Jack absently rubbed the base of his neck as he examined the map spread out on his desk. The archipelago depicted in the lower right-hand corner seemed to swim before his bleary eyes until he was no longer sure if the islands were actual markings or merely drops of rum from the nearly empty bottle that sat conveniently close to his left hand. Sighing, he opened his compass and frowned at the erratically spinning needle before closing it with a frustrated snap. A cacophony of sharp knocks shattered the silence like musket fire, and Jack grunted in response. The latch clicked, and Elizabeth's honey-blonde head peered around the edge of the door.

"Mind if I come inside? The wind's picking up a bit, and I'm feeling rather chilly." Her beguiling smile and fairly immodest thin, silk shirt were wasted on Jack, who was once again studying the map.

"Of course not, love," he replied distractedly.

Elizabeth pouted briefly, then turned her attention to the various cupboards lining the back wall of the cabin. "Have you got any more rum?"

Still absorbed in navigational calculations, Jack waved his hand vaguely in the direction of one of the cabinets. "Somewhere in there." He traced an invisible line on the map with his fingertip, frowning in concentration. As he reached for his divider caliper, a movement caught his eye. Elizabeth, bottle of rum in hand, was rummaging through another cabinet, presumably for a glass. Jack studied her back for a moment, slightly bemused. He wasn't sure what had provoked this new attitude of hers, but she'd been acting a bit unusual for the past few days, hovering around him at the oddest moments, slinking around like some sort of crafty feline. Despite his vast experience with the fairer sex, women were still mysterious creatures to Jack, and he assumed that whatever was causing this bizarre behavior would right itself, in all likelihood without his assistance.

Shaking his head, Jack placed the divider on the map, meticulously gauging the distance to his intended destination. As he scratched out a notation on the parchment, he gradually became aware that Elizabeth was speaking to him again.

"Jack?"

"Mmm?" He dipped his quill in the inkwell and began writing again. If all goes well, and the weather remains fair... Without warning, his overworked brain registered a request including the words "you" and "rub," and Jack's hand stilled abruptly. He blinked, the quill sliding from his limp fingers as he raised his eyes to meet Elizabeth's. "You want me to..." He swallowed and licked his lips, which suddenly felt dry. "What did you say?"

Elizabeth had situated herself in a chair next to his desk, looking quite comfortable. He assumed she hadn't been able to locate a tumbler, for she was drinking straight from the bottle, her shirt sliding and clinging in a number of significant places as she tilted her head back...God, what was she wearing? The material was silk, if he wasn't mistaken, cut so low in front that Jack was having a devil of a time focusing solely on her face. Undoubtedly she'd felt cold wearing such a flimsy garment out on deck, as was evident by the outline of her nipples through the diaphanous fabric. Jack swallowed again and fumbled for his own bottle of rum.

"...and that one particular trunk was so heavy. Pintel and Raghetti offered to carry it, but of course, you're well aware of that damnable stubborn streak of mine, Jack..."

Jack nodded dumbly, taking a swig of rum.

"...so I insisted I would be able to move it on my own, and..." Elizabeth paused for breath, closing her eyes and languidly rolling her neck from side to side. "I suppose that's what I get for being so hardheaded, but..." She sighed, eyes still closed. "Would you mind terribly, Jack? If you would rub my neck and shoulders just for a bit, I would be forever in your debt."

Her last words were spoken lightly, of course, an oft-used collocation simply meant to convey how much she would appreciate the favor she was begging, but Jack's mind was already conjuring up deliciously sinful images of the various methods Elizabeth could employ to repay that debt. He drained the last of his rum and stood, dispelling the salacious thoughts crowding his brain. Elizabeth had no intention of sharing his bed; she'd made that plain to him long ago, and it wouldn't do for him to torment himself with distinct mental pictures of circumstances that would never come to pass. He'd endured enough sleepless nights in this lifetime.

As Jack moved to stand behind her, a victorious smile curled Elizabeth's lips. She'd felt rather than saw his reaction, the sudden shift in his mood. He hadn't uttered a single syllable since he'd finally looked at her, and for a man who usually had a multitude of quips at the ready for any situation, this atypical silence spoke volumes. Elizabeth could feel the heat and tension radiating from his body as he hovered over her, and she felt a heady rush of power that she could elicit such a reaction from Jack.

Jack lifted an unsteady hand to brush Elizabeth's tawny tresses over her shoulder. He stared down at the nape of her neck, transfixed by the sight of her golden skin. When Elizabeth spoke again, he jumped slightly, glad that she couldn't see him from her position. "What are you waiting for?"

And still Jack hesitated, realizing that as soon as he felt her skin under his fingertips, he would be ruined, that once would never be enough. He took the time to crack every knuckle, flexing his fingers and wiggling them in the air above Elizabeth's head, yet he couldn't bring himself to touch her. Elizabeth finally cleared her throat, sounding somewhat impatient.

"Where exactly does it hurt?" Jack asked, hating the tremor he heard in his voice.

"Everywhere," Elizabeth breathed, and Jack closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the sexual undertone he most certainly must have imagined he heard.

As he laid tentative hands on her shoulders and began kneading the flesh there, Elizabeth let out a completely involuntary groan, feeling Jack freeze momentarily before resuming his ministrations. Elizabeth silently admonished herself, knowing this game would never go as far as she'd planned if she allowed herself to be so easily seduced by his touch.

Jack tried to ignore the rush of heat that swept his body when Elizabeth moaned, but it was too daunting a task. He briefly considered suggesting she ask someone else to massage her aching back, but he couldn't bear the thought of any other man touching her so intimately, never mind the fact that he didn't implicitly trust every member of his crew. No, he would have to bear this on his own, torturous as it was.

"Just a bit lower, please."

Jack complied, and as he pressed his thumbs into her shoulder blades, his fingertips accidentally brushed the sides of her breasts, and he felt as though he'd been burned. Good Lord, how much of this could he take? He was only a man, after all, and he certainly hadn't done anything…well, he hadn't done much to deserve this kind of cruelty.

"Harder," Elizabeth rasped, and Jack lowered his head in despair, fighting desperately to banish the image of her writhing underneath him, issuing that same command as he drove deeper into her.

A few agonizing minutes later, Elizabeth stretched luxuriously, awarding Jack with a mouthwatering, albeit brief, view of her breasts as her shirt slipped downward. As he fought to tear his eyes away, she stood and faced him, her lips tantalizingly close.

"Thank you, Jack," she whispered.

Jack cleared his throat, unnerved by both her proximity and his traitorous body's reaction to her nearness. "How does it feel now?"

"Much better." She leaned closer, and for a moment Jack swore she was going to kiss him, his hands automatically coming up to circle her waist, but she merely brushed his cheek with her lips. "Good night," she whispered, flitting to the door and disappearing like a wraith.

Jack collapsed into her chair and groaned. One hand groped about for the rum bottle, until he realized that Elizabeth had taken it with her, along with his dignity. He sighed. "Why is the rum always gone?"