Page 82 of The Worst of Them

Dirt crunched under his boot as he came closer. “You’re perfect. I nearly told you so the day before we docked in Tortuga, and I haven’t changed my mind.”

“I’m damned,” she pleaded, hoping it would be enough to stop his approach because he didn’t understand. He didn’t see, and if he did, she might spare him. “I am a scourge.”

Another step brought him to stand in front of her. His hands lifted, offering comfort but not touching her yet. He would, in a moment, if she let him.

“I could imagine no better blessing than having you,” he said with such gravity that it took everything in her not to lean toward him. “And I wish you could still have your father and your life. I would undo all that’s happened to you, but since I can’t… I am beyond grateful to have found you. You are everything I have longed for, everything I’ve dreamed of, and I’ll tear the world apart to have you.”

She held out her hand, placing it on his chest to stop him. Warmth enveloped her, gentle and comforting, and any ice that had been in her was long gone. She stared at their feet, tears dripping to the ground.

He leaned into her. “Don’t push me away. I’ll only push back and pursue you until I’ve silenced every foolish reason for why you think we can’t be together.” His hand came under her chin, and he gently tipped her face up, lifting her gaze to his. “I see you, Cecily, beyond what’s been done to you and what you’ve been forced to become. And I want every part of you, even if it hurts, because the only unsuitable thing about you is that you ever thought you were unsuitable at all.”

She was enough. Jack had never thought otherwise.

She wasn’t strong enough to contain the flood inside her, but Jack was. The moment her hand fell, his arms came around her, crushing her to him and holding her together in a way she’d never have managed on her own as she began to weep.

The multitude of small knives hidden in his vest pressed into her arms and hands as she held to him, burying her face in his shirt. He smelled like salt and warmth, and with him wrapped around her, she finally felt a distinct sense of rightness, like she could sink into him and belong there, safely guarded next to his heart.

And for all her self-righteous piety and judgment, she didn’t care that he was a pirate. He had proven himself to be so much more. When he’d learned of all she tried to protect, when he’d understood, he had never used any of it to wound her despite how she treated him.

He had forgiven her and would keep doing so because he saw in her a goodness worth pursuing. She might have seen it sooner if she’d only given him a chance. She was sorry for it, so terribly sorry.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, and she realized she’d been saying it aloud, over and over. “You’re alright.”

“I tried to kill you tonight.”

“I wanted you to try. I’ve found it’s more effective to win your attention with a sword in hand.” He leaned back to gently sweep his thumb over her cheek, catching a leftover tear. “I wasn’t worried you’d kill me.”

She stopped trembling, but the tears still came, releasing her from the merciless burden of having to fight for herself for so long. “Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t have killed you.” Jack smoothed her hair away from her face, seemingly finding every excuse to touch her as he murmured, “I’m rather sure of you, even if you aren’t sure of yourself. I’ve never met a fairer match—it lends to a certain way of knowing a person.”

He knew her, and she’d wasted so much time not wanting to know him in return. She wanted to, and she told him as much through renewed tears.

“We have time,” he whispered. “All you must know now is that I want you. Let me have your heart, and I will adore you so long as you are mine.” On a breath, he added, “Hell, I’ll adore you even if you’re not.”

She could have melted into starlight and puddled on the forest floor. She was so tired, and his promise sounded so perfect. And she trusted him because he’d only ever been consistent, reliable even at his worst.

She whispered, “You have all that’s left of it, Jack, so long as I may have yours.”

He held her to him as he searched her face, his fingers smoothing over her jaw. “You’ve had it for a while.” His lips moved into a grin—those lips she’d die to kiss again. “The sword. The dagger. The sparring… Surely you must know I did it for more than your smile.”

Her hands moved from his back to his chest, too nervous to go any higher, to touch him as she wanted. This was all so new and perfect that she worried she’d taint it if she somehow managed to scare him away.

But Jack didn’t scare easily. His heart beat wildly beneath her palm as he took her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers.

His kiss was light at first, gently assuring her that this was not some lust-driven, half-thought act. He didn’t want to scare her either, she realized, and she filled with light.

She smiled into him, felt him smile back. This was different than kissing Hein or how Jack had kissed her in the tavern. It was warmer, more welcoming, and she tentatively let herself explore, slipping one hand to his face, her thumb lightly caressing the scar on his cheek.

Her scar, officially, and no one else would touch it for as long as she had a say.

His lips were soft, and there was kindness in the way he held her. And he was generous—slow and achingly tender as she learned to move with him.

In this moment, she could imagine she’d never been awful at all. She was worthy of being wanted, and her soul was not so damned that life would not give her good things.

Hester had been right after all.

She took a breath that sounded more like a gasp, and Jack’s eyes opened for only a moment—piercing blue through the darkness.