long breath of the sea air as I nod at my First Mate, who nods back and slowly pushes the throttle to full power. We’re a small ship, but sleek and strong, with a triple-hull that can withstand a goddamn torpedo if it had to. There’s a battering ram fixed to the helm of my ship, just beneath the waterline, its head reinforced with steel and bronze, hard enough to penetrate any ship weighing less than ten-thousand tons. The Princess’s ship is beautiful, but it has a wooden hull that will crack like an egg when I strike her beneath the waterline. There won’t be time to launch their lifeboats—and if they do, those will be even easier to sink.

  I take a deep breath as the Princess’s ship comes into view. One more look through my scope and I see her bodyguards in position on all the decks, rifles poised, ready to defend. Strange, I think. If everyone hates the Princess, wouldn’t these guards simply stand down and surrender to save their own arses?

  “Well, even an evil Princess might be charming enough to gather a group of believers,” I mutter as I scan the ship trying to get another glimpse of Daari. She’s gone below decks and I don’t see her.

  I’m about to put down my scope and order my men to take cover behind our bulletproof shields as we prepare to ram the Princess’s ship at full speed, but just then I catch movement in one of the portholes in the accommodations stack. I focus my scope, holding it steady in my strong hands as my ship rocks wildly as if the sea has suddenly gotten choppy. It’s Daari, and my body stiffens again as I get that sinking feeling like I’m making a mistake.

  “You can have anything you want in return,” I mutter, repeating the emissary’s words when I asked him how much we’d be paid. “Anything you want once you sink that ship and everyone on it.”