JAMES
I stop outside my cabin, preparing for anything—I don’t know if Fox will try something, and God knows there are plenty of weapons in my cabin—a fact I didn’t even think to fix before I left him alone.
With a hand on my dagger, I push open the door.
I’m met with…silence. The gentle creak of the wood is the only sound besides the soft breathing of Fox.
He’s right where I left him, sprawled out on the bench cushions near the window.
He’d opened it to allow for the sea breeze to float in, filling the room with the comforting tang of salt and the relaxing sound of the waves against the hull.
I stand staring at him for a long moment, the subdued light of the lanterns casting his face in shadows that are softened by sleep.
He looks more boyish now, the laugh lines from his continuous smirking and roguish ways are nearly gone, making him appear much younger.
I notice the book I tossed to him earlier is open on my desk.
I wander over to it. His quip about the classics wasn’t true.
I’m a fan of the darker authors who take taboo things like death and dying and make it into art.
They see the sea as violent and morbid, carrying in her arms monsters instead of dreamers.
It’s the side of the paradox few ever choose to acknowledge—the darkness that the light bleeds into.
I’m about to shut it when I notice the page it’s on.
My every thought stalls as my fingers trace the words .
the world never asked if he could be gentle
it only ever demanded that he endure—with fists, with fire
with a name that echoes in the mouths of the dead
he watches the stars as if they are something he once held—and lost
My hand presses down on the page as the words settle and my gaze flickers over to a still sleeping Fox.
When I’d entered the other room earlier and saw Gibson holding Fox at knifepoint—about to kill him—a possessive rage surged through me.
Thinking back, I want to say it’s because the De’Vero House is mine to kill, but that doesn’t feel quite right, especially because I’m not one hundred percent certain he’s a De’Vero.
But when I think about his throat being slit, all that comes to mind is how empty those eyes would look. In my mind, as blood spills out across the floor, his smirk fades and with it those damn dimples and before I can stop myself, I’m thinking what a shame that would be.
I scowl and slam the book closed. I reach for the rum.
It’s the only thing that seems to make sense right now.
That man certainly doesn’t. Thank god we’re about to reach Carmine.
Even with the storm damage, we should reach port in less than twenty-four hours.
Then I can get word to De’Vero and hopefully be rid of him within the week—whether that means I kill him or hand him over, I don’t know.
And the fact that I still haven’t made the decision yet concerns me.
I sink down in my chair and put my boots up on the worn wood, scowling at Fox as I pour myself a glass.
He’s a good-looking man—objectively of course—in fact, it shouldn’t be legal for someone to look as good as he does.
Noble and pirate—he wields both expertly.
If I’m being honest though, his looks aren’t what keeps pulling me in—it’s his complete disregard for who I am and the situation he finds himself in.
He just doesn’t give a fuck—or he’s pretending really damn well.
It’s refreshing. I want to provoke and push him because for so long people have simply just folded for me.
I’m lost in thought when Harrison barges in, startling Fox awake. He immediately shakes the sleep off and his lips twist into a smirk. He leans back against the cushions of the bench and gives Harrison a provoking scan, blatantly sizing him up.
“Look who it is,” he says. “Haven’t seen you in a minute, Blondie.”
I nearly choke on the rum at his audacity as I watch Harrison freeze, anger seeping across his face. The balls on this man—
Harrison takes a step towards Fox. “You motherfucker—” I bring my boots down off the desk, drawing his attention as they slam on the floor. He’s grinding his teeth so hard I’m surprised I can’t hear them crumbling from here. I lean over my glass, fixing him with a look.
“What is it, Harrison?”
His jaw tightens and I can tell his awareness is still focused on Fox, even though he’s looking at me. There’s murder in his eyes and I know I’m pushing things by keeping him in line.
“Thirty minutes till we make port,” he growls. “What do you want to do?”
“Send word to De’Vero.”
“And we’re still planning on the doublecross, yes?” Harrison asks.
I’m very conscious of Fox’s attention on me as I consider Harrison’s question which I’m not prepared to answer yet. I down the rum and sit back.
“Set up a meeting in Carmine,” I say. “Tell them they have two days before I kill him.”
Harrison stands there, staring hard at me.
I can tell he’s royally pissed off. When he doesn’t move to leave, I raise my eyebrows at him, daring him to challenge me.
After everything that’s gone on—I fucking dare him to try me.
It must show on my face, or the way I’m strangling the glass because his shoulders drop and with one last scowl at Fox, he storms out.
Fox whistles. “He really wants to kill me.” He flashes me a grin. “You haven’t made up your mind yet, have you?” He settles back, crossing his ankle over his knee, that infuriating smirk still on his lips.
“What makes you say that?”
“That was a very diplomatic answer you gave Blondie.”
“His name is Harrison.”
Fox appears to be turning the name over for a minute but shakes his head and shrugs.
“Should have told me earlier—I’m afraid it’ll forever be Blondie in my head now.
” He tilts his head at me, amusement shining slyly in his eyes.
“Stop deflecting. Is it because you’re not one hundred percent sure I’m a De’Vero? ”
“Oh, I’m very sure you’re a De’Vero.” The lie slips easily off my tongue but it’s not fooling him.
He chuckles. “Well then, that should make your decision pretty easy, right? Seeing as you have a vendetta against the entire House.”
Now he’s just baiting me—
“Why were you at Verdun?”
He cocks his head at me. “We’re still on that one, huh? Why don’t you believe I was sightseeing?”
“Are you always going to answer my questions with questions?” I ask in annoyance.
“I don’t know, are you always going to deflect to avoid answering them?”
We stare at each other, the tension tight in the room for reasons I cannot even begin to explain.
I hear the anchor being dropped and know it’s time to head to shore.
I drain the rum and walk over to Fox. Taking the chain of his manacle, I lock it to a metal ring on the wall.
He never takes his eyes off my face. His proximity is making my skin heat and I quickly take a step away, putting some distance between us.
When I meet his eyes again, they’re smoldering with a dark energy, the amusement dipping into something almost sensual.
“How about this, Captain,” he says. “A truth for a truth.”
He must see a flicker of shock because he grins at me. “Humor me—my life could be over soon and I might have to take all my secrets with me.”
I stare at him while I think of all the questions I can ask—everything I want to know about him—starting with why he was in Verdun.
And others like, why was he flying the Black? Who gave him those scars on his back? Why is a De’Vero noble captain of his own vessel? All valid questions ,but for as many of those as I have, there’s only one that for the last few hours has continued to pester me.
“Why that poem?” I ask.
It’s my turn to register the shock on his face and I revel in it.
Until a wicked smile slowly slides across his lips—which I definitely am not staring at, of course.
Fox stands up, slowly bringing himself eye level with me.
I’m reminded of the fact we’re nearly the same height and this close, I’m conscious of every tiny move he makes.
“I find myself growing increasingly intrigued by you, Captain,” he says. He tilts his head at me, considering. “Interesting thing about poetry—it often says the things we don’t know how to say in our own words. I chose that poem because maybe we’re more alike than you think.”
“And you think that’ll save you? Finding common ground with your enemy?”
Fox scoffs, shaking his head. “No,” he states flatly, like it’s obvious.
“You already know what your decision is going to be—you just have to come to terms with it.” Before I can process that statement fully, he goes on.
“It’s my turn.” That deadly smile is back on his face, looking like he’s about to go in for the kill. “Have you ever been with a man before?”
My brow scrunches up in disbelief. “ That’s your question?”
“Yup,” Fox says, looking smug .
“Out of everything you could have asked me—you want to know—”
“If you’ve ever been with a man, yes, I’m curious,” Fox finishes for me. “Sexually—just in case that wasn’t clear.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with—anything,” I say incredulously.
Fox shrugs. “Well, then you’ll have no problem giving me the answer.”
“No,” I state.
“No, you won’t answer? Or no, you’ve never been with a man?” Fox clarifies.
I can see in his eyes he’s enjoying every single second of this game.
“No, I’ve never been with a man.”
Somehow my voice is normal—it’s not like I’d be embarrassed if I had.
He’s studying me now, his eyes roving over my face with a curiosity that seems deeper now, like I’ve just given him some very incriminating information.
His lip catches between his teeth—deliberate and slow.
It takes every bit of willpower to keep my breathing even when suddenly I feel as though all the air in the room has vanished.
Fox leans into me, his lips near my ear, breath coasting over my skin.
“Well, Captain—” His voice is low and slightly raspier than normal. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”