Hook flinched back as she reached for him.Bloody hell, what is wrong with me?Those warm, brown eyes and that painted smile should have any man on his knees.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of blonde. Tink stood, fumbling with her cloak. What had she rolled this time?
“Hey!” the woman called as he fled, drink forgotten.
Hook slammed his hands on the table, causing his crew to jump and look his way. Tink’s hands slipped from the knot she pulled at—but it wasn’t her cloak. She’d undone the ties on her tight breeches, revealing a glimpse of pale skin. And that look on her face…lips pink and parted, a deep blush coloring her cheeks, tendrils of hair fallen free from her braid to brush the sides of her face.
With effort, he pulled his gaze to the table. Snake eyes. She’d rolled snake eyes. The odds were—fuck the odds.She couldn’t strip everything off, especially not here.
“Stop,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Stop right now.”
“Sorry, Captain,” she slurred, while tugging at the waistband of her breeches. “Rules are—”
Tink screeched as he hefted her off the ground and tossed her over his shoulder. The whole bloody room turned to stare at them.Great. Just bloody great.He hadn’t given two seconds’ thought to anything before he rounded the table and scooped her up in one swift move.
Fists smacked against his back as he adjusted her weight. The blows were mild at best. Either she didn’t want to hurt him or she was too drunk for anything more. The prior—hopefully.
“Put. Me. Down!”
Davies fell onto the table in his efforts to avoid Tink’s flailing legs. Others jumped up, knocking over chairs and spilling ale all over the damn place.What a fucking mess.
“Grab her boots,” he ordered to no one in particular.
Sage jumped to comply, still sober enough to follow orders.
“I swear, if you don’t—” Tink slammed a fist into his lower back.
Hook groaned.Okay, that one hurt.He grimaced, nearly snarling at people as they jumped out of his way, forming a narrow path toward the set of stairs he aimed for. More than one glanced to his hand, or lack thereof.Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Lovers’ spat. Give them space,” Sage called.
“Lovers!” Tink shrieked but blessedly went still.
“Aye, love, you’ve had a bit too much.” Way too much.
“Don’t call me—ugh,” she groaned as Hook took the steps two at a time. “So much spinning.”
“You’re at the end of the hall. The rest of us are sharin’ bunk rooms on the right.” Sage slid around him, keys in one hand, Tink’s boots in the other. “Do you want her—”
Fuck yes, I want her.“My room.”
Sage bit back a grin but stayed silent.
The room was small—private, but small. And the bed was narrow, shoved against a wall, made for one. When the bloody hell was he going to get his bed back? He should have kicked Tink out of his room on theJolly Roger, let her grab a spare cot with one of the crew. But he couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t want to. And damn if he didn’t want her here now.
Hook settled the too-quiet Tink on the bed.
Sage dropped Tink’s boots on the floor with a dramaticthump. She jangled his key in the air until she had his attention, then tossed it to him with surprisingly good aim. “Anything else, Captain?”
“Dismissed.”
She canted her head to the side. “Downstairs?”
He’d caused quite a scene, maybe worse than if Tink had exposed her bound wings—or her whole stunning self.
“Drinks for the house.” He tossed her a sack with the last of the coin not set aside for the witch. It’d keep the crowd happy if nothing else. It was a sailor’s code to keep quiet when offered free ale, and it was sailors who favored this inn. His people. Maybe they’d keep their mouths shut for a few more hours at least.
“Aye, aye…” Looking from him to Tink, she wiggled her brows. “Captain.”
