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There was something about a man in uniform. Especially one who wore it so well.
Beside her, Barnacle, the ship’s cat, lay curled up. She opened one green eye at Perry, then closed it with a huff. The little grey cat was always on Vice’s side.
“Sorry, little goblin-cat,”
Bloody Navy lot—they’d line up pebbles on a beach if they could.
He was relieved, thinking she was done with him. Poor boy. But he’d brought this on himself.
She smiled and turned her mouth to his ear. “If you call me ‘Miss Vice’ ever again, I’ll cut out your tongue with your own dagger. Got it?”
Who knew that the route to Vice’s black heart would be through tragic tales of romance?
She smelled of rain on earth and sweet vanilla pods.
his scent touched her nostrils—soap, worn leather, and cinnamon.
“I thought the Pirate Queen would appreciate a man kneeling for her.”
It wasn’t an explicit admission of how much she cared, but her touch on each part of him and her praise felt like playful worship.
