Only luck explained why the stack of plates in her hand didn’t slide straight to the floor.
Ada tightened her grasp on the stack of dishes and scurried off to the kitchen like a mouse being stalked by a very large, very hungry cat.
Meena stood at the sink, her back to the door.
“There’s much left to plan,” Ada said. “I can finish here.”
“That’s very generous.” Meena grabbed a well-worn apron from a peg by the back door and handed it to Ada.
Suddenly shy sharing the space with Edison’s cousin, Ada concentrated on tying the apron strings tight.
When she looked up, Meena was gone, but Edison lounged in the doorway. The thin linen of his shirtsleeves allowed her to see the outline of his well-muscled arms. The unbuttoned waistcoat showed off the taut power of his flat abdomen.
He’d eaten a king’s feast for breakfast, but he was eying her as if she were dessert.
“That was a bold move, Mrs. Templeton.”
Ada lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “I had to know.”
“Know what?”
“If you..." She stopped, unwilling to give voice to her fears.
“Know what?” he insisted.
Ada blew out a huge breath, trying to rid herself of her sudden timidity. “I had to know if you still have the same…” She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk seeing the ridicule in his eyes if she’d been mistaken.
His mouth dropped open. “After what we just did?” He spared a glance back over his shoulder toward the parlor before lowering his voice. “Are you asking me if I still want you?”
Ada twisted her hands up in the apron. All she could manage was a small nod.
Edison pressed his hands into the edges of the doorframe.
“I’m rather new at this,” she admitted. “Ever since your family returned, you’ve been distant. I thought you’d come to your senses, that you realized…"
His gaze never leaving hers, Edison moved forward, until only the width of the kitchen table separated them.
He pressed his hands into the wooden top. “Whatever you and I are playing at, never doubt that I want you.”
Ada tried to shrug, as if the matter was of little consequence. “I know you’re greatly experienced at bedplay.” The last few words were barely above a whisper. She paused to take in a fortifying breath. “I have no idea how long men continue to desire—”
Edison tossed his head back. “Desire?” He pinned her with his enigmatic gaze. “What I desire is you.”
He spread his fingers wide, leaning closer. “I want to kiss you, to feel your sweet lips opening beneath mine. I want to unbutton that ridiculous gown and kiss every inch of skin as it’s bared to the light.”
“Once I have you undressed, I want to unpin your hair, to wrap my hands in it while I bend you back over this table and spread your thighs.”
Legs suddenly weak with wanting, Ada swayed on her feet.
Still holding her gaze, he brushed his hands over the tabletop. “I desire you right here, right now.” He grunted. “Unfortunately, that would strain the bounds of propriety.”
Edison pushed back from the table. “In short, Mrs. Templeton, feel free to imagine that I desire you at all times, in every possible position."
Without another word, he stalked out of the room.
Lightheaded with the possibilities he so lovingly detailed, Ada pulled out the nearest chair and sank down before her trembling knees gave out.
Damned if she hadn’t let the tiger out of the cage.
*
He’d hoped going back to the league offices to work would clear his head.
Quite the opposite.
Working shoulder to shoulder with Ada—even in his large workshop—was proving a formidable distraction.
Edison stood in front of his workbench, hand poised to pull down a jar of powder from the assortment on the shelf above, but he couldn’t recall what he’d been after.
It was that damned violet scent. Light and feminine, innocent yet somehow formidably seductive, that perfume of hers was scrambling his thoughts.
He was going to miss it.
Truth be told, there were a great many things about Ada Templeton he was going to miss.
Edison slanted a quick glance in her direction. She remained at the far end of the long workbench, engrossed in the calculations for his smoke bombs. In that magical way women had of turning their attention to the task at hand, she seemed to have no difficulty setting aside their heated encounter at the breakfast table to focus on work.
The empty brass shell of a disodorizer sat open on the workbench in front of her. She stared down at it, tiny frown lines furrowing the bridge of her nose.
Then she bit her lip and considered the array of chemical powders arranged on the shelves above. “I’ve been thinking, if it’s more smoke you’re after, you might try adding sugar. It should burn at a great rate.”
The woman was a wonder. He set his hands on his hips and stared at her in wonder. “I never considered that.”
She gave him a little squib of a smile and proceeded to fill the shell with potassium nitrate.
Edison watched her delicate hands as she worked with that quick, efficient style he’d come to know. Having Ada in his workshop was torture of the most excruciating kind.
And that plain dress suited her in the best kind of way. Spare and simple, it accentuated her lithe form in a way ruffles and bows and the like would not.
She seemed to find her conservative dress dull and uninspiring.
He found her look incendiary.
All those tiny buttons to be unfastened, to say nothing of the way the unadorned style allowed her curves to take center stage.
Edison groaned silently. No matter what she wore, Ada ignited his senses.
Not that there was a damn thing he could do about it. Not with his family and Nelly, and their newest recruit knocking about in the front offices.
Sensing his scrutiny, Ada gave him a questioning look.
He snapped his own attention back to the task at hand. Sodium bicarbonate. That’s what he’d been about to grab before his thoughts tore off on their own.
Though the powder required precise measurement, Edison couldn’t help but strain to hear the conversation going on in the main office. He had hours yet before he needed to leave for the Admiral’s offices, and little left to prepare.
They could leave. The entire lot of them.
Perhaps they’d decide to dine out? Or head home?
Anything that would give him time to coax Ada into his bed.
There wouldn’t be many more chances.
Edison palmed the bottom half of a smoke bomb and raised it to eye level so he could add the precise amount of saltpeter. Too little and the thing wouldn’t smoke at all. Too much and it would catch fire… or explode. Lower lip caught between his teeth, he tapped the powder into the tiny compartment.
Was that the kettle whistling? Damnation, were they brewing tea? Would they never leave?
His hand trembled, sending the last few grains of chemical onto the floor. “Satan’s biscuits.”
With a disgusted sigh he poured the powder that had made it into the device back into the open jar and dropped the shell down on the workbench. Now he’d have to re-measure.