Panic hits me in the gut as I try to sit up. I can’t. There’s an arm wrapped around me, and I’m pressed to someone’s side. I go cold, my heart pounding when I realize who it has to be. I’m in the captain’s bed. Captain Hook’s bed. It’s him.Fuuuuuuck!
I turn my head slowly and try to find him in the dark, but he’s drawn the heavy curtains, blocking out the faint moonlight and the glow from the lanterns. I can’t see him, but I can certainly feel him. He’s warm, his breath tickling along my hair, his arm heavy and gripping me tightly against him. Muscled body, hard yet yielding. The hand around my waist isn’t a hook, thank god. I might scream if I see it or feel it, so I try to push it to the back of my mind. But that’s when I realize my thigh is draped over him, and my knee is pressed against something that is decidedlythick. Not to mention,hard.
My head swims as a multitude of curse words flow through my head, all of them directed at myself for getting into this situation. I’ll have to kick myself for falling asleep in a pirate captain’s bed later, because right now, I need to find a way to get the hell out of it without waking Hook.
Gently, I reach along his arm and find where his hand is resting against me. It’s beneath the blanket, and his hand is beneath my shirt—well,hisshirt. Skin to skin, his palm is pressed to my lower back. I take his wrist and slowly pull his hand away, then lift my knee and roll backwards and let his arm fall between us. He shifts toward me, and I realize his scent is all around me. It’s the sea spray and pine tar smell from his closet, the same scent that was on the pillow where I decided to rest my head—like a total idiot.
He doesn’t reach for me, so I creep backward a little more. Then more. And that’s when my back hits the wall. I thought I was screwed when I woke up, but now that I realize I’ve trapped myself between a vicious pirate and a solid wall, I could scream.
I run a hand over my face and get a chill that rushes through me like a winter wind. It’s not normal. It reminds me of the time I had the flu. But I don’t feel sick … except for the throb in my calf. I pull my knee up and slide my hand along my leg to feel the wound. I can’t. It’s covered, wrapped up with some sort of bandage. Did the doctor creep in while I was asleep? Jeez, pirates are stealthy creeps.
The wound still aches, all the same. If I could smack Marinda the mermaid in her perfect face, I certainly would. She’d probably just bite me again, though.
The only way out of this bed is to crawl over Hook. No way. He’d wake up, and I’d be screwed. Maybe I should just bide my time. Reaching out, I feel for the edge of the blanket and give it a small tug. It comes easily, and I snuggle only a hair closer to the sleeping pirate. His breathing is steady, and he doesn’t even have the decency to have a nightmare. If anyone deserves to feel the terror of dreams, of lingering guilt brought to the surface of the subconscious, it’s him. But no, he sleeps just fine.
I bring my arm up to use it as a pillow, and something pokes me in the earlobe. That’s when I remember the fountain pen. Moving slowly, I pull it from my sleeve and try to get a look at it, but it’s still too dark in here. Since I can’t see it, I feel it and grip it with the pointy end facing Hook.
Can I stab a man while he’s sleeping? I feel like the answer to that question should be yes, especially when it’s Hook on the receiving end. A million what-ifs try to parade through my mind to stop me from acting rashly. But what if I can manage to incapacitate him? Maybe then I’d be safe—at least from him.
I wipe the sudden sweat from my brow, then shiver all over when the chill hits again, making it hard to focus on my murder attempt. When it passes, I’m still gripping the pen. That’s when the what-ifs come back, prime among them, “what if I stab him in the arm and all it does is make him mad?”
That thought puts a damper on my plan. I tuck the pen back into my sleeve. I shouldn’t use it until I’m certain I can take him out. As it is, it’s just too dark for me to know where to stab him.
Instead, I decide to bypass him altogether. I have to get out of this bed, but the only way out is past Hook. He’s the dog Cerberus guarding the underworld. I don’t want to be here when he wakes up.
Easing down the bed, I cram myself against the wall at the foot of it, then feel along the top of the blanket. When my hand comes to his leg, I lighten my touch and keep feeling. There’s not much room between his foot and the wall, but if I can somehow stay on my knees and put one in between his calves, I could make it work. I just have to crabwalk over him. It’s dumb and rash and I shouldn’t be doing it, but fear is an even stranger bedfellow than Captain Hook, and it’s urging me to get the hell out of here.
I hold my breath and move closer to the sleeping villain, my head aching as I try to see any hint of his form. No luck there, but my hand skates across his foot, and I reach farther to feel the indent between his parted legs. This is it. My only chance.
Lifting myself onto my knees, I place one between his legs and wait. He doesn’t move, his breathing still even.
I take a breath and try to calm my raging heartbeat as I feel for his other leg. When my fingers brush against the curtain that separates the bed from the rest of the captain’s quarters, a thrill goes through me. I’m close. Pinching the heavy fabric between my thumb and forefinger, I slowly pull the curtain back and wince when the metal loops make a slight squeak against the railing overhead. But once again, Hook doesn’t move.
This is working. I’m getting the hell out of this bed. Once I’ve moved the curtain far enough back for me to step out, I scoot myself toward the edge and move my knee farther until I’m straddling the pirate.
All I have to do is step down smoothly enough that he doesn’t notice.
I glance at him, making sure he’s still—oh, shit! It’s not Hook. It’s my pirate, and he’s looking right at me!
I squeak as he grabs my hips, rolls me over, and pins me beneath him. When I try to hit him, he grabs my wrists.
His scruff scratches against my cheek as he presses his lips to my ear. “And where do you think you’re going, lass?”
My weak struggle only gains me a tighter grip on my wrists, and when I try to buck him off me, he slides between my thighs, his big body holding me in place.
“I asked you a question.” He peers down at me, his eyes blue even in this low light.
“I was just going to—”
“Sneak out and find a cutlass so you can run me through?” He smirks.
“When you put it that way, it does sound quite nice.” I sneer up at him.
His gaze goes to my mouth in that unnerving way that sends a blast of heat through me. Though that might be my fever talking.
“Sky says you wouldn’t let him treat you. That true?”
Why do I feel like I’m being scolded? He’s a grown man holding me down and scolding me. No, thank you. “I don’t have to do a damn thing.”
