He let his head fall back. If she were any other woman, he would take her again, get his fill and go on with his duties without a single look back. But she wasn’t just another woman. She was Miss Montclair—a lady who deserved so much more than he could ever offer. A low groan escaped him. Everything had changed last night.
“Is everything alright?” She tilted her face toward him, lips still swollen.
“Yes.”
A lie.
Still, he didn’t want to give her hope of something that could never be. His lips brushed her cheek. “Last night—”
“Was incredible.” Her eyes met his as she spoke, warm browns catching the morning light.
He kissed her forehead. “It was. But it can’t happen again.”
Her expression faltered and she drew back with furrowed brows. “What do you mean?”
“Miss Montclair, I don’t expect you to understand this, but my lifeis bound by duty. First and foremost, I’m a military man. I have a mission to complete, and I’ve already stretched the limitations of every rule I know by allowing you to come with us. I bent those rules for one reason—to keep you safe. To see you returned to your father.”
Her body went rigid against him and she gave a tight smile. “Of course.”
He tried to squeeze her hand, but she pulled it away. So much for not ruining her morning after. With a shake of his head, he turned to keep himself from capturing her mouth with his, from telling her it wasn’t true—that he very much wanted it to happen again. He stood, facing away from her so she couldn’t see the physical proof of how she affected him.
“I need to get to the helm. I’m late for my watch.” The excuse fell flat as he picked up his pants and pulled them on with jerky movements.
But what was there to say? That last night hadn’t meant anything? That it had? He raked a hand through his hair, jaw tight, as his resolve deepened.
He didn’t turn back to her until he had fully dressed. She had already begun to dress, movements quiet and careful, as if the wrong sound might break whatever fragile thing still hung between them. She didn’t look at him directly, but he didn’t miss the pause in her hands, the slight stiffening of her spine. Without a word, she turned her back to him and finished buttoning her blouse.
Shame coiled in his gut and he jerked his gaze away. He cleared his throat and crossed the room. At the doorway, his hand hovered over the latch, the thud of his heart a steady beat in his ears. Behind him, silence settled heavy and absolute. He didn’t dare look back. If he did, he might not leave. He pushed open the door.
Cool morning air swept in from the corridor. It cleared his head, but not his heart. His boots echoed as he climbed the steps up the main hatch. Wind rushed him once he stepped onto the deck,snapping at the loose ends of his shirt. He welcomed the merciless sting of salt spray. It brought him back—reminded him where he belonged.
This was his world. A place of order. Structure. Command.
Not softness. Not sweet sighs in the dark.
And yet… she’d crept in like a tide he hadn’t seen coming. He exhaled sharply and bowed his head. He should’ve known better.Didknow better. But that didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at him like rats in the hull. Not for what they’d done—no, part of him would burn in hell and still not regret touching her—but for what came next. For what he couldn’t give her.
Isaac stared out over the waves, the sky above beginning to bloom with the faintest pinks and golds. A new day. The chance to right his path. He squared his shoulders.
“Lieutenant?”
The single word sliced clean through the wind and his thoughts. She had followed him out onto the deck. “Will you teach me to use a sword?”
He went still, the image of her fingers wrapped around him flashing through his mind. Damn it. Now was not the time to be thinking ofthat. With a tight smile, he turned. “Learning to swordfight takes time. Time we don’t have. You will not be involved in any fighting.”
She blinked, hands wringing together. “But what if I do find myself in a situation where I need to defend myself? I would like to have a chance.”
Her tangled hair had been pulled into a loose braid, and the wind had already pulled several tendrils free. The wild look suited her.
He cleared his throat—and mind. “You’d be better served learning to run and hide.”
“You think I should run?”
He threw his hands out. “Yes.”
“On a ship?” Her eyes swiveled slowly from one side of the deck tothe other. “What happens when I can run no further—when there’s nowhere left to hide? I don’t want to go to battle. But I don’t want to be helpless either.”
He met her steady gaze and his retort dissolved on his tongue. She was right. He blew out a slow exhale. “Alright. But very basic moves, defensive only.”
