“I am,” I insisted.
“You’re swaying like a newborn kelpie learning to walk.”
I scowled. “That’s rude.”
“You drank half a bottle of my best rum.That’srude.”
“It was pretty good,” I muttered.
He blinked—“…Pretty good.”
“Yes.” I lifted my chin. “Surprisingly so.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, a smile held hostage. “You enjoyed it?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked.” He paused, leaning a fraction closer, voice dropping low. “I’m… concerned.”
“About what?”
“Your taste.” His gaze dipped to my lips before snapping back to my eyes. “And your decision-making.”
Heat shot through me so fast it almost knocked me over again. “I make excellent decisions,” I whispered.
“Name one.”
“I—”
Oh gods.
I had none.
He watched my struggle like it was his new favorite pastime.
Then he stepped even closer, close enough that his breath warmed my cheek, close enough that the ship and sea and sky all fell away.
“Nerina,” he said softly, “you climbed into my cabin, ignored an entire wall of fresh water, and chose the bottle marked with a skull.”
My pulse was not behaving. At all.
“Let go,” I whispered, though my body leaned toward him.
“I will.”
He didn’t.
“When you’re steady.”
I lifted my chin stubbornly. “I’m steady.”
He eased his hands away… slowly…
Peeling himself free took effort.
The moment his fingers left me, the deck pitched—or I did—and I instinctively reached out.
My hand landed against his chest. Right over his heart.
