Chapter 13
Stella gaped at the pirate. Hook’s five o’clock shadow looked like a permanent fixture, as though he would never grow a beard
and he’d never be clean-shaven. Heavy, dark brows shadowed his forget-me-not blue eyes. She was most taken aback by the fact
that he was so attractive, although in a frightening way—like the way a dragon is mesmerizing in its splendor but also dangerous
and deadly.
“Hello, love,” Hook said in a thick British accent. His gaze drifted toward the knife she held loosely. “Come to do me in,
have you? I don’t fancy you the type.”
Stella opened her mouth to agree with him, but Hook moved quickly toward her and snatched the knife from her hand before she
could react. He tossed it aside. The knife skittered across the floor until it bounced off a bookshelf and disappeared under
a table. Then he looped his arm around Stella’s waist, and she stumbled forward as he pressed her against him.
She struggled and squirmed before his hook came into her peripheral vision. She stopped as sunlight glinted off the silver.
“It’s lonely at sea,” he said, his breath stinking of rum and cloves.
“You might consider a toothbrush on your voyages,” she said, trying to breathe as his grip tightened on her waist.
Hook rubbed his scruffy face against her cheek like a cat brushing against its owner’s leg. Stella scrunched her eyes closed.
Under different circumstances, it might have been somewhat thrilling to be held close by a roguish pirate, but the hook was
too terrifying, especially since he was sliding it through her hair at the moment.
“You smell like caramel,” he whispered against her neck.
If she screamed, would Hook stab her? He shoved her back against the wall. Her panicked gaze followed the trail of a thin
vertical scar that stretched from his lower left eye to the corner of his lip.
“You sure are a lovely thing.”
Hook pressed his mouth to hers, and she nearly choked on her own breath. He kissed her like a man completely starved for physical
contact, like a man who needed her breath to survive the next few seconds.
Then a loud thunk sounded, and Hook released his grip on her. His body crumpled like a rag doll to the floor. Stella stared at his leather-clad
body lying in a heap at her feet, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest.
Jack stood in front of her with a book in his hands. “War and Peace.” He turned the book over so she could see the spine.
“I’ve just . . . He . . .” Stella swiped the back of her hand across her lips.
Jack dropped the book on the nearest table. Then he leaned down, hooked his arms beneath the pirate’s armpits, and dragged
Hook away from Stella’s feet. “Mr. Crusoe!” he called. He returned to Stella and put his hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”
Stella tried to pull her trembling fingers through her hair, but they caught on her curls.
“Okay is not how I would describe myself at the moment.” She pressed her hands to her chest as if that would calm her heartbeat.
“You gave me a knife, and you attacked with a book? Isn’t that the opposite of what should have happened? ”
When Crusoe appeared, Jack said, “Will you take Hook down to the archives and tie him to a chair? Make sure he can’t get free.
And take his sword. We don’t want him armed.”
Mr. Crusoe lifted Hook onto his back, draping the pirate’s arms over his shoulders, and carried him away. What would the people
in the library think? Could they be convinced this was part of a play or reenactment?
“This has gotten so out of hand,” Stella said. She wiped her mouth again. “And unexpectedly scary. No wonder the kids were terrified. The appeal
of pirate romance has completely evaporated for me.”
Jack walked over to the table, picked up War and Peace, and returned it to its shelf. “At least we caught him. Sorry it wasn’t before he . . .”
Stella touched her lips again. “Thanks for rescuing me.”
Jack nodded. “The chaos should be over now.”
Finally, her heartbeat settled into a more peaceful rhythm. Knowing Hook couldn’t cause any more mayhem offered major relief.
“This is probably where I should say that you were right.”
Although Stella had never imagined what kind of kisser Hook would be, she was sorry she now knew. Desperate, air-sucking,
forced kisses were as far from what she dreamed about as possible. But she had wondered what kind of kisser Jack would be.
While he didn’t seem like the shy, nervous type, he also didn’t seem like he’d be as aggressive as Hook, trying to suck all
the life from her body like a dementor from Azkaban. Would he be passionate and direct without being forceful?
Her brain quickly created a list of Jane Austen’s leading men—so many swoon-worthy characters whose kisses changed lives and captured hearts.
She scratched through Fitzwilliam Darcy’s name immediately.
Then she cleared her throat when she felt her cheeks warm.
What was she doing? Making a list of men who might kiss like Jack after just being kissed by a merciless pirate?
Stella rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “I’m sorry about all of this. I should have listened to you. This is a mess.”
Jack nodded and pushed off from the bookshelf. “It’s mostly sorted.”
“Will we be able to keep Hook tied up for two weeks?” she asked.
“I don’t see why not.”
Stella’s mind whirred. “What about food and water? We can’t starve him. Or . . . do you eat?” She’d seen Jack drink coffee,
but was that for show?
Jack laughed unexpectedly. “I can eat, yes, but do I need to? No.”
“Whoa, that’s weird. You can stay here for two weeks and never eat? What about sleeping?”
“I can sleep,” Jack said, “but it’s much the same. I don’t need it. Because I guess in a way, I’m not real in this world.”
His mouth turned down at the corners, and he looked away from her. Did that bother him? Stella felt compelled to reach out
and touch him. When she grabbed his hand, he looked at her.
“But you are real,” she said. “In your story, I mean. You lived in Blue Sky Valley and had a life and a family. Maybe it’s easier not
having to worry about food and sleeping when you’re here now. You can enjoy yourself twenty-four hours a day.”
He squeezed her hand. “It is odd—or weird, as you say—that I feel very real, but I know that in this world I’m not.”
Stella released his hand. “Honestly, Jack, this whole situation is weird. Not just you but all of it. The library, the magical ink, the idea that characters can disappear from books forever. You, in particular, are less odd to me, because I’ve been reading about you for so many years.
But . . .” She hesitated, doubting her ability to say the words rising within her.
Jack stepped toward her. “But what?”
His hazel eyes stared into hers, and for a moment, Stella felt a lightness in her body like she hadn’t experienced in a long
time. She was reminded of the girl she was before her heart had broken. “I’ve dreamed about having a conversation with you
for years.”
Jack’s features shifted, and she could swear she saw desire in his expression. “We’re having a conversation now.”
“We are.” Stella smiled shyly. “You’ve always felt like a real person to me, and I had all kinds of questions I wanted answers
to.”
“Ask me anything.”
Stella felt herself leaning toward him, and almost instantly an alarm went off in her head. What was she doing, looking at
Jack with puppy dog eyes? Could this day be any more insane? She’d been kissed by Hook, and now she was standing inches away
from her childhood crush, acting like she might swoon?
She cleared her throat, stepped away from Jack, and broke the moment they’d been sharing. “What about Hook? You think it’s
okay to leave him tied up for two weeks?”
Jack sensed the shift in her energy, and his shoulders straightened, his expression unreadable. “We certainly can’t let him
wander around, no matter what kinds of promises he makes. I suspect he’ll try to woo someone into untying him, so don’t fall
for that. He’s not a good guy.”
Stella shook her head. “He’s too intense for me. Totally not my type.” She headed toward the main staircase, leaving Jack
to catch up.
When he was by her side, he asked, “What is your type?”
She nearly blurted, “You,” but managed to press her lips closed.
Jack paused at the top of the stairs and looked at her. “Everyone has a type.”
Stella continued walking. Her skin itched below the surface, and the back of her neck prickled with heat.
Silvery, shiny words drifted across the steps, and she stopped moving.
Come out, come out. You can’t hide forever.
Open up. She narrowed her eyes at the words, and they skittered into the shadowed corners.
She caught Jack watching her, knowing he’d
seen the words. “I’m not interested in having a type.”
Jack didn’t speak again until they were halfway down the main staircase. “What’s his name?”
Stella’s chest tightened. Could Jack see into her soul, see all the secrets she kept there, the ones she wanted to bury for
all time? “Whose name?” she asked, hoping to divert him.
“The name of the guy who hurt you bad enough to make you want to give up. Did you ever bring him to the library?”
Stella clenched her jaw. “He wouldn’t have come to the library. He didn’t even like to read.” Speaking that truth out loud
struck her as funny. She’d spent a year with someone who didn’t like books? How was that even possible? “He didn’t make me do anything. It was my choice to stop wanting anything other than what I have right now. Why is everyone always telling
me to do something different with my life? Go to school, take a new job in Miami, go on a date. I’m perfectly fine—”
Stella’s lungs squeezed painfully, blurring her vision with black dots and shooting stars. Her body seized, and she tilted
sideways. A fire burned at her core and sweat beaded on her forehead.
“Stella!” Jack said, catching her in his arms before she tumbled headfirst down the staircase.