by Marie Hall
And though perhaps he understood her better, he wasn’t ready to ask her to stay. Not even close. For her to stay he’d have to love her, and for him to love her would mean allowing himself to open up to that possibility. And he simply couldn’t do that. From now on he’d keep himself at a distance, he had to.
But for all that, he could readily admit that he enjoyed her company. And that was a rare thing for him, very rare indeed. So how could he protect his heart while enjoying her company? That was a question to which he had no answer.
“Sir,” Smee came up behind him, “you should head below deck, the men are set to sail soon. You’ve not slept all night.”
He rubbed his brow. She was in his room, in his bed. He’d had every intention of being honorable, leaving her the room, but his bones ached and his head throbbed. The night had been long.
Returning to Seren had brought him the peace he’d sought. He’d laid Talia to rest last night. Danika had been right to bring him the woman, Trishelle had done in one day what a hundred years without Talia hadn’t been able to, and that was that she’d shown him reality. He’d been grieving a ghost. Talia would never return. Could never. Though her soul lived on, the maiden herself was gone.
He shook his head. “I will use your room,” he said, and then clapping his first mate’s shoulder, nodded a thanks.
“Aye, captain. I’ll wake you when we cross the drop.”
Heading below deck, he walked toward Smee’s cabin. He couldn’t help but glance at his door. Perhaps he should just check on her, make certain she was well, didn’t need anything.
All excuses and well he knew it, but that didn’t stop him from turning and making his way to his room. She didn’t even stir when he opened the door, she was flung across the mattress, breathing softly. Her face was lax, her breathing calm and again a strange fluttering took residence in his chest.
She was beautiful, curvy in all the right places. Full breasted, and hippy. He’d always enjoyed a woman with womanly curves. Her pink lips were slightly parted and he moistened his own, wondering what it would feel like to taste her the way Sircco had.
It’d bothered him to see her in his embrace. Not out of jealousy, truly, but more so because he’d ached to sample her wares. To taste the honey of her skin, nip at the sensitive flesh of her throat, and sink himself deep inside her slippery, wet folds.
Growing hard, he rearranged himself. He couldn’t sleep now and didn’t relish the thought of her staying in this cabin alone, there were too many men aboard this vessel. The thought of anyone walking in on her, seeing her this way, it filled his gut with heat. He walked in and closed the door.
Going to his desk, he sat and pulled out the drawer, grabbing a bottle of scotch and a cup—his old friends. Trishelle had marveled over the chest, at the ability to make clothes from air, but he much preferred the desk to the chest. He’d taken it from a warlord in the farthest northern realm of Kingdom. The moment he’d learned that with the mere opening of a drawer copious amounts of liquor (whatever the hearts desire) appeared, he’d known he had to have it. It’d been a simple matter to acquire the piece, though fierce on the battlefield, the lord was no match for him in cards.
Pouring out a dram, he knocked it back, then took one more just to help ease the ache in his balls. He’d bedded wenches aplenty, had his pick of women. Perhaps when they landed at their next port of call, he’d suss him out a trained whore. Anything to help ease the ache she’d created in him.
But even as he thought it, he couldn’t break his gaze from her face, the curve of her check, the length of her pale, white neck.
“Waxing poetic about a lass, the depths you have sunk to, James,” he chuckled beneath his breath. Leaning back in his chair, he kicked up his legs, crossed his booted feet on the desk and closed his eyes.
He was just starting to drift off when she spoke.
“You don’t have to sleep on that you know.”
“I didn’t know you were awake.”
She smiled. “I might sleep hard, but I wake up when I hear a door open. You don’t have to sleep on that chair,” she said again.
“Are you offering to share?”
Trisha sat up on her elbow and stuck out her tongue. With her hair curling up around her face and sleep still in her eyes, she was one of the most adorable things he’d ever seen. “Why are you smiling?” Her green, cat shaped eyes narrowed.
Licking his teeth, he settled his legs back on the carpet. “Because I told you you’d be begging.”
“Oh my god, did you just make a joke?” Her lips tipped into a sexy curl. “Just, ugh…” she patted the bed, scooting over, “if you promise to control your baser instincts, you can share my bed.”
“My bed, woman,” he growled in the back of his throat, deciding on the spur of the moment it might be fun to test her limits. Gathering the shirt, he drew it over his head and tossed it to the ground.
Immediately the smile on her face died and her eyes glazed over. Smirking, he shucked his boots off and then began to tug on the laces of his breeches.
“What exactly are you wearing underneath those pants, Hook?”
“Nothing. At. All.” Drink had loosened his tongue, made him playful and he didn’t fight it. Didn’t really see the need to. He was enjoying this woman, more than he’d thought he would, or even should.
Swallowing hard, she held up a hand. “Better leave that on then, don’t think my ticker can stand anymore hotness. As it is your abs nearly made my eyes melt in their sockets. And by the way, how the hell do you manage to stay so ripped on a boat? You do pilates too?”
Whatever pilates was, he’d only understood half her question, but it was easy enough to decipher the gist of it. He flexed the muscles on his stomach, pretending he hadn’t a clue what she meant.
A strange sound spilled from her lips. “You jerk. Fine, you want to hear me say it, you’re smokin’. I’m still not gonna fall in love with you, and I’m probably not gonna have sex with you. Probably.”
He laughed, a habit he was beginning to develop around her. “Probably? Mmm, progress.” Pulling his hand away from his laces, he shrugged. “I can wait. Now, go to the chest and find something more comfortable for bed.”
“The dress is fine.”
“You ordered me to the bed, I’m ordering you to dress appropriately.”
“Oh really,” her voice rose in pitch, challenge clearly ringing in her words, “fine. I’ll find something.”
Trading places, he leaned against his pillows, crossing his arms behind his head as he watched her walk to the trunk.
She’d been confidant earlier, but unless a whore, women tended to get shy at this point. Coquettish glances and sly smiles belonged on a dance floor, not in the bedroom, which was why he’d stopped pursuing proper ladies decades ago. They bored him.
Trishelle, cracked open the lid. “Does this thing pass out toothbrushes too?”
His lips quirked.
“Oh shut up,” she snapped, “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t want to brush my teeth for you, I personally don’t enjoy walking around with sleep breath.”
Raising his hands, he shook his head. “I said nothing.”
“Your smile said it all. I told you, Hook, it’s not happening.”
His balls drew up at the mere thought of caressing her peach hued skin, of running his tongue along her nipples. Would they be pink or brown, large or small? He licked his lips, she’d invited him to the bed, could she blame him for the places his mind walked? “The trunk will give you what you wish.”
Cheeks flushed rosy; she looked inside its empty hull. “This thing just keeps getting better and better. I’m surprised you’d keep it here, wouldn’t this be a beacon for any thief? Surely you don’t trust every man aboard this ship?”
Sinking to her knees, she bent over the chest and whispered words he could not hear. A flash of light surrounded her, then a pile of fabric and a tube of paste and brush appeared. Snatching up her items, she scanned the
room.
“There’s a basin and pitcher of water there.” He pointed at the hatch in the wall.
“Thanks,” she smiled, taking a hop step toward the wall.
“As to your question,” he wiggled his toes, enjoying the sight of a woman performing ablutions, “I trust them so far as I can. I trust them to set sail where I command, to fight, and to seek coin. But even I am not fool enough to believe they don’t plot against me or mine. Aboard this ship only the fiercest survive.”
“Is that why you called me yours?” Her words sounded a little garbled because she’d already begun brushing her teeth. “Like a caveman thing, ‘ug, me man, you mouse, ugh, ugh,’” she spit, poured a cup of water, then swished it around her mouth before spitting again.
“I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else. At our core, we are a brutal lot. Coin, women, liquor, that is what drives us. To keep the best you must be the best. In many ways this is the jungle, eat or be eaten.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Tell me, Hook.” She slipped her hair over her shoulder and then latching onto the zipper on her back, slowly drew it down. Making his blood hum in anticipation. “Have you ever made anyone walk the plank?”
The front of his breeches strained as his cock grew heavy, but he didn’t try to conceal it from her. Grabbing the hem of the dress, she pulled it down her creamy white shoulders.
“Many times,” he said in a voice grown rough.
Cupping her breasts with one arm, so that the gown caught on it and didn’t fall to the ground, she smiled. “And have you ever killed someone?”
Why was she asking him these questions? Not that he minded, not really, but it made him wonder. “Do you believe I could be a pirate and not kill someone, little bird? Are you as naïve as all that? Or do you hope that I’m not truly so wicked? Because I’m quite vile, I can assure you.”
She bit the corner of her lip and moved her arm. The dress puddled at her feet. His breathing hitched and when she shrugged, her breasts lifted enticingly. The red bra strained against the fullness of it. Judging by the sparkle in her eyes, the minx knew exactly what she doing.
He smiled.
“I’m many things, Hook, naïve isn’t one of them. I just like to know the true measure of a person, especially when that person will be sharing my bed.”
The words that spilled out her mouth, she toyed with him, speaking in double meanings. “My bed,” he growled.
She shrugged, then hooked her fingers underneath her bra latch and undid it, and again wrapped her arms around her breasts. The straps slid down her shoulders.
His tongue grew thick, his mouth dry as he waited impatiently for her to reveal herself. He’d guess pink, bright pink little rosebuds.
“Semantics,” she laughed, and then grabbing the night shift she’d laid next to her, turned her back to him. Only then did she let the bra drop.
“Bloody hell, woman,” he snarled, slamming his hand over his eyes. His cock straining so hard against the seam of his trousers as to be uncomfortable, he adjusted himself. “You are a tease.”
“And so are you, my friend. Fair is fair, no?”
When he finally uncovered his eyes, she was dressed again. A satin gown fell to her ankles in a shimmering shade of pale blue. Her skin almost seemed to glow.
The gown, just like the dress, fit her like a glove. The woman had the type of curves a man could hang onto. Squaring her shoulders, she walked back to the bed with purpose in her steps, then lifting a fine brow, drew her side of the sheets down and slid in.
The silence stretched loud between them, his smile curving higher and higher as the realization dawned that while she appeared nonchalant, she was also nervous. He could tell by the way she constantly wet her lips.
Belly laughter spilled from his tongue. “I will not bite, Trishelle.”
She scoffed. “Oh please, I’m not scared of you. I’m just…well, I’m not used to actually sleeping with guys. If they’re in my bed it’s for one reason only and the second I’m done they’re gone.”
“Heartless,” he teased, though he was no different. He’d never even slept with Talia, not in the way he was now with Trishelle. She’d needed to remain in water during the night, otherwise she’d dry out.
She shrugged. “Less messy.”
He rolled onto his side, resting his head on his fist, tapping his hook on the spot between them. “In truth, I am the same way.”
Rolling to face him, she nodded, and then gave a half chuckle.
“We, neither of us give our hearts easily,” he commented, not sure why he was being so honest and open with her. But it was easy to do; sometimes it felt like he’d known her forever. Like he could tell her anything, and knowing she was soon to leave, it made it even easier. Because she could hold none of his words against him.
“Well at least you’ve given your heart. I never have, don’t think I ever will.”
“It is a rather painful process I hope never to experience again,” he agreed.
Her eyes took on a faraway gleam as she stared over his shoulder. “Yeah,” she said, and the sound of that one word trembled with so much pain it pierced through his chest like a barb. He waited for her to smile, to shrug it off as she so often did, but she just continued to stare at the wall, lost to the thoughts in her head.
He’d seen that look before, on the faces of hardened men. Those who’d seen trauma, wars, death. And that it should bother him seeing it on hers annoyed him. He hardly knew her and didn’t honestly care to go beyond their final two days together. Meeting Trishelle of the mortal world had helped him to understand his time grieving Talia must come to an end, and for that he’d be grateful, for that reason alone he cared.
Tracing the line of her jaw with the tip of his hook, he waited until her eyes drew to him. Hers were filled with an echo of lingering sadness.
“What has happened to you to fill your eyes with such pain, little bird?”
A self-effacing look touched her features. “I hate love. Hate what it can do to others.”
“Interesting answer, not one I would have expected. I thought all women mooned at the idea of making a man heel before her.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but still she did not smile.
Grabbing his hook, she rolled onto her back and brought it to her chest, toying with the curve as she drew her finger up and down its side. Though he couldn’t feel the touch, he couldn’t stop from trembling, wondering what that finger might feel like sliding along his true flesh. But she didn’t seem to be aware of what she was doing, she was staring up at the ceiling, her wide green eyes still glittering with so much raw pain he couldn’t stop himself from asking again, “What’s happened to you?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It happened to my sister.”
Something dark and foul began to writhe through his gut at the million different possibilities. Hook wasn’t a good man, never claimed to be. He’d killed, he’d stolen…but women and children (apart from that bastard Pan who was no child, but a man trapped within a child’s body) were off limits. Even when he killed, he didn’t kill the innocent.
Books always made him out to be either a buffoon, or a bloodthirsty pirate with no scruples whatsoever. Neither of which was true. He had a code, and he lived by it honestly.
Her eyes touched his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You must think I’m crazy. I’m not really, it’s just that the anniversary of her death happened two days ago and I’m always a little raw when it does.”
“Death?” He frowned, his thoughts taking darker and darker turns. “How did she die?”
Her face remained impassive, as if she debated internally whether to tell him or not.
“I apologize, my manners have abandoned me, too long aboard a ship with nothing but pirates for company.”
He was rewarded with a little laugh.
“Ah, a smile, I feared I’d never see one again. See, I am not such a beast.”
She chuckled h
arder. “You’re not beastly at all. In fact, Hook, I think you’re very much in danger of turning into a kitten.”
“Even kittens have claws. Do not mistake what you see down here as who I am really. It is merely a facet of the whole.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. Since I’m not interested in killing the rabbit with you, or clamping a ball and chain around your ankles, I see you exactly as you are.” The twinkle in her eyes died out. “She was five years older than me.”
It took a moment for him to realize she’d returned to the topic of her sister. He nodded for her to continue.
