She swallowed and clenched her jaw. Bastard. He had to be doing that deliberately. After all, she’d flirted with him at that ball before she’d known who he was. She’d made her attraction to him clear.

Unblinking, she stared back, trying to look bored, and held out her hands to accept the polished sabre and matching dagger.

Still at that maddening speed, he removed a bandolier with a pair of Navy issue flintlock pistols. He handed those over, fingers brushing the inside of her wrist as he did so.

That was unnecessary.

So, he wanted to play games. Fine.

She thrust his guns and blades into Aedan’s tattooed hands. “Just a second, Captain,” she said, raising her hands and blocking Blackwood’s path. “In the interest of maintaining goodwill, allow me to demonstrate to the crew you’re not hiding any further weapons.”

Smiling sweetly, she stepped into his space. Although the air was cooling as the sun touched the horizon, heat radiated from him. It warmed her skin as though they were already touching.

Despite his usual mask of neutrality and controlled, subtle expressions, his eyes widened, and he sucked in a quick breath. He didn’t step away, but he swayed backwards as if he longed to escape.

Good, he was bothered. Taste of his own medicine and all that.

At such close quarters, her nose filled with the smell of soap, worn leather, and—was that cinnamon? She fought the near-irresistible urge to breathe deeply and check. There was also something masculine, raw in the scent—the tang of sweat, the hard work of battle.

With a quick exhale, she tried to blow his smell from her nose. She had work to do.

Her hands landed on his shoulders first—firm, broad, warm. Just as she’d imagined. Not that she’d imagined how he’d feel. Definitely not. She cleared her throat and frowned at him.

His chest stilled at her touch—he had to be holding his breath. So, the disciplined Navy man could feel something, he just fought to control, to hide it all.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

She ran her hands down his arms. No sign of straps holding further weapons, even when she patted his forearms—she’d seen people hide daggers up their sleeves. Deliberately, she paused once she’d withdrawn her hands and he sagged, the movement so minute she’d never have noticed it from a respectable distance. However, this was not a respectable distance.

He was relieved, thinking she was done with him.

Poor boy. But he’d brought this on himself.

Eyes locked with his, she placed her hands on his chest. A low sound like far, far distant thunder rumbled through him, so soft no one else could have heard it.

But she did hear it and felt it vibrate under her hands, and she saw his pupils blow wide, darkening his gaze.