not,” Tuck said firmly. He should’ve told Axel to shut the hell up sooner, but he’d been impressed with Amelia’s reaction to his surly engineer. The woman held her own. Maybe it was because she had two older brothers, but she was not easily intimidated. He liked that. He liked her.
Hell
. “Was there something else, Flygirl?”
“What?” Brows scrunched, she massaged her temple, then focused back on Tuck. “Oh, yes. If you would be so kind as to show me to Bess…Good Lord,” she complained, “the infernal clinking.”
“Clanking,” Axel growled. “I’m working on it.”
Amelia grabbed the wrench out of his hand and knocked it hard against the coils. The ominous sound stopped.
Tuck and Axel stared.
Amelia shrugged. “Sometimes it just takes a good whack.”
Axel grabbed back his tool. “Can’t be that easy.”
“Sometimes it is. I have a lot of experience with malfunctioning machinery. Papa’s inventions, though brilliant, were unfortunately plagued by flaws.”
Axel narrowed his eyes. “Prone to bad luck, was he?”
On that note, Tuck grasped the woman’s arm and steered her away. “A word in private.”
“That was my intention in the first place.”
On second thought, privacy would prove disastrous. Privacy would tempt indulgence. He burned to kiss this feisty girl senseless. Instead, he finessed her toward the companionway, out of earshot but within sight of StarMan. “I asked you to stay below.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but in addition to wanting to initiate repairs on Bess, I have someone to thank.” She flashed her walking cane. “Could you point me to Mr. Boone?”
He should’ve recognized Eli’s handiwork. “I’ll pass on your appreciation.”
“I’d rather do so in person.”
“Miss Darcy—”
“Mr. Gentry—”
“Ahoy! Incoming!”
What now?
Tuck wondered, just as a cannonball whizzed over the hull. “What the hell?”
“Pirates!” Birdman called from his post in the shrouds.
“All hands, battle stations!” Tuck hauled Amelia into his arms.
“What are you—”
“Hush.” He whisked her down the ladder, adrenaline pumping. Hurrying toward his cabin, he envisioned his illegal cargo hidden two decks below. Cargo that, once delivered, would advance him toward his means of returning home to America. To Lily. Unless some low-down sky pirates stole his booty. “Goddammit.”
“You can outrun pirates,” Amelia said, her voice now high-pitched and breathy. “You’ve done it before. I once read in the
Informer
—”
“Sails down. Blasterbeefs at quarter capacity. No running from this one.” He kicked open the door to his cabin and set her on her feet. “If you value your life, lock the door behind me and stay quiet as a church mouse.”
Her eyes were huge, alight with fear and, damn it all, excitement. “But maybe I can help,” she said. “I can shoot—”
He shushed her with a kiss. Not smart or timely, but dammit, her offer torched his blood. He nipped, sampled, and consumed. She tasted of nectarines and sunshine. More intoxicating than whiskey. Addictive as opium. Though passionate, the kiss was brief, leaving her breathless and him wanting more. “You can help by staying safe.”
They shared a look sparking with mutual lust. He heard an explosion, felt the ship rock. At this moment, he wasn’t sure what had suffered the hit—the
Maverick
or his heart. Unbalanced twice in one day, Tuck pushed away with a growl. “Lock the damned door,” he said, then swung into the hall.
Eli jogged up from behind, tossed him a.357 Annihilator. “Ready to tussle, Marshal?”
Hopped up on a nectarine kiss, Tuck broke into a run. “Let’s kick some scurvy ass.”
C HAPTER 8
Amelia stood, stunned and reeling from Tucker Gentry’s kiss. Not so intimate nor intrusive as Phin’s fervid assault, but twice—no, aeons more powerful. She wanted more. She wanted Tucker.
The ship shook with an explosion, shattering her sensual daze and prodding
Hell
. “Was there something else, Flygirl?”
“What?” Brows scrunched, she massaged her temple, then focused back on Tuck. “Oh, yes. If you would be so kind as to show me to Bess…Good Lord,” she complained, “the infernal clinking.”
“Clanking,” Axel growled. “I’m working on it.”
Amelia grabbed the wrench out of his hand and knocked it hard against the coils. The ominous sound stopped.
Tuck and Axel stared.
Amelia shrugged. “Sometimes it just takes a good whack.”
Axel grabbed back his tool. “Can’t be that easy.”
“Sometimes it is. I have a lot of experience with malfunctioning machinery. Papa’s inventions, though brilliant, were unfortunately plagued by flaws.”
Axel narrowed his eyes. “Prone to bad luck, was he?”
On that note, Tuck grasped the woman’s arm and steered her away. “A word in private.”
“That was my intention in the first place.”
On second thought, privacy would prove disastrous. Privacy would tempt indulgence. He burned to kiss this feisty girl senseless. Instead, he finessed her toward the companionway, out of earshot but within sight of StarMan. “I asked you to stay below.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but in addition to wanting to initiate repairs on Bess, I have someone to thank.” She flashed her walking cane. “Could you point me to Mr. Boone?”
He should’ve recognized Eli’s handiwork. “I’ll pass on your appreciation.”
“I’d rather do so in person.”
“Miss Darcy—”
“Mr. Gentry—”
“Ahoy! Incoming!”
What now?
Tuck wondered, just as a cannonball whizzed over the hull. “What the hell?”
“Pirates!” Birdman called from his post in the shrouds.
“All hands, battle stations!” Tuck hauled Amelia into his arms.
“What are you—”
“Hush.” He whisked her down the ladder, adrenaline pumping. Hurrying toward his cabin, he envisioned his illegal cargo hidden two decks below. Cargo that, once delivered, would advance him toward his means of returning home to America. To Lily. Unless some low-down sky pirates stole his booty. “Goddammit.”
“You can outrun pirates,” Amelia said, her voice now high-pitched and breathy. “You’ve done it before. I once read in the
Informer
—”
“Sails down. Blasterbeefs at quarter capacity. No running from this one.” He kicked open the door to his cabin and set her on her feet. “If you value your life, lock the door behind me and stay quiet as a church mouse.”
Her eyes were huge, alight with fear and, damn it all, excitement. “But maybe I can help,” she said. “I can shoot—”
He shushed her with a kiss. Not smart or timely, but dammit, her offer torched his blood. He nipped, sampled, and consumed. She tasted of nectarines and sunshine. More intoxicating than whiskey. Addictive as opium. Though passionate, the kiss was brief, leaving her breathless and him wanting more. “You can help by staying safe.”
They shared a look sparking with mutual lust. He heard an explosion, felt the ship rock. At this moment, he wasn’t sure what had suffered the hit—the
Maverick
or his heart. Unbalanced twice in one day, Tuck pushed away with a growl. “Lock the damned door,” he said, then swung into the hall.
Eli jogged up from behind, tossed him a.357 Annihilator. “Ready to tussle, Marshal?”
Hopped up on a nectarine kiss, Tuck broke into a run. “Let’s kick some scurvy ass.”
C HAPTER 8
Amelia stood, stunned and reeling from Tucker Gentry’s kiss. Not so intimate nor intrusive as Phin’s fervid assault, but twice—no, aeons more powerful. She wanted more. She wanted Tucker.
The ship shook with an explosion, shattering her sensual daze and prodding
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