“Not for that. Well, yes, for that too, but for understanding. Thank you for understanding.” Her throat was still tight. “And for accepting me. And believing in me.”

“I’m only returning the favor,” he said and closed the door firmly behind him.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

He had wanted to kiss her.

When Charlotte had said his name, her cheeks flushed and eyes fixed on his, he had almost lost his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. For the love of God, two hours prior to that moment he had still believed her to be a boy. As a boy, Charlotte’s genuine friendship and beautiful heart had left him humbled. His steady wisdom and gentle acceptance had left him healed.

As a woman, all of that had left him reeling, his sudden desire to kiss her the only thing that had emerged clearly.

He cursed softly to himself. Was there anything in this world that was less romantic than kissing a woman who lay helpless in a bed, pale and bruised, her shoulder a painful mess of stitches? Was there anything less honorable than fantasizing about kissing a woman who was there as his equal—his colleague? Charlotte was not some loose tavern wench hoping to catch his eye for an evening’s entertainment. In fact, she had gone to extreme measures to ensure that that sort of idiocy would never happen. The least he could do as a professional, as a man—as a bloody human being—was respect that. He hadn’t even sought Lisbon out to tell him what had happened as though, by avoiding the architect, Flynn could pretend that nothing had changed and they could proceed with business as usual.

Flynn leaned forward and banged his forehead against the edge of the scaffold gently, wondering if he was losing his mind. Because, despite the stern logical lecture, he still wanted to kiss her.

“Could you imagine if we had to use ultramarine? How ghastly expensive that would be?”

The comment snapped his head up and he spun, finding Charlotte standing behind him. She was studying the deep blue of the heavens he had added to the background until he had lost his daylight. The same deep blue that she would eventually start adding to hers once she was ready.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he grumbled.

“And you shouldn’t have to wait on me hand and foot any longer while I stare at the rafters. I’m perfectly capable of seeing to myself.”

Her color was much better than it had been two days ago, though she was still a little pale. She had dressed herself in her trousers and another one of her oversize shirts, though the laces were loose to allow room for the bulky bandage he had wrapped around her shoulder.

“Sit then,” he said, fetching a chair and setting it at her side.