He had access to higher echelons of power. Dammit, he was a higher power, if he chose to get involved. Politics meant doing. This would be a fitting first foray. Note to self: fix this ASAP.
A small portion of egg flew from her plate and landed on the table next to a little vase of peonies. She put down the cutlery, her hands disappearing beneath the table, and stared fiercely at the plate as if it held something poisonous.
When he cleared his throat, she glanced up at him, and just for a second he saw the smallest line of watery reflection at the corner of one of her eyes. A tear. Lord.
Dankyo might think him mad. Common sense said to keep his distance. Yet the memory of her body under his on the bed called to him far more than any sensible decision. He’d already pushed this further than he should have. Common sense could go hang.
He cleared his throat again, put his hands to the edge of the table, and shoved back his chair. As he walked up, bearing his plate, her amber eyes grew rounder and darker until he thought he might fall into them and never emerge.
“May I?”
He indicated the cane chair at the corner, next to her. When she nodded he lowered his plate and sat, so close that if he put his elbow down and laid his forearm flat, he’d have his hand in her meal.
Nicely close. If it bothers her, all to the better. He might not want to hurt her, but a bit of anxiety added spice.
“You’ve not told your man, Dankyo, have you? That you’re courting me?” She scowled, then held up her wrists and shook them, jangling the metal. “And why these, here? Is it so you can laugh at the way I cut up my food?”
“As to your first question, no, I’ve not told him yet. I will. As for those, I don’t trust you enough to take them off.” He settled his shoulders in a comfortable spot against the chair.
The aroma of sausages reminded him why he’d moved. He took up his knife and fork and eyed her plate. You didn’t cut up someone’s food without asking. Not in polite company.
“Would it help if I cut up your food?”
She pulled back, eyeing him. “Perhaps. Where is this colonel? I was told he’d be here.”
That was sufficient for him. He started cutting. “I am the colonel. It was my Air Corps rank. Some of my staff like to use it still.”
“I see.”
She watched while he sliced, as if she’d catch him doing something wrong. He kept going until her entire plate of food was in smallish pieces, then speared a piece of sausage with her fork and held it up.
“Here.”
Hesitantly, she brought her hands up and took hold of the fork, her fingertips brushing against his where they wrapped about the utensil. The touch blazed a path to his groin. Her fingers were so slender and delicate. He didn’t let go completely, curling one of his over the top of hers and trapping them there.
He held his breath, fascinated to watch the shift of emotion across her face. Her nostrils widened, a blush crept onto her cheeks, and those gorgeous plump lips separated slightly in arousal…and from something so simple.
This wasn’t just any woman. In her eyes, he glimpsed at times a deep sadness before it vanished, buried beneath ever-present layers of wariness.
He had a hankering to pierce that shield she carried. There were easier conquests, ones no one would raise eyebrows at or gossip over. Courting a frankenstruct might hobble his political career before he even got it off the ground. So why did he feel compelled?
To the devil with self-analyzing. He wanted to do this, so he would. He ran his fingers lightly down the side of her hand to where the metal circled her wrists, and hooked the chain when she pulled away.
*
Claire scowled back at Theo, trying to mask the confusion as he stroked her wrist with one calloused finger. She tugged again but he merely regarded her impassively, as if appraising her. Heat surged through her. The world got strangely smaller.
This was more of his courting. Of course, she could pull free, if she wanted. Break his fingers, maybe, before his guards got to her. Or even say his silly word, kokino.
What an idiot she was being. Hadn’t she decided to show some self-control? If only she didn’t feel that quivering sensation down below. One finger on her wrist, and she was losing it. If he kissed her hand as he had the day before, or—she swallowed—if he held her down, she might simply melt.
He released her.
Focus. Calm. Her heart settled. Thank the Lord.
Quietly, she forked up a piece of fried mushroom and put it in her mouth, chewed it. Eating gave her time to gather her scattered thoughts. Logic. Calmness. Breathe slow.