It is a good plan, but ill-fated. She has not reached the crew’s mess before she finds herself face-to-face with the navigator. He is waiting for her in the keel corridor outside the kitchen. His eyes are the color of smoke this morning. They are bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. Smoldering with anger. He didn’t sleep well, and the exhaustion is evident despite his perfectly groomed appearance. Max has simply tried to put a good face on a bad night.
Emilie won’t meet his gaze. She tries to step around him and into the kitchen, but he catches her elbow. “No.”
“I’m hungry.”
“You can wait.”
When she tries to shake him off his grip tightens. “Let. Me. Go.”
He takes a step forward, closing the gap between them. Max drops his mouth to her ear. “That’s not going to happen, Emilie.”
Most of the crew and passengers are still asleep, so there is no one to hear her complaints as Max pulls her back down the keel corridor, around the gangway stairs, and down the outer walkway beside the observation windows. Somewhere below them is the Atlantic Ocean, but all she can see is gaping, heavy darkness and her own guarded reflection in the glass.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere we can talk privately.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“I don’t care.”
“I thought you were a gentleman.”
He snorts. “And I thought I could trust you.”
“Trust?” Emilie yells just as Max opens the door to the public shower and pushes her inside. “You are lecturing me about trust?”
It’s a small room, tiled floor to ceiling, and her voice ricochets the moment he closes the door behind them. It’s the only shower on board the airship and is rarely used—most passengers prefer to wash in their rooms; the crew members who could most benefit from the luxury of a shower are discouraged from spending any time on the passenger decks. But she can tell someone has been here this morning. The showerhead is dripping, and rivulets of moisture are running down the tile walls. It smells of soap and humidity. Behind them is the steady, irritating drip of water.
“You went through my things!” Emilie’s restraint vanishes, and she shoves Max against the wall, furious. Betrayed. Desperate. For a brief moment she thinks this display of emotion makes him smile. But she isn’t sure. There’s a single overhead light, and Max’s face is obscured by the shadow of his cap.
“I wasn’t trying to pry,” Max says. “I knocked your closet door open. The papers were right there. It’s not like I could miss them.”
“You just knocked it open? That’s convenient.”
“I was restless. You stood me up.”
“I didn’t stand you up. I was—”
“I don’t care what you were doing. You didn’t come back. You said you would come back.”
“I did. And you were gone when I got there.”
“Did you expect me to wait all night? Or perhaps you’d like for me to wait even longer? Years, maybe, while you flounce around America?”
“That’s not your business.”
“It is now.”
“What? You think I’ve promised you something? Just because we’ve kissed?”
“Do you treat kisses so lightly? Because I don’t.”
“It was just a kiss.”
“It was a hell of a lot more than that, Emilie. And you know it.” He seems to grow larger with every word, filling the bathroom until he’s towering over her.
Emilie doesn’t remember there being such a difference in their heights, but she feels very small right now. Somewhat ashamed. Afraid. She straightens her spine and meets his wounded gaze. “You read too much into it.”
“You asked me to stay.”
She winces a little at this. And then a new rage washes over her. “Well, you should have. I would have made it worth your while. That’s what you want, right? My dress on the floor?”
Max places the tip of his right index finger in the middle of her breastbone. It feels like a poker, red-hot and searing. Her entire body feels anchored to that one spot. “I. Want. You.”
“Then take me!”
“So you’d give me your body?” Max pulls away, slowly, in control of himself again. “And all the while you’d keep your heart locked away? I don’t want one without the other.”
“Oh, I think you do.” Emilie takes a step forward. It’s cruel, she knows, but she doesn’t care. She’s only inches away from him now. He inhales sharply as she rubs the tip of her nose along his jaw.
Max grabs her shoulders, and she can feel his arms tremble with restraint. He growls her name. And she is certain that he will kiss her. His head is tilting to the side to do just that. But he stops when Emilie begins to soften beneath him.
“No.” A ragged breath. “We’re not done talking.”
“This conversation isn’t urgent.”
“Yes it is!” He shakes her a bit and lets go in alarm. Takes a deep breath. Steps back. “Don’t you understand? This is urgent. Are you leaving?”
“Hush. Someone will hear you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do, damn it,” she whispers. “In case you haven’t noticed, those papers aren’t exactly public.”
When he speaks the volume is gone but the rage is still there, bubbling below the surface. “Do you know what Captain Lehmann will do to you if he finds out? Commander Pruss? Have you even stopped to think about that?”
“Of course I have! Why do you think I hid them? I’m not stupid.”