As he was quickly learning. There was one thing he was certain of, though. The main reason he brought her onboard, or so he told himself. “I know you make something very valuable. Something that could go a long way toward paying for your crime.”
A humorless laugh bubbled out of her. She hunched over, pulling his shirts tighter to her as her shoulders shook. When she straightened, her features had gone cold and sharp as stone. “I can’t just make pixie dust whenever I want.”
“No?” He asked it aloud, but the question was more for himself. There was more to her words, he’d wager a hefty sum of gold on it. But what?
“No.”
He closed the distance between them, coming around the bed until he stared down at her. “Care to explain?”
“No.”
“You must have made a fortune selling so much. Care to tell me what happened to that gold?”
Her brows drew together, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
She had sold it, though. He’d met no other blonde pixie selling dust, and he’d looked—far and wide ever since her drugged kiss. She’d had plenty of dust then. The whispers he’d heard of someone selling pixie dust fit her description perfectly—well, from the few who had gotten a decent glimpse of the seller.
“Well, then, we’re at an impasse.”
She stared back at him, unblinking. A bubble of tension hung heavy in the air, ready to burst. If he didn’t get away from her, he might do something stupid. But he couldn’t leave her free to roam…or shirtless.
“Give me one of those,” he said.
“What?” Her brows scrunched until she noticed his outstretched hand. “Fine.” She shoved one shirt toward him, nearly dropping the other onto the floor.
At least she held on to the nicer one. Still. Hook frowned as he held up his shirt. He dug the point of his hook into the cotton and pulled it downward. The shirt ripped, leaving a long hole in the back.
“You—” Tink stared at him, bewildered.
“For your wings.” He tossed the shirt back.
Tink fumbled it out of the air, lips slightly parted. “Thank you.”
She wouldn’t thank him for what came next. As she turned away and examined the shirt, he sought out the item he needed within a heavy trunk. Once he had it, he took his time making his way back to her. Tight, black breeches hugged her backside, sinking down into boots laced up her calves. If only she craved him the way her curse made him feel. His shirt slid over her head. Too big, too long, but perfect all the same. Tink fumbled with the slashed opening, working her delicate wings free. Their color was hard to describe—almost a rippling pale rainbow against sea foam. Damn, she was turning him into a poet.
And now a villain.
Hook clasped the iron handcuff around her wrist.
“Hey! What?” Tink jerked away. Betrayal, worse than when he’d taken her from her treehouse, flashed across the face of the woman wearing his clothes.
“Can’t have you flying away in the night. Or slitting my throat.” A thick, corded rope hung between them.
Her mouth opened and closed, but words didn’t come out.
“You’ll have room to move, to get to the chamber pot, that chair, the nightstand.” He gestured quickly to the items as he snapped shut the other end of the cuff around a thick post on the headboard of the bed.
Tink flushed pink. “Filthy, lousy, no-good pirate!”
Aye. That he was.
But a pirate stole treasure; he didn’t let it run free. If she truly no longer had the Heart of Fire, there’d be no getting it back from the merfolk. He’d risked much stealing it from that bastard Blackbeard. He’d done it for sport, more than value, but still…he could have sold it, spent that coin on his crew. Or given it back to the merfolk in exchange for something else of value.
Speaking of…
“What did you get from the merfolk for my treasure?” Part of her payment was clearly a curse on him, but no way she took that risk just to ruin him. He’d been a perfect gentleman to her. Bloody hell, he’d have given her much more than that if she hadn’t drugged him with her kiss.
“Your treasure?” She fumed at the edge of the bed, barely looking at him below her lowered lashes.
