Slow Dance

The stars and moon shone down, brightening the sky over the bay. She'd drawn the short straw, which suited her fine. Carousing in Tortuga wasn't her idea of a good time, anyway. Let the boys have their fun, randy scallywags that they were. She'd just as soon stand watch over the Pearl. Her ship. It had been hers. For a little while.

Damn Jack anyway. She sighed, and gave a snort of laughter at her own absurdity. Ridiculous to think he was any different than the rest. She'd watched him go off with Gibbs and some of the others, coat swaying, hands describing the shapes and colours of whatever story he was drawling for their edification. That was hours ago. Probably tucked 'tween the legs of some strumpet by this time. Just like the rest.

So why did that make her want to grind her teeth?

She straightened, and walked over to the rail, and looked out toward the twinkling lights of the town. They were anchored a few hundred yards from shore, and the crew had taken the two long boats and one jollyboat over to the wharf. She could see the boats where they were tied now, faint familiar shapes in the moonlight. At least, there were the longboats…

Her breath caught, briefly. Someone was coming back: the jollyboat was halfway between the wharf and the Pearl, being rowed, skillfully but at a leisurely pace…by Jack.

Her heart was thudding by the time he neared, and she threw down the rope ladder with an oath on her lips. Ridiculous! She willed herself to a steely calm as she listened to him climbing up the side, smiling grimly at the song he was humming more or less melodiously. Backing away, she watched him rise above the horizon of the deck and clamber onto it with surprising grace.

"Hullo, love," he grinned.

"What the devil are you doing here?" she said, sounding more irritable than she'd planned. He arched a brow, and she felt herself flush, though she tilted her chin at him anyway.

"Couldn't stay away, could I?"

"I suppose not, after ten years," she agreed. She knew he loved this ship, loved her as pure and straight and true as was possible for a man like Jack Sparrow. The Black Pearl was his, and not because she'd given the order to go back for him two weeks ago. It just was.

"Let's see…" He began patting his coat here and there, apparently searching, pursing his lips in concentration. Finally he ran across his objective and drew it out of an inner pocket triumphantly. "Here it is," he said, handing her something heavy wrapped in a bright red silk scarf.

"What?" she demanded, sounding startled and suspicious to cover her consternation. What was all this about, now?

"Open it! Go on."

He was grinning again, like a gleeful child, and it was catching. The corner of her mouth twitched. "All right."

It turned out to be a necklace. Ornate lozenges of heavy gold, with a blue-green gem embedded in each. "God's teeth! Where'd you get it? It must be worth a fortune!"

"Won it." He took it from her, and added , "Bought the scarf, though," as he put the chain over her head.

She touched it, gleaming dully and rather incongruously against her worn vest. She looked up. "Why me?"

"Why not?" he replied, flippantly. But when she narrowed her eyes he said, "You came back for me. It's little enough, Ana."

She stared at him, her breath catching (not noticeably, she hoped). Bloody hell. "This…" She cleared her throat. "This doesn't make up for my boat."

The grin remanifested itself. "No. Of course not." He took the scarf out of her nerveless fingers and boldly tucked it into the pocket that lay against her breast. "G'night, love."

She watched him turn and walk across the deck toward the Great Cabin, his own once more, and her skin burned beneath the scarf-filled pocket. She turned away, still seeing him, that straight back, the sway of hips and hair. His face. Presently, she heard the door to the companionway open and then shut again. Gone.

But not really. She reached down, fingering the chain. The thought came, unbidden but undeniable, that it was not a chain she wanted of him. And, to all intents and purposes, they were alone. She set her teeth against the dull pain deep inside her. Sparrow, hell! Bloody peacock was what he was, strutting and flaunting, and wreaking havoc with her thoughts, and her body without even trying. Damn him.

She should really make plans to leave. Plenty of ships here in Tortuga. She could find a place easy enough. Or she could sell this necklace and buy a boat, better than her old one, and fish again. But she could summon no real enthusiasm for either choice, not when a third one lay so close at hand.

She laughed bitterly, and shook her head. Hopeless. And then she turned, and, after a minute in which she hesitated on the edge of the precipice, she followed after him.

He opened the door wearing only his breeches. She stared at him, taken aback in spite of having seen him like this before, more than once.

"Ana! Did you need something?" He sounded surprised.

But she stiffened and her eyes narrowed at this ingenuousness: as though he didn't know exactly what she wanted!

One beautiful brow rose. "Ah."

She allowed him to pick up her hand, pull her inside and shut the door.

There were two lanterns, but their light in the big cabin was insufficient to dispel the shadows.

Still holding her hand, he said consideringly, "This is probably a bad idea."

"Don't you think I know that!" she snapped.

"But you still want to."

"Don't you?" Defiant. But then he took the wind right out of her sails.

"Jesus, Ana," came the whispered laugh, and he pulled her close.

She put a hand up against his chest, but he ignored it and his lips came down on hers, slow and careful, feeling like…like nothing she'd ever felt. Nothing like the few kisses she'd permitted other men to take from her, hard and demanding. Jack's were…well, not hesitant. Gentle. But with an underlying sense of restraint. Not invasion. Seduction. She thought, Oh God, this is a bad idea, even as she slipped her hand up his chest and around his neck. But then, thought was set aside in favor of feeling. Soft-rough beard, nibbling teeth. She opened her mouth, a frisson of…joy? making her tremble as she tasted him. Rum…and gold…and…Jack.

Another new feeling. It took some time to identify it, but when she did, she nearly panicked: she was losing herself. And, surprising her again, he stopped, drawing away slightly and looking down at her with those eyes of his.

Those eyes. They could pull you under, helpless, and you'd take joy in the drowning…

"All right, then?"

He didn't smile. Except with those eyes.

She narrowed hers. Swallowed hard. Bloody peacock. She ran a hand a hand up his shoulder and laid it against his beautiful face. She said, unsteadily, "Don't be thinkin' this makes up for my boat, either."

"Oh, I wouldn't!" Humble sincerity, in a voice like velvet.

"You better not," she muttered. Then she slid her hand back around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.