“Maybe I should try it,” I mused without thinking.
His attention coasted to the lacing of my vest. “That would require you to shed some layers,” he drawled.
Heat flooded my cheeks. This was the second time he was teasing me within the span of minutes. And—as was always the case when he teased me—I was a blushing, flustered mess.
Except I wasn’t a mess. Not to him. I’d seen the way he’d looked at me that night in my bedroom.
I had power.
Over the state of our world, and over him.
I observed the gently rolling ocean, so new and foreign, and I did something entirely unlike me.
With a tug, I pulled my cloak free, letting it fall to the ground. When I started playing with the knot at the top of my leather vest, Harthon’s eyes widened, lips parting in surprise.
Harthon wasneverastonished.
I ate the expression up. But only for one second, because he quickly flipped the tables. He was beside me, then he was directly in front of me, crowding me against the ship’s wall. Grasping my wrists, he trapped my hands between our chests,his bare skin impossibly hot against my fingers. In fact, his entire body was a wall of heat, seeping through my clothes and into my skin, settling low in my abdomen.
I tipped my head up to find him watching me, much like a predator might watch its prey.
“You don’t want to play this game,carella,” he murmured, voice pitched dangerously low.
I might have trembled against him. “Why’s that?”
His lips wandered to the shell of my ear. “Because if the sailors here saw your skin, I’d have to do something about it. And then we wouldn’t have any crew left to guide our ship.”
Oh.
The jolt of fire that zipped through my chest was completely inappropriate.
He’d just threatened to kill a bunch of people, and I was…skies,I think I wanted my tunic to disappear so my skin could be on his.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I managed, speaking to both myself and him.
“I’m aware.” His grip flexed, then he removed his fingers one by one and stepped away. “You need to eat something before we begin.”
Begintraining.Not kissing.
Of course.
He glanced at my cheek. “I’ll have a bucket of fresh water brought up for you too, so you can wash.”
I touched my cheek and realized with horror that my mortification from yesterday’s seasickness was far from over. Because what I felt was another splotch of crust on my face. Here I’d been, fantasizing about us doing wicked things, withdried vomiton my face. Not only had he seen it; he’d just pointed it out. And now all the skin beneath that crust was undoubtedly bright red, highlighting the area in vivid color.
My mind raced for something to say, something witty, maybe, to distract him from my utter embarrassment. I came up empty, and then Harthon did something I’d never seen him do before. Something I didn’t even know was in his repertoire, because it was far too playful for his brooding personality.
He…winked.
Winked.
Then he left me standing in disbelief as he walked away and delivered orders to a sailor.
* * *
The winking version of Harthon was fleeting. By the time I was done nibbling at a hunk of dry bread and scrubbing my face raw, he was the serious, analytic trainer I was familiar with.
All that analysis was currently being directed at me as I performed the jabs, kicks, and strikes that I’d practiced hundreds of times. The ship wasn’t violently rocking, but it still moved beneath us, challenging every maneuver I did.
