Midnight Jewel
Page 30
I crossed my arms over my chest and immediately felt the dress slip again. Grant’s posture didn’t change, but his eyes tracked the fabric’s movement as it bared the top of my shoulder. It didn’t surprise me that he noticed it; he noticed everything. But it seemed to me he studied it more intently than he needed to. And he certainly didn’t need to examine the rest of the dress’s lacy neckline as it ran along my cleavage—but he did anyway. I left the rebellious sleeve where it was and took a step closer.
Even a brilliant man will get stupid with a pretty girl.
“They are going to think you’re a vagabond if you don’t neaten yourself up,” I scolded. He practically jumped when I lifted his collar and began retying the cravat. Aside from our fight in his cabin, we’d never touched before. “Wasn’t the whole point of you going to Osfro to get some polish? You should know how to do this.”
“I do know how to do it. I just don’t like taking the time with the details.”
“You took the time with your Flatlander disguise.”
“That’s different. That was a riskier job. But a comfortable shopkeeper? A few wrinkles aren’t going to raise anyone’s suspicions.”
I finished the cravat and tucked it down under the vest, making sure my fingers also grazed the skin on his neck. “A few?” I let my hands run slowly down his chest as I smoothed out the soft fabric. “You’d better brush up on your counting skills before we arrive. Seems like a necessary ability for a spy who’s supposed to be collecting information.”
“I . . .” He watched my hands for a few seconds and then cleared his throat. “I count just fine.”
I stopped fixing the wrinkles but left my hands pressed against him, as though some unexpected thought had suddenly distracted me into forgetting they were there. “Look . . . seriously, I’m sure you really will be busy with all sorts of things once we’re in Cape Triumph, and I know what you said, but . . .”
He cocked his head. “But what?”
I sighed, gave his coat one last tug to straighten it, and then clasped my hands before me. In doing so, I leaned forward ever so slightly, exposing just a whisper more of what lay underneath the dress’s top. I could imagine Miss Garrison nodding in approval. My job is to make the most of what everyone’s got. You’ll thank me later.
“Are you sure you won’t have time to look into where my friend with the bond went?” I asked.
“Oh.” He didn’t immediately reject me, so that was promising. “Well, I meant what I said. It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“I know, but—” I looked up and feigned shock. “Don’t you own a comb?”
“Wha—”
I stood on my tiptoes, bringing us closer, and tried to smooth down the flyaway pieces of his rebellious hair. It was softer and silkier than I expected. “Your hair’s actually manageable when it’s not out in the wind. You have no excuse.”
My fingers trailed idly through the strands of his hair, my face was only a couple of inches from his, and . . . was he breathing faster? Yes. Yes, he was. Against all odds, I’d sidetracked shrewd, no-nonsense Grant Elliott with feminine wiles. Maybe even flustered him?
I hadn’t known if my impulsive idea to make him the object of the flirting challenge would work. He wasn’t the type to get easily distracted. He lived and breathed his mission. He should’ve noticed my act right away, especially since he was so good at spotting subterfuge.
Except it wasn’t subterfuge. Not exactly. Maybe I didn’t always like him, but his infuriating personality didn’t seem like such a deterrent just then, not when an unexpected thrill was slowly uncoiling and spreading throughout my body. I wanted to stand closer. I wanted to touch more than his hair. I wanted him to touch me back.
And maybe Grant didn’t always like me either, but I could tell, at least in this moment, he liked being close to me too. He liked looking at me. He liked me touching him. It turned out we had common ground after all.
“Now,” I said, forcing myself back to cool calculation, “about my friend.”
“Your . . . ? Right. Finding where he is.” Grant was having trouble deciding where to focus. Looking into my eyes seemed to unsettle him. So he’d let his eyes stray to my bodice and linger there until he remembered he wasn’t supposed to. “There should be a ship manifest on file with the port, and maybe a record of who he signed on with. But if they left Denham for some unknown colony, that gets a lot more complicated.”
“But it’s not impossible.”
“No. It just means sending out feelers to a lot of different places.”
“Don’t you have friends everywhere?”
“Silas does.”
I finished taming his hair—it really did look better, not that I minded the tousled look—and let my hands drop to my side. But I stayed where I was and looked up at him with wide-eyed pleading that wasn’t faked.
“Please, Grant? Can’t you just make a few inquiries?”
Silence hung between us. And more. The space between us smoldered.
He exhaled. “I . . . There are a couple of people I can check with.”
“Only a couple? After I went to all that work so that you’re fit to be seen in polite company?”
A little of his old sardonic smile came out, but his eyes still betrayed other thoughts in his mind. He reached toward the fallen sleeve and pushed it up. And just with that, his fingertips against my skin, I inhaled sharply and forgot all about my scheming.
“You have no reason to talk,” he said. “You’re just as negligent—”
The door to the upper deck suddenly opened, and we sprang apart as Sylvia and Rosamunde came scurrying down, faces frantic. “Are we late?” Sylvia exclaimed. “We almost forgot about dinner.”
Even a brilliant man will get stupid with a pretty girl.
“They are going to think you’re a vagabond if you don’t neaten yourself up,” I scolded. He practically jumped when I lifted his collar and began retying the cravat. Aside from our fight in his cabin, we’d never touched before. “Wasn’t the whole point of you going to Osfro to get some polish? You should know how to do this.”
“I do know how to do it. I just don’t like taking the time with the details.”
“You took the time with your Flatlander disguise.”
“That’s different. That was a riskier job. But a comfortable shopkeeper? A few wrinkles aren’t going to raise anyone’s suspicions.”
I finished the cravat and tucked it down under the vest, making sure my fingers also grazed the skin on his neck. “A few?” I let my hands run slowly down his chest as I smoothed out the soft fabric. “You’d better brush up on your counting skills before we arrive. Seems like a necessary ability for a spy who’s supposed to be collecting information.”
“I . . .” He watched my hands for a few seconds and then cleared his throat. “I count just fine.”
I stopped fixing the wrinkles but left my hands pressed against him, as though some unexpected thought had suddenly distracted me into forgetting they were there. “Look . . . seriously, I’m sure you really will be busy with all sorts of things once we’re in Cape Triumph, and I know what you said, but . . .”
He cocked his head. “But what?”
I sighed, gave his coat one last tug to straighten it, and then clasped my hands before me. In doing so, I leaned forward ever so slightly, exposing just a whisper more of what lay underneath the dress’s top. I could imagine Miss Garrison nodding in approval. My job is to make the most of what everyone’s got. You’ll thank me later.
“Are you sure you won’t have time to look into where my friend with the bond went?” I asked.
“Oh.” He didn’t immediately reject me, so that was promising. “Well, I meant what I said. It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“I know, but—” I looked up and feigned shock. “Don’t you own a comb?”
“Wha—”
I stood on my tiptoes, bringing us closer, and tried to smooth down the flyaway pieces of his rebellious hair. It was softer and silkier than I expected. “Your hair’s actually manageable when it’s not out in the wind. You have no excuse.”
My fingers trailed idly through the strands of his hair, my face was only a couple of inches from his, and . . . was he breathing faster? Yes. Yes, he was. Against all odds, I’d sidetracked shrewd, no-nonsense Grant Elliott with feminine wiles. Maybe even flustered him?
I hadn’t known if my impulsive idea to make him the object of the flirting challenge would work. He wasn’t the type to get easily distracted. He lived and breathed his mission. He should’ve noticed my act right away, especially since he was so good at spotting subterfuge.
Except it wasn’t subterfuge. Not exactly. Maybe I didn’t always like him, but his infuriating personality didn’t seem like such a deterrent just then, not when an unexpected thrill was slowly uncoiling and spreading throughout my body. I wanted to stand closer. I wanted to touch more than his hair. I wanted him to touch me back.
And maybe Grant didn’t always like me either, but I could tell, at least in this moment, he liked being close to me too. He liked looking at me. He liked me touching him. It turned out we had common ground after all.
“Now,” I said, forcing myself back to cool calculation, “about my friend.”
“Your . . . ? Right. Finding where he is.” Grant was having trouble deciding where to focus. Looking into my eyes seemed to unsettle him. So he’d let his eyes stray to my bodice and linger there until he remembered he wasn’t supposed to. “There should be a ship manifest on file with the port, and maybe a record of who he signed on with. But if they left Denham for some unknown colony, that gets a lot more complicated.”
“But it’s not impossible.”
“No. It just means sending out feelers to a lot of different places.”
“Don’t you have friends everywhere?”
“Silas does.”
I finished taming his hair—it really did look better, not that I minded the tousled look—and let my hands drop to my side. But I stayed where I was and looked up at him with wide-eyed pleading that wasn’t faked.
“Please, Grant? Can’t you just make a few inquiries?”
Silence hung between us. And more. The space between us smoldered.
He exhaled. “I . . . There are a couple of people I can check with.”
“Only a couple? After I went to all that work so that you’re fit to be seen in polite company?”
A little of his old sardonic smile came out, but his eyes still betrayed other thoughts in his mind. He reached toward the fallen sleeve and pushed it up. And just with that, his fingertips against my skin, I inhaled sharply and forgot all about my scheming.
“You have no reason to talk,” he said. “You’re just as negligent—”
The door to the upper deck suddenly opened, and we sprang apart as Sylvia and Rosamunde came scurrying down, faces frantic. “Are we late?” Sylvia exclaimed. “We almost forgot about dinner.”
