Page 43 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

When they finally snuck away from the celebration, Maggie was thankful there was no detour to the upper deck. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was keep watch.

A million different questions swirled through her mind now they were finally alone. Bash, however, still seemed disinclined to speak, so she crossed to the bird’s basket and delivered some corn she’d stashed away during dinner.

“Hello, beautiful Kes,” she crooned, and the bird squawked at her, gobbling up the corn immediately.

“Reckon she’d rather have a go at the rats,” Bash suggested. “The mouser won’t be happy to share.”

When she turned around again, Maggie found herself faced with the glorious sight of a shirtless Bash. As he bent over a bowl to wash his face, the muscles in his back rippled under the patchwork of crisscrossed scars. In their tiny alcove, he was close enough she could reach out and touch those scars, and this time she surrendered to temptation.

His skin was warm and soft, but he jumped at her touch, so she snatched her hand away. Turning swiftly, he caught her.

“Like ice,” he growled, and her stomach did a little flip. “Shall I warm them?” he asked, entwining her fingers with his.

“Yes, please,” she whispered, and he pulled her close, drawing her into an embrace.

“Always so polite. A proper lady,” he murmured.

She stroked his back hesitantly. “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” he said, shutting down further questions. “Were you really married?” he asked, and she froze.

She didn’t want to think about Jeremiah right now. “Briefly,” she said.

“How brief?” he rasped. “A day?”

“A year and a bit.”

“And in all that time, he never tried to seduce you?”

Maggie didn’t know how to answer. A flood of memories came crashing forward, threatening to drown her, and for some reason she began to tremble. What did she know of seduction—she who had never enjoyed a single moment in her husband’s bed?

“I’m sorry,” Bash whispered. “I’m beginning to suspect your husband was⁠—”

“He was real,” she snapped, pulling back, and he cocked his head.

“I’m beginning to suspect he was a fucking fool.”

A laugh bubbled out of her, surprising them both, and he held her tighter, running a hand gently over her short-cropped hair.

“Why?” she managed to say. “How do you seduce the ladies you meet at port?”

When he didn’t answer except to still his hand, she drew back again to study him, and his eyes flashed, recognizing her challenge. Then he looked away, at the floor, pink creeping up his neck and tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears as deliciously as she’d hoped. He leaned against the opposite bulkhead, putting as much space as possible between them in the tiny berth, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

The chill that settled in that few feet of space made Maggie immediately sorry for her question, and she searched the room for something else to say to make it better.

“I could show you,” he answered softly, “what I would do were I ever allowed to leave the ship.”

She didn’t quite understand his admission. Was he more or less a prisoner? The very notion broke another wall within her, and she flew into his arms, kissing him with every bit of pent-up yearning she’d ever felt in all her twenty years of living.

After a moment, he broke the kiss and held her at arm’s length. “Is that a yes?” he asked, peering intently into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, trembling for a different reason this time. “Please.”

She gazed up at him, and he offered her the most roguish of smiles, and Maggie’s breath caught in her throat.

He stepped forward and for some reason she stepped back, brushing against the hammock. She couldn’t imagine what he had in mind, and she was both terrified and not. It made her dizzy.

“Sit,” he whispered in her ear, and she sat on the hammock. “Lie back,” he added, taking his yellow-and-black plaid from the corner cabinet and kneeling before her so his chiseled jaw and that roguish dimple were at eye level.