He said he didn’t trust her. Logically, for her to gain his trust, she’d have to answer questions about the airship and her reasons for being on it. Perhaps he waited for her full recovery? Stupid, though. She’d been instructed in the art of torture and interrogation—best to act while the subject was weakest.
This courting business was the passing fancy of a rich man with nothing better to do than ignore the advice of his own security advisor. Mentally, she curled a lip. Why had she been disconcerted by his touch? Her body’s chemical balance must have been disturbed by the shock of the crash. Theo was no more dangerous to her than a *cat, and she would do well to remember that.
The fork tempted her. She must smuggle it upstairs. It would make a superb lock pick. She should be putting more effort into her escape. Another couple of days and she’d chance it. She’d have to go on foot at first—vehicles would be easily tracked. Though maybe a steam cycle… She needed maps. There should be a study or an office somewhere.
A movement drew her from her reverie. She left off aiming the fork into her mouth and swung her gaze back to Theo.
He’d finished eating and leaned both elbows on the table, watching her. Her heart accelerated. Just a chemical imbalance. That’s all. Pussycat.
Why then did she wish she could inch farther away, yet also want to lean in closer?
The irises of his eyes were more beautiful than she had thought possible. Sea gray specked with flares of gold that made them glow when the morning sun glanced in though the trellis. Above those eyes, his brows boldly followed the line of bone.
What piffle was she thinking? He was just a man. The color of his eyes meant nothing.
“Claire?”
She drew in a controlled breath, felt her ribs expand.
“Yes?” She sat up primly.
Her plate was empty. The fork scraped across the white china. She laid the silver pronged utensil on the tablecloth—near the edge, where a subtle brush of her wrist would topple it over. Get this fork up to her room, sharpen the end tine until it became flexible enough. Yes. That’s the spirit.
“Coffee?” he asked, cocking one of those elegant eyebrows.
“What? Oh, yes, of course. Thank you.”
His servant had left. The folding doors leading back into the house proper had been shut. What little she could spy, through the fringe of plants, of the outside lawns was an empty green expanse. Suddenly, this breakfast area seemed far too isolated.
Theo tilted the gold-trimmed white pot and poured. Steam and an enticing bitter aroma rose from the dainty matching cup.
Training had covered all this. The use of the correct tableware. Small talk. How to smile and say thank you. Only it wasn’t the same. With this man across from her, an undercurrent colored the simplest of things. Her cup wobbled when she raised it.
All the signs of arousal… She pursed her lips. Ridiculous, but she couldn’t deny the dampness in her underwear, or the way her heart beat double time when he spoke to her or held her.
The froth on the surface of the coffee seemed a safe place to look. As the level in the cup sank, a memory crystallized. The cup wobbled again, rattling when she placed it in the saucer. She remembered when she’d felt a little of what he awakened in her.
Part of her training had been interrogations practice. The realness of the pain had been frightening…yet, when she’d been bound to the chair with her hands at her back and her feet tied to the legs, she’d found it exciting. The powerlessness had made her feel so alive.
“Claire?”
She snapped her eyes open.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m perfectly all right, thank you.” How dare he appear so unruffled?
“Truly?” Such a warm voice, deep enough to swim in.
Time to go, before he addled her mind even more. She dabbed her mouth with the napkin, put her hands to the table to steady herself before she pushed back the chair.
“Stop.” The word lashed out, freezing her. Startled she looked up.
She’d trained for this, over and over. Rapid decisions in the face of adversity. Yet…her mind emptied. Before she could decide what to do, he snared her wrists and pulled her down onto the table. Her elbows slid, plates bumped out of the way as he stretched her arms out in front of her. She turned her head, found herself face-to-face with him, jerked at her wrists, and couldn’t budge. Her talent lay in speed, not strength.
“Let me go!”
The danger was back in those gray predatory eyes. She lay helpless, half across the table, feeling her breaths come faster and faster. She daren’t blink. The table pressed against her waist, and Theo’s lips were mere inches away. With his other hand, he found and twined a piece of her hair around his finger.