Page 56 of Scourge of the Shores
“Long enough,” he murmured, his fingers brushing her waist.
“What does that mean?” she said, hating her decision not to push him off her just yet.
“It means,” he murmured, pulling her waist closer. “I know that you know this feels right—to both of us.”
“It don’t feel right,” she lied.
His hand slid from her waist to her neck in a slow crawl. She let him do it. His touch sparked a fire she couldn’t contain. She held her breath as his thumb rubbed the fatty flesh of her bottom lip from one side to the other.
“Aye, it does,” he murmured, leaning close. His breath heated her lips as if taunting her desires with freedom. “Because if it didn’t . . . you would’ve gutted me by now.”
She froze at the truth he spoke. Now was her moment to push him away. To put distance between them before it became impossible. She shoved him hard in the chest, ignoring the warmth still clinging to her skin. “Ye need to learn boundaries, pirate,” she muttered in a cracked whisper, rolling away—like she could shake off whatever just passed between them.
“Ye didn’t seem to mind a few moments ago.” He grinned with a stretch. His eyes told her he now had proof of something he had only suspected.
She huffed. “I’m just cold, tired; exhaustion—let me guard down. Fool’s mistake—one I won’t be repeatin’,” she bit quickly and slid to the ladder without further thought. She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. She tried to tame the tremor in her fingers as she gripped the ladder’s sides.
Her legs moved fast as she crawled down the rungs. When her boots finally hit the barn floor, she spun around. The crew wasn’t there, so she tucked in her shirt. If anyone saw her crawl out of the rafters looking like she’d barely wrestled herself free, there’d be whispers. The wrong kind. Ones that meant nothing to Robert but could mean everything to her place as Captain. Would his men even care? Or would they see it as Robert winning another prize?
No, not Robert.
Jaymes. Jaymes. Jaymes.
A shaky breath blew past her lips. She went to grab her hat but realized she’d left it up top. Her hands clenched.
“Stupid lass,” she muttered under her breath.
“Look out below.” Robert’s voice carried as he slid down the ladder, landing with a thick, solid thud.
It was an impressive feat, probably one he learned on his ship. But still, a lump grew in her throat. He’d make her ask for her hat if he’d brought it down. Or worse—he wouldn’t, and she’d have to climb back up herself, knowing he’d watch.
He turned to face her and took a half-step too close. His spiced rum and hard rain scent almost captured her sanity.
“You left this,” he whispered and held out her hat.
“Ye gonna trade for it?” she asked, peering up at him.
“It’s yer hat,” he said.
She stared at him for too long. Too long to be smart, too long to be safe, and too long to keep from falling. His eyes were waves, pulling her in, and she needed to cut herself free before she drowned. He’d leave. He’d leave her in a heartbeat. She meant nothing to him. But he said it felt right. It did. He lied. He’s a liar. But maybe not. Yet she couldn’t go with him. She wasn’t going to let herself give in. Her breath hitched.
“Danna, I?—”
“Thank ye for bringing it down.” She cut him off and swiped the hat out of his hand. “Now, assess the ship. See if she’s ready to sail.” Her gaze shot to the barn door; her voice betrayed her with a catch in her throat.
His weight shifted. “Ain’t never met anyone like you, Danna.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze, her body tensing but not moving. Never had she met anyone like him, either.
He leaned in but didn’t close the space completely—leaving her enough room to run if she wanted to.
“I ain’t tellin’ no lies and playin’ no games,” he whispered, his breath tingling her ear. “And ye know it too.”
She bit her lip hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. If she let even one go, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop the rest. It would be easy to let him stay close. To lean into the warmth of him instead of the cold of the world. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
She yanked her hat onto her head and walked out fast before she did or said something she couldn’t take back. She fled, because if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to leave at all.
The sunshine was too bright, the air too clean, and the sea too perfect. The journey ahead would be smooth, and she prayed it would pass quickly. She half-expected him to follow, to call her name like he had in his pretend sleep. But when she glanced back, he was still there, watching, waiting, letting her walk away.
