This... this I can handle. Maybe I was wrong to assume he wanted to do everything by himself. This? A cooperation. Fine. I can work with that.
“Fair enough,” I concede, leaning back on my heels. But a smirk tugs at my lips, and I let it show. “Speaking of Vinicola, though, we’ve got a small problem.”
Zayan’s hand stills mid-movement, and for the first time, I see a flicker of amusement ghost across his face. “Let me guess,” he says dryly, “he’s not exactly excited about swimming back?”
“You got it,” I quip. “Made me a deal, actually. If I get him aboard without soaking him, he’ll make me the hero of his next song.”
Zayan arches an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a grin. “And you actually agreed to that?”
I shrug. “What can I say? I could use a little admiration these days.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you’re a sucker for praise now, Gypsy.”
I don’t like the way he says it—like I’m some foolish girl chasing compliments. I cross my arms, tilting my head. “Maybe I am. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost teasing. “Just didn’t think you’d lack any.”
The shift in his tone feels like a nudge, like he’s trying to get under my skin, and it works. I want to snap back, cut him down to size. But instead, my eyes drift to his hands as he stands, noticing the slight tremor in his fingers.
He’s pushing himself too hard. I hate that I care.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“You know what I mean,” he says.
I swallow hard, trying to shove down the knot tightening in my chest. Damn him.
If things had been different between us—if I hadn’t felt all that anger toward him, If I wasn’t too careful not to let him in—I might have walked over to him, placed my hands on his chest, felt the hard planes of his muscles beneath his sun-kissed skin. I’d rake my fingers through his dark hair, pull him close until our lips collided with that raw, untamed hunger that’s always simmered beneath the surface.
I’d make him forget everything but me. Right here on this deck he’s so carefully patched up.
The thought sends heat rushing through me, and I push it down, hard.
But when he steps closer, I can smell the salt on his skin, see the flecks of sweat glistening on his forehead, and I want to lean in, taste him, wipe that smug look off his face with my teeth.
“Iadmire you,“ he whispers, his voice dipping into something dangerous.
I meet his gaze, holding it steady. “You admire my body,” I reply, the words cold and cutting.
It’s easier to pretend it’s just that—to pretend it’s all physical, nothing deeper. That way, I can keep control.
Besides, my body’s all he’s ever really seen, isn’t it?
Come to think of it, this might be the first time we’re actually spending time together, talking like real people instead of colliding like waves crashing against rocks. We’ve never seen each other in daylight, never exchanged words on a clear, sunny morning or shared a moment out on the open water. No, we’ve only ever found each other in the shadows—back alleys, dark, hidden beaches, where no one’s watching, where the only thing that matters is the release our bodies crave.
We are shadows in each other’s lives. Fleeting, burning hot, then vanishing just as quick.
What do I even really know about him?
I know Zayan Cagney to be stubborn. Reckless, too. An excellent swimmer. A man who doesn’t fear death. But those things? Anyone could tell you that. Just gotta listen to a rumor or two.
And what does he know about me? Only what everyone else knows—the daughter of Silverbeard, the one who defies, who steals, who walks the line between chaos and order with a blade in hand. The reckless girl that never believed in the gods.
“I can’t deny that,” he says, his voice gravelly, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “But that’s not all.”
I step back, needing distance, needing air before I lose my resolve. But Zayan steps forward, closing the gap I just tried to create. His fingers brush against mine, a soft, fleeting touch, but it sends a bolt of heat through me. I have to fight the urge to lean into him, to let myself fall, just this once.
“Tell me one thing you admire about me, then,” I whisper, my voice a challenge. “Something real. Something true.”
