Page 51 of A Pirate's Pleasure
I was lucky. Apart from a couple of nicks, I escaped the worse of it, brushing the bits of glass off my skin before they could do any more damage. The explosion had left a large enough hole for me to step through, Lief already grasping hold of my arm to pull me through to his side. And then I was outside. Sun on my face. A breeze on my skin. Fresh air in my lungs. And Lief right there in front of me. Larger than life and twice as beautiful.
I didn’t even think about it—although, if I had, it’s doubtful I would have acted any other way—stepping forward to palm his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss. He tasted of the sea. He tasted like freedom. And more importantly, he tasted like the boy I’d fallen head over heels in love with back when I was fourteen, even if I hadn’t admitted it until years later. Lief kissed me back, both of us pouring our hearts into it until a loud throat clearing had us breaking apart.
“Touching as this reunion is,” Whitby said, “and trust me, I’m memorizing every moment as ammunition next time you claim Lief is just a forgotten part of your past that you have absolutely no interest in, we’d be wise to get out of here before your slightly obsessional harpy friend comes back.”
Lief either didn’t hear Whitby’s words, or more likely ignored them, busy running his hands over my body to check for injuries. I grabbed his hands to still them. “I’m fine.” When he didn’t seem convinced, I repeated the words, slower and with even more conviction.
“You’re not fine,” he said. “The way you looked at me, like you didn’t even recognize me, just standing there and smiling. That wasn’t fine at all. That was…” He screwed his face up, as if searching for the right word to describe my actions was proving difficult. “…creepy. Like physically you were there, but mentally you’d checked out and were somewhere else completely. It scared me. I never want to see you act like that ever again.”
“Speaking of people just standing there,” Whitby said.
Lief’s beautiful blue eyes were brimming over with concern as I stared into them. “I thought I’d dreamed you up. Things have been…” I shook my head to clear it, the rush of emotions in my chest almost too much to bear. “Not now. We can talk about this later.”
“Hallelujah,” Whitby said. “Some sense at last.”
We made our way to the beach, where a slightly agitated-looking Stafford stood next to a familiar rowboat pulled up on the shore. And beyond him, some two hundred meters out to sea, a wondrous sight: The Navarino, in all its glory, sails gently flapping in the breeze.
“You didn’t smile at me like that,” Lief muttered.
There was no satisfactory answer I could give, so I didn’t even try. Besides, Stafford in a never-before-seen attack of warmth and camaraderie had enveloped me in a rib-cracking hug. Whitby swore and shoved at us both, hard enough that Stafford had no choice but to let go. “Yes, yes, you’re pleased to see him. I am too. Only I’ve decided to save all that shit for when we’re no longer on harpy island. So, can we please get out of here and get back to the ship?”
It was a joint effort to push the rowboat down the beach, the long chain I was still dragging somewhat hampering my contribution. Once the water was deep enough, we leapt in, Stafford, immediately commandeering the oars. I studied the sky, relieved to find nothing of note. When I lowered my gaze, Lief was watching me, his expression inscrutable.
“Why do you look like a pirate?” I asked.
He ran a hand self-consciously over his bandanna, Whitby breaking in before Lief could offer a response. “Because he is one. Meet the newest member of The Navarino’s crew.”
“You?” There was no keeping the laughter out of my voice. It had been so long since I’d found anything amusing that it felt completely alien. There hadn’t been a lot to laugh about in Lucretius’ suffocating presence.
“Me,” Lief said.
“If you’re good, he’ll show you his tattoo later,” Whitby said. “West had to ask him three times if he really wanted it there.”
Lief had a tattoo. Lief, that had always turned his nose up at them. Interesting. “Where? What of?”
Lief glanced Stafford’s way, but the first mate was doing his best to pretend a sudden bout of deafness had struck him down. “Later,” Lief said. “My tattoo’s hardly the most pressing matter at the moment.”
Everything was later. Perhaps I was finding it difficult to believe there’d be a later. I turned my head to watch the island get smaller. It truly had been a beautiful island. A beautiful prison. “What’s it called?” I asked. Met with expressions of confusion, I elaborated. “The island. It would be nice to know the name of the place where I’ve been imprisoned for weeks.”
Lief’s smile was weak. “It doesn’t have a name. It wasn’t even on the map.”
My gaze darted to his, gauging how serious he was being. “How did you find me, then?”
Stubble rasped beneath Lief’s fingers as he rubbed his jaw. “Sheer bloody persistence. We’ve left no stone unturned in our search. Every tavern. Every house. Every cave. Every inch of space that could conceivably hold a human. We were going to find you. It was just a matter of when, and whether we’d get there in time.”
Whitby jerked his head in Lief’s direction. “This one’s a bit of a force to be reckoned with when he gets the bit between his teeth, but I reckon you already know that. Got the crew wrapped around his little finger now, haven’t you?”
Lief shrugged, but there was no missing the slight quirk of lips that said the compliment pleased him.
“He broke the record,” Stafford said as he pulled the oars back for another powerful stroke.
I frowned. “The record?”
“Quickest up to the crow’s nest,” Whitby said. “Shaved a whole second off Frobisher’s time.”
“I see.” I didn’t see. It all seemed a little too bizarre to be real. What if I’d never left the island, and this was all in my head? A way of retreating into myself to deal with Lucretius’ special brand of love.
Lief reached over and pinched my thigh, the attack so unexpected that I recoiled from the burst of pain, the rowboat rocking alarmingly with the motion. “Ow! What was that for?”