Chapter Seventeen
A soft gray light filtered through the cabin as Isaac’s eyes fluttered open.
For one disorientating second, he forgot where he was.
There was only her. Curled against him, one leg tangled with his, she shifted with a happy sigh.
Dark hair fanned from where her head rested on his shoulder, tangled around the arm draped over his torso.
Her scent—jasmine and something uniquely her—rose with each breath she took, and he drank it in, a warmth blooming unbidden in his chest.
He closed his eyes. He could almost believe he was someone else. Someone who had the right to hold her. But as quickly as that fragile contentment came, it vanished—burned away like mist beneath a rising sun. Reality returned in a brutal rush. He’d gotten carried away. Let himself forget.
Fool.
The word rang like a warning bell in his head. His hand rose, fingers pressing his temple. He’d forgotten every rule of copulating. Hell, he’d nearly completed within her. He’d taken her to bed like some tavern wench he could forget in the morning.
Only he wouldn’t forget.
Not her.
His breath caught as images from the night before crashed through him.
Of skin against skin. Of her bold touches, her sweet cries.
Damnation. A growl rumbled in his throat.
He didn’t have the luxury of thinking like that.
He had obligations—his commission, his crew, capturing Thorne.
She had no place in any of this. Not on his ship.
Not in his heart. He began to pull away, gently lifting her arm from his chest, but before he could rise, she stirred with a soft moan and stretched against him.
He froze as her eyes fluttered open, dark and languid.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” His whisper sounded abnormally loud in the silence.
Lips curved against his chest and her hand drifted lower, fingers splaying against his stomach. Desire flared low in his spine before he crushed it with practiced resolve. He couldn’t afford to want her—he needed to remember that. Still, he didn’t move.
A few minutes longer wouldn’t hurt. Besides, she didn’t deserve for him to jump up and run off, leaving her alone after her first time with a man.
He settled his hand over hers. It was all he could do—if he touched her anywhere else, he doubted his ability to control himself.
Even now, her breath stirred his skin like fire.
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 life is 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.
Did know 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 of that. 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 to the 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.”
Opening a chest near the railing, he picked up a light training blade, flipping it in a circle.
Probably still too heavy for her. Handing it to her, he frowned when she dropped the point to the deck.
“Don’t ever hold it like that. This isn’t like picking up a rapier in a parlor for sport.
When you hold it, life and death are at stake. ”
He settled a hand on the hilt of his sword, the familiar comfort of the weapon grounding him.
Already he regretted his decision. From the corner of his eye, he caught Silas’s gaze from the wheel.
His first officer’s eyes had narrowed, face carved with disapproval.
Isaac didn’t need to hear it aloud to know what he thought—send her back to the cabin. Do not indulge her.
“So?” Miss Montclair waved the blade in front of him, pulling his thoughts back. “How should I hold it?”
“First, don’t hold it so tight. You’ll tire yourself out before you get your first swing in.” He reached out, hands closing around hers, guiding her fingers into position.
“Here.” His palm brushed the inside of her wrist as he adjusted the angle of the blade.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Neither did he. The softness of her skin beneath his—warm, familiar—sent his pulse racing. He pulled back, clearing his throat. “That’s better.”
With a swallow, he drew his sword, the soft rasp of steel ringing across the deck. “Keep your stance light. Feet apart, knees bent. Just like last night.” Again, memory tugged at him. He shook his head.
She mimicked him, brows drawn in concentration.
“Good. Now, we’ll start with the simplest guard. Blade up. Angle it to glance the blow aside. The trick is not to catch the blow, but to deflect it.”
She raised the sword and he stepped forward, bringing his blade down in a smooth arc toward hers. Steel clanged and she winced.
“You’re holding it too tight again. If I strike hard, you’ll jar your arms out of the socket.”
Her grip shifted and she gave him a determined look. “Again.”
He repeated the blow, harder, and the clash of blades echoed across the deck.
Muffled voices came from the rigging as men swung down to watch.
Isaac’s jaw tightened. A woman on board was already enough to stir unease among the crew.
But a woman being trained with a blade, by their commanding officer? So much for earning their respect.