Hook's Pan

by Marie Hall

  For the love of all that was holy, this couldn’t be really happening. She must have slipped and fallen, bumped her head. Inhaled too many fumes in the fire. But then again, believing there’d been a fire would also necessitate the belief that there’d been a devil-bug flitting with her tiny devilish wings in front of her and yeah… She licked her lips, pulse throbbing when James/Hook (she bit her tongue to stop the crazy giggle from spilling out) stared down at her with the type of intensity she’d only ever imagined in the millions of bodice rippers she kept stashed around her house.

  If it weren’t for the fact that she was currently being held at sword point, she’d be tempted to use her best Southern Belle voice and whisper “I do believe I’m about to swoon.”

  “Danika, who is she?” he snapped, his breathing hard but even, eyes never wavering from her face.

  Beads of sweat gathered behind her collar and rolled down her back, making her aware all over again of the itchy material on her legs.

  “She dresses like him,” he spat, upper lip curling into a most delicious snarl.

  Good grief, she was even starting to think like a heroine from those books. Most delicious? Hell, she was losing her mind.

  She bug flitted in front of Trisha, holding out her small arms in front of her face. As if that was going to stop him, all he’d have to do was flick her away like the pesky gnat she reminded Trisha of.

  “Will you listen?” The little fairy sighed. And Trisha had to admit, even if only to herself, she could be nothing other than a fairy. Which meant by these rules, she was really in Neverland, in Captain Hook’s cabin, probably aboard his ship…smack dab in the middle of an existential nightmare.

  She laughed, ignoring his glacial stare.

  “Then tell me quickly, for I tire of this game, Danika.” He grabbed his forehead and rubbed and in that moment, Trisha felt pity for him.

  That or the fish she’d eaten at lunch wasn’t sitting right. She wasn’t sure which.

  Whatever it was, he looked different than the towering and imposing male who’d all but mauled her one second and tried to decapitate her the next. He now seemed deflated. Sitting down, he hunched over his desk with the sword lying on his lap.

  Only now did Trisha notice the half-drunk glass of amber liquid on the desk. He picked it up and took it to his lips.

  Danika flitted to his ear. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she leaned in and began whispering, giving Trisha time to think and study.

  Her brain was still blank. Numb. Because this was almost too ridiculous to take in. To believe that the man in that chair, dressed in a tan shirt that opened at the collar with laces dangling down and black pants that clung like a second skin to the thickness of his thighs was the villain Captain James Hook. Where was the absurd wig Dustin Hoffman had worn in the movie? This man didn’t have a black mop of curls hanging around his head, a thick handle bar mustache pomaded to within an inch of its life, twisted at the ends into a funky curly-q. If he weren’t wearing the hook she’d have thought him just another actor.

  But his shirt was loose, and there was nothing tied to his wrist except for the leather straps holding his hook in place. The hook itself also looked more real and lifelike than the one Remy had worn. His had been dull looking, not gleaming like polished silver and glinting wicked in the low light.

  The room was full of the masculine, rich scent of wood and smoke and liquor. Everything screamed fine living, even the rug she was sprawled on. It almost appeared Turkish by design, but the feel of it was a whole ‘nother level of rich. The bold red and cream colored patterns were exquisitely soft to the touch.

  Betty had told her over and over it was real. Gerard had been handsomely stoic, looking at her as if she was too stupid to understand, because she didn’t come from a world where magic was real. In her world magic was an illusion, a show…elaborate sometimes, but never real.

  And if Trisha hadn’t fallen through a dizzying tunnel of stars, if she weren’t touching and seeing and hearing…maybe she could still convince herself this wasn’t real.

  But if it looked like a duck and quacked like a duck…

  So why was she here?

  That was really the only thing that mattered at this point. Why? The ramifications of what all this meant were more than she wanted to consider right now. The only thing she could focus on was that she needed to know why she was here, so she could go home. And maybe like Dorothy she’d wake up and think of this as just a nice dream.

  Decided, she cleared her throat and stood.

  James/Hook (Jeez, this was really weird) whipped around and glared at her. His silver dusted eyes narrowed into slits as they roamed slowly up, and then down the length of her body, causing her to shiver from the intensity of his gaze. Like she was the cream and he was the hungry cat.

  It was wicked, titillating…and there she went again thinking about everything like some cheesy romance heroine. Ugh, she’d read too many bodice rippers in her life.

  “So you must be Hook.”

  Bug spawn’s jaw unhinged and she stared at Trisha like she’d just sprouted a third eye.

  For his part, James’ lips twitched. Whether that meant he was amused or preparing another attack on her person, Trisha wasn’t sure.

  “Just like that, then? Is this really so easy? None of the others believed quite so quickly?” Danika asked, wings buzzing irritatingly behind her back.

  Trisha shrugged. “Well, either this is really happening or I’m going completely crazy. Either way, I figured just going with the flow might be the better part of valor.”

  “Ah, the Pan quotes Shakespeare. Perhaps you’re not quite the disappointment I’d led myself to believe,” James’ voice rumbled and for a second, Trisha’s knees knocked.

  She’d been in lust with Gerard’s voice the first moment she’d heard it, but that was nothing compared to the throaty British drawl dropping from Hook’s full, totally kissable looking lips. Especially when that drawl accompanied a smolder to make even Hugh Grant’s smexy bedroom eyes seem lackluster by comparison.

  Trisha straightened her spine; ignoring the fact that James was making her feel things she hadn’t felt in over a decade.

  “Too bad I can’t say the same for you.” She lifted a brow, praying that she sounded haughty and not breathless. She thought maybe she’d pulled it off, but she had to keep her hands tucked behind her butt because they were starting to shake.

  A giant, booming peal of laughter echoed through the chamber. “Hear, hear.” He snatched up his tumbler, downed the rest of the liquid, then tossed it into the fire with a loud crack. “You’ve wit, beauty, and,” he licked his lips, eyeing her body again, making it tingle and shiver with heat and flame, “a fine body. You’ll warm my bed this eve.”

  “Bloody hell, Hook.” Danika rolled her eyes. “She’s no whore, she’s your mate.”

  Trisha snorted and crossed her arms across her chest.

  Hook lifted a dark brow, rubbed his chin, and shook his head slowly. “No. I reject her.”

  Seriously? Trisha might have been insulted, if it wasn’t for the small fact that she had absolutely zero desire to do the horizontal mambo with a pirate.

  Swaggering up to her, he tipped her chin up with his hook and the feel of the cold steel pressed against her warm flesh made her break out in a fine sheen of sweat. He really needed to stop touching her.

  The smoky, peaty scent of his breath washed over her lips as he said, “Are you a Pan sympathizer?”

  His left hand trailed up the fabric of her sleeve and suddenly it was feeling a little too warm. She licked her lips. His gaze locked on the movement.

  James’ fingers were firm as they continued gliding up and down her arm. Blinking several times, Trish tried to remind herself to breathe. This man was a shark—a deadly, dangerous beast of the sea whose awe-inspiring façade did little to hide the predator within.

  But what he didn’t know was that she was no shrinking violet, she was a predator too. And one oth
er thing—her best friend was a psychologist. Betty had taught Trisha all about body language. The man thought himself superior, better than her at least.

  He was probably used to whores doing whatever he pleased, and ladies twittering and fanning themselves in nervousness.

  Thrusting her face to within inches of his, she smirked. “Touch me like that again, and I’ll cut your balls off. As for being a Pan sympathizer, I’ve always had an irrational hatred for the little beast in the book.”

  He licked his teeth, but he didn’t look angry, or even annoyed. In fact, he seemed the opposite of it. James looked pleased, smug even.

  “Then why do you dress like him? Hmm?”

  “It’s called a play. Or do you not have those in Neverland?” She arced a brow, pursing her lips, enjoying their verbal sparring, excited by it even. All the nerves in her body on high alert and buzzing with anticipation, she waited for his comeback.

  “You’re a strange little Pan.”

  Quicker than she could track, he embedded his hook into the edge of her green cap, flipping it off her head, and pulling the red feather gently through his fingers as he crushed it to his chest. The mass of blonde curls she’d pinned up for the play tumbled down as the pins scattered to the rug. Refusing to preen or nervously flit her fingers around her head, she instead lifted her chin, not caring how she looked at the moment, intrinsically knowing she was engaged in a battle of wills and she’d not back down now. She might be the Chihuahua next to his Rottweiler, but sometimes the smallest were also the most tenacious.

  “No,” he said, “you look nothing like the bastard.”

  They stared at each other for what felt an eternity. Only the sounds of their breaths and the snap and crackle of burning logs filled the space between them.

  But Trisha wasn’t nervous, she was thrilled, because even though he was large and powerful, and trying his damndest to intimidate her, something inside her screamed that she wasn’t in any real danger around him.

  Even if he had pointed a sword at her throat.

  “Good Lord,” Danika breathed heavily, breaking their eye contact, forcing Trisha to finally look away and breathe around the giant ball of heat sliding up the back of her throat. “I hope you don’t plan to eat the girl, Hook. The way you look at her, ‘tis enough to make me mourn my younger days.”

  Twittering, she fanned her face while she flew in front of Trisha again. “So, now do you believe?”

  Loaded question that, Trisha knew Danika wasn’t asking her, but if she had she knew now there was no choice but to believe. And if this were just a dream inspired by smoke inhalation, she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. For now, she waited to hear Hook’s answer.

  His dark eyes found hers again, settling on her face for a minute longer than necessary, making her entire body burn from her toes to the roots of each hair follicle. Amazing how a scalp could prickle from the heat of a gaze.

  This wild man made her feel reckless in return. She shouldn’t like it, but she kind of did. This was a man who wouldn’t get attached, just like she couldn’t. It might be fun to flirt and not have to worry about the consequences of doing so.

  Squaring her shoulders she winked at him.

  His nostrils flared. “No,” his throaty accent rolled over her like sun-warmed honey, “no, I do not believe you’ve returned my Talia. But anything aboard the Jolly Roger belongs to me.”

  Mouth going slightly dry, Trisha forced herself not to fidget, but couldn’t stop her fingers from clenching into a tight ball by her side.

  The way this man said things, totally turned her on. But that didn’t mean he needed to know it.

  “I don’t think so. I’m a free woman and I belong to myself.”

  “Free woman,” he scoffed, swatting Danika out of the way. “Mortal women and their uppity ways.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she was pleased when his eyes zoomed to her breasts. There were ways to make a man (even one as potently male as James) bow to her wishes. Men might be stronger, but women were a million times more clever. A lesson he’d soon learn.

  “It’s the twenty-first century, caveman. Even in Neverland you must know women aren’t your chattel to use and toss away. I’m a free woman and I get to decide my fate. Now—” she smoothed out the front of her forest green tunic and turned toward a gaping Danika, “I’m ready to go home. You’ve shown him to me and I find him incredibly lacking. If this is my ‘mate,’” she finger quoted, “I think I’ll pass. Let’s go.” She clapped her hands.

  He laughed.

  Full on, throaty, deep belly laughed. The sound was kind of nice. No scratch that, it was hot. Sexy and hot and made her nipples tighten into hard little buds against her scratchy top.

  “Me, lacking?” He leaned a hip against his desk, legs sprawled out casually before him. He was making it really hard to focus on being angry and not panting like some sex-starved floozy. “At least I’m not the towheaded bean pole dressed in drag. You’re quite hideous, little Pan.”

  She huffed, glowering at him. Bean pole. Hideous! Oh, the nerve of him. He was insufferable and she couldn’t stand being around him for another minute. It was one thing to say she had the temper of a she-cat, that she’d agree with, but to call her a bean pole…jeez, didn’t really say much for her priorities, but there it was.

  “Good, then it’s agreed I’m going. Thank you for saying so.”

  “I said no such thing.”

  “Didn’t you?” She tapped her chin and looked at Danika, “I think he did, didn’t he?”

  Danika’s face was scrunched up, her lips rolled in tight and her cheeks puffed out. Her face was a bright red and it was obvious she was holding back a peal of laughter. Exhaling her breath in a huff, she shook her head, causing her ringlets to bob. “Oh, Hook, you’re going to have so much fun. And I’m sorry, dear, you’ve landed in Kingdom. Once here there is no going back. Not for three days at least.”

  “What?” Trisha shook her head. “No way, I didn’t sign up for this. You guys don’t get to decide my life.” She refused to even look at him. “You can’t just expect me to be okay with this. I have a life back home.” Then she recalled something Betty had said at lunch. It hadn’t made much sense then, but a sickening, sinking feeling stole through her gut. “Wait a second, Betty told me time moves differently here than on Earth.”

  “Yes, well…as to that,” Danika hemmed and cleared her throat, “each day here is an Earthen month.”

  It took two seconds to process the thought. She could feel Hook’s smug look. The bastard.

  “No. I don’t think so. No. I have to go home, I have responsibilities. People who expect to see me.”

  “All covered,” Danika said with a tight, little smile. “Betty is…”

  “What?” Trisha pressed her face as close to the little devil-bug as possible without having to cross her eyes. “Betty is what? Because Betty is not in charge of my future and I refuse—”

  Turning to stare at Hook with a grim frown, Danika flicked the wand Trisha hadn’t been aware she’d been holding and a silvery net immediately encased them. In less than an hour her definition of what was and wasn’t possible had definitely been tested.

  Danika had just trapped them inside the pearlescent, thin shell of a soap bubble. When she pressed a finger to it, it bulged out, soft and squishy.

  James jerked to his feet, his insolent demeanor replaced by narrow-eyed suspicion.

  “If we stay in here too long, Hook will wonder. But I need a moment’s quiet with you without the giant oaf listening. Ask no questions.” Danika licked her lips, gaze flicking toward James and back before saying, “My dear, I’m so sorry for thrusting you into this. Believe me when I say it’s true. I had to yank you out of there, because I knew otherwise you’d never come. Betty and Gerard were getting nowhere with convincing you.” She shrugged, letting Trisha know she wasn’t really all that sorry, but figured it was better to say it than to not.

  “This land is real. H
e is real. Hook is your destiny. One hundred years ago you were a mermaid and engaged to be married to him.”

  “What!” She laughed, rolling her eyes.

  “Ssh,” Danika hissed, clamping a finger over her lips, “I said no talking. I’m telling you this because you need to understand why you’ve been brought here.”

  Oh, have mercy. What had that waiter put into her coffee at lunch? A roofie? This was ridiculous, ludicrous, preposterous, and any other Regency period word she could think of. Why oh why couldn’t she think like a normal person? Words like stupid, dumb, idiotic… Well, she tried, but those words didn’t roll off the tongue quite as sharply as the others. Besides, it was all his fault with his delicious British accent.

  Asshole.

  There, that was an Americanism.