Page 23

Flint

The wind plays with my fears as it pulls my shirt from my trousers to wave it around my body.

I don’t need its help to wave the white flag of defeat.

I’m about to wave it myself. Not even the round derriere of Captain Betts above me is motivation enough to climb higher.

The ropes are just narrow enough to fit in the grooves on the bottom of my hooves, so once I step up, I’m secure.

It’s the reach and pull between the steps that boggles my mind.

How do these people climb up here every day?

My fingers tremble when I grab each rung.

I was fine until we crested the upper boom of the main mast.

Then Chub yelled something, and I looked down at him.

The Old Salt isn’t tall when we’re on the deck, but from this height, he’s an ant.

Not even his red beard can be discerned.

My vision tunnels to his small frame, and everything else seems to fade away.

I can’t take my eyes off the deck. My hooves won’t move another inch.

I swallow the hardtack lodged in my throat and wish I’d saved it for later.

Eating before rigorous activity with Betts is best, but if I spew from up here, I’ll need the bland grains to settle my bile into its pouch.

“Hey, are you shitting through your teeth?” Betts had climbed down to hang beside me, and I hadn’t even noticed.

Her bright smile fades as she takes in my pallor.

“If you’re scared, we don’t have to climb further.

I won’t let them razz you about your fear of heights.

I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me? Here, I’ll help you down to the lower boom, and we’ll sit together. The view is still nice—”

Just the sound of her voice grounds me and wipes my fears away.

Her steady presence breaks my trance. I lose myself in her piercing green eyes, taking strength from my desire to be everything for her.

My hand skims over its rung to clasp hers.

I must be frozen with fright because her usually cool hands are warm.

The tension melts from my limbs. I want to do this—not to avoid the teasing of the crew, which would be considerable—to prove to myself that I can rise to her level.

Climbing to the top of the boat, to me, represents my climb from philanderous scoundrel to living by the virtuous pirate code.

“I have the honor to do this,” I whisper to her.

“Of course, you do, but it doesn’t have to be today.” I love her quiet acceptance more than anything.

Whether through accepting the Others on her boat or the checkered pasts we bring with us aboard, Betts treats us as equals.

Even when I was on her hit list, she gave me a chance to prove myself worthy of walking her decks.

She demands that everyone else on board respect one another, too.

I have no doubt she would fight for me if someone teased me for climbing down.

My foolhardy heart leans my body toward her to steal a kiss.

Let the audience below think I stopped for kisses from their captain instead of being scared out of my wits.

Betts allows me to plunder her mouth for as long as I need to recover my courage.

When we part, her lips are swollen, deep red.

A blush colors her pale cheeks. No matter how much time she spends on deck, she never tans, burns, or freckles.

It’s like the sun doesn’t feel worthy to touch her.

Yet I’ve explored every inch of her several times over.

“I’m a lucky man, so let’s continue the climb.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, leaving me with my masculine pride. Anyone below will think I called her back to steal a kiss and then sent her above to watch her climb. How she sacrifices to make every man around her feel a little taller is a gift I don’t take for granted.

Twenty-seven. I counted twenty-seven rungs, each a half-foot apart, in the climb from my freak-out to the Crow’s Nest. That’s thirteen and a half feet to climb down, and I won’t even reach the upper boom.

We may spend the night here. Hell, I may spend the rest of my life here.

They will find my bones in the Crow’s Nest when the wood withers and crumbles.

“Hold this,” Betts says, as she hands me a newly-mended Jolly Roger.

I swallow my tongue as she clenches a knife between her teeth and climbs higher.

Her legs wrap around the tallest point on the boat.

The woman has no fear as she releases our old, tattered flag from its leather ties.

With the knife returned to her teeth, she bends backward until she’s suspended upside-down by her thigh muscles.

Her hair falls over me like a veil as I stand dumbfounded by her grace and bravery.

“Thank you, darling,” she whispers against my lips. She exchanges the flags as if my hands are nothing more than pegs on the wall. Her cheek is soft as it glides along my face. She lifts herself upright and fastens the flag while my heart slows from its wild galloping.

“You’re fearless,” flies out of my mouth when she drops into the Crow’s Nest.

“You would have caught me if I fell. That gave me the courage to change the flags. I wouldn’t attempt that if I came up here on my own.

” She uses an extra leather tie from the flag to secure her hair at the nape of her neck.

The motion thrusts her ample dairy at me and drops her chin in the sweetest submissive pose.

Fiery lust dances down my spine as I reach for her.

I turn her in my arms so she can gaze at the island under the stars.

She never warned me I might have to catch her, never asked for a spotter before she climbed up there.

Her instructions were to hold the flag. The rest was assumed.

She may not say she loves me or claim me in front of others, but in her heart, I’m hers.

I’m the man she chose, whether she admits it to herself or not.

“It’s beautiful up here.”

“And peaceful, too,” I reply. With the walls of the Crow’s Nest reaching higher than my waist, I feel less exposed. The firm, wooden floor helps too. “I think you found the quietest place on the boat. I can’t hear Gretta’s cackling, Eze’s frantic orders, or Chub’s booming criticism from up here.”

“It’s the perfect hiding place,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “It’s just us and the stars.”

“Then let’s give them a show,” I whisper in her ear. I open the laces on her trousers and work them down to her knee-high boots. Her shirt flutters free at the waist, giving me access to her dairy and hardened nipples.

“I wanted to talk. We must discuss the future.”

“Discuss away,” I whisper as I nibble on her ear.

My stinging bites trail down the corded muscle on her neck.

I pluck her nipples with one hand while stroking the curls over her mound with the other.

She shuffles her feet to widen her stance, but she’s caught by her outfit.

“I hear pretty moans, but not many words, dear.”

“I want you to—I want—I want—Dammit, Flint, I can’t think with you playing with my body.”

“Is thinking that important?” I pull my shirt from my pants and unbutton it. I must feel her skin-to-skin.

She whirls around in my arms and grabs my shirt by the collar.

I’m pulled into a punishing kiss that clanks our teeth together.

She devours me while offering her unbridled passion.

My addiction to her grows with every nip of my lips.

I pull her by the waist so I can grind my arousal against her bare pelvis.

Her fingers slide up the sides of my face to tangle in my hair.

She curls them into fists. My scalp stings.

It’s like she’s trying to fuse us together, so I’ll never let her go.

“It’s of the utmost importance,” she says, panting. She withdraws far enough to speak, but doesn’t let go of my hair. I’m held captive with our noses touching and our breath mingling. “I want you to sleep in my bed tonight. I’m inviting you, Flint, to be my husband—”

“You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

“Shh, shhh,” she whispers against my lips. “You may not want what I’m offering.”

Air catches in my throat as her tears wet my cheeks.

Here’s the catch. Here’s what’s held her back and now threatens to pop my dreams of our marriage like soap bubbles.

Any other woman would be thrilled to have a love match and be negotiating marriage, but not my Betts.

My complicated, challenging Betts always has a reason to deny herself happiness.

I wait for the confession, which I know will break our hearts…

But I have faith I can fix it…whatever it is.

“I want to give you everything, but I can’t.

I already gave it to another,” she says with a sob.

If she’s talking about her virginity, I hold no value in such a trivial prize.

I let her cry, sniffle, and whimper against my lips.

“When I offered my soulbeak to Richard, I didn’t just give him my virginity. I—”

“Your tentacles, I figured it out on my own,” I say with small kisses to blot the tears running down her face.

“There’s more,” she wails. I rub my palms along her spine to remind her that she’s safe, I have her, and I won’t let anyone harm her again. “The one with my soulbeak is the only one who can give me children. I’m infertile. Barren.”

“No children doesn’t mean no marriage, right?”

“What? Can you not hear me? Maybe these blasted tears are garbling my words. I can’t have children, Flint. All the aftercare where you push your seed into my womb? It will never catch. You aren’t Richard—”

“Thank God for that—”