Page 2 of Hooking Captain Teeth

Next table!

I’ve leaped and tapped halfway around the room when a crew of pirates burst through the doors. Their leader has shiny, clean brown hair framing cold, grey eyes. His hands are red from scrubbing. Ship’s doctor, if I had to guess. Behind him is a short man—no higher than the doctor’s ribs—with shocking red hair and a tidy, red beard. His blue eyes twinkle with mischief, but the set of his mouth is stern. I’d say he’s theenforcer—small but lethal—like a bosun, master of sails, or quartermaster. Wouldn’t he be fun for a night?

Other crewmen flood in without a care in the world. They are ratline climbers, deck scrubbers, gunners, or other disposable men, based on their dependence on the short man to scout out the bar for danger. A man with a full set of metal teeth gives me a terrifying smile before heading for Jamal. Not touching that sailor for all the pearls in the sea!

Last through the swinging doors is a man with the whitest smile I’ve ever seen. Crystalline blue eyes clearer than the Caribbean Sea sparkle at me. The crooked hook of his nose mars the perfection of an otherwise statue-worthy face. Tall, strong, and encased in worn leather, he’s built like a ratline climber but wealthier. He scans the crowd like a seasoned pirate too.

I’m blinded by lust and momentarily lose my footing. The heel of my tattered boot lodges between two planks on the table. My ankle screams as it twists with my momentum. Arms pinwheeling, my weight swings over the edge of the table. The sticky, grog-soaked floor rushes toward my face as I prepare for impact.

I thump into the strong arms of the handsome pirate whose boots are the size of boats. My hair brushes over their metal tips and tangles in the leatherlaces crisscrossed up his shins. Two long, clean fingers press into the side of my breast, sending lava through my veins. He’s missing the middle and ring finger at the base knuckle.

“Caught me a doxie,” the handsome man yells to the crowd, who laughs and cheers in response. His deep timbre rattles my bones and spreads goose-pimples over my flesh. The cold, bare flesh of my arse, exposed to the room! I fight the hem of my skirts that flipped to my shoulders during my fall. His arm supports my weight at the waist while his hand fists my skirts to keep them up. His other hand spanks me, hard. The crack rings out over the chorus of laughter. My face heats with embarrassment. I’m not drunk enough to flash the crowd!

“Unhand me, you scoundrel,” I yell upside-down, earning myself a second swat. My cocktail threatens to come up again as I spin upright. I wobble as he sets me back on the table where I fell. I should smack him. I should channel Bettina and scold him.

Why am I aroused by this handsome man who can handle me like a tiny fairy but chooses to degrade me by spanking me in public? Men like him threaten my independence and right to a night of fun each month. He’s the type of pirate everyone is afraid I will meet. Did theyknow I’d be drawn to him like a moth to a flame?

“There we go,” he says with another pat on my behind. Thankfully, this time my skirts block his contact. “Back to work, wench.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to save face and tell him I’m not one of Maude’s girls. He must be one of the demons fromPatricia’s Wish. The smartest course would be to dance away from him and back to the condescending sailor who smelled nice. I’m too bright to be swayed by a pretty smile…a smile without a hint of rot…and perfectly manicured nails…all seven of them as clean as his smile. As my eyes search him for flaws, he runs the four fingers of his left hand through his mane of golden hair. Both his middle fingers are missing. I’m blasted with the scent of soap, gunpowder, boat tar, and an ocean breeze.

My shoulders rise and fall as I breathe him into my lungs.

A flirty remark dies on my tongue as he adjusts himself through the crotch of his leather pants. Nope. Too much. Too uncouth, too vulgar, too smarmy, too much for a part-time human like me. He’s as shameless as me but with twice the firepower. Not gracing him with another second of my attention, I twirl and dance along the table to the opposite end of the brothel. I’ll find a safer man to bed tonight.

I kick and tap to the beat with my skirtsswishing above my knees for mediocre sailors, stealing furtive glances at the handsome man and his table of rowdy friends. I don’t dare approach them. I do possess some sense of self-preservation. The night flies by as shots are taken from my cleavage and poured down my throat by random drunks.

All the while, the handsome pirate watches me from his corner.

The heat in his stare burns away my inhibitions, and I find myself performing for him, using the attention from men closer to me as my props. Coins jingle in my pockets and shoes as I earn my night’s lodgings under the pirate’s lustful gaze. It isn’t long before I’m singing louder than the girls on stage.

My peg-legged companion leaves with his head shaking in warning. He can’t buss my cheeks. He’s not my father. My father’s at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. I thumb my nose at the swinging doors as he exits the bar.

Time to secure a room from Jamal. Looks like I’ll be sleeping alone tonight, but some nights are slow. On a good night, I’ll take two or three men to my room in succession before selecting the one I will sleep beside. Nights like tonight balance the scales. My body must wait another month for a masculine touch to feed my desires. I hope the working girls areluckier and wake up next to stacks of gold.

“Here’s one, two, five gold coins,” I count as I drop doubloons onto the bar top. Maude’s rate is three coins for rooms not occupied by her girls, so the two extra coins will go to Jamal’s savings. I hope he opens the beachside cantina of his dreams someday. “I’d like a room—the one at the far end of the hallway if it’s open.”

“Are you sure? Miss Opal has the room next to that one. Maybe take the first room,” Jamal says, swiping my coins into his hand. He trades them for a large iron key. Being a ‘screamer’ is Miss Opal’s specialty. I’ll wake up with a banging headache if I’m in the room next to hers.

“Thanks for always looking out for me,” I reply, swiping the key off the bar top.

“Which room is ours?” I don’t need to turn around to know it’s the handsome pirate behind me. My body ignites with the command in his question.

“I’m in room one,” I say, verifying the key is labeled with the number one. He steps toward me with a palm outstretched for the key. “You are bunking in the bilge of some ship with the rest of the sea sludge.”

He takes a predatory step forward. My back hits the bar. I clutch the key to my chest. It vibrates with the pounding of my heart—or maybe that’s the shaking of my fingers. Blond hair tickles my nose ashe leans over me, one arm resting on the bar to either side of my waist. His scent invades my nose. Blue eyes bore into me with an intensity that curls my toes in my boots.

“Tell me you don’t want me in your bed to pleasure you from head to toe and make your every fantasy come true, and I’ll disappear,” he whispers against my ear. The brush of his lips on my earlobe unravels me.

My soul bond snaps from its cage in my heart and reaches for him.

My fated mate stands before me.

A once-in-a-lifetime connection and the promise of true love war in my head with my common sense. He’s not just a pirate, but a notoriously demonic pirate, sailing under a she-devil. For all my blustering, I’m afraid. This man will break my heart when he chooses piracy over life under the sea with me. Why would a man like him commit to a quiet life? I should save myself the agony of tying my soul to a ruffian and losing him to the sweet trade or worse.

The word ‘no’ will save my heart and soul.

“Stay with me,” I whisper as tears gather in my eyes.

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