“That was my last dagger.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need proof of that now. But it’s up to you whether you strip in front of me, or if Mort takes your clothes off for you. Although considering how angry he is at you right now, I think you’d prefer to do it yourself.”

She wished he were bluffing, but knew he wasn’t. The doctor had closed the door behind him, but Bastard’s friend would probably be back to tie her up for the night or take her to the hold so Bastard could recover in peace. That was a promising thought. . . .

She crossed over to the trunk at the foot of his bed and opened it. Most of his shirts were white, but she saw a blue one and, under it, a pink one. She would never have taken him for a dandy, but then pirates were known for gaudy attire according to Gabby.

She grabbed the pink one and moved back across the room to toss it on her cot before she faced him. This wasn’t going to be difficult, certainly nothing to be embarrassed about. She might even make it uncomfortable for him, enough that he might wish he hadn’t suggested this.

She turned out her pockets first before she unfastened the soggy skirt and let it drop to her feet. The thin petticoat was still sticking wetly to her legs, so she had to push that down. She glanced at him then to see if he was actually watching her every move. He was, maybe a little too avidly. He’d even leaned up on his right elbow. The bandage had been wrapped around him, but his chest was so damned wide and long, she was still seeing too much of it. And he was naked under that blanket. . . .

So maybe she felt a little embarrassed, but not because of what she was doing. Standing there in her blouse and fancily beribboned drawers, she turned one hip toward his view, then the other. Unlike his shirt, which would reach her knees, hers barely reached her hips. She unbuckled her leather sheath next. It had fit so nicely over the leg of her drawers that it hadn’t chafed her skin, but it was useless now that her last weapon was gone. She would have kicked it angrily away if her feet weren’t entangled in the pile of wet clothes.

She brought her eyes back to his before she began to unfasten her blouse. Her fingers slowed. It wasn’t intentional, she was just fascinated by what she saw in his eyes. She’d seen that look once before, the last time her calves had been exposed to him. She’d been too enraged then to wonder if she might utilize that he liked what he saw, too enraged to wonder if she could get close to him without swinging her fists. She still didn’t think she could, so it was moot, but it was still fascinating that she could dazzle him, however briefly.

She removed the blouse and held it in her hand as she made a full circle so he could see that nothing was tucked into the back of her drawers or inside her thin chemise. “Have you embarrassed me enough?”

He raised a brow. “I expected to, but as usual you surprise me. You don’t seem the least bit embarrassed. You are a lady, correct?”

“I’m my father’s daughter,” she said offhandedly. “He used to be a rake of the worst sort, you know.”

“Please tell me you aspire to be the same?”

She snorted. “I used to when I was a child. I wanted to be like him in every way. But I grew up. I’m aware I can’t follow in all of his footsteps.”

“I’m devastated to hear it.”

“No, you aren’t. If I were just like my father, you’d be dead right now.”

He smiled. “There is that, and later we’ll discuss why you spared—”

“I still wounded you!”

“It’s a paltry wound. But come here, Jack, if you want to leave that on.”

She knew he was talking about her chemise, which she wasn’t about to take off when he was gazing at her so sensually. She stepped out of the pile of wet clothes and bent over to pick them up and took them to the dining table, where she draped them over the chairs to dry. She started back to the cot, hoping he’d forget about any more disrobing.

“Mort will be returning. You might want to get this over with before he comes in. I repeat, come here.”

Get what over with? But she swung about and marched to his bed and glared down at him. He didn’t notice the glare, he was so intent on her breasts. He lifted his hand and dipped a finger under the low neckline of her chemise, running it slowly over the tops of her breasts. Her nipples tingled as they hardened, but she was still incredulous. Did he really think she’d keep a dagger between her breasts? She almost laughed. But him touching her like that . . .

There was an easy way to stop it, and she even surprised herself when instead of backing away, she pulled the neckline of her chemise right down to the edge of her nipples, telling him, “See? There’s nothing there.”

It sounded as if he was choking before he said, “Oh, there’s definitely something there, but I accept defeat graciously. You no longer have any weapons—that can do physical damage.”

What other sort . . . ? She stopped the thought. Really? He considered her attributes a weapon? That was so interesting that she was slow to raise the edge of her chemise again. And meeting his eyes . . .

She swiftly swung about again and returned to her cot to grab his shirt. She put it on before she untied her chemise and drawers and, after turning her back to him, let both undergarments fall to the floor. Then she quickly fastened the shirt down to the last button. She still heard his groan. Ha! He didn’t expect that, did he? But really, she wasn’t sleeping in wet underwear just for modesty’s sake. She even draped those undergarments on the chairs, too. But remembering his warning that Mort would be returning soon, she quickly got under the covers.

Chapter Eighteen

DAMON ENJOYED WATCHING JACK sleep, a little too much. So much fury in such a small bundle, but not when her eyes were closed. But he knew she wouldn’t like his taking advantage of her slumber, even innocently, so he pried himself away from her side before she woke.

The morning sun blinded him for a moment when he left his cabin and locked the door. He took the two guards that he’d stationed outside his quarters with him as a precaution. He wished he could trust his own crew, but he couldn’t yet. These two new crewmen at least appeared to be following his orders, but nothing had yet occurred to test their loyalty. Nor would it, he vowed, until he was ready.

He headed down the stairs to the lower deck. Two of the three cabins located there were occupied, and the new cook had demanded yet another cabin for his personal culinary supplies. Damon grabbed the key from the wall and opened the first door to his left. Mortimer had been too generous. He hadn’t restrained these two, was giving them the freedom of his cabin, if not the ship. Which probably wasn’t a good idea, considering how big one of the men was.