“No.”
“Then hop around.”
He snorted. “You’re dreaming. I don’t hop.”
“Then why’d you offer?” she asked with a scowl.
“Because you were supposed to know I wasn’t serious.”
“You should know by now that I don’t understand nuance. I take everything at face value.”
He leaned in, his upper body crossing half the table. The pendant she’d given him swung forward, winking in the lamplight. “You’re twenty-six years old. Most people have figured out nuance by now.”
“You’re older than I am, and you haven’t figured out how to get dressed. As proved once again bythis.” Her eyes darted over the muscle-bound chest still slowly edging toward her.
Carver eased back. “I was in bed until you so rudely disturbed me by getting attacked. Just be thankful I had pants on.”
Her face scrunched up. “Next time, by all means, please take the time to get dressed.”
His expression abruptly hardened to rock. “Am I that hideous?” he ground out.
Her mouth fell open. “What are you talking about?”
“I clearly repulse you. It’s a little hard to digest.”
She gaped at him, his growled words still resonating in her chest. “You don’t repulse me. Why would you think that?” And why were they fighting? A second ago, she’d been about to laugh.
His eyes dipped to her mouth, his change in focus so brief she might’ve imagined it. “Never mind,” he said. “Hold out your arms.”
Too confused by the sharp turnabout to protest being ordered around again, she lifted her arms. Carver started carefully unwrapping the dripping cloths from around her wrists, his expression unreadable now.
She stared at him. If this was anything like usual, one of them would stomp off soon. In general, it didn’t bother her too much. Tonight, she didn’t like even the idea of it. Carver had already stomped away from her at the beach, and she’d hated it.
With a grunt of dissatisfaction, he moved around to her side of the table for a better angle, leaning over her shoulder as he continued to unwrap her wrists. The heat of his skin seemed disproportionately intense, and Bellanca stiffened away from him, opening a gap of cool air between them. She heard his aggravated exhale—could almosthearhim shake his head—and drew her lower lip between her teeth. With effort, she slowly relaxed back into him. What was she so afraid of anyway? She didn’t normally touch people or let people touch her, but this wasCarver. If she could trust anyone, it was him.
By the time he finished, her blood ran so hot she started sweating. She shivered when he backed away from her, his warmth seeming to pull straight through her body and out. “What if more automatons come back?” she asked, feeling oddly empty and alone after the prolonged contact.
Carver tossed the wet cloths into the basin with a splat. “We close our shutters.”
She turned to him with a scowl. “That won’t stop them.”
“No, but the creaky hinges will wake us up.”
“And then what?” Shaking her head, she spread her wet arms. “You haul them apart one by one? What if there are too many?”
Carver wiped down the table with a dry cloth, not looking at her. “I’ll buy a saw,” he said. “A serrated one.”
She cocked her head in thought. “That might work.”
“I’ll get one after my guard shift tomorrow.” He glanced out the window at the dawn-gray sky. “Today.” Grimacing, he sat back down across from her and scrubbed a hand down his face.
Worry panged inside her. “You’re tired.” The physical effort to tear those automatons apart must’ve been colossal. It was a wonder he was still standing, let alone taking care of her. And she’d been utterly useless. She wouldn’t be again. “Two.”
“Too what?” Carver asked wearily.
“Two of us.” She motioned back and forth between them, trying not to notice the angry red rings around her wrists. “Two saws. I thought it was obvious.”
“Nothing’s obvious with you,” he murmured.
