“Why are men so obtuse?” she asked rhetorically. “Because I didn’t want you to know!”
Had Jaxon been paying more attention to her words, he would have lost his temper, but all he could think of was how his body reacted to her. He pulled at his collar. Damnation, it was hot in there. It had been ages since a woman had brought his senses to life like that. He tried to convince himself, it was just the provocative way she was dressed or more accurately, undressed with only the blue sheet wrapped around herself, but that was just part of it. He liked the way she didn’t back down. It had been a long time since anyone other than his family stood up to him. But mostly, it was the way she looked at him as if she didn’t see his scars that drew his notice. Was it possible?
He couldn’t talk to her draped in a sheet. With the images his mind conjured up, she might as well be standing there stark naked. Jaxon crossed the room, his limp barely noticeable, and pulled a change of his clothing out of his locker and tossed them on the bunk.
When she turned to pick them up, he saw the remnants of bruises across her shoulders. He felt sick.
“Did my men do that to you?” His voice rose angrily. He grabbed her by the arms and turned her back toward the porthole for more light.
She jerked away, instantly ready for a fight, her upper arms tightly against her body, the only thing holding up the sheet, her hands in fists.
He held his arms up, his hands open. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I was just trying to get a better look at what they did to you.”
“Your men didn’t do that. Someone else did.” Charlie slowly released her fists and turned back to the clothing.
Jaxon ran his hands through his hair, only slightly relieved his men had not been the cause of her injury. He would like to get a hold of the man who hurt her. “My men,” he asked, tentatively, as he continued to stare at her back, “didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“I’ll probably have a few bruises from being held as they stole my clothing.” But she wasn’t going to admit to the worst part, how much they had scared her.
“Do you expect me to change in front of you?” she asked.
Rather than leave, Jaxon turned his back to her.
Frowning, she did her best to dress without removing the sheet until she had his breeches on under the large panel of blue fabric and his shirt on over it. Only then did she drop the sheet. She tucked in her shirttail and shoved the long breeches into the top of her boots.
“I look ridiculous.”
He turned to face her. Ridiculous was not the word he would have used to describe Charlie. Delectable, maybe. The clothes swallowed her up. With one hand, she held up the breeches and the other she waved through the air trying to get the cuff around her wrist. There was something very alluring about seeing her dressed in his clothing. It was almost as if by being dressed in his clothing he was laying his claim to her. He wondered if his crew would make certain assumptions when they observed the intimacy of sharing his wardrobe.
Jaxon could see what she was attempting to do one-handed. He stilled her arm and began neatly rolling up the sleeve. When he finished with the first arm, she switched that hand to hold up her breeches and held out the other one as well.
He glanced around the cabin for something to use as a belt, but not finding anything, he removed his own belt. Quickly, he wrapped it around her, measuring her waist, and then took it to the desk where he used his penknife to cut another notch.
It never occurred to him to hand the belt to her to put on. He just began sliding it through the loops. She flinched when he touched her belly.
“I’m a little ticklish,” she said, never knowing herself to be ticklish before. She covered his hand with hers, staying them. “I can do that myself.”
“Of course, you can,” he said pulling away, slightly embarrassed that he’d took such liberties.
“Captain Bloodworthy.” She paused passing the belt through the loop. It was the first time she had said his name. She never knew someone’s name could sound intimidating. To her, his name seemed more formidable than his scarred, scowling face he implied scared men. But to call him Jaxon would be far too familiar without his permission. “Does everyone already know I’m not a man?”
“I believe I was the last to know.”
She tried to school her reaction. It was automatic. She had spent so many years trying to be tough that showing her emotions was not a natural thing. But deep down what she felt most was uncertainty tinged with fear.
But she also felt an incredible sense of relief. She would not miss the constant lying. And that steadfast fear of being found out, she wasn’t going to miss that either.