Arista swallowed the lump of fear still stuck in her throat. “That would be greatly appreciated. Should that day come.”
She met his stare and saw more than just that one promise in his eyes. He seemed to offer so much more without saying anything, and she didn’t want to look away.
“I’m okay now,” she said. “Thank you.”
Grae nodded and took her elbow. “We’ll start above deck with the basics. I don’t want to bore you.” He steered her away from the railing, away from the crew working steadily on what seemed like every part of the ship. How they knew where every rope went baffled her. There were so many, strung up and down and across.
“I want to know everything,” she said breathlessly. “How do they know which rope does what?”
“When you spend all your life on a ship, it becomes second nature. I could shimmy up that main mast when I was six.” He pointed to the tallest mast, which stretched proudly toward the sky.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Why would anyone willingly climb that thin pole? “That’s crazy.”
“It’s a necessity. The crow’s nest—that platform you see there—it’s a lookout. Land, pirates, storms—they’re all easier to spot with a spyglass from up there.” The rocking of the ship seemed to make the crow’s nest sway dangerously back and forth. She could hardly keep her footing on the deck. Up there, she would probably tumble right out.
“I can safely cross ‘lookout’ off my list of possible future positions,” she said with all seriousness, which made Grae laugh again.
“You’d make a better cabin boy, anyway,” he teased. Heat climbed into her cheeks. He had no idea how close he was to the truth.
“What do all the ropes do?” she asked as Grae led her farther up the deck. He spent the next half hour explaining the intricacies of how the sails were raised and lowered, and how the ropes wound around pulleys were used to change direction at a moment’s notice. There were even more ropes connected to cables that could raise and lower the cargo below deck. Arista tried to follow the lines to see how they worked, but there were just too many to make sense of them all.
“There are one hundred men on board when we sail, and every one of them knows how to work the ropes. Even the cabin boy,” he teased.
“I’m slowly losing any usefulness I thought I might have had on board.” She meant to jest with him, but his eyes darkened and he grew serious.
“If you sailed with me, you would never have to lift a finger. I wouldn’t let you,” he said into her ear.
She pulled away and walked several steps toward the front of the ship, then looked over her shoulder with a smile. “I’m not used to being idle. There must be something I could do.”
Grae took three long strides and he was there, right behind her. She felt the heat from his body and waited for the touch she knew would come. Whenever they were together, it seemed like he could not keep from initiating some kind of connection.
But this time, he did not. She didn’t dare move, and it became a test of wills. The muscles in her neck tensed as she fought the urge to take a step back, enough so that their bodies would be touching.
“The front of the ship, where you are currently standing, is called the bow. Below this deck are the crew’s quarters and the cannons, and then on the lowest level, the cargo hold.” His hot breath washed over the edge of her ear as he spoke, and she really didn’t hear much of what he said. Something about cargo, maybe? A shiver of anticipation raced down her spine when she felt the faintest brush of a touch on her neck.
“This is my favorite place to be when we are at full mast, slicing across the open ocean. It feels almost like flying.” The ship bobbed and dipped suddenly, and Grae wound his arm around her waist and pulled her securely against his front. It was second nature to rest her hands on his forearm.
They stood like that, staring out over the Thames together, until someone cleared their throat behind them. They turned and Arista almost lost her balance.
“What can I do for you, Joseph?” Grae asked, not taking his arm from around Arista.
The huge bald man nodded to Arista, and she tried to smile. He seemed to be as wide as he was tall, and without a shirt, she could clearly see the thick cords of muscle that covered his torso. But that wasn’t what caused her apprehension. A long, jagged scar ran from just above one eye, down across his face, and ended under his jaw on the opposite side. Men with scars like that were usually fighters. Bones employed men like him because they had no morals.
“’Scuse me, sir. There’s a problem with part of the rigging. It won’t take but a minute.”