For the first time, she looked around the room, catching sight of the sparse furnishings: a table and chairs of simple wood, a few cabinets and shelves bearing books, trinkets, and smallpaintings, a cook pot resting on its stand near the fire. A home. Though not the lavish one she expected for such a man. “Your home?”
He rubbed the ring around his neck. When had he pulled it from under his shirt? “It was my mother’s.”
A thought struck her like lightning. “That ring…it was hers?” She’d been too afraid to ask before, too nervous he’d say it belonged to a lover he cherished, one who might be waiting for him in some port.
“It was.” His attention dipped to the puddle forming on the wooden floor. “You’ll need something dry.” Without another word, he crossed the room to the narrow stairs and disappeared into the darkness.
His mother’s ring. Knowledge slammed her in the chest. She’d pulled away before because she thought he loved another and carried her token around. But all that time, it was his mother’s.
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
And so was this house. She swallowed, suddenly ashamed for dripping on her floor. Not that she was here to be upset about it, but still…
She twisted the end of her sodden braid. Gone? Dead? She didn’t have the heart to ask. It couldn’t be easy having a pirate as a son, no matter how well he provided for his crew. Smee’s house had all the trappings of a fine manor—not that she’d seen many others, and even then only through windows. One couldn’t tell it from the outside, not with the simple façades half-hidden in the forest. This house, though… She ran her finger along the mantelpiece. Rustic, old, efficient, but not grand. A far cry from Hook’s cabin on theJolly Roger.
A faded painting stared back at her from a small frame, no larger than her palm. A young woman sat holding a little boy, their bodies stiff and straight despite the smiles painted on their features. She squinted, leaning in closer. They shared the samedark hair, hers bound in a bun, little tendrils escaping, the boy’s a little too long, touching his ears and just aching to be brushed behind them.
Tink jumped away from the portrait as the steps creaked, alerting her to Hook’s return. Her mouth dried as she took in the man warmed by the fire’s glow. He’d discarded much of his clothing, leaving just that ring shining against the smattering of dark hair on his bare chest. Barefoot, standing there in just his wet breeches with clothing thrown over his arm, he could have been anyone…if she ignored the hook. Not that she minded. It only added to his persona, gave him that fierce, sharp edge that she shouldn’t want but couldn’t help craving.
Her tongue flicked out over her lips. Damn, she really did want him. There wasn’t any ale to blame it on this time either.
“Enjoying the view?”
She flushed, ready to join the puddle at her feet. That devilish smirk on his face was a taunt and a tease all at once. He’d come down like that on purpose.Bastard.
“In fact, I am.” Why deny it? He already knew the answer.
His eyes widened.
“But if you give me the things you brought and point me to the spare room…” She placed her hands on her hips. “I’ll happily look away.”
“Well,” he dragged the word out, letting it play across his tongue.
Tink stared him down as he strode across the room with slow, deliberate purpose, a slight swagger to his step. He didn’t stop until he stood at the edge of her puddle, forcing her to gaze up into his smirking face. “If you’re happy to leave, the bedroom is through that door.” He bobbed his head backward.
“No father or siblings I’m going to interrupt?” She arched one careful brow.
Hook shook his head. “My da was claimed by the sea before I was born. Or so ma said. It’s just me.”
Just them, alone in this house. Together. Her nose wrinkled as she snatched the clothes off his arm.
He pulled his arm away in a flash, almost spilling some of the fabric into the wetness. Was he so self-conscious about the straps attaching his hook to his arm? She was intrigued, the desire to inspect it—all of him—pulling her a step closer.
One dark brow arched toward the ceiling as if to say, “Your move.”
“Thank you,” Tink replied, intentionally brushing against him as she aimed for the door. Would he follow? Call after her?
She threw open the door and glanced behind her. The smoldering look on his face knocked the breath from her lungs and fanned the fire burning in her core. One crook of his finger and she’d be his. But he stood still as a statue where she’d left him. His chest didn’t so much as rise and fall.
She grinned. “Good night.”Your move, Captain.
Chapter 22
Tink
Every inch of her felt flushed, whether from desire or embarrassment, she couldn’t say.Both? Definitely both.
Tink tugged at the ties on the waistband of the undershorts.Hisundershorts. They’d be comfortable if she could get them to stay on. But they werehis. He’d worn them. Who knew how many times? His cock has rested against the fabric brushing her curls. She bit her lip at the warm wetness building between her legs. How was she supposed to sleep in these? How?
