candlelit room. Flecks of silver, like stardust, rimmed the irises. She’d never seen eyes like his before, but beyond their color was their shape and the length of his lashes. Lashes a woman would envy, long and curled at the tips and a shade of black that she could only achieve with mascara.
The second was the set of his broad lips. They weren’t full, or too thin, but just right as Goldilocks might have said.
And the third was that he had a sword pointed at her neck and was pushing in hard enough that she knew blood would spill if she even breathed too hard.
Heart hammering a wild and painful tattoo in her chest, Trisha could hardly think, let alone speak. What had just happened?
Where was she?
Who was he?
And oh my God, he had a hook. A silver, wickedly curved honest-to-goodness hook.
She blinked.
“James, blast and damnation, man,” devil-bug growled, and then shot a spray of pulsing pink energy from the tip of her itty-bitty wand directly over her head—the power that flowed off it rippled like a shimmering heat wave on asphalt.
For the love of all that was holy, this couldn’t be really happening. She must have slipped and fallen, bumped her head. Inhaled too many fumes in the fire. But then again, believing there’d been a fire would also necessitate the belief that there’d been a devil-bug flitting with her tiny devilish wings in front of her and yeah… She licked her lips, pulse throbbing when James/Hook (she bit her tongue to stop the crazy giggle from spilling out) stared down at her with the type of intensity she’d only ever imagined in the millions of bodice rippers she kept stashed around her house.
If it weren’t for the fact that she was currently being held at sword point, she’d be tempted to use her best Southern Belle voice and whisper “I do believe I’m about to swoon.”
“Danika, who is she?” he snapped, his breathing hard but even, eyes never wavering from her face.
Beads of sweat gathered behind her collar and rolled down her back, making her aware all over again of the itchy material on her legs.
“She dresses like him ,” he spat, upper lip curling into a most delicious snarl.
Good grief, she was even starting to think like a heroine from those books. Most delicious? Hell, she was losing her mind.
She bug flitted in front of Trisha, holding out her small arms in front of her face. As if that was going to stop him, all he’d have to do was flick her away like the pesky gnat she reminded Trisha of.
“Will you listen?” The little fairy sighed. And Trisha had to admit, even if only to herself, she could be nothing other than a fairy. Which meant by these rules, she was really in Neverland, in Captain Hook’s cabin, probably aboard his ship…smack dab in the middle of an existential nightmare.
She laughed, ignoring his glacial stare.
“Then tell me quickly, for I tire of this game, Danika.” He grabbed his forehead and rubbed and in that moment, Trisha felt pity for him.
That or the fish she’d eaten at lunch wasn’t sitting right. She wasn’t sure which.
Whatever it was, he looked different than the towering and imposing male who’d all but mauled her one second and tried to decapitate her the next. He now seemed deflated. Sitting down, he hunched over his desk with the sword lying on his lap.
Only now did Trisha notice the half-drunk glass of amber liquid on the desk. He picked it up and took it to his lips.
Danika flitted to his ear. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she leaned in and began whispering, giving Trisha time to think and study.
Her brain was still blank. Numb. Because this was almost too ridiculous to take in. To believe that the man in that chair, dressed in a tan shirt that opened at the collar with laces dangling down and black pants that clung like a second skin to the thickness of his thighs was the villain Captain James Hook. Where
The second was the set of his broad lips. They weren’t full, or too thin, but just right as Goldilocks might have said.
And the third was that he had a sword pointed at her neck and was pushing in hard enough that she knew blood would spill if she even breathed too hard.
Heart hammering a wild and painful tattoo in her chest, Trisha could hardly think, let alone speak. What had just happened?
Where was she?
Who was he?
And oh my God, he had a hook. A silver, wickedly curved honest-to-goodness hook.
She blinked.
“James, blast and damnation, man,” devil-bug growled, and then shot a spray of pulsing pink energy from the tip of her itty-bitty wand directly over her head—the power that flowed off it rippled like a shimmering heat wave on asphalt.
For the love of all that was holy, this couldn’t be really happening. She must have slipped and fallen, bumped her head. Inhaled too many fumes in the fire. But then again, believing there’d been a fire would also necessitate the belief that there’d been a devil-bug flitting with her tiny devilish wings in front of her and yeah… She licked her lips, pulse throbbing when James/Hook (she bit her tongue to stop the crazy giggle from spilling out) stared down at her with the type of intensity she’d only ever imagined in the millions of bodice rippers she kept stashed around her house.
If it weren’t for the fact that she was currently being held at sword point, she’d be tempted to use her best Southern Belle voice and whisper “I do believe I’m about to swoon.”
“Danika, who is she?” he snapped, his breathing hard but even, eyes never wavering from her face.
Beads of sweat gathered behind her collar and rolled down her back, making her aware all over again of the itchy material on her legs.
“She dresses like him ,” he spat, upper lip curling into a most delicious snarl.
Good grief, she was even starting to think like a heroine from those books. Most delicious? Hell, she was losing her mind.
She bug flitted in front of Trisha, holding out her small arms in front of her face. As if that was going to stop him, all he’d have to do was flick her away like the pesky gnat she reminded Trisha of.
“Will you listen?” The little fairy sighed. And Trisha had to admit, even if only to herself, she could be nothing other than a fairy. Which meant by these rules, she was really in Neverland, in Captain Hook’s cabin, probably aboard his ship…smack dab in the middle of an existential nightmare.
She laughed, ignoring his glacial stare.
“Then tell me quickly, for I tire of this game, Danika.” He grabbed his forehead and rubbed and in that moment, Trisha felt pity for him.
That or the fish she’d eaten at lunch wasn’t sitting right. She wasn’t sure which.
Whatever it was, he looked different than the towering and imposing male who’d all but mauled her one second and tried to decapitate her the next. He now seemed deflated. Sitting down, he hunched over his desk with the sword lying on his lap.
Only now did Trisha notice the half-drunk glass of amber liquid on the desk. He picked it up and took it to his lips.
Danika flitted to his ear. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she leaned in and began whispering, giving Trisha time to think and study.
Her brain was still blank. Numb. Because this was almost too ridiculous to take in. To believe that the man in that chair, dressed in a tan shirt that opened at the collar with laces dangling down and black pants that clung like a second skin to the thickness of his thighs was the villain Captain James Hook. Where
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