She smiled. Isla had blackmailed her way onto Daniel’s airship when they first met. “Perhaps I was actually looking to understand you better but didn’t realize it.”
He looked at her thoughtfully while eating. “No, I believe your first admission was true. You were looking for information to exploit with no altruistic motives whatsoever.”
She laughed. “Much more likely.” The moment stretched into comfortable silence, and as she looked at him, she wondered when she’d begun to see him as devastatingly handsome. For nearly two years she’d thought him a gargoyle.
He offered her the open tin, but she waved it aside with a “No, thank you.” He replaced the lid and turned it idly in his hands, studying it.
“I had thought to make a career in the military. My early years before were spent as a constable, and when I thought of the benefits of travel and adventure, military service seemed an excellent option. And it was. I just hadn’t learned that my temperament isn’t suited to that work for a lifetime.”
She tilted her head. “I should think your temperament excels at leadership in any organization.”
He nodded, still looking at the tin he turned slowly in his hands. “Leadership is one matter. Politics, purchased commissions, and non-merit-based advancement is another altogether.”
She bit her lip and tried to keep from digging. It was a useless endeavor, but she congratulated herself for thinking she might manage it. “You face politics and troublesome colleagues working for the Yard, I am certain.”
He glanced at her, one corner of his mouth turned upward. “Perceptive, of course.” He paused and looked again at the tin. “I lost men in battle. I saw the futility in certain maneuvers but was obligated to follow orders from above. I saw—gruesome things.” He traced his thumb along the edge of the lid. “Images that still haunt my sleeping hours.” He abruptly spun the tin in his hands and returned it to her. “The horrors of my work now are mostly intermittent. The scope of it manageable. I do not ordinarily encounter large-scale slaughter.”
She nodded and took the tin. She returned it to the bag, and, on impulse, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, opening her senses to him. She felt a wave of grief and even anger before he abruptly shut it away. She looked at him, trying to mask her surprise.
“You have a door you close.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You shut your reactions away quite efficiently.”
He tipped his head in thought before rubbing his eyes. He looked incredibly weary. “A door. Very apt description. One I keep closed and locked.”
“I imagine your door resembles a bank vault. I fashioned my door when I was young—yellow with black hardware. Isla says it is dangerous to keep such doors closed. I say it is wise. But should you ever need a place to open your door safely, she is a good one.”
He smiled. “Isla is a shifter empath, and I do not count shifting among my traits.”
“She is an empath for animals of all sorts. Including the human kind.” She closed the portmanteau and turned back to him with a small smile. “I am rarely a willing participant, but there are instances when she has been a great solace.”
He lifted his arm, and she settled against his side. She yawned and moved her leg, wincing and groaning when it jostled her ankle. He rubbed her shoulder and dipped his head to look at her face. “We’ll find medical help in a few hours.”
She nodded and rested her head against his shoulder, blinking back the sting of unwelcome tears. She’d cried enough for a lifetime in one day, her emotions having exploded in a torrent she couldn’t remember experiencing since childhood.
“Emme,” he murmured, “I feel I should apologize for my actions earlier. I unwittingly took advantage of you in a vulnerable state.”
The thought that he would apologize for kissing her caused her heart to drop. “It was lovely, and I do not wish to discuss it.”
“I . . . very well.” He rested his head against the tree trunk.
She lifted her head, and anger crept forward as she looked at his face, his closed eyes. “Why on earth would you apologize?” She tried to keep the hurt from her voice but heard it herself.
His eyes snapped open, and he lifted his head. “I thought you didn’t wish to discuss it.”
“Well, I do wish to. I’ll thank you not to take ownership of a situation in which I was a willing participant. Perhaps it was I who took inappropriate advantage!”
He opened his mouth but said nothing. He studied her with those intuitive eyes that seemed to read everything at a glance. “If I encouraged something untoward, placed you in a position you may later regret, I apologize because it was unprofessional in the extreme. I would not cause you pain.”
“You placed me in a position I very much appreciated.” She felt herself blush, glad it was still dark.
His lips twitched, but he waited for her to continue. It was a tactic she knew he used as a detective—stop speaking, allow the suspect to fill the awkward silence.
“Insult me with something other than an apology for a kiss.”
“You look like a hideous troll.”
“That is ridiculous. No, I do not.”
“No, you do not,” he agreed. “Why on earth do you want to be insulted at all?”
“Anger at you, frustration with you, is much more comfortable.” She swallowed. “You swept me out of the path of a careening carriage. You jumped from an airship despite your aversion to heights. You could have insisted that someone else take this job. Nobody else would have done it as well, I know that as surely as I breathe. You held me when I was terrified, and I fully participated in that kiss. Do not ever apologize to me again about that kiss.”
He cleared his throat. “Fair enough.” He paused, and this time she let the silence linger. “I like to know how to plan for
