Popping open the bottle, he tipped it toward her, a question on his face.
“No, I haven’t eaten, I’ve got terrible gerd and trust me,” she laughed, “you do not want to be around me when I’m having an attack. I go all postal and grrr and rwar and it’s ugly.”
His brows furrowed and then he laughed, but the sound was one like he wasn’t sure whether he should or not. “You’re a strange, little bird, are you not?”
Every single Colin Firth fantasy was coming to life right now, and for just a second she was tempted to ask him to call her Ms. Bennet, just once…but maybe that was pushing it just a little too far.
She studied her nails. “I don’t know at all what you mean.”
“I mean,” he poured a glass full, drank it back and then poured another, “that you are always rambling on about the most nonsensical things and for reasons unknown to me I find you very amusing. Why is that?”
Walking over to the bed, she dropped down onto it, then crawled to the center before criss-crossing her legs. “You’re asking me why I amuse you? Gah, I don’t know. I amuse everyone, it’s why I’m so darn popular.”
He licked his lips, and just the sight of his bright pink tongue made her pulse flutter. “Did you know that red is my favorite color?”
“What?” She had a hard time tracking his change of topic.
Leaning back in his chair, legs sprawled out, he looked like the king of his castle and an excited shiver ran down her spine.
“The color of your underwear.” The glass hovered around his lips and she licked her own at the sexy drawl in his words. “Red. I like it. A lot.”
The man screamed sex, Gerard had nothing on him. If he thought he could intimidate her with his sexual innuendos he was dead wrong.
“I didn’t wear it for you.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He smirked and tossed back the drink. She frowned.
“Don’t you worry about rotting your liver? I’ve seen you chug one drink after another.”
“Yes, well I’m cursed to never die from drink, you see, travesty I find myself in. A pirate loves drink and here in Neverland it loves him right back. So what incentive have I to stop?”
“Don’t you even get a little drunk?”
He shrugged, stoppering the decanter and putting it back in his bottom drawer. “I do. But it doesn’t last nearly long enough. So,” he lifted a brow, clearly indicating her line of questions were over, “quite a predicament we find ourselves in. Stuck with each other for three days, what do we do now? I must warn you, as I feel it’s the honorable thing to do—though I’m rarely given to honor—that I will not fall in love with you.”
She scoffed. “Oh please, as if I asked. Love is for fools. For losers and assholes, I just like sex.”
“Mmm, I do like the sound of that.” He spread his legs wider and she could only imagine the thoughts tossing about his head, because they were definitely rolling around hers. She wondered how hard it would be to convince him to tie on a cravat, maybe take a dip into a body of water and come out walking slowly toward her with a smoldering look in his coal black eyes.
She licked her lips. “Too bad for you, because I’m already taken.” She lifted her hand, waving her fingers at him, then stuck up her pointer and middle finger. “Meet thunder and lightening.”
Those two fingers had brought her many years of pleasure.
He laughed. “You speak like a doxy, but somehow I do not believe you to be one. Not really. Pure bravado.”
“Please,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m the biggest whore there is. I sleep around, screw whatever I want, and never, ever, get my heart involved.”
She was such a liar. Somehow, over the years, she’d developed a reputation as being easy. It wasn’t true, she had standards. Yes, she’d taken lovers to her bed, but not without thought or reason behind it. True, she didn’t ever hand out her heart, but that didn’t mean she was heartless either. She just happened to enjoy sex, but she was always smart about it and careful with her partners.
His eyes twinkled again; she liked how they did that. Like the light of a star was trapped behind the obsidian gaze and every now and then it came out and winked at her. Somehow, she didn’t think he did it often, which made a weird, fluttery feeling feather somewhere in the region of her heart.
“If you are a whore, then I am a maid. No, little bird, I may not know you at all, but whore you are not. For if you were, you’d be all over me.”
Her thighs trembled, thank God he couldn’t see it. She shook her head, because he was so wrong. She did want to jump his bones. The man was the most wicked, delicious looking man she’d ever seen in her life. Big and brawny and darkly handsome—but she hated cockiness.
“Oh please, as if you’re some prize. Captain of a pirate ship, if whores are throwing themselves at you it’s only in the hope of booty. Is that what you call it?”