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every corner of the room.
    Jane could also feel the unamused glare Cecily shot her and heard the slide of skin and the rustle of fabric as she crossed her arms over her chest.
    "The sooner you do accept your fate, the sooner we can move on," Jane continued, when Cecily didn't answer. "For in case you were unable to conclude, resisting would be unpleasant."
    Cecily let out a breathy laugh. "I'm not the one resistin', love. Ya are."
    Jane wasn't quite sure they were talking about the same thing anymore.
    It had been a couple of days since the raid on the galleon, since Cecily had come aboard the ship and started making a nuisance of herself. The first day hadn't been too troublesome. But that had more to do with Jane avoiding her quarters and less to do with Cecily herself. That was, until night fell, and Jane turned in for the night. She had walked into her quarters to find a very underdressed—although still covered, however poorly—Cecily sprawled tantalizingly on her bed. Jane could feel the flush staining her cheeks that had nothing to do with the anger she outwardly displayed. In fact, her mouth had gone dry and her heart had sped up, but there was no way in hell she would ever admit it. Cecily was beautiful, Jane could at least admit to herself, but she couldn't afford to get attached, couldn't afford to let down her guard, especially for some good-for-nothing whore.
    And to make matters worse, Cecily had refused to move, even when Jane threatened to throw her overboard. She had just called her bluff and snuggled deeper into the bed sheets, stretching her body like a cat and effectively wiping all thought from Jane's mind. Jane repaid the favor by pulling out her pistol and aiming at Cecily's head until, with a pout, she dragged herself and the topmost sheet from the bed and flopped down on the floor in the corner of the room.
    Jane got very little sleep that night, going over and over in her head all the different responses her body and instincts had to this woman, and trying to decide what on earth it all meant. But as morning arose, chasing the three hours of sleep she had managed to get away, Jane still didn't have a clue. It was frustrating her to no end, and it took all her effort to not display and take out her frustration on her crew.
    Although Cecily hadn't attempted that performance again, it didn't mean she let up. The flirting, even days later, was at an all-time high and the innuendoes never seemed to cease. Jane wasn't sure what Cecily was playing at, why she continued to pester Jane, even when she had both displayed and stated her disinterest. Whores usually moved on to the next available clientele once the disinterest had been duly noted. But then again, as she had very early on realized, Cecily was not an average whore.
    In fact, the longer Jane spent around her, the more she came to realize that despite her skill at invitation and displaying herself, she was an awful whore—well, on the aspects Jane was able to judge her by, that was. She was persistent to the point of annoying, mouthy, and, as Jane found out one night, picky.
    "It's about control, isn't it?" Cecily had asked on the third night, having blurted out the confession after Worth had left the quarters with Jane's orders ringing in his ears.
    Jane looked over at Cecily lounging on her bed once more—fully clothed this time—to find her staring back at her with knowing eyes. "What?"
    "Tha's wha' ya desire, wha' ya need in life," Cecily explained, looking up at the wooden paneling above her, as though she was a child gazing up at the stars. "Ya need control and the respect and loyalty of your crew is how ya gain it. It's wha' ya have ta retain every day."
    "That does not concern you," Jane stated, her tone warning. She didn't mind talking to Cecily: the probing questions, the inane chatter, and the snarky comments. In fact, she secretly enjoyed it, but this time she did not like where this conversation was going. It was tip-toeing the line