His career resided on this ship. A warm female body slept beside him in this bed. With the right whispered words, I could move his mind, stir his passion, and convince him that his home was here.

With a pirate whore.

I was a far leap from the noblewoman waiting for him in England. But my gut told me that if it was an obedient virgin that hardened his cock, he would be with his betrothed. Not here with me.

I am the only man who touches you here.

He was the only one stopping himself from touching me everywhere.

Unless my feral, possessive husband showed up. Then my efforts with the commodore would be for naught.

If Priest had his way, my captivity would transfer from Ashley to him. Being Priest’s prisoner wasn’t favorable, but it was a great deal more appealing than hanging from a noose.

In an ideal world, I would escape both men, recover my compass, and live the rest of my life a free woman, commanding my beloved ship.

But there was so much that could go wrong and so little that could go right.

Those were the thoughts that chased me to sleep. When I drifted, I sank hard. And I dreamed about my mother.

A halo surrounded her, like a blurry ring of light around the sun. Was it her golden hair? Her aura? I wanted to touch it, but I didn’t have a body. I wanted to hug her, but I didn’t know if she was dead or alive.

None of this was real. Not her smile nor the cliff on which we stood nor the wings that unfurled behind her. No, wait. Those wings were real, for when she jumped, she didn’t fall.

She flew.

I woke gently, quietly, blinking into the darkness and marveling at the discrepancy in the dream. For years, I’d relived the countess falling to the rocks and always woke gasping and shaking with tears in my eyes.

But not this time.

This time I felt warm and peaceful and…

I wasn’t the only one awake.

Lying on my side, I stared at the wall. The wild mane of my hair sprawled across the mattress behind me. With a hand tangled in it.

Ashley was petting me.

I held still, measuring my breaths as he stroked the spiraled strands and smoothed out the knots.

The sensation crawled into my veins, torturing me. I didn’t know what felt true—my delirious pleasure in the affection or his ability to give it. But it felt right. He felt right. I didn’t want him to stop.

His breathing quickened, deepened, and his fingers wandered to my hip. The heat of his hand lingered there, soaking through the blanket and saturating my skin. It was the touch of a man with one thing on his mind.