The next morning, Knigh woke in his tent, warm and … and relaxed? Is that what the heavy feeling in his limbs was? And the one responsible …

Vee lay beside him, back against his chest, breaths slow with sleep. Her hair fell across the pillow in a messy halo of waves, locks touching his cheek, scented with that damn intoxicating smell of vanilla and petrichor.

He inhaled slowly, deeply, savouring it, her, this still moment when the familiar, simmering tension of deep-set anger and hurt didn’t thrum in his veins. His hand on her hip flexed, drawing his fingertips against the lines of her tattoo. A compass rose surrounded by hibiscus flowers perfectly emphasised the curves of her hip and rear. He shook his head, a laugh lacing his exhalation.

Yesterday, his nerves had been ragged after losing control on the Covadonga. The palm wine had been as sweet and strong as she’d promised. And when he’d healed her, joining their energies, it had been heady beyond endurance—her body too close, the cave too private, her ease too seductive. Of course he’d been too weak to resist.

Lords, who was he fooling? He hadn’t wanted to resist anymore. Attraction had sparked between them since their first meeting, had fizzled in the air like black powder every time they were alone and sometimes when they weren’t. And yesterday she’d talked him down from his madness, she’d been kind and reassured him, albeit in her own irreverent way.

Smiling, he peered down her back and shifted his light grip until his thumb rested in one of the dimples above her rear that he’d so admired as she’d bathed. He nodded to himself. What had been unthinkable just weeks ago now felt achingly right. The pad of his thumb circled the little indentation, and a small hum of appreciation rumbled in his chest.

Everything had changed. And not just because of last night. It had begun much earlier than that.

Vee wasn’t the monster the Navy painted a picture of in their reports. She was … Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what she was, but she wasn’t what they said—even he could see that. Everything he’d observed of her … No, there was no sign of her being a senseless murderer, a vicious beast, the notorious Lady Vice. And she might not be the noble, heroic Pirate Queen of the songs, but she seemed closer to that than the Navy’s villain.

Even without desire clouding his reason, his assessment of people’s trustworthiness wasn’t the best—hadn’t he believed in Father and the Duke? But he wasn’t the only one who saw her this way. As far as he’d seen, Perry’s judgement had been nothing but sound and she, in her own words, loved Vee.

Perhaps he was safe in this.