Page 10 of If I Go Down with This Ship

But he just tilts his head and raises a brow at me as if he already knows, and my stomach drops.Slowly, he shrugs on the jacket, and I can see it fits him much better than it does me, the garment tailored to his form.I try not to stare at theway it hugs his broad shoulders and elongates his torso, or the way the blue pops against his suntanned skin.

I’ve always liked theideaof pirates, but I’m starting to wonder, do I have athingfor them?

“Take him below,” the captain orders with a wave of his hand.

My cheeks flame as he meets my eyes.Goddamn it, I do have a thing for pirates.Looking after him almost wistfully, I sigh.

Well, fuck me.

I’m screwed.

4What’s All the Comm-Ocean About?

I grind my teeth as he turns away,leaving me to the mercy of the crew.And by the gleeful looks of these gritty pirates, they must be altogether worse than their captain.

Without another word, hands grab at me, and I’m dragged from the deck, down the stairs, and into the captain’s cabin, tripping over my own feet in the process.It’s strange to recognize this ship.To see the walls and the floors and the trivial details that George and the historians got correct in the replica— but I don’t have long to ogle them to see just how accurate George was before I’m shoved through the door.

As I stumble into the space, catching myself on the desk, I finally get a good look at some of the pirates.Hollywood makes pirates out to be far too clean, because these ones reek—their shirts are yellowed by sweat, and their skin is oily from weeks, or possibly months, of going unwashed.They’re missingteeth and fingers, and scars shine across their sun-browned and pinkened skin.

I take in their clothes, suddenly aware of the way I’m dressed, of the way my dark-wash skinny jeans hug my long, thin legs and how the V-neck sweater I’m wearing is bright and in pristine condition, a vast contrast to their grungier garb.The long captain’s jacket had done much to cover up my far-too-modern dress, but now that the jacket is gone and my clothes are on full display, the pirates are gawking at me, clearly perplexed by my… well,everything.

Scratching the back of my neck, I look out over the cabin, noting the way there’s a slight haze in the air from smoking tobacco.My eyes stray behind me to the ink I spilled ten minutes ago.The puddle has spread, reaching its inky fingers across the wood, seeping into the floor.

So much for hoping no one would notice.

A string of black paw prints trails from the ink, disappearing behind the desk… wait,paw prints?It’s made the mess of spilled ink that much worse.

Talk about a terrible first impression, I think, gritting my teeth.

As if he can read my thoughts, the man to the right of the door frowns at me as I spin on my heel, bracing myself against the desk.He cranes his neck to see past me, but I shift over to block it from view with a cheeky smile.

“You seem like fun,” I say brightly.They say nothing in response, expressions blank.I wave my hand at their clothes.“Very authentic, by the by.You two are most definitely pirates.”

Their frowns deepen impossibly, but they stand, unmoved.Silent.Damn, tough crowd.

The one on the left steps toward me, mouth open and attention going to my pants as though to ask about them, but the door bursts open behind him and the captain appears, motioning the two men out.He slams the door on their retreating forms before rounding on me.

I flinch and take a step back.

There’s an almost knowing dread in my stomach as the captain strides toward me.The same feeling as when he pressed his blade to my throat bubbles to the surface.My hands grip the edge of the desk—hisdesk—for dear life as he surges toward me, eyes cold and steely.He stops mere inches away, fury rolling off him as he scans me from head to toe.

“You have to understand,” he starts, eyes narrowing, “as captain of this ship, I must be extra cautious.”

I swallow and nod, leaning away from him.“O-of course.”

The captain smiles, but he does not move, still so very close.My eyes trail the facial hair along his jaw, the way his full lips seem to spill out of the salt-and-pepper scruff.“We lost several men in a recent raid, and I am in need of a new crew.”He raises a brow and leans back on his heels.“Today, you are in luck.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from speaking.“Luck” is not the word I’d use to describe my current predicament.

“As you can imagine,” he says when I don’t respond, “not one soul on this ship sails freely.Every single one of this crew works.There is a matter of duties, of course.”He eyes me, his heated gaze trailing down my face and neck before landing on my hands.I feel undressed and naked before him, stripped bare so my lies are on full display.

The captain reaches out and pries one of my hands from the desk, lifting it to his face.I don’t resist, just tamp downon the butterflies in my stomach at the feel of his rough, calloused hands on mine.My eyes linger on his fingers.I trace the brilliant blue stone set into the ring on his right pinky before I find the one on his left index finger, a slim, simple band with a flattened surface engraved with what appear to be paw prints.

Is there a dog on this ship?Is that what the paw prints belong to?I want to ask him, but when I glance up, the stern expression on his face stops me.

“Have you ever worked a day in your life?”he asks quietly as he flexes my fingers.It is increasingly difficult to focus with my hand in his.I weigh the truth and decide I’d much rather confront that than face his wrath were I to lie.Clearing my throat, I shake my head.“I thought as much.”

He lets go, and I wish, rather strangely, that he’d touch me with that hand somewhere else, that he’d hold me, cradle my face in his hands, lean in and… and—