She could at least try.

Her fingers around the edge of the shutter quivered. She drew out her father’s old watch, the gold chain long since traded for some necessary ship supply. Ten o’clock. He must have come to the inn by now. But she’d no idea which room he’d taken.

Her pulse raced. She couldn’t simply go to his room and seduce him. Could she?

She could. If she knew which room. But she couldn’t very well ask the innkeeper.

She went to her bed and curled up on the mattress, her whole exhausted body jittering with nerves. A solution would come to her. She closed her eyes to think. Instead, she pictured his mouth, then for good measure his hands and jaw and eyes. Then she thought of how he had looked at her and touched her like he couldn’t get enough of her. And how she never wanted him to release her. Never wanted it to end. Never…

She awoke with a start to voices in the corridor. The lamp still flickered on her bedside table, but the candle on the mantel had burned to a stub. She shook herself awake and listened.

Her insides melted, then tensed. It was he. And Mr. Hat?

She stole off the bed on silent feet and pressed her ear to the door. A giggle welled up and she stifled it. For pity’s sake, they had attacked each other on a canvas-draped stairway the night before; she needn’t really skulk around at this point.

But tonight was different. Tonight if she went to him and he accepted her, neither of them could claim it was a lustful inspiration of the moment.

No female voices met her strained hearing, only the two men. But she must be certain of what she would be walking into, and she could not delay; it sounded as though they were bidding each other good night. She flicked open the bolt on her door and with trembling fingers turned the knob and peeked into the corridor.

From ten feet away his gaze came directly to her. Then he returned his attention to Mr. Hat.

“Good night, then, Seton. Pleasure making your acquaintance.”

“I wish you and your family a safe journey, sir.” He turned and walked down the corridor to the door at the end, drew out a key, and went within. Mr. Hat disappeared up the stair. Viola closed her door, returned to her bed, and sat on the edge of it. Her hands shook. Her entire body shook.

It was nothing like the night before. She couldn’t do it.

But if she did it, and she won the wager…

Her lips even quivered now, and her lungs seemed to be doing odd, unsteady things. She lowered her toes to the floor, the soles of her feet, her heels. She unbent her knees and went to the door.

Down the corridor lit only by a single sconce in the stair below, his chamber seemed miles away. But she was Violet la Vile. She’d been the one to give herself that name, of course, but it stuck because she’d taken several fat prizes right away. And before that she’d helped her father take any number of enemy ships as well. She had sunk the infamous Cavalier, for pity’s sake! She could conquer its master.

She strode to his door. The knob turned in her hand. Without knocking, she went in.

He sat in a chair by a small table, his sharp gaze fixed on her, his injured hand holding a book, his other wrapped about the hilt of a dagger in the process of drawing it from his boot.

“Don’t throw it!” she gasped. “Though I suppose you might wish to.”

Slowly he withdrew the weapon and laid it on the table. “Not at the present. Although there have been moments.” He set down the book and rose to his feet. He had removed his coat and waistcoat, and a pair of suspenders hung from his trousers. He wore no neck cloth now, the button on his shirt unfastened. Golden candlelight revealed every perfect sinew of beautiful man. She found it difficult to breathe.

“Why did you leave your door unlocked?”

“I did not realize that I had.”

“You didn’t?”

“I am tired. And distracted by thoughts of the evening I have spent. The day.” He seemed perfectly sincere. As always. Except that morning when he’d sounded strange, panicked almost, entirely unlike himself.

“It wasn’t because you thought I would come?”

A glint of wariness entered his eyes. “Why are you awake? You look as though you have been sleeping.”

“I do?”

He gestured. “Your hair.”

She patted a hand to her head. Curls jutted out at an angle and she could feel a bald spot, dried like that during her doze, no doubt. Oh, God. She had no idea how to lure a man in this manner. She’d never had a mother to teach her, or anyone.

But she had her instincts, and from living with sailors for years, she did know what men liked most about women. Her hand slipped to her throat and she untied the bow, then drew the ribbon through the holes and parted the linen.

“Then don’t look at my hair.” Her voice quavered. She shrugged her shoulders out of the fabric and allowed the sleeves to sag at her elbows. She stood bare-breasted before him, her heartbeats fast. But now she was no longer shaking. Instead, she was certain.

He didn’t move. Nor did he so much as glance at her breasts. But in his ice eyes, illumined with firelight, heat flickered.

“Viola.” His voice was low. “No.”

She gulped. “No?”

“You will not achieve what you wish with this.”

He understood that she still hoped to win the wager, and he was refusing. But the desire in his eyes like blue flames did not dim, and the taut line of his jaw and the tensed muscles in his neck and forearms suggested he was not averse to temptation.

She took in a breath of courage. Another. Then, lifting her hand, she trailed a single fingertip down the gully between her breasts. Aidan had once asked her to touch herself. She had not been able to do it, too ashamed of the request and her inability to please him simply by being naked before him. But now, beneath Jin’s gaze, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to slide her fingers around the curve of her skin and circle the nipple. She must please him. She wanted to please him. And it felt surprisingly good, slightly wicked yet honest.

He came to her.

Standing close, he drew her hand away and said in a beautifully husky voice, “Allow me.”

Then Viola began trembling again, but softly, a waiting anticipation of pure, delirious desire. Barely touching her, he drew one sleeve from her wrist, then the other. The heat of his body caressed her skin but her nipples were firm, as though she were quite cold. His attention moved to the cord at her waist. With careful movements he untied the bow and loosened the gathered fabric. He bent his head and seemed to inhale deeply, his chest rising, then slowly falling. Her eyelids fluttered. She wanted him to touch her so much. Her nipples inches from his shirtfront felt tight and tingling.

Finally, gently, he urged the shift over her hips. It crumpled on the floor. She wore nothing else; she’d been ready for bed.

She reached for his waist to tug his shirt free and he pulled it over his head. Viola got dizzy. Quite dizzy and quite weak in the knees again. She’d barely seen him the night before in the darkness. Now the golden light on his skin and glimmering across his wide shoulders washed her with need. She reached for the bulge of his arousal beneath his trousers. He grasped her hand.

“No.”

“No, again?”

“Not yet.” He spoke quietly. “Slow down.”

But she wanted to touch him. She ached for it. “What happened to ‘on my terms’?”

“That was last night. Tonight you have come to me. You have put yourself in my hands voluntarily. Tonight is on my terms.” He stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek, then the spot beneath her mouth where she was marked. “Do you know how beautiful you are? With all your clothing on.” His voice seemed to smile. Then it dipped low again. “You needn’t remove it to entice.”

“Men look at me with lust in their eyes.” And they believed themselves in love, because they did not know any better than to confuse one with the other. She was counting on that now. She tilted her face into his touch, her eyes drifting closed. “But men are in general lustful creatures.”

“Indeed they are.” His fingers trailed along her throat, down her neck, sending shivering tangles inside her.

She whispered, “The way you look at me is different.”

“Is it?” His knuckles skimmed the curve of her breast.

“Ye-es.”

He bent his head and with his fingertips stroked her breast slowly from the swell and around the peak, then his palm encircled her. But still he did not touch the hungry crest. “How do I look at you?”

“I don’t know.” Her breaths stuttered. “I don’t-” She arched into his touch. “Oh, Jin, I-” He passed the pad of his thumb across the peak, only once. “Ohh.” Her whole body shuddered. She grabbed his arms to stay upright. “Do that again.”

“If I do,” he said, soft amusement in his voice, “do you think you can remain standing?”

“If you do,” she replied, “I will try.”

He did so again, and again, the rasp of male callus against female tenderness sublime perfection, so simple, sending pleasure through her whole body. With such a slight caress he made her into liquid longing for him.

“I don’t know that I can continue standing after all,” she said on a rush.

He lifted her like a child and took her to the bed. No teasing, no laughter, no shame that she could not manage the journey of five feet’s distance by herself. Nothing to prove. He removed his boots and as he did so his gaze traveled over her body, his breaths obviously fast. She reached for him, and he for her, and their mouths came together.

It was as before, the closeness and completeness, like their first kiss, beautifully familiar in its newness. His hands scooped around her head, holding her to him, and she gripped his shoulders and opened and allowed him entrance. He did not tease her, but gave, the pleasure of his tongue meeting hers, his teeth coaxing on her lips. His fingers curved around her jaw, touching her face, exploring as though he would feel their kiss in this manner too. The heat of his palm slipped to her throat, then her shoulder, and he followed with his mouth. She clutched his arms and with each caress she trembled and wanted more urgently for him to press her back onto the mattress and come inside her. She inched her knees apart, hoping she would not be required to tell him she could not wait, to beg. Then his tongue stole around her nipple, and quite swiftly begging seemed like a perfectly reasonable option.