Page 44 of Crossbones
“What makes you think I’m not still going to?” He says it with no expression on his face except for a small glimmer in his eye. I huff a laugh, flashing a smile that I know pulls my dimples out because I watch his eyes catch on them.
“Do I need to sleep with a dagger under my pillow?”
His eyes shutter as they jump back to mine, the movement so small I could’ve easily missed it from where I’m sitting, except for the fact that I was looking for it. Blackwell runs his bottom lip through his teeth.
“That’s a good practice anyway—” He trails off as he hides behind his glass.
“I’m also the only one who knows the coordinates,” I shrug. “But you’re avoiding the question, Captain.”
“No.” He looks down at his glass, his voice flat. “No, I don’t believe I would have.”
“Why?” I try not to stare at his mouth, but his lips are wet with rum and it’s incredibly distracting.
“That’s two truths.”
“So it is—fine, your turn.”
Blackwell takes his time. His boots slide off the desk and he brings the bottle of rum over to me, topping off my glass. He looms over me as I lounge back in my seat, and it takes a lot of willpower to keep my breathing steady while the rum pours, because his proximity is making my blood heat. He retreats to the table, and I take a quiet breath while his back is turned. Only once he’s sitting on the edge of the table with his ankles crossed and a full glass of rum, does he ask his question.
“The lines of poetry you tucked into the book—” He takes a sip of his drink. “Did you write them?”
The poetry again.The man has a thing for it, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hot as fuck that we have that in common.
I nod. “I did.” I lean forward over my thighs and fix him with a sly smile. “If you answer my second question, I’ll tell you the whole thing.”
“The whole thing?”
“The whole poem.”
The silence stretches as he thinks about it but he never once looks away.
“You intrigue me.”
When he doesn’t go on, I look at him in amusement. “Go on, Captain—if I’m going to tell you a whole ass poem, you need to give me more than that.”
The tension in the room is thick, and there’s suddenly an energy between us that has my heart racing. I don’t know if he’s going to elaborate—the frown on his lips makes me think he’s debating how much he wants to hear the entire poem. He sighs, runs a hand over his mouth and finally answers.
“I rarely meet someone who looks me in the eye and doesn’t back down.” He pauses but it’s not long. “Your fearlessness challenges me in a way I find—liberating.”
“Liberating? Or a turnon?” I ask mischievously.
Blackwell gives me a look like I’m pushing my luck and I laugh quickly. “Fine, fine.”
I stand up and finish off my rum. I walk over and set the glass next to Blackwell, forcing him to turn and look over his shoulder at me. I study the maps on the table for a long moment, feeling his eyes. I caress a line of latitude on the worn parchment and begin.
The weight of his past clings to him,
a ghost that does not whisper,
but drags its nails along his spine
a reminder, of the blood on his hands
Do you dare?
I glance up and meet Blackwell’s gaze, smoldering and dark. Heady in a way that burns without a single touch. Something passes between us and I know after this moment, things won’t be able to go back to the way they were before.
Do you dare to trace the scars without asking for their stories,
