In the end, he and Jez always came back together. They did better together than apart. He loved her. He was pretty sure about that. But she kept more secrets than any boatload of pirates he’d ever sailed with. She guarded the fortress inside her with a fierceness that held him at a distance. He’d never been able to break through. And she wouldn’t talk about where she’d come from. Emily Pawes would chatter about her world, laugh about the things she missed and the things she didn’t. She’d described some Italian concoction with such detail, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of the crew set up shop in Tortuga and gave a shot at fashioning it. Pissa. He didn’t think the name sounded terribly appetizing, but her description left him without a doubt. It must taste good. Tink alluded to her world, spoke of shadows and golden opportunities for a talented thief, not to mention all the successful tricks she’d pulled, and Janey chattered about odd details, not all gloriously. Never a word from Jezebel about her world. What she longed for or had gladly left behind. She constantly kept him wondering and on his toes. There she stood, a sight to stir a man’s soul, steering the ship around the spit of land where they lingered, waiting for the French merchant to come by. The wind stirred her hair, lifting an odd bit of loose curl from where she’d tucked it behind her ear after it escaped from the braid. A surge of pure lust hit him. Not an unusual event when gazing at her. Her eyes met his and she called out to Tink, “Take the wheel. I’ll be in my cabin. We probably have an hour before the attack.” He ignored Tink’s crude laughter as he followed Jezzie, his captain, his woman, his enigma to her quarters.