Page 54 of Scourge of the Shores
Her cheeks flushed under his long, silent gaze. “I don’t understand ye, Robert,” she finally said with a sigh.
His eyebrow lifted.
Not Jaymes.
“Robert?” he asked.
Her eyes grew wide. Her jaw went tight, her lips pressing together like she could swallow the mistake. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her hat as if she could take it back by sheer force.
He let it sit, let the moment breathe.
The slow upturn of his mouth revealed a grin. A knowing grin. A joyous grin.
Because she didn’t just think his name, she said it aloud, and only realized it when he pointed it out.
“Jaymes,” she gritted through clenched teeth.
He wasn’t going to dwell on it; he let her have her mistake. He didn’t want to push the crack open too much. Not tonight, but her mistake gave him all the hope he needed to know she was worth the risk. It was a dangerous thought to let himself hope, but following his father’s advice, he decided to fight the first fight first. And the first fight was seeing if she even liked him and how much.
“So, what don’t you understand, Danna?”
Her fingers drummed the brim of her hat as it sat atop her chest. Her eyes searched the rafters. He feared she might clam up after her slip. But finally, after a bit of patience, she said, “I just—I don’t understand why ye’ve set yer eyes on me? And who are ye really? Are ye this trickster on me ship, the man who called me a cheat, or the man who saved me life and walked with me on the shore? What do ye want? Why are ye different?”
“Ye think I’m different?” he asked, voice slow, measured. He let a pause settle, let her feel the weight of her own question, though her focus remained on the ceiling. “Then tell me, Danna, which part of me did ye want to be real?”
She tensed, but he didn’t let her answer, not just yet.
“Was it the trickster?” His lips ghosting a grin. “The man ye love to hate?”
His voice lowered. “Or was it the pirate who called ye a cheat? The one who made ye fight for yer name?”
He shifted closer, just enough to catch her faded moonflower scent in the space between them. “Or maybe,” he murmured, “you liked the man on the shore—the one who didn’t have to prove himself to you at all.”
She swallowed. A little too hard. He saw the muscles in her throat work before she set her jaw again. He saw it. Felt it. He was peeling back her hard exterior, but she was too smart to play into his hands. So, he grinned and let the tension hang before stretching his arms. He knew she wouldn't answer.
“Trouble is, Danna, I’m all of ‘em.” He let that sink in before adding, “Ain’t that what a pirate does? Become what he needs to be to survive?”
Her fingers curled around the edge of her hat. “So it’s a trick then,” she said, voice edged with steel. “Ye ain’t got a real face at all.”
Robert chuckled. “Aye, maybe. Or maybe ye just ain’t figured me out yet.” He propped up on his elbow and looked down at her. “Would it matter to you if I were one or the other?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
“It would?” he asked with surprise, not expecting such an answer, but it gave him all the insight he needed. She wanted to like him.
“No,” she cut back. She started to roll away from him but pressed her back flat to the floor, eyeing him as if he remembered the pirate saying. “I’m tired, mind’s not thinkin’ straight, obviously,” she said, covering her mouth with a forced yawn.
“Then maybe ye should get some shut-eye,” he said as he lowered to his sleeping position.
“Ye too,” she said, but she kept her eyes open until he closed his eyes.
The shift of her warmth left him during the night, waking him before the cold did. He blinked at the rafters, feeling her absence like a ship missing its anchor.
Then he felt the pull. The slow, careful drag of the blanket being taken from him.
He let her have it for a moment.
“Danna, you took the blanket,” he whispered, but there was no answer, no change in her rhythmic breathing. She had done it in her sleep. He propped himself on his elbows to see Danna rolled away from him, the blanket pulled over her body.
