Chapter 7
Hook
“Nice cell.” Sarcasm dripped from Tink’s voice as Hook circled around her.
He rested against the edge of the desk. Bold words, but easy to read between. Her wings twitched and nose wrinkled. Tink’s clear-eyed gaze darted this way and that. He’d made her nervous. Hook removed his hat and set it aside. “You don’t want to be locked up down there tonight, love.”
Her lips thinned as she clutched his coat tighter around her. “I’m not staying in here with you.”
“Yes, you are.” He wouldn’t have her out of his sight, and not only because she might find a way to escape.
“Half of my crew is drunk. The other half will be when they get back to the ship.” He grabbed a cloth from atop the desk and polished his hook as he spoke.
“A few of them may have found a lovely lady, or man, to share the evening with. Most won’t. They lack my charm.” He grinned.
Tink rolled her eyes.
“When they come back, swaying on their feet, eyes blurred from the ale, they might see a pretty thing like you and think you chose to be on this ship. Many have.” He stroked a cloth up and down his hook in slow, rhythmic motions, not so much cleaning or polishing it, more out of habit.
The practiced move calmed him, distracted his thoughts from the woman lingering so close to his bed.
“Perhaps they’d think you took a wrong turn, got stuck in a cell by accident while trying to make a little extra coin giving comfort to some lonely pirates. ”
“I’m not a whore.” Tink gaped. “They wouldn’t dare.”
“I’d like to think not. If one of mine did such a thing…” The cloth stopped. “They wouldn’t be on my crew anymore. But best not to risk it. For your sake.”
His crew would never treat an innocent woman so. But if she used her cursed kiss on one of them the way she had on him, would they force themselves on her in the dreamy haze of the pixie dust? Could they? Wasn’t a chance he could take.
The wrinkles between her brows smoothed out. Her entire face lost some of its sharpness.
“In fact, I think you should stay here until you’ve repaid your debt.”
The softness vanished into pressed lips. “How exactly do you expect me to repay my so-called debt when I’m stuck on this ship with you? Swab the decks?”
“Mmm,” he mused, “I would enjoy seeing you down on your hands and knees, working up a sweat.” Bloody hell, the vision that conjures is a curse of its own.
How would he get that out of his head? Tink on the deck of the Jolly Roger, white shirt stuck to her skin with sweat, hair pulled back behind her head, looking up at him.
“Rotten pirate,” she snapped.
So much fire. His lips quirked up at the corners as Hook crossed the room to her. “Thieving pixie.” Harsh words, but no bite.
“You stole it first.” Tink notched her chin higher, her blue eyes staring him down along her slightly pointed nose.
“I did.” He grinned. “I’ll be taking this back now.
” He tugged his jacket off her, leaving her bare from the waist up other than the cloth wrapped around her chest. Fuck.
Her pert nipples beaded against the fabric.
Blonde hair had come loose from her braid and draped across her creamy skin.
Hook turned away before he could give in to the temptation to seek a closer look.
“Hey!” Tink yelled after him, but no footsteps followed as he made his way to the wardrobe.
Open the door. Hang the jacket. Don’t think about the half-naked beauty in the room. It wasn’t enough that her curse filled his mind with visions that left him longing for her taste, but he’d happened to bring her here half-naked. Of all the shit luck. She needed clothes. Now.
He bunched up a pale shirt and tossed it toward her across the bed. “Here.” It would be too large, but it would do.
“My wings…” The gossamer things fluttered behind her like fine transparent silk in a rainbow of pale colors. Her face flushed pink, turning almost red near the tips of her ears. The color spread to her chest, even though she tried to hide it behind her lean arms.
He tossed a second shirt near the first. “Bind them.”
The blush vanished as her eyes flew wide. “You can’t ask a pixie to bind her wings! It isn’t right.”
Pixies and their rules. He sighed, leaning against the wardrobe. “You had them bound earlier this evening. What’s the difference?”
Her face flushed again, adding more fuel to the fire of his wicked thoughts. He couldn’t help but wonder how far down her petite form the blush traveled.
“You know nothing about pixies.” She pulled the shirts to her chest but made no move to put them on.
He shrugged—an empty gesture. He cared more than he should. “I know a little.”
“Not enough…”
As he was quickly learning. There was one thing he was certain of, though. The main reason he brought her onboard, or so he told himself. “I know you make something very valuable. Something that could go a long way toward paying for your crime.”
A humorless laugh bubbled out of her. She hunched over, pulling his shirts tighter to her as her shoulders shook. When she straightened, her features had gone cold and sharp as stone. “I can’t just make pixie dust whenever I want.”
“No?” He asked it aloud, but the question was more for himself. There was more to her words, he’d wager a hefty sum of gold on it. But what?
“No.”
He closed the distance between them, coming around the bed until he stared down at her. “Care to explain?”
“No.”
“You must have made a fortune selling so much. Care to tell me what happened to that gold?”
Her brows drew together, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
She had sold it, though. He’d met no other blonde pixie selling dust, and he’d looked—far and wide ever since her drugged kiss.
She’d had plenty of dust then. The whispers he’d heard of someone selling pixie dust fit her description perfectly—well, from the few who had gotten a decent glimpse of the seller.
“Well, then, we’re at an impasse.”
She stared back at him, unblinking. A bubble of tension hung heavy in the air, ready to burst. If he didn’t get away from her, he might do something stupid. But he couldn’t leave her free to roam…or shirtless.
“Give me one of those,” he said.
“What?” Her brows scrunched until she noticed his outstretched hand. “Fine.” She shoved one shirt toward him, nearly dropping the other onto the floor.
At least she held on to the nicer one. Still. Hook frowned as he held up his shirt. He dug the point of his hook into the cotton and pulled it downward. The shirt ripped, leaving a long hole in the back.
“You—” Tink stared at him, bewildered.
“For your wings.” He tossed the shirt back.
Tink fumbled it out of the air, lips slightly parted. “Thank you.”
She wouldn’t thank him for what came next.
As she turned away and examined the shirt, he sought out the item he needed within a heavy trunk.
Once he had it, he took his time making his way back to her.
Tight, black breeches hugged her backside, sinking down into boots laced up her calves.
If only she craved him the way her curse made him feel.
His shirt slid over her head. Too big, too long, but perfect all the same.
Tink fumbled with the slashed opening, working her delicate wings free.
Their color was hard to describe—almost a rippling pale rainbow against sea foam. Damn, she was turning him into a poet.
And now a villain.
Hook clasped the iron handcuff around her wrist.
“Hey! What?” Tink jerked away. Betrayal, worse than when he’d taken her from her treehouse, flashed across the face of the woman wearing his clothes.
“Can’t have you flying away in the night. Or slitting my throat.” A thick, corded rope hung between them.
Her mouth opened and closed, but words didn’t come out.
“You’ll have room to move, to get to the chamber pot, that chair, the nightstand.” He gestured quickly to the items as he snapped shut the other end of the cuff around a thick post on the headboard of the bed.
Tink flushed pink. “Filthy, lousy, no-good pirate!”
Aye. That he was.
But a pirate stole treasure; he didn’t let it run free.
If she truly no longer had the Heart of Fire, there’d be no getting it back from the merfolk.
He’d risked much stealing it from that bastard Blackbeard.
He’d done it for sport, more than value, but still…
he could have sold it, spent that coin on his crew.
Or given it back to the merfolk in exchange for something else of value.
Speaking of…
“What did you get from the merfolk for my treasure?” Part of her payment was clearly a curse on him, but no way she took that risk just to ruin him. He’d been a perfect gentleman to her. Bloody hell, he’d have given her much more than that if she hadn’t drugged him with her kiss.
“Your treasure?” She fumed at the edge of the bed, barely looking at him below her lowered lashes.
Tink in his clothes, on his bed… Fuck. Furious or not, she was a sight to behold.
He shook himself. “Aye, my treasure.” He’d stolen it, so that made it his.
“Such a valuable jewel could have gotten quite a sum. I might be willing to ease some of your debt…” He trailed his pointer finger along his jaw.
“…if you were to hand over whatever you got in exchange.”
She crossed her arms and turned away from him. Why? It wasn’t a bad offer.
“Their trust,” she said at last.
“And…?” He waved his hand for her to continue.
“And what? They’d never dealt with a pixie. Said I could earn their trust if I returned their missing treasure.”
He blinked at her. No way had she given it back for nothing. “You lie.”
She stood with a huff. “I do not!”
“Bloody hell, woman. What could you possibly need their trust so badly for that you’d give away a fortune?”
She pursed her lips and turned away again. “Not your business.”
A treasure for trust? Ridiculous. “Got enough gold selling your dust, eh?”
Her wings twitched, but she refused to answer.
When the silence stretched, he realized she wasn’t going to. With a sigh, he pushed off his desk and adjusted his breeches. It was going to be a long voyage to the merfolk with her on the ship and in his bed. No matter that it was just a few days. He scrubbed his hand down his face.
Being stuck in close quarters with her might be the worst curse of all.