“Your ego doesnae need my bolstering words.” She rolled her eyes and returned to working the plane.
“Your father was not necessarily wrong in his opinion of my behavior,” he said, voice softer. “But the sins and follies of my younger self dinnae need to direct my course in the present or mold the future shape of me. I can step in a clearer direction, carve a new shape, just as ye do with the wood here.”
“Aye,” she nodded. “I ken you’ve done that. Dinnae let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
She smiled.
Kieran felt stupidly proud of that smile.
The air between them hummed with electricity . . . like ship rigging in a thunderstorm, the air laden with humidity and portent.
“Well . . . no matter what the others say, the offer tae return to Scotland once we reach Rio remains,” he said. “I’ll see ye cared for—”
“Nae. I’ll be staying aboard ship.” She regarded him with those silvery eyes, a grin still tugging at her lips. “After all, where else would one such as myself learn how to make fireworks?”
Kieran snorted. “I cannae see how a knowledge of fireworks will help ye once ye return to a life of gentility—ye cannae knit with a fuse or embroider wee flowers with black powder.”
“Oh, I beg tae disagree.” She smiled more broadly. “What man wouldn’t want a woman who knows how tae light a spark?”
Kieran’s hands nearly slipped off the wood, a startled gasp sticking in his throat.
Was this lass . . .
Was she . . .
Was sheflirtingwith him?
Her abruptly averted eyes and the blush climbing her cheeks made him think that . . .
Yes.
Yes, she was.
Perhaps . . . she didn’t dislike him as much as he thought.
Perhaps . . .
Kieran knew there were a thousand reasons why he should keep his distance—he was her commanding officer, he had made a promise to her father to protect her, any romantic entanglement threatened her safety.
And yet, this woman was a siren—beckoning him closer. The sort of peril a wise sailor would view through a spying scope from a furlong at sea.
But he feared it was too late for him. Her song had already ensnared him.
He stared helplessly at the fan of her lashes as she bent over the board, working the plane back and forth.
“A spark, eh?” he said. “The right lass shouldnae have tae resort to pyrotechnics for that.”
Her head snapped upright, sending dark curls tumbling onto her forehead.
“Is that so?” A delighted smile spread across her face. “If only I had a teacher . . .”
“Careful, lass,” he murmured, leaning forward, halving the distance between them. “A good teacher would remind ye that sparks can lead to a conflagration.”
They stared at one another. Kieran willed her to close the remaining gap between them, to put her siren lips on his.
Awareness pulled and stretched, a cat uncurling from a nap and reaching out its paws, pricking the rug.
