Page 70 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“No?” Surprise colored her statement. “But I thought…”
“That I would just take what I wanted.”
“You are a pirate.” She shrugged.
“I’m confused by your argument. Are you asking me to hurt you?”
“No.” Alana shook her head.
“Then, I will transport you to Ceresus and leave you there.”
“How will I repay you?”
“You work for me until we dock, consider that your fare.” He held out the bottle.
Crossing the room, she took it, sitting beside him on the bed.
“What if I want you to kiss me again?”
Because she did, and the smoldering fire between them was destroying her ability to think clearly.
“Do you?” His gaze slid over her.
“I’ve been a widow for two years, Captain Shaw.”
“You should have remarried.”
“The real purpose of my trip to America.” Her mouth crooked into a half-smile.
He laughed, shaking his head.
“I will make you a deal, Mrs. Dubois. As you and I are both longing for companionship, I propose we spend this voyage amusing each other, with the understanding that you may retract your decision at any time without fear of consequences. For your own safety, you must remain inside this cabin. Once we reach Ceresus, we will part ways. Evans will take possession of this ship, and you can continue your search for a new husband. Do we have an accord?”
She glanced at his offered hand. “Why do you want to sell your ship?”
“I’m tired. I’ve amassed more wealth than one person needs in a lifetime.” He dropped his arm. “This was to be my final crossing.”
Alana chewed her lip, her eyes sliding over his face, his mouth. Her stomach flipped, nervously churning.
If his kiss could elicit such a reaction in her, what would his touch do?An irresponsible decision, to be certain, but since when had she ever made a sound judgment?
She set the bottle by her feet.
“Do I still have to sleep on the floor?”
“Only if we end up there.”
Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her closer. Pulling her shirt over her head, he tossed the garment aside, his mouth nipping the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. Sliding his hand up the back of her head, his fingers trailed through her short strands.
“Such a shame. I do love long hair,” he murmured against her skin.
“I still have it,” she replied, her breath hitching as his tongue traced a path along her collarbone.
“Where?” The vibrations from his throat tickled, sending shivers cascading down her spine. She shuddered, pressing into him.
“In my trunk,” she panted, arching her neck. “In the small sack.”
He pulled away with a grin. “And how did you plan on explaining that if I found your hair?”
