Thomas watched Antonia appear like a ghost out of the darkness of the Parakeet. The exotic woman, ravishing in her layered azure skirts and plunging neckline, was a sight to behold, and the captain marveled at how such a creature could disappear so completely when she so desired. He smirked at the thought of just how close he had come to waking up with a crimson smile being drawn upon the flesh of his neck that fateful night seemingly a lifetime ago. [i]Thankfully I’m just that damnably charming, even when piss-drunk.[/i]

As Antonia came to his table, Thomas made no effort to hide the path of his eyes. A gentleman he was not, and he made no bones about his admiration for the female form. In response to the creole woman’s teasing, his eyes narrowed with a smile.

“I’ll take my drink how I wish, my dear rogue.” His eyes at last moved up to Antonia’s face, and he was surprised at how salacious the woman’s gaze was, even when compared to the divine curve of her bodice. In spite of his words, he took a drink of the spicy, sweet liquor she offered before pulling away a hunk of bread and cheese. With his mouth filled, Thomas said nothing as she bent around his shoulders, and her piquant words danced across his ears. 

She spoke of Jax, and his eyebrow raised a fraction. He swallowed his food. “Our helmsman is a man of the times, and no mistake. I shan’t fault him for such worries though, for the female can be a most dangerous creature. In my estimation he is worth his own weight in gold behind the tiller.”

Thomas wondered if Jax had felt just how close to a knife being thrust between the space of his ribs he had come this very night, had of course the man been found guilty in the eyes of Antonia. Judging by Thomas’ own first meeting with Antonia, he guessed that Jax had not, and he probably never would. Thomas certainly had not foreseen the spider. Luckily for him his only lingering evidence of her bite had been the red brand of rouge upon his cheek, and a lighter purse.

Her words turned to talk of a more serious matter, and though his face was a mask of drunken detachment, his ears hung upon every word. A Spanish galleon was rumored to be lost from its treasure fleet during its voyage from Veracruz to Havana. Her cargo had been of inestimable value, and now alone, she presented an opportunity too precious to pass up. Thomas did not dwell upon the fate of the captain whom Antonia had pried this information, for truly he cared not at all. The calling of Spanish gold was all he heard, and in that moment he decided that they must sail again. The turnaround time from the last voyage was unheard of, and it would take effort to outfit the [i]Skate[/i] for another long excursion in such a short period of time. Still, Thomas would be damned before he would pass up an opportunity to deprive the Don of such a haul of bullion. 

His mind was brought from the warmth of gold to thoughts of a very different kind of warmth as Antonia’s hands pressed the parchment beneath the band of his belt. Thomas closed his eyes and swallowed several gulps of grog to repress the desirous gurgle in his throat. He had never tasted the delicacy that Antonia most certainly was, and his will to maintain the elaborate game of tension between them was becoming perilously thin. 

She spoke of gleek, she spoke of his recklessness, and she spoke of a bare back. He relished her silky speech, and he pressed his cheek against her lips as she kissed him. Thomas smiled up into her deep, kohl rimmed eyes. He said nothing at first, deciding to down the remaining mouthfuls of the [i]bumbo[/i]. Still silent, he stood, his eyes ever affixed upon hers. With an air of sensuality that matched her own, Thomas leaned down until his lips were a mere finger’s breadth away from hers. His right hand snaked down beneath her skirts, tracing up the smooth skin of her calf until he encountered the knife he knew she kept there.

With a quick movement that he hoped would impress the deft thief, he brought the knife up to the straining laces of her bodice, and with a twinkle in his copper eyes, he cut the lowermost cord. As the garment loosened mightily, Thomas planted the blade of the knife into the wooden table, and gave Antonia a wink.

“All risk, indeed,” he whispered into her ear before he spun on his heels, and began to make his way out of the Parakeet. As he made it to the door, he tossed the servant-boy a gold piece, and called back to Antonia. “I look forward to our next meeting, my dear.”

[center]* * *[/center]

Thomas, still drunk with the fantasy spurned by his meeting with Antonia, walked through the streets of Port Royal. His path meandered through the raucous avenues, until at last he returned to the waterfront, and the bustling and boisterous interior of the Black Boar. 

Many of his crew were already there, deep in their cups, and they greeted him with a rough cacophony of yelled exultations. His hand was filled with a tankard of strong grog, and he planted himself down at one of the many gambling tables. With a hearty laugh, and a smile lubricated with a haze of drink, he tossed several coins into the pile upon the rough wooden table, and took up the deck of cards. As he shuffled the deck, his eyes passed around the rough men at the table.

“Mark me, you’ll be begging for mercy, you surly bastards, and it’ll be the Devil’s own work for you to get it!” To a chorus of laughs and drunken “aye’s” Thomas dealt the cards, intent on passing the time until the rest of his guests arrived.