His table was in the corner, he sat with his back to the wall. A man more than competent with pistols had told
him once that keeping one's back to the wall was the only safe way to visit unfamiliar pubs in equally unfamiliar seaports. Jack was no fool, he took good
advice when it was offered. Sometimes.
He raised his glass but his hand froze with the rum halfway to his mouth, his gaze lighting on a woman stepping up to the bar. She was tall and lovely and
moved with the sure confidence of a man. Jack's eyes went to her bosom...he couldn't stop them...and then swept her again, up and down. Unconsciously,
he wet his lips. God bless her, the wench was gifted. "Perfection ain't in it," Jack muttered to himself, his eyes sparking a brighter blue. She
leaned in to speak to the barman and just then, the serving girl blocked his view, bending low to ask him if he wanted another glass of rum.
"Ah, thank you kindly, miss," nodded Jack, his eyes drawn to another feast of pouting flesh. "I believe I will. And if you don't mind, would you see to it that young lady's libation is added to my bill?" He nodded toward the blonde woman still leaning over the bar, and hoped she wouldn't straighten too soon.
