It wasn't that James wasn't a passionate man. No no, Jack could attest to that with every fiber in his being. Especially the fibers in those lucky places that James visited his enthusiasm upon again and again. But it was very easy to write Jamie-luv off as another stuffed-shirt naval officer with all the zest for life sucked out of him and replaced with a stifling sense of responsibility that manifested itself through an apparent memorization of the rulebook and the dogged pursuit and arrest of any individual who so much as wiped his mouth with his sleeve instead of his non-existent handkerchief.
All of which was patently false, of course. It was simply that James' passionate side did not reveal itself to just anybody. It took a special something to expose that fire, and something even more to fan those flames into the firestorm of intensity and lust that could honestly sweep a poor body away. Jack twirled his mustache in a satisfied manner at being the one to cause such a whirlwind and then riding it so expertly, poor body though he may be.
The only thing that James was waiting for was permission. Had Missy Elizabeth given him half a chance, the hesitancy that she had mistaken for disinterest or merely social pursuit would have given way to a focus she would imagine to be reserved for his work alone, only multiplied a thousand fold. After all, who could imagine the commodore, staid and dignified and responsible, having to reign himself in to avoid being too forward? If she had ever allowed herself to be caught in a situation where stiff protocol and appropriate notions of behavior did not apply, with a simple, "Yes, James, you may be so bold," she might have been surprised to find herself gasping, helpless and speechless for once, in the strong arms of a man who felt in sunbursts and storms instead of the dull gray skies that most expected, and kissed the same way. She might, thought Jack sardonically, even enjoy herself. Scandalous!
Then all this could have been hers: the kissing, the tight embraces, the nights that passed in heated delight or quiet easiness between the two lone occupants of a simple bedroom. She could have woken up to green eyes always snapping with life and an understated smile that spoke volumes about how satisfied he was with himself, his lover, and his lot in life in general. She could have had loyalty and consideration and honor and sweet, eager companionship. Love she would never have to doubt.
The pirate rolled onto his side and traced his hand down the milk-white expanse of skin, from cheek to throat to collarbone while his bedmate smiled lazily and closed his eyes. Jack smiled as he felt Jamie's pleased hum in his fingers and shrugged: her loss.