20. Jack’s Girl
JACK’S GIRL
By the time they returned to the inn, the lanterns had been extinguished and snoring rumbled from behind doors.
The stairs creaked beneath their boots as Jack led the way to their rooms, his fingers loosely twined with Cecily’s.
When they stopped before her door, she stuck her key in the lock and faced Jack as he leaned against the door frame.
“I won’t invite you in,” she told him. Shyness crept into her tone and cheeks, making her feel terribly girlish. “I’m not…ready…for that.”
His lips, red and full from how much she’d kissed them, pulled into a smug grin. “Yes, I assumed as much,” he said.
“It’s just that Fay and Maria said—”
“Lord,” he mumbled with an eye roll.
“—that you once had a certain…laxness of morals.”
“All my morals are lax,” he told her flatly.
She bit her lip. “The ones pertaining to women.”
He leaned in, taking her chin to angle her face to his. “Are you suggesting I’m loose?”
Her smile appeared, along with an errant giggle. “They suggested you’re loose. Though they also said it’s been a while…” She trailed off, cheeks warming further at the impropriety of discussing Jack’s bed.
“Did they now.” The edge of his mouth hitched upward, that delicious grin hovering inches from her lips.
“Well, if you’re so inclined to be nosy, darling, it has indeed been a while, and only because I chose it to be so once I decided to seek the kind of woman who would disapprove of me being a rake. ”
The only kind of woman who would disapprove of his rakishness would be one who lasted long enough to care. Yet barely two hours had passed since he’d first kissed her, and there was no saying if this would last between them. Both of them knew it and were willing to see it to its end.
If there was to be one.
“I don’t want anything you’re not willing to give,” he said. “Nor will I ask. Besides, it’s far too late tonight, and our friends will kill us both if we’re dead in the morning.” He reached to the side, unlocked her door, and pushed it open.
She lingered in the open doorway, half inside the room. A glance at him from beneath her lashes was all it took for him to lean down and kiss her once more, long and lingering.
He shifted his weight, gently pushing her farther into the room. Her heart broke into a sprint, but when she had fully crossed the threshold, he pulled away to whisper against her lips, “Goodnight.”
Then he slowly shut the door, with himself on the other side.
Cecily tried to sleep, but it took some time for the butterflies to stop spiraling through her middle. When she went to her little home, the sky was dark, the windows were lit with warm light, and she sank into her luxurious bed.
She didn’t spend any time thinking about whether Jack might belong in her little home. For now, she had time, and she wouldn’t run from him. She would choose to be a glutton for this new thing that made her so overwhelmingly, unexpectedly happy and puzzle out the rest of her future later.
When she did finally manage to rest, however, it was to thoughts of what such a future might be like.
To her surprise, she didn’t hate it in the least.
When Cecily woke early the next morning, her first inclination was to go next door.
She rose from bed, dressed in a clean shirt and pair of trousers, freshened her face and breath, and bound her hair into its usual crown.
As she did, certain ideas began to creep around the edges of her thoughts, suggesting she might be embarrassed for how she’d behaved the night before—the tears and honesty about who and what she was.
Jack hadn’t minded last night, but what if that had changed, and a broken, grieving girl was more than he wanted to deal with?
I want every part of you, even if it hurts… I will adore you so long as you are mine.
Jack didn’t often change his mind. Not that she knew of, anyway.
She slipped out of her room and padded to his room. She knocked, then waited. Then knocked again.
He’d slammed his door every morning these past weeks, and since she hadn’t heard it today, she assumed he was inside. So she jumped when she heard his voice from the end of the hall.
“You’re up early.” He strode toward her from the top of the stairs, a bag slung over his shoulder. “Eager to see me?”
He looked at her differently this morning.
He’d always watched her, she knew, but from far off and with brief glances she barely caught.
But now he wasn’t so reserved about it. He didn’t just look—he beheld, like he was trying to memorize every freckle, every feature.
Like he saw more than her skin and smile.
What a fool she’d been to silence him and attempt to run. And what a gentleman he was to chase her.
“As a matter of fact,” she said, holding his gaze and blushing so deeply that her ears burned. “You’re up rather early as well.”
“I had somewhere to be.” He unlocked his door and stepped inside, grabbing her hand as he passed. He pulled her with him, snapped the door shut, and hauled her close for a kiss.
Heart in her throat, she smiled against his lips and let her hands settle on his waist, pleased to know nothing had, in fact, changed over the past few hours.
Against the corner of her mouth, he whispered, “Good morning.”
Her fingers slowly trailed up his chest and lingered over his heart. “Where were you?”
“Keeping a promise.”
She leaned back. “Alone in Tortuga?”
“Only while the devils sleep off their nightly stupors.” With an impish smile, he added, “I didn’t go far.”
“Do Copsons abide by different rules in pirate cities?” she asked, remembering the way Hein had called off his men with Jack’s name alone.
“Not always, though we certainly rank among the devils.” He drew away, slipping the strap of his bag over his head to set it on the bed. “I brought you a gift.”
“You don’t have to give me anything.” She came to stand in the middle of the room as he rummaged through the satchel.
Everything in here looked the same as next door, though he had more personal effects scattered about—a shirt on the floor, clothes piled in a half-open drawer, a razor and a small mirror by the basin.
“I wanted to.” He turned and held out a small dagger with a smooth, white handle. It was no longer than her hand from the base of her palm to the tip of her middle finger.
She reached for the knife and balanced it in her fingers, her heart swelling and settling like a contented little snake in a warm nest.
A laugh burst from her. “It’s bone.”
“Only the handle. The blade is steel, which I thought was more sophisticated.” His indulgent grin reminded her of her crude little shiv and how angry she had been when he’d thrown it overboard.
The knife was incredibly light, the bone smooth and polished. Slipping the blade from the sheath, she set her thumb lightly against the sharp edge, letting it catch on the ridges of her fingerprint.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered reverently.
He held out his hand. “May I?”
Sheathing the knife, she set it in his palm, but he took hold of both the weapon and her fingers, holding them as he brushed her sleeve up to her elbow with his other hand. His skin was rough against hers, but his touch was tender as he trailed a slow, lazy line of heat back toward her wrist.
When his fingertips lingered over her pulse, he met her gaze, his eyes lit with a dark, mischievous gleam.
She swallowed, measuring her breaths as her heart sprinted. Even after last night, this was all still so new, so thrilling in a way she had never known.
Jack reached into his pack and pulled out a leather vambrace, which he slipped over her hand to her forearm. He tightened the straps, ensuring it fit snugly before securing the knife to it, the handle pointed toward the inside of her wrist.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
She marveled, smiling the same way she had every time he’d handed her a sword—like there was nothing in this world that could have made her happier. “Jack,” was all she could say, because he already knew.
He gestured for her other arm. “It’s part of a set.”
She lifted an eyebrow, trying to focus in spite of the feeling of his thumb sweeping over the inside of her wrist. “How many is a set?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said, as though such a gift were commonplace and utterly expected. “Though you’re welcome to count.”
He pushed back her other sleeve, trailing his fingers over her flesh as slowly as he had the first time.
“So damn soft,” he muttered to himself, then fitted the second vambrace to her arm and attached another knife to it.
When he finished, he inspected the sheathed blade, then lifted her arm to press his lips over her pulse.
When she tried to swallow again, her mouth had gone dry.
Catching sight of the look on her face, he breathed a laugh against her skin and murmured, “Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head, surprised she could manage even that.
“Good.” He reached into the bag for two more knives before he knelt.
He gently gripped the inside of her calf as he clipped a sheath into the top of one boot, leaving only the handle visible on the outside of her leg before moving to the other.
Heat from his hands bled through her pants, and she was absolutely certain he moved so slowly for his own sake.
Was he going to strap every knife to her body?
Her blush burned hot as he looked up at her, his eyes blue as a summer sky.
Even bathed in sunlight, his sharp features were cruelly beautiful.
She wanted to run her fingers over his cheeks, his jaw, his nose.
They might cut her just as well as each of these lovely little knives.
Don’t stop, she wanted to say. There were four knives on her already, and though she enjoyed the comforting weight of them, she wasn’t satisfied with only those.
Luckily, she knew Jack wouldn’t be satisfied with four small knives either.
Still on his knees, he reached into the bag and drew out a bundle of straps and buckles. It took her only a second to recognize what it was, and she brightened.