Destined for the pirate Beta

Oranges

*Anne*

I awaken to a gentle rocking and the warm glow of sunlight streaming through the mullioned windows.

I realize I am on the ship, finally on my way to Walter—and yet, my dreams were not filled with visions of him. Instead, they were consumed by thoughts of one particular dark hazel-eyed devil, whose proximity sends shivers down my spine, igniting a deep yearning within me.

I have never experienced such longing before and I'm unsure how to interpret it. He is unlike anyone I have ever known… a mere curiosity, nothing more. If I were to touch his rough jaw, if his lips were to meet mine, perhaps my interest in him would be satisfied.

My father was right, of course. It is time to move on from my mourning. During the mating Season, I am bound to encounter someone who captivates me just as intensely.

I am a young woman with desires. I have been lonely for far too long. These strange yearnings simply indicate that I am not only open to a man's affections but in dire need of them.

Captain Crimson Sam possesses a remarkable talent for stirring a woman's blood to a simmer.

After gently waking Martha, I dress in the same clothes I wore last night. I have brought a special dress for my visit to the dark lands, along with a couple of others for the journey.

However, it matters little if the captain sees me in the same attire. In fact, perhaps it is better that I refrain from putting too much effort into my appearance today. I have no desire for him to think I have even the slightest interest in him. Men of his rugged nature have no place in the ballrooms of Blackrock city.

When I am ready, I dismiss Martha and venture out on my own. As I step onto the main deck, the bright sunlight causes me to squint. It feels harsher than anything I have experienced back on land.

The men around me are busy with their tasks, but each one takes a moment to tip their caps or touch their brows in acknowledgment. There are no leering gazes, no one else makes me feel the way the captain does… as though he sees right through me, knowing exactly what lies beneath my skirts.

"You will find the captain up top," a familiar man from last night informs me.

"Thank you, Mr. Jenkins," I reply softly.

Quietly, I climb the stairs, not wanting to disturb him if he is occupied. I also don't wish to startle him, although he strikes me as someone who is rarely caught off guard.

As I reach the top of the steps, I pause. The captain is leaning back in a chair, one booted foot propped up on the railing. He is meticulously whittling a small piece of wood.

A young lad, around fifteen years old, sits cross-legged on the floor, engrossed in a book. He stumbles over the difficult words, and when he reaches an impasse, the captain provides the answer. I recognize the story being read aloud… it's "A Christmas Carol."

Unintentionally, I make a sound, catching the captain's attention. He glances back over his shoulder, then leisurely straightens up and approaches me. The boy stops reading, sensing the interruption.

"Miss Anne, I hope you had a restful sleep," the captain greets me.

"The bed was quite comfortable," I reply, regretting my mention of that particular piece of furniture as his gaze roams over me, as if he can vividly imagine me tangled in those sheets. "However, my maid is feeling a bit queasy this morning."

He gives me a crooked half smile. "Hopefully, she will adjust once she finds her sea legs. Are you feeling hungry?"

"Absolutely famished." I admit.

He grins. "The sea air has that effect. Mouse, fetch her breakfast."

"Aye aye, Cap'n." The young lad carefully places the book on a small table, treating it as if it were a precious treasure, before scurrying past me with a noticeable limp.

I move closer to the towering man with his powerful shoulders. "He is disabled."

"Hardly," he responds sharply. "His leg is just bent, and I suspect he can climb rigging faster than you."

"Yes, of course. I didn't mean to insult him." I quickly say. And I didn’t, I was just surprised.

He gestures towards a chair on the opposite side of the table from him.

"In a moment," I say, walking towards the railing and leaning against it. My breath catches at the sight of the white cliffs in the distance. "What a magnificent view. I thought we would be out of sight by now."

"The fog has slowed our progress a bit," he explains.

The breeze continues to play with the captain's shirt, he has left the same three buttons undone. Should I button them to make him appear more proper, or should I loosen the ones that are fastened to make him seem less proper? Why am I even concerned about the state of his buttons?

To conceal the sudden weakness in my legs, I take the chair he had offered earlier. My knees feel like jelly not because of him, but because we are on water. Like Martha, I have yet to find my sea legs.

"Why 'Mouse'?" I inquire. "Why did his parents give him that name? Do you have any idea?"

"I have no knowledge of what they named him. But we discovered him hiding in the hold, silent as a mouse. The name stuck." He explains.

A small gasp leaves me. "So, he was a stowaway?"

He nods. "In a way. Now he is a part of my crew."

"Is his role to read to you?" I ask.

He grins. "Among other things."

The boy returns with a tray that holds a more appetizing spread than I had anticipated. Eggs, ham, bread, oranges, and a delightful pot of tea.

Once he places the tray before me, he disappears without the captain giving any orders. I suspect that the captain had already discussed the matter of privacy with Mouse before I even woke up.

"Will you be joining me for the meal?" I ask, realizing I cannot possibly consume the entire abundance of food alone.

He shakes his head. "I have already eaten."

"Perhaps some tea then?" I suggest.

"No."

I settle the napkin on my lap, unable to deny the appeal of sitting outside and enjoying my breakfast. "Must you watch? Your intense gaze is threatening to upset my digestion."

"It's hard to look away from someone as lovely as you," he replies.

"False flattery won't get you anywhere, Captain," I retort.

"I have no need for false words." He returns to his whittling while I spread butter on my bread.

"You wouldn't strike me as a man who carves wood," I comment.

His voice is teasing. "As I mentioned last night, boredom can easily take hold on a ship. We have days, weeks, even months of nothingness, with only a few moments of excitement here and there. Idle hands and all that. Although I can think of more pleasurable ways to occupy my hands."

I raise my gaze, startled by his wicked smile directed at me.

"Well, you will have to be content with just thinking about it. A kiss involves lips, not hands." I huff.

"Ah, it seems you haven't been well educated in the art of kissing, Princess." He winks at me.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I feel as though the winds have suddenly risen from the depths of hell. My throat tightens at the implication that our shared kiss might have meant more than I had thought. Grateful that I haven't started chewing, I fear I might choke. It's best to change the subject.

"What are you carving?" I ask, trying to divert the conversation.

He chuckles darkly, as if understanding my attempt to shift the topic. I worry that he will continue with his suggestive remarks. However, he surprises me. "A toy ship for my niece or nephew that will arrive soon."

"You have a family?" I ask, sounding surprised.

"Did you think I sprang fully formed from Satan's forehead?" He asks with a dark chuckle.

I laugh lightly. "I did on occasion suspect that might have been the case." It's hard for me to envision him with a family. "You seem more like a lone wolf than someone who belongs to a pack. Do you have a mate, then?"

"I wouldn't be bargaining for kisses if I did." He points out.

"Yes, of course, I apologize. I'm having a very difficult time categorizing you." I feel my cheeks flush again.

He smiles slowly. "As I explained that first night, you shouldn't expect anything when it comes to me."

"I suppose." I take a bite of ham before continuing, "So, tell me about your family."

"Why?" He asks.

"Because I suspect you know everything about mine," I say, aware that he knows where I live.

He grins. "Servants tend to talk."

"So, you know I have a father and four brothers. What about you?"

A small sigh escapes him. "Two brothers."

"Are they older or younger?" I ask.

"One older, one younger." He says.

I bite my lips. "You don't seem to like talking about them. Why is that?"

He places an elbow on the table, leaning forward to tuck several loose strands of hair behind my ear. "Because they don't interest me as much as you do. I would rather talk about you."

My lips tingle, wondering if he will kiss me now. But instead, he simply studies my features as though each line and curve are a fascinating oddity. I suspect he has encountered the most exotic women in his travels. How plain I must seem in comparison.

I pull back, needing some distance. Reaching for an orange, I begin to peel it with slightly trembling fingers, hoping he won't notice how easily he can make my nerves dance. "Have you traveled the entire world?"

"Most of it." He confirms.

"Did your brothers also choose a life at sea?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "We didn't choose anything. Life presented opportunities, and we took them."

I separate off a section of orange and take a bite, startled by the abundance of juice that shoots into my mouth and dribbles down my chin.

Before I can grab my napkin, he glides his finger below my lips, wiping away the succulent nectar. Holding my gaze, he slowly, ever so slowly, sucks on his fingers, the hazel of his eyes darkening.

My chest aches as I fight to draw in breath. How can something so ill-mannered be so erotic? I feel as though the sun has traveled closer and is scorching my skin. I'm vaguely aware of him taking the fruit from me, tearing off a section, biting it in half before offering me the remains.

"I couldn't possibly…" I mumble.

"It won't make quite the mess, and you must admit that it's frightfully good. And you don't want to get scurvy." He says.

It is delicious, yes. I take the offering and pop it into my mouth. "I thought scurvy happened only on long voyages."

"Who knows?" He tears off another segment, eats half, and extends what's left. It doesn't seem quite so wicked this time when I take it. "Maybe we will decide not to return home again. We will simply sail around the world."

"Oh, that sounds lovely." The words slip out before I realize my mistake in saying them. He grows still, the partially eaten orange seemingly forgotten.

I release a self-conscious laugh. "I was only teasing. I have far too many responsibilities to go wherever the wind blows."

"Who hurt you, Princess?" He asks.

I swallow. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I sense sadness in you." His tone is soft, curious.

I shake my head. I can't confide in him. I barely know him. My heart is only just beginning to heal. I will not, cannot, risk it becoming bruised again. Perhaps I will marry Walter's brother. I will never love him, and therefore I can never be hurt again or, worse, cause hurt.

Tears prick my eyes. I angle back my head and point. "What is it like to view the world from the crow's nest? It must be marvelous to see so far, to be able to see everything."

"You can't see everything. You never can." He points out.

"It's like life then, isn't it? Because if you could see everything, if you knew what would stretch out before you, you might say or do things that wouldn't leave you with regrets." I mumble.

I look to the sea, needing not to see the sympathy in his eyes. I don't want him to be kind. I simply want him to get me to the dark lands so I can ask Walter for forgiveness. "Walter always wanted to sail the sea. He spoke of one day purchasing a sailboat."

"Walter?" He asks.

The word comes out like the c***k of a whip.

"My fiancé. It's the reason he arranged for his earnings to be sent to me. His brother is an Alpha, and Walter feared the money would go into the family coffers. He was going to use it as our nest egg."

"Is that what you are using to finance this voyage?" His voice is a bit more relaxed, but flat, the way the sea looks in the distance, as though nothing at all disturbs it, for good or ill.

"Yes." I dare to look back at him. "Why did you agree to take me on the journey for something as paltry as a kiss? I'm sure you are no stranger to kisses."

"Kisses and I are well acquainted, and so I know their value. Every woman's kiss is different. Some lips are chapped, others I could swear have been woven together from threads of silk. Some mouths are dry, others wet. Some women taste of garlic and some…" he touches his fingers to his lips, makes a smacking sound before unfurling them like a flower, “…are as rich as fine vintage wine. Some women make not a sound as they kiss. Others sigh a sweet melody that teases the ear and remains vibrant in memory long after she is no longer there. A kiss can be all things. It can be profound." He shrugs. "Or it can be forgettable."

I can't imagine that a kiss bestowed by him could ever be forgettable. Will he forget mine?

"And if you discover that my kiss isn't worth the trouble of the voyage?" I ask.

"I don't think there's a chance in hell of that happening." With a wide grin, he gets to his feet, towering over me, and sets what remains of the orange on my plate. "I have to check my charts, see to my duties. It's my hope that you will dine with me this evening in my cabin." He tilts his head slightly. "Your cabin."

I nod. "Yes, of course."

"Until later then." He gives a brusque nod and strides away.

I rise and walk to the railing where nothing blocks the breeze from cooling my skin. Walter had kissed me, but I cannot remember the flavor or the texture or the warmth of it. One more thing to add to my guilt: I had not savored every kiss as though it might be our last.