Free Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga by Andrea Jones Page B

lush voice. His hair felt like silk against her skin, and he smelled of leather; his mouth was firm and he tasted like strong spirits. She lay twisting and naked on her bed, breathing unsteadily and feeling the waves swell under the ship. Her heart pounded in her ears like the water against the wood.
    Yes, Liza would keep an open mind. And an open body.
    She didn’t have to hear her father say it. She knew he would already be hating that man. And wanting that woman.
    The woman with the smile Liza no longer wanted to please.
    He would fall under the spell of that woman, exactly as Liza had fallen under the man’s.
    Liza rolled on her bunk and stuffed the pillow into her teeth, as she had watched her mother do, gagging herself so that her screams would be muffled as he had his way with her, over and over again, and not a soul would come to her rescue.
§ § §
    Reluctantly, the surgeon allowed the uncouth Irishman to usher him across the deck toward the upper aft cabin, under the quarterdeck. At least, like he, the sailor had made the effort to shave and don a clean shirt. In his morning pacing, the doctor had not encountered one man who came close to matching the social standing of the captain. Hanover wondered again what on earth motivated this Hook to take up piracy and embrace its necessarily low standards.
    He was not looking forward to the ordeal of dining with a pirate of any class, but Mr. Smee gestured toward the steps, and the doctor applied himself to climbing them, deliberately slowing his movements. When he faced the door, he found himself confronted with a bold brass plate. In elegant lettering, it proclaimed the name of ‘Capt. Jas. Hook.’ As if the man took pride in his profession! Hanover just stood there, and the Irishman was obliged to push past him and do the knocking himself.
    “You’d best get over it, Doctor. The captain will have his way, and you and I have nothing to say about it.” The doctor disagreed, but his only reply was a twist of distaste along his lips. When the bo’sun’s knock was not answered, Hanover turned his gray eyes to question Smee. Smee only grinned. “So you’re in a hurry, then?”
    The doctor was spared the burden of retorting by a female voice, surprising to his ear. The sound of it was all the more unexpected because it was such a calm female voice.
    “You may enter, Doctor Hanover.”
    He stared at the door for a moment, intrigued, then decided to open it himself, if only to deny Smee the pleasure of responding to the lady.
    He stepped into the cabin and entered another dimension. Nowhere had he experienced a more elegant and comfortable room, on land or sea. Compelled to regard the woman in the soft pool of candlelight, the doctor didn’t see, but rather absorbed her environment. He stood collecting its comforts, taking in the sight of her. Smee had followed him in, and now prodded him to the center of the cabin. Making no sound, Hanover’s soft shoes traversed the Oriental carpets toward the loveliest of visions. He was glad, now, that he had used his razor.
    She stood by the dining table, the flaming taper in her hand reflected in the many bevels of the window behind her. “Thank you, Mr. Smee. Please join us at the table, Mister Hanover.” She was smiling, dressed in black silk that contrasted favorably with the color of her hair. The doctor didn’t approve of unbound hair, but in this case, he had to admit that its flowing fairness complemented the severe cut of her dark gown. She looked away to finish lighting the candelabra that gleamed on the table service. The skin of her arms, her throat, and the tops of her rounded breasts glowed in the aura of the candles. She set the taper in its holder and lifted the crystal decanter.
    “Will you have some wine before dinner, Doctor?…Or would you prefer stale bread and water?” Her smile turned sly. Blood-red stones studded her throat, and a ruby line, clearly a recent cut, showed above them. The surgeon