He knew it was wrong. He did it anyway.

Morning meetings with Governor Swann were something James always looked forward to, as he was terribly fond of the older man. Circumstances had changed in the last few weeks, however, and they left James out of sorts. He had worked hard to clean up the Jamaican waters, relentlessly pursuing pirates and bringing them to justice. He was well aware of his reputation as Scourge of the Caribbean and privately he was satisfied with it. This, however, was something he had not counted on but had to admit that it made sense. Drawing one of the canniest brigands into the fold, so to speak, as a privateer, to use his knowledge and experience on the side of the law, was one of the better decisions he had made.

Inviting him to occasionally break his fast with him and Weatherby was even more agreeable—even though he knew from the first time that the wily former pirate was going to cause him no end of trouble.

What James had not counted on was to sit across the table on Weatherby's terrace and watch Sparrow bite into his specially requested thickly sliced hunk of bread, decadently slathered with butter and positively dripping with jelly. To watch the man eat was an exercise in self-control. Sparrow's tongue flicked out of his mouth every now and then; one never knew when it would happen and James found himself anticipating the event, waiting with held breath for the moment when that pink tip would emerge and sweep around the perimeter of his full lips, to clean the silky brush of black moustache over his top lip. James was mesmerized by the act, peripherally aware of Weatherby boasting about his new granddaughter, and how she had completely charmed her big brother and her parents. He managed to nod and smile in all the right places, apparently, for his old friend appeared not to notice James's preoccupation with Sparrow.

The man enjoyed his food as if it was his last meal and he knew he would scamper off before the hangman arrived. James waited for a certain occurrence, knowing it had to happen due to Sparrow's zest for his meal. When it happened he was helpless to resist.

A dollop of sticky apple jelly dripped off the edge of the bread to cling to the point of Sparrow's chin right between the twin braids. James's eyes followed its glistening descent and landing. He could not look away. It was impossible.

James tugged at his collar, which was suddenly tight enough to choke. His hands dropped to twist the napkin in his lap into an unrecognizable mess. The temperature of the morning sun rose to an unbearable degree. His lips were too dry so he wet them with a sip of tea that was at best tasteless. Still Sparrow did not notice the spot of jelly. It was to be expected, really, the man was uncouth. James was surprised he did not wear the rest of his meal on his clothing or in his hair.

Sparrow tipped his head back slightly to peer at a butterfly that flitted across the terrace over their heads and he smiled at its colourful journey.

James swallowed hard.

Sparrow changed the direction of his gaze to throw him an inquiring look. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Eh?" he asked as if James had spoken.

The next thing James knew, Weatherby exclaimed in startled alarm as the table rocked on two legs for an instant, and Sparrow's chair tipped over backwards at the force of the extra weight.

James should have wondered why Sparrow did not seem at all put out when he landed on his back with James straddling his legs. However, once James took Jack's face between his palms and proceeded to lap at the jelly they sighed together and gave in to fate. As James sucked at the sweet reward, Jack muttered something in his ear. James forced himself away from his task to ask him to repeat himself.

"I said," Jack purred, "it bloody well took you long enough."

James merely smiled in resignation.

Weatherby sighed and resumed drinking his tea.

# end

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Read the sequel, Playing the Host.