He gestured to the empty spot beside him. She shook her head. No sense pretending to be one of them. Better to keep her feet planted on the side of reality.
She turned to Caleb. “I better not. I have a lot of work to do.” She met his eyes. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
Her gratitude was sincere, and part of her wished she could stay and play pirate, but being near Greyson was too tempting.
She patted the pocket of her jeans, feeling the last two webcams. There was work to do anyway, and if they were all busy on the top deck, it would be easier to get the tiny webcams placed and check in with Kingsley and be sure the feeds were working. She was here to work, not to dance.
She left them to their fun and jogged back down the stairs to the lower deck.
The long hallways boasted doors on either side. She opened doors as she made her way down the hall. There were cabins for the crew, an office with ledgers—probably John’s—and finally, she found the map room.
There was a large mahogany conference table in the center with a computer at one end and a map laid out on the other. This must be Caleb’s domain.
The navigator had their route to Scotland plotted with colored pins. She wandered deeper inside, searching for a place for the tiny webcam.
At the top of the bookshelves, she located a space between two large tomes. It would work. She pushed the switch to make the feed go live and slid the camera into place. Good enough.
She checked a few more doors that appeared to be more small cabin rooms like hers. The purpose of the cameras wasn’t to spy on individuals—it was more to be certain of the crew’s movements.
It would be impossible for her to tell if the boat was on course for Savannah after they had the Tyrfing on board, but Kingsley could watch them remotely with the cams and let her know if they were being double-crossed.
The more time she spent with them, the more certain she was that the webcams were unnecessary, but Agent Bale had been insistent, so she would do her job.
She opened another door and found a storeroom filled with supplies for the Sea Dog’s usual purpose—school tours. There were preprinted sheets filled with the history of pirates in Savannah and another one naming all the parts of the Spanish galleon. She snooped a little further and plucked out a reference page on the weapons room.
There were photos of the cannon line, and the armory was lined with muskets and a few cutlass swords.
“The kids like my sheet the best.”
She spun around to find Greyson leaning against the doorframe. How long had he been there? The last webcam was suddenly burning a hole in her pocket. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? I thought you had the night shift on deck?”
“I got four hours in. I’m fine.”
She shrugged and forced a smile as she held up the sheet of paper. “This is an impressive list of weapons here.”
“I’d be willing to give you a tour of the armory.”
She should say no. She still needed to place the final webcam, but she was curious. And it would be good to decide where the safest spot in the armory might be to store the case for the Tyrfing after they found the sword. “I’d love a tour.”
His smile had her heart racing. Boundaries were going to be tough with him around, but she relaxed a little. He didn’t seem to suspect she was planting cameras on the ship.
She followed him out, allowing herself to admire the way his jeans conformed to his muscular ass. Nothing wrong with temptation—as long as she didn’t cross that line again.
He led her down another set of stairs and gestured to the long rows of iron giants. Standing next to the cannon line was like stepping back in history.
Her jaw dropped as she quickly counted them. “You have sixty-four real cannons.”
He nodded, slowly getting out of her way so she could touch them. She dragged her fingertips along the cold iron, imagining the roar as the cannonballs fired, followed by the rumble of the iron giants rolling backward with the recoil.
She lifted her gaze. “Do you still fire them? Where do you repack?”
His eyes shone in the dim light. “Follow me.”
He tapped the end of each cannon as they passed by until they reached the ammunitions door at the stern.
He flipped the latch and stepped aside to allow her to enter.
Cannonballs filled the racks like small bowling balls, packing wands hung from the wall with a box of fabric squares beneath, and bags of gunpowder sat in the corner.
She turned around, her pulse already racing. “Can we fire one?”
His mouth twitched, curving into a sexy, lopsided smile. “Only one?”
She grinned and wished she hadn’t noticed the passion flickering in his bright-hazel eyes. Heat smoldered low in her belly like it had the night before, and the yearning to lose herself in his arms swelled. She blinked, her fingertips brushing over the bulge in her pocket. The mini webcam was her tether to reality.
“Is it safe to fire them?”
He chuckled. “If we can’t see our target, then it’s out of range for the cannons. We’d have to be within two hundred yards of another ship to hit it.” He took a gold coin from his pocket, maneuvering it between his fingers in a smooth rhythm. Like a magician, only it didn’t disappear into thin air. Back and forth across his nimble fingers. She imagined those nimble fingers on her body, sliding down her skin, between her thighs…
She sucked in a breath, louder than she intended. “I’d love to fire them if it won’t slow us down or interrupt Keegan’s concert.”
“The concert’s over.” His gaze lowered to her lips and back up, as if he could see the traitorous thoughts running through her head. “Let me clear it with Colton.”
He slipped past her in the narrow doorway, so close his body heat seared her skin right through her shirt, her nipples tightening, aching. His scent filled her lungs, clean and masculine, with a touch of sea air and gunpowder.
Just outside the door, he stopped, his fingers almost brushing hers. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. A breathy whisper would betray her.
He wove the coin across his fingers one more time before stuffing it back into his pocket. Half of her ached for him to close the small distance between them, and the other, rational half, begged her to run.
Finally, he walked away, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She settled against the doorframe with wobbly knees as she stared up at the ceiling, struggling to get a grip on the tidal wave of desire washing through her bloodstream.
This was a mission, not a date. Americans would be in danger if the Tyrfing fell into enemy hands. Her job in Washington, D.C., was her life. Greyson and his pirate crew were a fantasy, an undercover backstory, nothing more.