But this wasn’t a time for running. Taking a long breath, she peeked out from the alley. No sign of marines left, and—

Knigh yanked her back into cover, finger to his lips, brows in a furious knot, eyes glinting in the dimness.

Footsteps.

To Hide in Plain Sight

Men’s voices. Marines or dockers on their way to work?

She and Knigh stood inches apart, bodies rigid, breaths heaving in the same air. Barnacle hunched, stiff on her shoulders.

To come so close and be caught …

The thought tore at her. If the wall hadn’t been at her back and Knigh at her front, she’d have fallen.

“Marines?” she mouthed.

He shifted the barest inch, eyes intent down the road. The way his jaw tensed said yes, but he nodded anyway.

Bollocks.

This was it.

Bollocks!

No.

She shook her head. They hadn’t come this bloody far only to be caught.

They were looking for her—an escaped pirate in a flashy red coat, dirty and dishevelled. With a little luck, they didn’t know Knigh had helped her, either.

They could make this work.

A long breath. A nod. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

His gaze snapped back from the road. “What?”

“When they come close, you’d better bloody kiss me.”

A pained look creased over his face.

Of course, kissing her now she was all skin and bone wasn’t exactly appealing. Well, it wasn’t for his enjoyment.

Chin lifting in challenging invitation, she grabbed his shirt and slid her other hand into his hair, hiding that tell-tale white streak. Maybe they knew he was involved and had his description.

The footsteps, the voices grew louder.

Barnacle jumped off her shoulder and huddled against her ankles.

His chest heaved, once, twice, then his head bowed, and his lips were on hers.

Lords and Ladies, she’d missed them.

It was only meant to be a way of hiding in plain sight, a way to explain their presence in the alley. But somehow the tentativeness of his mouth, the gentle touch of his hands circling her waist, holding her upright … Wild Hunt damn it, it was far more devastating than all the hungry, passionate kisses they’d shared.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, so thick, so luxurious. His scent of cinnamon and soap mingled with her beloved sea air and crowded away thoughts of marines and escape until they were the mere distant concerns of mortals.

He stroked her cheek, smearing something wet up into her temple as his hand slid into her hair, and he angled her face for better access. Still slow, still gentle, their tongues brushed, the touch almost reverent.

Heart clamouring, painful, fast, she clung to him. This—no, it felt like goodbye. And she wasn’t ready for that. Everyone else had left. He was the only one who’d come back. And the bastard had made her like him. Even if he had—