Belle stared out the tiny window in her less than mediocre cabin and sighed in frustration. Here she was, stuck on the Pearl, again, and for the next two weeks she would have to put up with Sparrow and all of his annoying little quirks.
What made her even more upset was the fact that she still had that damn map book. She had hidden it underneath the old mattress on her squeaky cot. Belle had had the urge to tear it to pieces, but ruining such a perfect piece of art would have been a crime in her eyes.
"I knew he'd go after ye," a smug voice proclaimed from the doorway, "So did ye two kiss and make up?"
Belle glanced at Anamaria and said in an annoyed tone, "Hardly. But he did stick his tongue down my throat."
Anamaria whistled. "Damn, he did that? Well, I'm not surprised, but…"
"I didn't WANT it," Belle said miserably, "I was attacked and Jack kissed me to show them I was his property. I'm not his property!"
"But the lil'
façade did save yer life," Anamaria pointed out.
"I suppose it did. But I don't owe that bastard a thing. Respectable young women do not kiss men like that."
"Then how do they kiss them?" she asked, grinning foolishly, "A passionless peck on the lips? Clearly ye aristocratic people don't know nothin' about love."
"How am I supposed to know? I've never been in love," Belle shot back with a glare, "So your little speeches will be wasted on me."
"Love isn't about boundaries, me dear. It's not about 'not supposed to's'. It's about the moment, and bein' truly overwhelmed by the person ye become weak in the knees by their presence."
"Have you been in love, Ana?"
"Once."
"With whom, might I ask?"
Anamaria smiled and got this far-off look in her eyes. "His name was Christopher Sherbrooke. I was eighteen, an' we met each other by workin' on the docks in Bombay."
"What ever happened to him?"
Anamaria's smile faded. With a flick of her hand, she said, "Oh, ye know how the stories go. We both became members o' different crews. He ended up bein' murdered in a raid."
"I'm…"
"No pity, lass. That's the rule o' today. Now I better get to work before Sparrow has me ass on a silver tray."
Belle nodded to her and watched her leave. Getting out the book from underneath the mattress, she stared at it for a moment, fingering the torn paper. She rested her hands on her hips and instantly flinched, drawing in her breath sharply as she touched the sore skin there. Belle would have to be more careful.
* * *
Jack hadn't seen Belle take one step out into the sunlight all day long. Christ, his kisses were supposed to make women run back to him for more, not make them run as fast away from him as possible!
That little witch. She's been tryin' me patience to no end.
Most men at Jack's stage would have been hopeless, but there was one moment he remembered that sparked the last bit of hope in him he had left. When he had kissed her to her heart's content under those unusual circumstances, he had felt the faintest hint of Belle pressing up softly against him for more until she tore herself away from him like she found him disgusting. Like she was better than that. Better than him.
Of course, he shouldn't have been so rough with her, but that was a regret he wouldn't dwell on…
The sun was setting, and the sky's colors were slowly diminishing to that steadfast black-blue, like a giant bruise painted across the heavens. Sparrow threw the rope around the helm to steady it, and swaggered into his cabin in search of his tankard.
And there, sitting on his bed, was Belle.
He paused mid-step, and said sharply, "What are ye doin' in here?"
She rested her hands in her lap, looking startled, as if she was still shocked she got caught in his room.
"I'm…I suppose…"
"Out wit' it, woman."
Belle flushed and narrowed her eyes. "My name is not woman. It's Belle Blake. Miss Blake to the likes of you."
That was the last straw. "The likes of me?" Jack growled, "That's it. I'm sick o' ye acting like ye're better than me. Than us pirates. Haven't we had this discussion before?"
"I do not act that way!" Belle shouted, "I am just fed up with your behavior!"
"Me behavior?" Jack scoffed, "What, am I supposed to give ye special treatment?"
"Stop twisting my words around, Jack, just stop. If you are going to raise your voice at me, then I am leaving this very instant. Goodnight, Captain, and sweet dreams."
No woman talks to me that way and gets away with it…
He grasped her arm tightly as she attempted to storm past him and said sharply, "No, we're settling this once and for all. No runnin' away this time…" and grabbed her by the hips roughly to keep her in place. His eyes widened when she cried out in pain.
Jack let her go abruptly and she cringed, tentatively touching her sides. He reached out to touch her but she took a step back.
Jack said hoarsely, "Let me see what's botherin' you, luv."
He slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her breeches a little. Bruises in the shape of fingerprints. He let out a slow breath and he flashbacked to when he kissed her.
Dammit, I was so swept up in the moment I hurt her.
He tried to met her gaze, but she had it riveted to the floor. "Belle," he said softly, "Look at me." She did so, and she was disturbed by his concerned expression.
"I didn't mean to hurt ye, luv," Jack stammered, "I don't hurt women."
"A simple 'I'm sorry' will do just fine."
She watched as Jack pressed his fingers to his lips and brought them to each side of her pelvis, whispering them across the tender flesh.
"Captain..."
"Hmmm?"
"That's not the kind of apology I had in mind," she pointed out, her cheeks flushing a deeper color.
He ran a few fingers through her short blond hair and said, "I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted. How many days until we reach Trinidad?"
"Six, maybe seven if we encounter a storm."
"Jack…"
"Yes?"
"I heard the crew was talking about some sort of festivity tonight, and I was wondering what they were cooking up."
"Nothin' out o' the normal, luv. Just some drinkin', some music…"
"Music, eh?" she asked, getting this particularly evil gleam in her eyes.
"I don't like that look," he said hesitantly, "What are ye concoctin' in that brain o' yers?"
"Oh nothing, Sparrow. But I expect to see you out there joining in the festivities."
"Who are ye talkin' to, Belle?" he questioned, feigning a look of shock, "Do ye really think I would just stand there and let a good festivity go to waste? Bloody hell, no!"
"All right. Then I must be getting ready. Ta, darling." Jack scratched his head in confusion as watched her sashay out of the room, looking particularly pleased. Did he even want to know what was going on in that mind of hers?
He sat on his bed, the mattress giving way, and took off his boots. He wiggled his toes, letting them enjoy their freedom when he spotted something peeking out from underneath his pillow. Something he hadn't noticed there before.
Jack lifted his pillow and grinned. It was the book of maps, wrapped in fresh brown paper.
* * *
Jack threw his head back and finished off his mug of rum. He sat in the crow's nest, letting the rum relax him as he listened to the raunchy singing going on below. Henry, one of his crew members, had gotten out his fiddle for old time's sakes and was playing a quick, upbeat tune. Soon, a couple of the more inebriated pirates were locking arms and dancing spastically.
Rum was being swallowed by the mouthful, the singing was getting louder, and the laughter more merry by the moment.
Ah, definitely a pirate's life for… Sudden cheering interrupted Jack's lazy thoughts. He gazed down from where his legs were slung over the side of the crow's nest and grinned devilishly.
There was Belle, and she had obviously been rooting around in a couple of chests of swag he had stored in the belly of the Pearl, for she was wearing a daring crimson dress, low-cut, complete with a corset that wasn't laced up all the way. She was accenting parts of her that a respectable young lady never did. She picked up the long skirts as she walked, and he viewed black petticoats underneath, and stockings that he guessed were held up by garters. She had no shoes on.
That little vixen! Bugger it all, she looks good enough to eat.
Belle curtseyed and held out her hand towards a very flustered Gibbs, who accepted her offer and began to waltz with her across the deck of the Black Pearl. He wasn't very graceful, and must have stepped on her feet a couple of times, but she didn't show it. She was grinning all the while, her hair twirling around her head, her cheeks flushed from the humid air.
Miss Blake twirled herself into the arms of Mr. Cotton, who looked bare without that bloody parrot perched on his shoulder. If Mr. Cotton had a tongue, Jack thought, he would have no doubt swallowed it, finding himself so suddenly with a beauty in his arms.
Jack couldn't take it anymore. He gracefully climbed down unnoticed from the crow's nest and leaned against the mast, watching her predatorily. He wanted his dance, and he wanted it now. The song ended and she clapped, praising Mr. Cotton on his dancing skills, who looked like a giddy school boy from the compliments she was raining down upon him. Henry changed the tune of the fiddle from an upbeat, casual one to one more mysterious and alluring, more oddly sensual.
Belle turned in his direction, hands on hips, cockily waiting for him to ask her to dance with a sly smile on her face.
When Sparrow didn't smile, her cocky demeanor faded and was quickly replaced with one of curiosity. He made his way over to her, agonizingly taking his time. He circled her once, and she could feel his eyes studying her backwards and forwards.
Suddenly, he pulled her against his warm body, and she stared expectantly into his chocolate eyes.
He whispered into her ear, "Do I even 'ave to ask?"
* * *
Review please! Tell me what you think, savvy?
