Page 105 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
Planting a hand beside her hip, he placed the rim to her lips and tilted the bottle. After she swallowed, he leaned down and touched his mouth to hers, pulling away before she could wrap her arms around his neck.
“As your doctor, a reluctant one at that, I can’t allow that kind of exertion until you’ve healed a bit.”
“How long is a bit?” she grumbled.
“When the bandages are no longer necessary.” Cupping her face, he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, his body craving a taste. She moaned, her eyes fluttering close as her lips parted. “Perhaps I should ask Mrs. Parker to assume your care.”
Fear flashed across her face. “I feel safer with you.”
“Even after everything I’ve done to you?”
“You didn’t know I was a woman. I forgive you.”
“I reject your forgiveness.” He stood and strode toward his desk, taking a long swig from the bottle.
“You can’t do that!”
“I can do anything I want. This is my ship.” Sitting, he kicked his feet up, setting them on the desk, and saluted her, then took another drink.
“You’re infuriating.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Dubois.”
She swore, a curse word so vile, he nearly dropped the bottle in shock.
“I’m going to have a discussion with your brother about your inappropriate language.”
“That should be an intriguing conversation. Will I be allowed to attend?”
“I didn’t keep you from my funeral!” Jerking his feet from the desk, he slammed down the bottle.
“What makes you think my brother wants to see you?”
“Because we write to each other.”
She froze, her shock at his revelation apparent. “But you’re a pirate.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He’s communicating with a criminal!” She struggled into a sitting position, groaning as she moved.
“That is why we aren’t going to do anything physical,” he said, pointing in her general direction.
Glowering at him, she folded her arms, unable to hide the flash of pain that accompanied the movement.
“If the authorities discover Patrick is writing the notorious Captain Shaw, he’ll be arrested for treason to the crown.”
“Then, it’s good that none of the letters are addressed to Captain Shaw.” Cedric pulled out a drawer, grabbed the top letter, and returned to the bed.
Handing her the paper, he sank down on the mattress and shifted his attention to the window, admiring the deep pink and orange spreading across the sky. This was his favorite time of day, just before twilight, when the ocean was painted in a kaleidoscope of color.
His attention shifted back to Alana as she lowered the letter.
“Patrick’s writing to Charles Ashmore?” she asked, her confusion evident. “I thought you wanted everyone to think you were dead.”
“Almost everyone.” He gestured at the page. “My sister writes me as well.”
“Your sister…” Alana’s face scrunched, then her eyes lit up. “Miss Ashmore? You said you were repaying a debt.”
