10. In which there is no time for a dalliance and a close call #2
He bolted through the door and out of sight, and Hester yowled, kicking at the wall. How could anyone refuse her? Let alone two men in one day. She checked her reflection in the mirror, but no, she was still ravishing. It was an absolute outrage.
She left her cabin, slamming the door, and marched through the corridor and out onto the starlit deck, her breath coming in ragged pants, dragging her hands through her hair.
A swim. She paced the deck, eyeing the dark water. Maybe a swim would burn off some of her pent-up energy. She stripped down to her underclothes and threw a rope ladder over the side, climbed partway down it, and then dove into the sea.
She landed in a haze of bubbles and cold so biting that she shrieked when she surfaced.
Hester struck out, starting to swim up and down the lengths of the Valour and the Intrepid, although not too close.
It always gave her the shivers to swim too close to ships, like she might be sucked under them.
The exercise was helping, her frustrations channelled into movement, the heat between her thighs quelled by the cool water.
“What are you doing?”
Hester spun. Swimming towards her, broad shoulders shining with water in the moonlight, was Septimus.
Hester rolled her eyes and groaned. “What does it look like I’m doing? The same thing as you. Swimming.” Honestly, she was through with men and their stupidity for today.
Septimus swam past her. “Why?”
As if she’d explain that to him. “I wanted to. Why are you swimming?”
He stopped and turned to face her. “It helps clear my head.”
“Helps you clear your conscience, you mean?”
“What are you talking about?”
Was it wise to anger him further? She didn’t care. “You risk the lives of your crew in this hasty departure. Surely you realise that.”
“It is because you are forcing my hand,” he snarled, his face contorting.
Hester bristled, her magic thrumming in her chest, the rising wind whipping the calm sea into little waves. “You cannot blame this on me.”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” he spat.
Hester raised her eyebrows. “Try me.”
“No.”
“Fine!” He was so fucking infuriating she could scream. Power spilled out of her before she could stop it. Thunder cracked in the distance, dark storm clouds rolling towards them. Septimus glanced up as the clouds blocked the moon. “Does anyone else know about this, little witch?”
Little witch. Hester clenched her fists, her teeth starting to chatter. She cursed herself for letting her control slip again. “There is nothing to know.”
“Liar.”
“It is mere coincidence.” There was no way she was admitting anything. Especially not to him.
“Coincidence? That any time you get angry there’s a storm? I think not.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” she shouted, throwing his words back at him as lightning flashed. Shit. She shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have alluded to anything.
“You’re shivering. Get out of the water.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped. The rising waves slapped against her face, and she spat brine.
A dark shape slid through the water a few metres behind Septimus. A tall, hooked dorsal fin.
Hester’s eyes widened, and she spluttered, “Septimus!”
“Hester!” Charlotte’s voice rang out from the deck above. “What are you doing? Get out of the water! My God—a shark!”
Hester gasped, shaking still, a wave submerging her, her pulse beating in her ears. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, cool skin against hers. She gripped Septimus’s shoulders with numb fingers, eyes on the fin as it circled around them.
“Orca,” Septimus breathed, the warmth of his breath hitting her ear.
“Could it be?” A cold voice rang in her ears.
What was that? She swallowed hard. “Did you hear someone?”
“What are you talking about?” His eyes were fixed on that fin. Waiting for it to pass, waiting for the path to the ship to be clear.
And oh, Septimus was so close, skin so wet and slippery. Every muscle in his shoulders was tense, his legs brushing against hers. She didn’t know whether to be terrified of the orca, or climb him right there. Her lips quirked. Surely she shouldn’t be thinking of sex at a time like this.
The fin passed, the way clear. Septimus grimaced. “What are you smiling for, you idiot? Make for the ship.”
He thrust her through the waves. She flailed, arms and legs not doing quite as she wanted them to.
The delicious silkiness of his skin was gone.
She needed to…not get eaten by an orca. That was the focus, not his wet body pressed against hers.
She bit back hysterical laughter as a tail fluke slapped the water.
The rope ladder dangled a few yards away. She dunked her head under and struck out more fluidly. And then Septimus was next to her, pulling her through the water. They emerged, spluttering, by the ladder. The dark shadow of the orca grew closer behind.
“Quickly.” He placed her frozen hands on the rungs, his eyes behind, searching for the beast. “Climb,” he said, and she did, hauling herself up the ladder, skin pebbling in the wind, Septimus behind her.
She stopped halfway and looked over her shoulder, the fin nowhere to be seen. “Thank God for that.”
A deep chuckle sounded from underneath her, and she peered down past her feet to see the corners of his lips turned up. She asked, “You think almost being eaten by an orca is funny, do you?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
And then she remembered the tattoo on her backside and sniggered. It was one of her favourites, after all. And what a change of heart for the stern Pirate Lord to be laughing along at her joke. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely humourless after all.
She clambered onto the deck and knelt there, shivering, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Hell, orcas are terrifying,” Septimus said, climbing onto the deck and wringing water from his hair. She snuck a glance over her shoulder at him, hissing at his muscled torso, the water dripping off him, the way his undershorts clung to—
He cleared his throat and said, “When you’re done ogling me, Captain Orn, I think Mrs Bailey has a blanket for you.”