He’d seen that look before, on the faces of hardened men. Those who’d seen trauma, wars, death. And that it should bother him seeing it on hers annoyed him. He hardly knew her and didn’t honestly care to go beyond their final two days together. Meeting Trishelle of the mortal world had helped him to understand his time grieving Talia must come to an end, and for that he’d be grateful, for that reason alone he cared.
Tracing the line of her jaw with the tip of his hook, he waited until her eyes drew to him. Hers were filled with an echo of lingering sadness.
“What has happened to you to fill your eyes with such pain, little bird?”
A self-effacing look touched her features. “I hate love. Hate what it can do to others.”
“Interesting answer, not one I would have expected. I thought all women mooned at the idea of making a man heel before her.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but still she did not smile.
Grabbing his hook, she rolled onto her back and brought it to her chest, toying with the curve as she drew her finger up and down its side. Though he couldn’t feel the touch, he couldn’t stop from trembling, wondering what that finger might feel like sliding along his true flesh. But she didn’t seem to be aware of what she was doing, she was staring up at the ceiling, her wide green eyes still glittering with so much raw pain he couldn’t stop himself from asking again, “What’s happened to you?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It happened to my sister.”
Something dark and foul began to writhe through his gut at the million different possibilities. Hook wasn’t a good man, never claimed to be. He’d killed, he’d stolen…but women and children (apart from that bastard Pan who was no child, but a man trapped within a child’s body) were off limits. Even when he killed, he didn’t kill the innocent.
Books always made him out to be either a buffoon, or a bloodthirsty pirate with no scruples whatsoever. Neither of which was true. He had a code, and he lived by it honestly.
Her eyes touched his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You must think I’m crazy. I’m not really, it’s just that the anniversary of her death happened two days ago and I’m always a little raw when it does.”
“Death?” He frowned, his thoughts taking darker and darker turns. “How did she die?”
Her face remained impassive, as if she debated internally whether to tell him or not.
“I apologize, my manners have abandoned me, too long aboard a ship with nothing but pirates for company.”
He was rewarded with a little laugh.
“Ah, a smile, I feared I’d never see one again. See, I am not such a beast.”
She chuckled harder. “You’re not beastly at all. In fact, Hook, I think you’re very much in danger of turning into a kitten.”
“Even kittens have claws. Do not mistake what you see down here as who I am really. It is merely a facet of the whole.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. Since I’m not interested in killing the rabbit with you, or clamping a ball and chain around your ankles, I see you exactly as you are.” The twinkle in her eyes died out. “She was five years older than me.”
It took a moment for him to realize she’d returned to the topic of her sister. He nodded for her to continue.
She hugged the hook to her chest, forcing him to scoot in closer since it was attached to his wrist. But she didn’t seem to notice, or care, almost like she’d done it subconsciously because she needed something to hang onto and it didn’t bother him to be used thus.
If the men above could only see what she’d turned him into, he’d be laughed off the ship.
“She’d met a guy at a club. Do you know what that is?”
“A gaming hell?”
She frowned. “Umm, not really sure what that is, but I’m thinking not the same thing. It’s a place we can go to drink, meet people, and dance. A great place to pick up losers usually.”
Suddenly he felt the wiggle of toes moving against his legs. He looked down. Was she trying to move them beneath his own? Deciding perhaps she was, he gathered her foot with his, and clamped it between his legs.
She smiled and so did he.
“Anyway, she met this guy. A doctor—he was always quick to correct my family about that, even though he was only a dentist and a lame ass one at that.” She glowered. “Dr. Kurt Smith. Smarmy bastard, blond-haired, blue eyed Ivy League grad. I hated him the moment I met him. But I was fourteen, so what did I know, right?” She wrapped her fingers around his hook and he didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt the need to touch her.
“Move over,” he growled, tugging at her, until she rolled over his body. Once they’d traded positions, he packed a pile of pillows behind him and leaned back. “Now, lay on your side and give me your hand.”
“What?” she laughed.
“Just give me your hand, woman.” And taking hers in his good one, he rubbed his thumb along the edge of hers, tracing the soft, smooth skin gently. She shivered, eyes going wide, but she didn’t pull back and he couldn’t fight the grin from tipping his lips. “Now continue.”
“You’re very bossy.”