A/N: So two chapters will have to be three! I couldn't do what I wanted with this story in the word-count I had promised myself so I hop you enjoy this and I plan to have part 3 up very soon!
When she awoke, there was a flashing light on the in-room phone, indicating she had a message. Once the room stopped spinning, she dialed zero for the operator and was told there was a message awaiting her.
Curious, she washed off her tear-stained make up and pulled on a sundress, covering her puffy eyes with sunglasses as she walked to the front desk and retrieved the mentioned note. Tearing at the anonymous, white envelope, she stumbled back to her room, ready to spend another few hours hiding away under the thick, down-filled comforter. She paused outside her door as she saw the name of the message's author.
Emma,
Please accept my profuse apologies for my poor behavior last night. I'm not a man for excuses, but should you give me the chance to make it up to you, I would be most grateful. The ship spends this evening in port - should you accept (at least in part) my expiation, I will be waiting by the gangway from seven pm.
Yours,
Killian
Her still-weary body sinks to the bed as she stares at the letter. She's surprised and confused - all the while her cheeks turn pink as she remembers the night before. Rubbing her tired eyes, she places the piece of paper on her nightstand and pulls the comforter over her body, hoping that after more sleep, everything will make a little more sense.
/
After spending almost an hour staring at the jeans and camisole outfit that hung on the wardrobe door, Emma was no closer to making a decision. She checked her watch; it was almost 6:30. The night in port meant no onboard dinner party, though room service was offered. How sorely she was just tempted to pull on her pajamas and order a sandwich.
That afternoon had been spent dozing under the fierce sun, trying to forget everything. It had been a semi-successful endeavor. Her unexpected outburst had revealed to herself her true feelings about her break up with Neal. It didn't hurt because she still loved him: it hurt because she felt foolish.
She mentally licked her wounds while sipping coconut milk from its shell. Then, as she waded in the warm coastal water, she began to plan how to move forward once she returned back to reality. Apartments. Leases. Bills. Belongings. So many things to divide and sort.
But the note from Killian remained on her mind throughout. It was one thing she couldn't resolve as she lay on the stunning section of beach she had chosen just after lunch.
Last night she had been a bit drunk and had wanted some attention from a handsome man, surely it was that simple? An ego boost, a rebound - however you put it, that's what it had been. Yes, her cheeks burned at the memory of his rejection (and even more so when she recollected his precursory kiss). And, yes, the idea of facing him now made her toes curl and her head ache.
So it made no sense that she was now sitting on her bed, fresh from the shower, actually contemplating going to meet him.
/
There was only a slim chance that she would be there, he knew that. But he still felt obligated to make the offer. He hadn't been able to shake away the look on her face as she blurted out her pain to him. No one had ever done that before - entrusted him with such knowledge, revealed themselves. Not even when swayed by a few glasses of wine. To be sure, the reason was mostly himself and his spectacular ability to keep people at arm's length.
And that's why he stood, eyeing his watch, seeing the minutes tick by as seven pm became seven ten, then seven twenty…
Rubbing the short beard he somehow managed to get away with wearing on board, he sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he would be spending the evening alone.
Perhaps he should just do as he always did when ashore - drink himself into happy oblivion then maybe charm one of the lonely women who holidayed on the dusky islands. Because that was easy for him. His skin prickled at the thought. It seemed wrong somehow, to contemplate charming one woman, when he had intended to be reconciling with another.
His thoughts were broken by the sound of soft footsteps.
"Hi."
He heard her before he saw her, turning his head to see her looking achingly lovely in simple jeans and a lace trimmed camisole.
"You came," he blurted out, his voice a mixture of disbelief and relief.
"Yeah," she nodded, avoiding his eyes and concentrating on tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Almost didn't," she admitted with a shrug.
"What changed your mind?" he asked softly.
She took a few steps closer, moving to rest her arms on the railing that lined the deck, looking out over the port at which they were docked. "The old Emma would have hid in her cabin. That'd be the easy way to deal with this. And I don't want to be Old Emma anymore, she hasn't exactly been loving life recently. "
A soft smile lit up his face, "Well that's a travesty, love. Life's too short to live a life you don't love."
She looked over at him, her face not revealing much, the twitching corner of her lips told him she was at least amused by his comments.
Finally, she looked away along the port to the glowing lights of its bars and restaurants.
"So then, what's this about making it up to me… ? "
Killian nodded towards the gangway, "I see the new Emma is rather impatient. Follow me, love."
/
Her heart had been racing when she had stepped out onto the deck and seen him. It had taken just five minutes to dress and put on a few coats of mascara after she had suddenly decided that she needed to go meet him. She needed to be brave and maybe a little impulsive and hope that things would turn out differently than last night's disaster. Change was what was needed. This was a place to start.
Seeing him, still waiting thirty minutes after the time he had asked her to meet him, made her inexplicably happy in that moment. He was leaning against the railing, his hair picked up by the breeze, dressed simply in blue jeans and a pale blue button down.
God, he was handsome.
When he turned and smiled she'd gulped down the urge to run, telling her old instincts to calm the fuck down. She came with no expectations other than the ability to tell herself that she could change. She could face him. She could be that girl who let her troubles fall away like water off a duck's back. Yet his smile was entrancing, almost as much as those blue eyes of his that were unfairly beautiful.
Their greeting was almost a blur as she tried to disguise her racing heart, looking away from him so her flushed cheeks would not be visible - suddenly thankful for the dark evening. When she finally met his eyes she barely suppressed the urge to smile.
Yes, she had made the right decision.
/
Long John's was a ten minute cab ride away along the coast. It was a 'crew bar', Killian called it. A rustic wooden structure that was surrounded by the sound of easygoing tropical music. Killian nodded to the barman as they entered and headed straight for the decking area that looked out over the quiet ocean. Only in the distance could you see the fading lights of the docked cruise ships. The stretch of beach below the terrace was empty and tranquil, the peace only broken by the lapping of the tide.
They'd barely set down when two bottles of beer were placed on their table by the barman. Killian greeted him like an old friend before he introduced Emma.
"Julio, Emma, Emma, Julio." The two smiled and shook hands. "This place does the best seafood in the port," he told her as the barman smiled.
"Best kept secret on the island," Julio agreed with a wink, "And you seem like Jones's own little secret. You never bring women here, what gives?"
Emma swore Killian blushed, but it was dark so she bit her lip and watched him with a sideways glance as he fidgeted in his seat.
"Let's just say I owe her one - and on that note, can we have a seafood platter with all the works?"
Julio doesn't pursue the matter and instead nods and replies, "Coming right up."
The silence that ensued as Julio stepped away was less awkward than she had at first feared - though she still felt the weight of what neither had yet to mention. Stilling her nerves with a small sip of beer, she watched him stare out at the ocean as the sun began to set. The sky glowed: fading from an infinite number of pinks and oranges to bright gold where the sun was dipping below the horizon.
"I'm sorry-" she blurted out, clearly startling him if the way his head spun around was anything to go by. "Last night…" she swallowed, "last night, I was not myself."
Killian tilted his head, seemingly considering his response for a moment as her heart raced in awful anticipation. To say she was beginning to regret coming was an understatement.
"I think I promised you an apology for what happened last night, love."
Averting her eyes, she toyed with the edges of the paper napkin on which her bottle sat, "I'm the one who was out of line," she insisted.
"Emma, I'll admit I don't know you well, but the one thing I am beginning to understand is that you find it hard to accept apologies - and compliments."
Her reply was a small shrug.
"I'm going to admit, it was a surprise seeing you at my door. A beautiful woman waking you up is something every man fantasizes about." She dipped her head a little lower. Killian tapped lightly on the table until she looked up again and met his eyes. "My response - well, it wasn't for a lack of your obvious appeal-".
"Killian," she groaned, covering her face with her hand, feeling utterly embarrassed by her behavior.
He leaned a little forward, lowering his voice just slightly. "I just didn't want to take advantage. You seemed…out of sorts."
"Drunk, you mean," she shrugged, trying to shake off her shame.
"Aye," he nodded, "But more than that."
An unspoken acknowledgement passed between them. For a fleeting second, she saw something cross his eyes - something she couldn't name but seemed all too familiar. But before she could process it further, he spoke again.
"Look, I feel bad about the way things… went. Maybe we could start again - try being something resembling friends? There are still six days left on this trip, and I'd hate to think you felt you had to avoid me."
"It would be difficult," she agreed softly, now rolling the damp bottle of beer between her restless hands. "If we could agree to forget about this then…"
"Done," he quipped, taking his bottle and reaching out for hers, tipping the two necks together with a clink.
/
The food was, as he'd promised, fantastic. The platter was more than sufficient for two, overflowing with fresh produce and delicious when washed down with a mouthful of local beer.
They'd chatted as they ate - Emma told him about her job, Killian shared some of his more salacious stories gathered from many seasons at sea.
Finally full, Emma pushed her plate away, interlacing her fingers on the table as she looked Killian square on.
"So Killian, what's your deal?"
"My deal?" he scoffed, matching her pose.
"What makes you tick?"
He leaned back in his chair - a rustic-looking wooden construction created from beach wood. "I love the sea. Always have."
Emma frowned, tilting her head to the side. "There's more to you than just a love of the ocean."
"You're quite the psychologist, aren't you?" he teased.
"I took a few classes in college," she replied, keeping her gaze steady
Deciding that she wouldn't be satisfied with a few offhand remarks, he crossed his legs at the ankles and took a deep breath.
"I like to keep to myself. Some people may call me a loner but I prefer to think of myself as a lone wolf." He grinned and she rolled her eyes. "Crew changes all the time so friendships aren't easy to come by and I don't fraternize with the passengers."
"Sounds lonely… And if you don't fraternize with the clientele, what do you call this, then?" she gestured to the small expanse of table between them.
"A peace offering?"
"Hmmm," she hummed, licking her lips. Emma sank a little further into her chair, "And I thought you said there weren't any rules about these kinds of things."
"There aren't," he replied, with a little nod, curious about the direction this conversation was taking.
"So there is some other reason? I mean a guy like you-" He saw her blush as soon as the words passed her lips. He bit back the urge to smile. "I mean, is there someone special back home?"
A dart of painful recollection sent a sickening sensation to his stomach and for a second, his mind clouded over and the memories of past pain felt as raw and fresh as it ever was. He quickly shook his head, storing the thoughts away for some other time.
"No home. No one special."
Her lips parted, a familiar look of concern passing over her face. God, he's seen it so many times before. Pity didn't sit well with him.
"I'm sorry, I'm prying-" she stammered and he gave her a sympathetic smile.
"It's fine, really. But let's not share our sad stories," he leaned back towards the table, raising a brow as he continued, "Perhaps another drink before we head back?" he held up his empty bottle and she nodded.
But Killian couldn't help but notice the lingering compassion that her eyes wore as she pulled on a quick smile.
/
The night outside of the cities and towns she was used to was an impossibly dark one. With no street lights or rows of high rises, the blackness was all enveloping, with only the glow of the moon and the infinite sparking stars to illuminate the ground below.
It was strangely calming. Emma felt hidden almost, within the shroud of darkness as they left the restaurant. Ever present was the almost hypnoti sound of lapping waves - her step falling into the rhythm of its movements as she walked.
"Am I forgiven?" Killian asked as the sounds of Long John's melted into the distance.
There was a gentle urge to give a flippant reply but Emma quickly settled on a brief, "You are."
She caught the smile that laced his lips as she glanced sideways as he fell into step with her. She tried to ignore the little jump her heart made - she must not find his flirtatious ways attractive. Look where that had gotten her already.
"If you aren't in a great rush to return to the ship, I'd like to show you something."
Curious, she raised her brows. "Something?-"
"Not like that!" he laughed. "Trust me," he added, his tone more serious, a pleading look in his eye.
It was that point that she reminded herself that Old Emma would have made an excuse and said no. And for that reason (perhaps not only that reason) she replied with a shrug, "Sure."
/
"So real pirates lived here?"
She walked carefully across the shingle covered cove. It was small, encroached over by the looming cliffs above and only reached by a steep footpath.
"Not lived, exactly. But they used to camp here - and hide their cargo in these caves to avoid naval patrols."
Emma peered at the series of small caves that dug into the sheer face of the cliff. Each cave mouth was jagged and storm broken, like a series of eerie eyes staring out at the ocean.
"Sounds exciting," she mulled as she picked her way along the cove.
Killian followed her, she could hear his footsteps crunching on the tiny stones. "Usually suicidal, but for the lucky few it led to a very comfortable life."
Turning on her heel, she almost stumbled, the uneven surface catching her off guard. In a split second, Killian's arms took a hold of hers. His grip was strong. A breath caught in her throat as he steadied her, her sandal-clad feet finally gaining traction on the rocky surface.
"Careful," he whispered. Emma bit her lip, managing a smile in reply as she stepped a little back form him.
(Because being only foot away from him and his cologne, and his damn scruff and his accent and his stupidly blue eyes was a bad idea.)
Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore the pull towards him - the one that felt like a tug of gravity when he was near.
"So why do I get the feeling that all this pirate stuff played some part in the whole sailor thing," she breezed as she turned back to look at the ominous caves.
"Because it did," he admitted from behind her. "A cliche, I know. But you can't blame a lad for having a sense of adventure."
She shivered as she imagined this cove 200 years earlier. Men dragging sacks and chests filled with ill gotten gains under the cover of darkness; hiding from naval boats, risking their lives from storm or the hangman's noose, all in the brief hope of fortune.
"I can see how that could be attractive," she admitted. For a moment she paused, just listening to the soft waves.
"You know, I wasn't sure what to expect tonight."
"And are you satisfied?" he replied, quick as a flash.
He circled around her, until both now stood parallel to the shore. The half moon was bright, picking out the tendrils of his hair that danced in the soft breeze and mischievous glint in his eye.
"Yes… pleasantly surprised."
"Only pleasantly?" he teased, his brows raising in amusement
"Stop it. You're shattering all my illusions about handsome men, don't ruin it."
"You think I'm handsome?"
He took a dangerous step closer. She could see from a mile away where this was heading. A little warning signal buzzed in her head. In the past, this would have been her cue to step away. And after last night, there was even more impetus on her to do the same. But her body was humming with the attraction she had been hiding all night - damn, since she had first laid eyes on him. Her bruised heart, yearned to feel a little affection, even if only fleeting. And the look in his eyes - one of lust and want and challenge - was almost more than she could bear.
This time, he kissed her.
His hands cupped her cheeks and she held her breath.
His first kisses: slow. Asking kisses, each one soft and gentle and patient. Reciprocating, her hands found his hips. She tilted her chin, dropping her jaw to deepen the motion, her skin beginning to tingle as his hand slid to her shoulders..
It wasn't, as she expected. His fingers slowly tangled in her hair as she stepped closer, still a sliver of space between them. He was still giving her the chance to stop this: not pushing it to the next level, instead letting them both bask in the unique and fleeting pleasure of a true first kiss. And it was sweet and tender and at the same time burningly intense.
Killian Jones was full of surprises.
But then the heavens opened.
Unexpected, icy blobs of water began to fall upon them, just as her finger had began skim up the cotton of his shirt, soaking up the heat of his body.
They kissed until the downpour thickened, water funning down their cheeks. Emma could feel her hair becoming saturated, the water soaking through her shirt, the material sticking to her skin.
It was Killian who came to his senses. His hand taking hers, he pulled her towards the nearest cave. No sooner had they escaped the rainstorm, than she found his body pressed against hers.
The roughened rock of the cave wall found her back as he stepped towards her. His hands glanced over her hips, cupping her ass through the soaked denim while his kiss became more unrelenting. Nipping at her lips, teasing her with his tongue. He was insistent in his attentions and she could barely keep up. The want and the desire was evident in every heavy breath and every pinch of his fingers.
Emma was left gasping for air as the world spun. The darkness of the cave, the roar of the storm and the taste of his lips her only sensations.
/
It was meant to be the bed that reignited the passions of a fading relationship.
But the fervour that caught fire on its cotton sheets that night was of a very different kind.
They'd dashed through the port when the rain had eased; pulling each other aside for a kiss or a breathless look every dozen or so steps.
Giddy with that unnameable rush that accompanies the exploration of a new lover, they bit back their smiles as they made their way back onto the ship. Mutely, she pulled him towards her cabin, fingers entangling, silent words hanging between them. The consequence of their earlier discussion was an apparent inability of either party to verbalise what was happening.
Killian was happy with this: somewhat. Talking was a quick route to feelings and wants and needs of an altogether different nature.
And that couldn't happen.
Thankfully, she seemed of the same opinion, tugging at his damp shirt, not waiting to open the buttons before pulling it over his head as she pushed him into the mattress and reached down to give him a searing, passionate kiss that made his head spin and all rational thought vanish.
It was a game of give and take. She wound her fingers in his hair; rocking her hips against his until he was cursing, his heart racing- Then he spun them over, one hand angling her head as he consumed her mouth, the other slipping down into her jeans.
The gasp she gave as his fingers slid into her underwear provided even more propellant for his attentions. When he reached her damp heat he felt his stomach clench, circling her as she squirmed beneath his touch, until she reached down and undid the button fly. His fingers slipped inside her, her back arching like a cat's.
God she'd be the death of him.
He found the spot that had her crying out, his male pride bolstered as she unravelled around his fingers her eyes bright and shining. In the ensuing seconds as she caught her breath, he mumbled, "I can stop…" of course not really meaning it.
"Well I can't," she replied, simultaneously shimmying off her jeans and reaching to pull his lips back to hers.
/
She could kiss him for hours.
Soft lips.
Wandering hands.
Kisses that alternated between achingly hot and searchingly tender. The thought of teetering in his embrace for the next few hours was highly tempting.
But her body wanted more. Ever since she had seen him, that first night, anger still brewing in her belly, the attraction had began to burn. It wasn't just the way he looked, or talked, or the way he held himself. It was something far more intangible that had her desperate now to tug off his pants, palming him through the cotton of his boxer briefs, pressing her chest against his as she found it impossible to get close enough.
Reeling from an unexpected early climax, her heart raced and skittered against every touch of his hands. She'd always thought the phrase 'electric touch' was a cliche, but it was the only way she could describe the way she felt as his hands pulled down the material of her bra.
"Fuck," she moans as fingers and lips attacked the bare skin, her own hands sliding down the smooth, warm skin of his back as he kissed and cherished every inch of bare flesh. Taking his time.
Taking too much time.
In a second of consciousness, she paused, panting.
"Condom?" she asked. He looked up from her chest - all mused up hair and lusty eyed grin.
"Aye," he nodded, leaning back to his jeans, pulling one from his pocket. "I, I always-" he began, bumbling an excuse.
Dammit was he blushing?
"Doesn't matter," she insisted, unhooking her bra with one hand and tugging at the material of his underwear with the other.
Heart thumping ever louder in her chest, she slid beneath the cool sheets as he did was was needed. Her body tingling from her head to her toe. Nervous anticipation mingled with excitement and curiosity as she slipped down her panties.
How would it be?
The question lingered on her mind as he slipped under the covers beside her, one hand curving around her waist as the two allowed a brief moment where their eyes met.
Pulling him towards her, she parted her legs, urging him to nestle his body between them, the heavy heat of his erection pressing against her belly as he rested his arms on either side of her.
"Come here," she smiled, tilting her hips and anchoring her hands on his own.
"Yes Milady," he teased, the flirtatious glimpse in his eye burning into lust as she guided him inside her.
Her body ached. Her heart swelled. From slow beginnings, a quick, passioned pace came easily to them. She let the tides of their actions wash away all her reservations as one thought only remained.
This had been a very good idea.
/
Not to overstate matters, but Killian was not unaccustomed to women. He found a uniform and an accent to be most beneficial in these matters.
But this was not a mere conquest. Not a number or a notch.
She was beautiful, witty, sweet… sexy. But laid before him, she was more. She fit beneath his body in a way that he had never contemplated before. They moved together like seasoned lovers. Quickly, he mapped her responses, his heart crooning with joy when she moaned and gasped.
He wanted her. Oh he wanted her.
But mostly he wanted to pleasure her: to make her feel and writhe, to cry out and scream. To feel wanted and desired and all those other thousand things she seemed to have been deprived of.
And that was the most unfamiliar feeling at all.
/
Tangled sheets. Damp limbs. Racing hearts.
Not once, but twice they had-
(What - had sex? Made love…? Quickly, she banished that thought.)
A rapid and burning first coupling was followed less than an hour later by something slower and more measured. She smiled at the still-fresh memories.
Flushed and glowing, she looked over at him. He lay face down, arms buried beneath the pillow on which he lay his head, the slow rise of his chest a sure sign he was sleeping.
Her restless fingers played with the silver ring she wore on her right hand.
It had been amazing.
Not just good. Not just, it's been a while and I enjoyed it. But goddamn I didn't know that sex could be like that.
There had been no awkwardness. No moments to think. They had been in sync from the beginning. He seemed to know what she wanted before even she did. Ever touch was measured and considered. Every move of their bodies just right.
She bit her lip and lay back to look at the the ceiling fan that made lazy circles above her.
Of all the turns she had considered this holiday taking, this was the last one she had ever imagined when she had clicked pay all those months ago.
And that was a very, very good thing.
A/N If you have enjoyed this, a review or a message would be very appreciated. I'm struggling (again) with writer's block. It makes getting the words down so hard - even when I know what I want to say I doubt myself so much. Your support means everything.
Also, huge thanks to the bestest beta/most wonderful friend Nickillian/Ztofan.