Page 27 of The Heart of an Earl

She’d thought she could forget all of that. Everything she’d done with Redthorn. But not when Des’s kiss set the wicked longing deep into her loins. Fire. Fire she couldn’t control.

No.

She yanked her head away from his, her breath panting, panic rising in her chest.

Des instantly pulled away, taking a step backward. “I apologize, I didn’t mean—”

“No—it was right—I wanted—” Her left hand flew up to stop his words while her right fingers landed in front of her mouth, trying to quell the feel of him on her lips. “But…but…”

Des pulled himself to his full height, shifting his hands behind his back. “I’ll sleep on deck tonight.”

The thought that he didn’t have to do that, that she could sleep on the deck, find a corner to hide in, sat in her throat, unable to manifest into words.

Without a nod, without a word, she turned from him and scurried to his cabin.

What the hell had she just done?

To him?

To herself?

{ Chapter 9 }

Jules stood on the forecastle deck, far forward and out of the way of the men hustling about. Full sails billowed high above her. White clouds of wind that took up everything in sight.

She leaned back against the railing, a pang in her heart as she watched a man climb up the rigging of the foremast. The crew wouldn’t let her help with anything.

She could haul ropes, climb rigging with the best of sailors. She’d done it for years on theRed Dragon, once Redthorn had finally permitted—needed—her help after they hit a wicked storm just after they’d parted with half the crew that moved on to commandeer a felled ship.

Ever since that time, she had been an equal part of theRed Dragoncrew, and it had at least filled her days with something other than staring at the endless sea.

Not like on theFirehawk. She was expected to do nothing. Asked to do nothing. Even though she’d offered her services to almost every deckhand on board.

Hauling a crate past her, one of the crew—a smaller man, wiry, but still a head taller than her—slowed his steps. He glanced at her, then looked to the wall of sails to his left. His look shifted back to her. Bart—or Jason—or Jared—she couldn’t rightly recall how he was introduced to her several weeks ago.

The man’s feet stopped. “We’re hauling up crates to rotate out the older sacks of grain for cook.” He nodded with his head toward the full sail behind him. “Most are busy with the wind right now, so if ye’d like to help, it’d be welcome.”

A smile lifted her face. Finally. Something to do. “I would be happy to help. I’ve told Des that very thing again and again, but every time he pretends he doesn’t hear me.”

Bart—she was sure his name was Bart—laughed, his gold left front tooth flashing in the sunlight. “Des does like to control things—especially things under his power.” He moved to stack the crate on top of the one already on deck. “Come, I’ll show ye where we’re pulling them from.”

Jules followed Bart off the forecastle deck, and then down the labyrinth of steps and ladders to the ship’s stores. Crates were stacked high, barrels and sacks in rows behind them in the small storage area.

Jules pointed. “Those are the sacks we need to get to?” She could see where maneuvering them out would be hard without hauling several rows of the crates out of the storage area. “And these are the ones we’re moving?” She stepped to the crates in front of her, her fingers tapping on the rough wood covering.

“Or ye could just stay still for a moment.”

Her brow furrowed and she spun back to him just as he advanced on her, grabbing her and shoving her backward into a stack of crates. “Tis not fair Des thinks to keep ye for himself when there is plenty of ye to go around.”

Her hand went lightning quick to the dagger she kept on the outside of her right boot and she had the tip of it pressed into his neck before she could even draw a breath to scream.

Survival first, screaming second.

Her look skewered him. “There is none of me to go around. Do not mistake my presence on this ship for one of a whore, sir.”

His fingers tightened on her shoulders.

Her lip curled and she dug the tip of the dagger into his skin. “Don’t make me use this on ye, ye lily-livered whoremonger.”

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