Spies and parties, night blooms and shirts, soft hands and cold eyes, all the confusion of woman on board a ship, Jax was sure. He would go to the party but he would press the First Mate as hard as he could to come along too. Why should he suffer and not her? She thinks she is the only one with pain?

He stood at as much attention as the sea artist could while the Captain explained, or did he explain? Yes, he did. He did. Then he turned to her and faced her directly. “I will ask you direct.” He lifted his chin. “If you have any of the warmth your fingers betray even if your eyes do not, please do not send me to that gathering alone. All the pretence, all the jokes, all the mystery is my cover too. You are not the only one who bears scars. I am not of their class and feel it each time I move into their circles. I am worse than a throne beside the fragrant blooms. I can laugh and pretend as well as you.”

He smiled then and lowered his eyes a little, “Well, maybe that is untrue.” He looked back up. “I have learned. But the point is I do not ask you to be any kind of date or escort, just go and help me glide in and out. Help me not be the fool. There is a reason I sail, just as there is for you. I escape. Help me. Then be done with me. Could you please?”

He swallowed hard and stood facing her forcing her, if he could to look at him. Look at his eyes his body seemed to say. Just look and see. He could almost feel the slap of her rejection. He stood ready for it. She didn’t have to hit his face to tug at his shirt. She could just lift her chin and say no. Easy as that. And Jax silently cursed himself for being exactly where he was; too open, too ready, too vulnerable. Yet sometimes the quick pain was best. Jax stood ready for that.