Very well. She knew he wasn’t staying around; she wanted it. And as for him…
Saying he wanted to kiss her was a mild enough statement. She was pretty and clever, and he’d wanted to kiss her within five minutes of meeting her. The problem was what had come after those five minutes. Luring her into employment felt less and less like business and more like opening up old wounds.
“Is it so hard then?” She seemed befuddled by his hesitance.
What did it matter? she’d asked.
She was still watching him, her eyes dark and lovely and there was no reason for him to be squeamish about the affair. A pulse leaped in her neck; he could already imagine putting his fingers on it, feeling the connection, heart to heart. It was dangerous to think this way about someone who was going to be in his employ. It was even more dangerous to open this door because once it was open, once he started thinking how kissable her lips were…
He curled one finger. “Come closer.”
She took a small, shifting step toward him.
“Closer still.”
Another step, and still she was a foot away.
“Mrs. Smith.” He sighed and looked up. “Closer.”
She swallowed. Her eyes had not left his. She took another step six inches in, close enough that he could lean down and be within tasting distance. Close enough that the scent of her wafted in, something sweet that reminded him of jasmine. He reached out and set his fingertips on her cheek.
Her blush had not dissipated. It spread under his touch, her skin warming. His index finger tilted her chin up, and he leaned down, slowly, so she could stop him if she wanted, slowly, so he could sense the warmth of her breath. The soft gasp she let out brushed his lips.
“Captain Hunter!” She sounded shocked. “What are you doing?”
He straightened, rubbing his mouth, blinking in confusion. “Kissing you?”
“Oh.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “Oh no. Is that what you thought I was asking for? No wonder you hesitated. How utterly appalling you must think me.”
He did not think she was appalling. Not at all.
But she was looking at him most earnestly. “I wouldn’t,” she told him. “I wouldn’t just ask you to kiss me like that. Not for employment. That sounds like one of those horrid parlor games that the men make us play when it’s raining—where someone gets blindfolded and it’s all an excuse for people to put their hands wherever they wish in the name of fun.”
“The what the who now?” Grayson could feel his face stretching into a grimace. “No. Don’t explain. I’m happier not knowing. What did you actually want then?”
“My mother said that if I took employment, nobody would ever want to marry me.” She said this so earnestly that it was clear she actually believed it. “She said I mightn’t mind at the time, but I would if I ever met someone I truly wanted to kiss.”
The look she gave him was so guileless he wanted to stab someone.
“I want to know what it’s like. Can you describe it?”
Describe it. What the hell. He let out a laugh—his own qualms had mixed so poorly with his barely contained desires that he’d jumped to conclusions.
Then he saw the expression on her face, the way she looked at him, as if beseeching him for a thing that she knew she wanted but didn’t know how to request. He saw all her embarrassment—that red tide that rose again and again in her cheeks—and he realized this wasn’t about a kiss, or about her attraction to him, or his attraction to her. It wasn’t about the unrecognized want that pulsed between them.
It was about her. About a girl who had been abandoned by her mother to people who told her she was always lesser, that she didn’t dare to hope, that she should be satisfied with whatever tiny scraps she was given. It was about that girl who’d married a man twice her age and who’d hoped and labored and lost. It was about the fact that Mrs. Smith had been overlooked time and time again until she had begun to suspect she was invisible.
It was, in a sense, amusing that she was asking. It was also heartbreaking.
“It depends,” he finally said.
She frowned. “It depends. Boo. That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“I’m sorry, but it depends. Sometimes it’s like lightning. You know how lightning works, yes? There’s an electrical charge that develops, a difference between the ground and the sky. You can feel that electrical potential crackling between you before you even touch. Even if you never touch.”
She nodded.
“And when you kiss… Well, as I said. It depends.” He gave her a rueful shrug. “Sometimes all that heady attraction dissipates in one bolt that arcs across the sky and then is never seen again.”
Her brows furrowed. “And…?”
“And sometimes,” he said, “sometimes it is an entire storm. The lightning is the harbinger of rain and winds, and each strike comes closer and closer, until thunder and lightning are practically on top of each other. You can feel the wind tearing at your clothing and hear the clap-clap-clap as the shutters flap in the breeze. Rain falls in great torrents. Creeks swell to rivers, and you know that this is a storm that can remake a landscape.” He shrugged. “Or, I suppose, it would be. I’m extrapolating a bit, you see.”
“You’ve never personally been in a storm that remakes landscapes.”
“I have.” He looked over at her. “Real storms at sea. I’ve been in those. But on land and in a kiss?” He shook his head. “I’m the wrong person to ask. I’m more of a single-lightning-strike sort of person.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
He’d been struck by actual lightning more times than this. But this hardly seemed the time to bring it up. “If you really need to know, I can fetch Zed. Or Hao, his first mate.”
“No. You’ve answered my question.”
He was even more puzzled than he had been before. “I have?”
She nodded. “You have. I don’t need it.”
“You don’t need it.” He seemed to be repeating her words.
“Yes. Weren’t you paying attention? If I am employed by you, I won’t marry. I won’t kiss, et cetera, and so forth.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Your depiction was sufficient. I don’t need it.”
“Mrs. Smith.” He made a face. “I believe you are making a great deal of assumptions, and I’m not sure where to start untangling them. As we are talking about employment, I think it’s best that we move on. Do you have more questions?”
“Yes. Might I have a dog?”
He was not yet accustomed to the back-and-forth ricochet of this conversation. “Really? That’s your question?”
“I know, I know,” she said hurriedly. “They’re messy and noisy and so forth. But.” She raised her eyes to his, glistening and hopeful. “The Flemings at the mercantile have a dog named Daisy, and she’s whelped these puppies. They’re just old enough to leave. And I know we can’t take dogs on board a ship. But I’m sure Shanghai has dogs. Might I have one once we arrive?”
He stared at her. “I’m not going to be your landlord. Why would I care?”
“I might need to bring the dog into the office.”