“You’re right. Those are big challenges in aerial navigation.” He ran a finger along the curve of his lips. “It’s what makes an experienced navigator such a vital part of the crew.”
“Especially over water, where there are so few landmarks, and on a transatlantic crossing, where you must fly in darkness.”
His expression darkened, and she instantly regretted mentioning the transatlantic attempt.
“That is,” she added hastily, “where your navigator will face the toughest challenge, whoever he is.” It hurt to concede the role to someone else, even for a moment.
He nodded, visibly relieved. “That’s the problem that needs to be solved before we can have viable commercial aviation.”
“That’s why the transatlantic attempt is so important.”
“It will connect the continents in hours instead of days. Just think, Columbus took months to cross the Atlantic. Now ocean liners can make it in a week. A plane can cross in less than twenty-four hours. It will change the world.”
Jack’s eyes had taken on that glow. He loved aeroplanes, loved everything about aviation, and she loved hearing him talk about it.
“Teach me what you know,” she breathed. “I want to learn.”
In seconds he dragged a sextant box from his trunk. As soon as he removed the instrument from its case, Darcy saw the difference between his and the one her father owned.
“The bubble level is used for the horizon?” she asked, and Jack launched into a detailed explanation.
When she didn’t understand a point, he carefully explained again. Sometimes he drew the concept on paper. Sometimes he demonstrated by having her peer through the lens while he stood behind, guiding every move.
His touch conveyed strength. The vibration of his voice flowed down the nape of her neck to the small of her back. It embraced her, steady and solid. This was a man who would guard and cherish those he loved.
She settled back on her heels and accidentally brushed against his shoulder. The instant charge made her pull away, embarrassed. “Sorry, I lost my balance.”
He lowered the sextant. “I’ve probably overtaxed you enough for one day. We can continue tomorrow.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go on.”
He moved back into position, and she discovered he had a little nick on his thumb that she’d never noticed before. The skin in the curve between thumb and forefinger stretched pink, and he kept his nails neatly trimmed. A man who took such care with small details would not neglect the large.
This was getting dangerously close to intimacy, and yet she trusted him. Jack Hunter would not take advantage, even when they were alone. He’d had opportunity before and had broken away. He would never hurt her.
“You hold the instrument like this.” But his hand trembled, and he set the sextant on the worktable. “I must be getting tired.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unwilling to break their closeness.
For a terrible moment, Jack didn’t speak. His eyes had softened. The little lines around the corners of his mouth disappeared. His breathing deepened.
He was going to kiss her.
Darcy’s pulse quickened. She tilted her face slightly and partially closed her eyes. This time a car couldn’t interrupt them.
Instead of a kiss, he dabbed at her face with a rag.
“What are you doing?”
“Stand still. You have some grease on your forehead.” His touch was gentle. The folds of rag grazed her nose and lips, and she could smell the solvent. It wasn’t romantic, but the spark still arced between them.
“There,” Jack said, “it’s gone now.” He dropped the handkerchief but not his gaze.
He looked at her far longer than respectable. No grin. No smile. Serious. An uncontrollable fluttering started deep inside her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He ran a thumb down her jaw to her chin. She leaned slightly, letting him tilt it up. Every nerve ending tingled. His touch was gentle, caring. His eyes had turned a darker, deeper blue. He brushed the corner of her mouth.
“A crumb.” His voice was raspy.
She closed her eyes, feeling the connection between them tighten, like a stay between two wings. They ran parallel, yet together, equally important. His breath whispered across her lips. She reveled in his touch. Crash. Metal hit metal.
“Oh!” Darcy shot into the air, bumping Jack’s nose.
“Sorry.”
He held the rag to his nose, but she didn’t see blood. In moments she located the source of the noise. Simmons. A pile of tools at his feet.
“Uh, sorry.” Simmons held up his wooden toolbox. “The handle come loose. Just wanted to let you know I got the ring fixed. Oh, and another thing…” He dug into his pocket. “Cora sent over a wire. Said it come in an hour ago.”
“A wire?” In a flash Jack grabbed the cable and whipped it open. He read it. Twice.
“What’s wrong?” Darcy tried not to worry. “Not bad news, I hope.”
Jack scanned the message again. “It’s Burrows. The navy is backing the transatlantic project with the NC flying boats.”