Free The Siren's Song by Jennifer Bray-Weber

Drake breaking up more than one fight. His good spirits had been faltering.
    But then this beauty all but knocked him off his feet—literally. He had scarcely recognized her.
    Aye. He took great care in his observation of her now.
    The bath did her wonders. Hair once wild and stiff like Sargassum seaweed now glimmered in soft blond tresses tied back with a pink ribbon. Her clean face, clean skin promised the smooth feel of alabaster. Freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and reached out to her cheeks. They complemented those magnificent hazel eyes, adding to them a sweet innocence. More freckles graced her ample bosom. Damn, if God hadn’t blessed her with the perfect-sized breasts. Perfect for filling the cup of his hands.
    He found himself glad he didn’t get rid of all the fashionable women’s clothing and necessities left behind by the libidinous Captain Tyburn. Most notably the scented soap.
    She was a different woman, more desirable than he cared to admit. And best of all, she smelled of lavender and cream. It wasn’t enough to drink in her fragrance. His mouth watered to taste her.
    “You are right, Miss McCoy. I am a hungry bastard.”
    “I didn’t imply you were a bastard.” She made quick to correct him.
    “Ah, but I am. One who lives to try my fortune.”
    “Seems to me to be quite hazardous,” she said. “Sailing, alone, is dangerous. But putting yourself at risk to save people, cargo and ships during a storm is mad. Even now salvaging these crates, well, someone could get hurt. Never mind the cramped conditions.”
    What an adventurous pursuit the lass would be. If only she’d stop talking.
    “…and getting jostled to the point of seasickness. Rather swiftly, I might add. I won’t begin to tell you…”
    He hadn’t given the chit much thought throughout the day. Only that he looked forward to a spot of entertainment before he retreated to his solitude and hogshead of rum. But now… Another lavender-scented breeze tickled his nose.
    “Tonight you earn your passage.”
    She didn’t respond. Had that shut her up? Was she thinking of reneging on their deal? Nay. He wouldn’t allow it. She would keep her end of the bargain. He’d see to it.
    He realized she no longer looked at him, but past him. Slowly, he twisted around.
    Several crewmen stacked coils of rope near the bow, the coward Abel among them. His gaze locked upon the lass in a murderous glare. Drake tilted his head, catching the tern’s notice. Abel ducked back into his work.
    Drake would need to keep a closer eye on that one.
    “I oughta skin yer hide, girlie.” Henri shambled over wagging a paring knife.
    She took a step behind Drake, shielding herself from the angry manikin. Amusing little tart sure knew how to bring about a stir.
    “Put the knife away, Henri.”
    “Perish and plague, Capt’n. We can’t be havin’ a woman runnin’ around the Rissa. She’ll fetch us up bad luck.”
    “So you intend to gut her?”
    He was keenly aware of her hands pressed into his back. Their heat spread through him much like the need to protect her. Though not from Henri. He’d seen a softer side of the gibbet-like mack once not too long ago. The old soul would never carry out a threat on the fairer kind.
    That didn’t mean she had to know it.
    “You don’t want to swab up a sticky mess, do ya, mate?”
    Henri groused, lowering his knife.
    “Now I’m not suggesting you poison her food.” Drake couldn’t resist having a little fun with the lass. Particularly if it meant she push closer to him. All he needed to do was spin around and her breasts would be pressed to his chest.
    Henri considered the idea for a moment and then shook his head. “Wouldn’t be right, ruinin’ the supper like that.”
    He forced down a laugh at her sigh of relief.
    “All right, Henri. I’ll make sure the chit is returned to her cabin. Without leaving a trail of curses, of course. Go see to the supper.”
    “Aye, Capt’n.” Henri peered