Chapter 22 #2
“Couldn’t have you reaching for that pistol of yours.
” His lips thinned in irritation, his eyes squinting at her.
His expression said he knew exactly what she thought he was going to do to her and he didn’t appreciate it.
“I don’t trust you won’t punch me in the face or kick me in the nuts again if I don’t pin you down. ”
Her lips pouted as she turned her head to the side. “I vaguely remember doing that.”
She should have known Alister wouldn’t hurt her, but she’d been attacked by men in many ways in the past. It was difficult not to paint them all with the same brush... even if she knew him.
Because he wasn’t lying on her and had given her plenty of room to breathe, she could feel her lungs settling. Her anxiety was still present, but it wasn’t as suffocating.
That did little to calm the heavy beating of her pulse as she felt it in her jugular, her stomach, her chest. It pumped so loudly it was almost deafening.
She thought it may have even quickened when she felt him gently brush a curl of her hair from her face with the back of a finger. It was a caring gesture – one she couldn’t handle from him.
I can’t do this. She couldn’t bear to look at him now that a silent truce had been called between them. She couldn’t meet his eye after what she had done.
Guilt sailed through her. Regret. Sadness.
She didn’t want to look at the first person she’d ever fallen in love with and then abandoned to save herself. Didn’t want to feel the depth of it when she took in his features.
I’m such an idiot.
Why did I allow this to happen? She’d known since Tortaya, had recognised what she was feeling and thought she could handle the unrequited emotion as they sailed together.
Alas, it had continued to grow, continued to fester into a painful ache that only seemed to go away when she’d been entangled with him. It didn’t matter if it was in the act of sex or merely sleeping curled up by his side. As long as her limbs had been clutching at him, nothing else mattered.
He was mean, rough, dangerous, but this brute of a man had been gentle with her when she needed him to be, and was soft and sweet when they were alone.
It was as though his hands thought she was both the most fragile thing in the world when he’d petted her, but also a fierce wildcat that could take his strength when he grabbed at her. These conflicting touches always threw her off-guard.
His hips had been a never-ending storm, but his mouth had become so affectionate it made her mindless. She happily let him do whatever he wanted.
She knew he’d started to seek her out because he’d valued her company, like he did any of his most trusted crew. To feel included in that small circle had been heart-warming.
These were things that had little to do with tenderness.
She’d found these warming moments lovely because of how she’d begun to feel, not as a reflection of how he did. They were done for his enjoyment and because of his impulses.
I should have left sooner.
Things might have been easier. He might not be here now if she had.
She didn’t even know why he was. She didn’t think he would come after her, wouldn’t care to chase after her. I’m just some woman to him. He would have left her eventually, casting her to the side.
He’d grown possessive of her, and she had found that titillating, but it didn’t mean he truly felt anything for her. Men liked to own things, wanted to control things. She was a thing he’d wanted to keep to himself and had figured out the best way to do that – and nothing more.
So why chase after her when he could be with someone else? Because I was easy? Available with my own ship?
He’d once told her he liked the idea of having ‘good pussy’ trailing after him on her own damn ship. Was it because he could escape her when he found her annoying or troublesome?
Her bed had been elsewhere.
They’d shared each other’s when they wanted to, but he didn’t have to face her in the morning if he so desired. Sometimes, he didn’t.
I hate this. She didn’t want him here, pinning her to the bed. Didn’t want him so close he could steal everything away from her.
He smelt of salt, of sea, of him, of the warm, woodsy musk that belonged to Alister. It was one she’d found so wonderful she would lie with him for a little longer in the mornings just to take him in when he was asleep.
Her brows crinkled as guilt lashed her even harder. I don’t want to lie to him.
For someone who wanted to talk, he said nothing.
I want this over with.
“What are you doing here?” she finally asked quietly, refusing to move her gaze from the long, gridded windows on one side of her narrow sleeping chamber.
“I should be asking you the same thing.”
“You told me I could sail away whenever I wanted, so I did.”
“You took my father’s ring,” he retorted, brushing his fingers over the chain around her neck to which the gold band was attached.
Is that why he’s here? Something hurtful swirled in her torso.
“I saw you had another in your desk. If you want it so badly, take it and leave. You can have it back.”
She wouldn’t have taken it if she’d known it was the reason he’d come after her. He dropped it.
“Nay, you can keep it.” He lifted his hand, drawing her attention for a moment. “Already replaced it.”
She could see he was wearing the replica on his ring finger already. “Then what do you want?”
“Damn.” He grabbed her jaw and forced her head forward to face him. “You’re prettier than I remember.”
Looking up at him, his eye glowing like a miniature sun from the light shining through her window as it darted over the features of her face, she felt like he’d gouged into her chest.
Her brows drew together so tightly, a crinkle formed in the middle, her lips tightening into an agonised pout. Then her eyes widened when his hand shot through her hair to hold her still as he lowered his head and crashed his lips against hers.
The feeling in her chest gouged deeper, but despite it, Rosetta felt a tremor of desire and longing flip low in her belly. Her entire body tensed beneath him, and her hands clenched into small fists.
The low and heavy groan he gave when he tilted his head and moved his lips to kiss her deeper made her ache in so many ways, she didn’t know how to handle the conflicting emotions.
I missed him. She missed that rough sound. She missed the feeling of his lips against hers, the way he smelt. His voice. His face. His touch. How his stubble tickled her face.
She’d hated herself for missing this man, and it only worsened every second he was in front of her. She knew it was going to hurt more now that she’d gotten another taste of him when she sent him away.
Like a poor, pathetic, hungry woman, Rosetta couldn’t stop herself from kissing him back. Just once she allowed herself to take from him before she finally turned her head to the side to break off the kiss.
All she wanted to do was cry, but she refused to show she cared.