Chapter 49 #2
The moment stretched and shifted as sensation expanded beyond the scope of his beautiful eyes.
He knelt in front of her, her foot balanced on the flat of his thigh, his hand cupping her calf, her fingers threaded in his hair.
When her hand had shifted from his shoulder to twine in the black curls that hugged his neck, she didn’t know, but they were just as silky as she’d imagined.
All thoughts of fledgling amicability vanished.
Friends wouldn’t wonder what it would be like for her fingers to tighten, to guide his mouth to hers. To taste the wonderment on his lips, feel the passion she saw simmering under his skin in the grip of his hands as they held her close.
What an adventure that would be.
Her pulse skipped along her veins as the excitement fled his eyes, replaced by something stronger, wilder.
It reminded her of the way Sir Beauregard smoldered at her, but the knight’s gaze was all primal lust. Millie had never seen such an expression in a man’s eyes before as she now saw in Bradley’s, but age-old instinct recognized it immediately. Bone-deep desire. For her. All of her.
For Millie.
The moment shattered when the apprentice abruptly stood. Caught off-balance, Millie yelped as she stumbled backwards. One foot went into the washtub and promptly slipped on the bar of soap. She screeched as all four limbs flailed, but she didn’t fall.
Strong hands caught her, yanked, and homespun worn smooth from many washings pressed against her cheek.
She sucked in a breath, ensured she was on steady ground, and lifted her face from where it smooshed against Bradley’s chest. His hand hovered beside her cheek like a hummingbird unsure if it should land.
The apprentice guided her to arm’s length at the same time Millie straightened, unsure of what she would do if that hand touched her with the gentleness it promised.
“Sorry about that,” she chirped, frazzled and desperate for composure. “Slipped. So, um, that lesson?”
“Yeah.” Bradley shoved his hand through his hair, mussing his curls like he was trying to dispel a phantom residue left behind by her hand. “Let’s make it quick. I’ve got studying to finish.”
He hadn’t stayed long enough to inspect her work, but that was entirely her fault. She’d slipped into Madame Palferoi’s popular tavern song to dispel her nerves, forgetting its lewd lyrics would chase the bashful apprentice from the room, which they had.
That night, Millie had clung to the edge of the mattress on her side of the bed like it was a life raft. Her whole body had thrummed with anticipation, but anticipation of what, she didn’t know or want to think about.
In the morning, after a very fitful sleep, Bradley was gone.
And that was it. Their last real conversation for the next seven days.
He’d even gone out of his way to avoid her on the stairwell, turning around and feigning he forgot something somewhere.
He rarely looked her in the eye, either.
It was frustrating, infuriating, and Millie couldn’t seem to think about anything else.
Not her nautical lessons with Sir Beauregard, not her climbing lessons with Jax—Dirk had found and attached a rope to the underside of the workroom—she certainly had no head for numbers or Duncan’s negotiation tactics, and clearly she’d been wool-gathering with Sir Roger when she should’ve been worried about that broadsword coming for her head.
The apprentice was ruining everything. She was going to be a pirate, dammit!
She was going to secure her kingdom’s future through unorthodox means, and she couldn’t do that if Bradley wasn’t being Bradley.
She needed the grump, the one she could terrorize and ignore.
Not whoever this tall, dark, and handsome man was with the blue eyes that shone like stars and made heat bloom in unfamiliar but tantalizing places.
These feelings were fantasies, they had to be.
Just figments from an emotionally charged moment.
She couldn’t trust them, especially since they stemmed from the contrary apprentice, and doubly especially since they would do nothing but hold her back from reaching her full potential.
Mutineer Millie hadn’t escaped one cage just to dive straight into another.
With a shout, the pirate aspirant swung hard with her cutlass. The blade buried itself into the edge of the table, slicing off a wedge. Panting, she used two hands to rip the sword free. Her shoulders slumped.
“Feel better?” Sir Roger asked, not unkindly.
“I need the water, old man.”
“Sure.” He handed it to her when she neared, watched her drink and wipe her mouth with the back of her wrist. “You’re getting good, miss. I think you could be great one day. You’ve got the grit and the determination, and not a little talent to boot.”
The One in Ten. “So long as I stay focused.”
He nodded once. “Aye, that. Talent only takes you so far.”
She took another swallow, corked the waterskin. She sheathed her cutlass and unbuckled it from her waist. “I can’t hold that sword up anymore.”
“I figured.”
Mutineer Millie flashed him a smile. “So teach me how to throw daggers, old man.”
Sir Roger grinned.