He pulled her hand away. “What are you doing?” The last time she’d touched him—well, it had been in front of almost two-hundred people and yet had felt wildly improper. His blood had burned. It had taken every ounce of self-control to avoid making a damn fool of himself in front of his crew and The Morrigan’s. Right now, her cool skin and throbbing pulse under his fingers were at once soothing and thrilling.

“I’m trying to keep you alive, though I’ll be damned if I know why.”

Mouth flat, he stared back, and when she tried to pull her wrist away, his grip tightened. “Glibness isn’t a good enough answer.”

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Navy boy, I’m just trying to make you a bit less recognisable, so we don’t get mobbed by angry pirates.” She raised her eyebrows as if to ask whether he was going to let her get on with it.

He exhaled and released her. “Fine.” Relief washed over him to no longer be in contact with her, immediately followed by longing—that cool hand on his forehead would be …

He clenched his fists and jaw. For goodness sake, man, get a hold of yourself.

“Thank you,” she said, an arch in her tone. With deft fingers, she began untying his cravat and snorted indelicately. “I can’t believe you’re wearing a cravat in this weather.”

Thankfully she kept her gaze on her work rather than meeting his. It had been a mistake to make that challenging eye contact with her when he’d removed his weapons. He knew that now. At the time, fool that he was, he’d thought it would ruffle her.

To say it had backfired was an understatement.

He lifted his chin to avoid her fingers brushing his throat while she pulled the knot loose. The less physical contact between them, the better. Even this distance between them, a few inches, was too much to bear. Close enough to lean in. Close enough that he only needed to lift his hands and he’d be holding her waist.

He swallowed. A good couple of feet—that would feel much safer, but his back was already against the alley wall.

It was just physical attraction, nothing more, but, gods, was it insistent.

The cravat—focus on that. He cleared his throat. “I’d feel undressed without one.”

The corner of her mouth twitched as she pulled away the length of linen. “Too used to hiding behind your uniform.” Her gaze flicked to his face, narrow-eyed for a moment before she took a small step back. She looped the cravat around his waist and tied it at an angle, like the belts at her waist. “Better. This, though”—she frowned at his face, lips pursed—“this might be a bit more difficult to disguise.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”