Not physically.
Somewhere worse.
Eliza whispered:
“I don't want to talk about it.”
Grant nodded.
“Then we won't.”
Just like that.
No disappointment.
No pressure.
Eliza stared.
“You'll simply stop asking?”
“Tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
“If you still don't want to talk, yes.”
She looked down.
Grant smiled faintly.
“I have other talents.”
“Such as?”
“Cattle.”
“Useful.”
“Fence repair.”
“Less impressive.”
“I can make coffee.”
“Samuel warned me.”
Grant looked offended.
“My coffee is fine.”
“He called it boiled mud.”
“Samuel is ungrateful.”
Eliza laughed.
The tension changed.
Grant's eyes stayed on her.
She felt the change before she understood it.
Different hunger.
The thought made her blush.
Grant noticed.
His gaze lowered briefly toward her mouth.
Eliza's pulse jumped.
There it was again.
Not pity.
Not assessment.
Want.
She had been looked at by men before.
Usually in one of two ways.
Too much.
Or not enough.
Some men saw her full figure and stared crudely.
Others looked away as if politeness required pretending she had no body at all.
Grant simply looked.
As though he liked what he saw and did not consider that fact either shameful or especially complicated.
Eliza touched the edge of her sleeve.
Grant immediately looked back at her eyes.
That small correction affected her more than the staring.
“You're doing it.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Looking at me.”
Grant's mouth twitched.
“I thought that's generally expected during conversation.”
“You know what I mean.”
He did.
His voice lowered.
“Would you prefer I didn't?”
Eliza should have said yes.
Instead:
“No.”
Grant became very still.
She looked toward the open door.
Then back at him.
“You keep staring at my mouth like supper isn't what you're hungry for.”
His eyes changed.
“Supper stopped being the problem the second you looked at me like that.”
Heat moved through her.
Grant took one slow step closer.
Then stopped.
Enough room remained for her to move away.
Eliza did the opposite.
She caught the front of his shirt.
His breath changed.
“Then maybe tonight,” she murmured, “you should show your wife exactly how badly you've been behaving yourself.”
Grant's hand settled carefully at her waist.
“Keep talking like that, sweetheart, and neither one of us is getting much sleep tonight.”
She smiled.
Boldness felt strange.
Wonderful.
Terrifying.
Then his hand moved slightly and Eliza's body betrayed her.
She flinched.
Not from him.
Memory.
Grant released her immediately.
The absence was so fast it hurt.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
Eliza caught his wrist.
Grant stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn't do anything.”
“I know.”
“Then don't apologize for something I did.”
Her eyes filled.
Grant waited.
Eliza looked down.
“You must think I'm ridiculous.”
“No.”
“I invite you closer and then—”
“You changed your mind.”
“I didn't.”
Grant's voice remained calm.