Page 55 of Scourge of the Shores
He thought about letting her have it. He should have. Let her think she won, let her be comfortable.
But then the cold set in.
The need for warmth warred with something deeper, something far more dangerous to toy with. If he took it back, would she fight him? Or would she let him have it?
Before he could think better of it, he tugged the corner back toward him and rolled facing away from her, leaving the remainder of the blanket on her legs.
She stirred, letting out a small, breathy sigh. The wood creaked. He heard her sit up and rub her face, felt her glance, and then she shifted, pressing her back firmly against his and pulling the blanket tight over their shoulders.
His muscles went taut. Her back pressed against his spine, heat bleeding through the thin fabric between them. With each breath, her ribs shifted against him. If he moved, he’d wake her and alert her to what she’d done in her half-sleep.
So, he didn’t move. Every muscle stilled. Nearly afraid to breathe, a slow grin pulled at his lips. Not because he won, but because, for once, she wasn’t fighting him like she’d always done before. She didn’t even hesitate. That’s what got him. She could’ve fought for the blanket, yanked it clean off him, but instead, she pressed into him, back-to-back, and shared the warmth without hesitation. As if she didn’t mind his touch, maybe even thought it felt right.
He forced his breath to stay even to pretend to be asleep, pretend it didn’t matter. But it did. He wished he could turn over and hold her in his arms, but he wasn’t a fool. He’d end up with steel in his belly. It had to be enough for the night.
When the morning revealed her decision, she might curse him, but a fear lingered in the back of his mind.
If she woke up and didn’t pull away, he’d have to face what he already knew—that he wanted her, and maybe she wanted him too. And what if she admitted it? What if she gave in?
Then he’d have to face what it would cost them both.
CHAPTER 12
The Return Journey
Dawn sunlight filtered through the walls, and the after-rain lay thick in the air. Danna breathed it in and listened to the murmurs below. The crew was up. Despite the hard wooden planks, she felt more rested than she had in a long time.
She froze at the movement against her spine and realized she had turned her back in the night. She peered over her shoulder. He’d turned his back as well. Her body tensed, but something was calming about his quiet, sleeping presence. She nestled her head back into the crook of her arm and closed her eyes.
He didn’t need to know the effect he had on her, though she’d already slipped up twice the night before: saying his name and telling him she preferred at least one of his personas. Last night, he had been the man who stitched her up, saved her, ate with her, walked with her on the shore—the one who made her laugh, who spoke to her in hushed tones, spinning stories of his past. Those times, they had been truly alone. But every other moment, the crew had been there—watching, listening. Maybe he had to be that way to survive, as he said. But when it was just the two of them, he was the man she couldn’t escape, didn’t want to put aside.
He shifted, turning, his rhythmic breathing a whisper against her ear. His arm flopped across her blanket-covered waist. She was tempted to hit him off her, but lying in his sleeping arms, though by accident, made her breath hitch. She could feign sleep still held her, just a little longer.
Her body relaxed into him, though she told herself he’d leave anyway. He wouldn’t stay. She reminded herself that Lucas’s prophecy had said Robert Jaymes was never meant to stay, never meant to be with her. And she believed it. She had to.
“Danna.”
His whisper brushed her ear, low and quiet. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t stirred, hadn’t done anything to suggest he was awake. So he must’ve been dreaming. Saying her name in his sleep.
Maybe he wouldn’t sail away.
But he was a pirate, a young pirate, with a whole legacy left to live. He wouldn’t give it up for her. But he had been right about one thing.
The sea called her.
She wanted a life in its watery embrace. But she couldn’t leave the island. She couldn’t leave Ma, not in her current state.
The thought sealed her decision. She’d get mad at him for intruding on her space and force him away from her. It was the only way. It was the easiest thing to do. Push him away. Let him leave.
She rolled into his chest to wake him, but he didn’t move. His breathing stayed too even, too measured now that she was aware of it. Was he pretending to sleep as well? Slowly, warily, she glanced over her shoulder.
His eyes were already on her.
A soft smile curved his lips. His hand—too easily—rested on her belly, like it had always belonged there.
“Good mornin’,” he whispered, almost inaudible. The storm in his eyes settled into clear skies the longer she stayed still.
“How long ye been awake?” she asked. Her mind raced. Had he felt her relax into him? Did he know she let him drape his arm across her body?
