She knew.

Adrian paced the length of his cabin after finishing his food, excitement and trepidation fuelling his steps in equal measure. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt that Oliver knew he was aware she was a woman. He had seen it in her eyes, in the flicker of panic that had crossed her face when he accidentally called her pretty.

She knew that he knew, and now it was just a matter of who would break first.

And it wouldn't be him.

He had challenged Oliver, expecting her to baulk at the idea of assisting him with his bath and confess, but she had held steady. She was as unwilling to back down as he was.

This was the most fun he'd had in years. It was improper, of course, to engage in these games. Especially with a young lady who might know very little about that side of things. He had seen her with Rain, but he didn't know how they knew each other. Was she a member of the ton or a servant? A young country miss the duchess had taken under her wing? It was impossible to know.

But despite the impropriety of his actions, he couldn't help himself. Oliver fascinated him more than anyone he could remember, and he itched to find out exactly who she was and why she was on his ship. And with this bath...he might finally get her to confess. He'd be lying if he said the thought didn't excite him.

The sound of the cabin door opening drew him from his musings. Oliver and Tom entered with buckets of steaming water, which they poured into the waiting copper tub. It was their third trip, and the tub was finally filled enough. With a quick grin and nod of his head, Tom disappeared, leaving Adrian alone with a fidgeting Oliver.

With a smirk, he leaned against his desk as he watched her. She was doing her best to ignore his presence, busying herself with pouring in the last bucket. There was a tension to her shoulders, a slight tremor in her hands. She was nervous, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. A trickle of guilt niggled at him, but he was determined to see this through. Surely she would fold before he could take it too far.

As the steam rose from the tub, she set the buckets to the side and glanced at him before averting her gaze.

"There, sir. Your bath is ready." She still refused to look at him. "If there is nothing else, I will take my leave."

"Oh, no." He pushed off from the desk and sauntered over to her. "I told you I will need your assistance today. Sadly, I still feel rather weak from the blow to my head."

It was a lie, and they both knew it. Still, she didn't call him out.

Fighting hard to hide his grin, he leaned a little closer. "I will need some help to undress."

She stiffened and there was a momentary flash of something he couldn't define—probably anger—in her eyes before she masked it with a look of dutiful obedience. "Of course, Captain," she said blithely. "As you wish."

Oh, he did wish. A little too much. He had to give her credit. She was putting on a good show of not caring, but he could see the cracks in her armour, the slight tremble in her fingers as she reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Standing perfectly still, he barely dared to breathe as she worked, her hands brushing against his chest as she slipped the buttons free and pulled the garment over his head. It took every ounce of his control not to react. The simple touch was more enticing than he had expected, and he seriously considered the wisdom of this challenge.

When she moved to his breeches, he nearly jumped out of his skin as her fingers grazed the bare skin of his hips. This wasn't doable. Apparently, there was a line he wasn't ready to cross, after all. With a grunt, he grabbed her hands and moved them away.

"I'll do the breeches myself."

She nodded and stepped away, turning her back to him. He made quick work of shedding the breeches and tossing them to the side. It was rather embarrassing how easily he reacted to her touch. While her back was still turned, he stepped into the tub and sank into the hot water.

A sigh escaped him. This was pure bliss. God, he had needed this. It wasn't only to taunt and challenge Oliver, though it was definitely an added benefit. The heat seeped into his muscles, easing the aches and pains of his healing body.

Without looking, he could sense Oliver's presence, her eyes on him. Was she considering bolting from the cabin? Finally admitting she wasn't actually a boy at all and shouldn't be in the room with a stark naked man?

It was all highly improper. But then, propriety had never been his strong suit. And right now, feeling relaxed and somewhat wicked, propriety was the last thing on his mind. He was going to win this. Oliver would confess any moment now.

"Oliver." His voice was a low purr. "I believe I'm in need of some soap. And my hair needs a wash too."

She swallowed visibly before reaching for the soap and a washcloth. "Of course, Captain." Was he imagining things, or did she sound breathy? "Just lean back."

He did as instructed, letting his head fall back against the rim of the tub. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sensation of her hands in his hair, on the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It was heavenly, the perfect mix of soothing and stimulating. He could feel himself relaxing, his body growing heavy and languid.

And then her hand slipped down his chest, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes flew open and his body tensed as a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire shot through him. Meeting her gaze, he saw the flush on her cheeks and the darkening of her eyes. He wasn't the only one affected by their near proximity. By this irresistible pull.

"What are you doing?" he asked hoarsely.

She raised her eyebrows and faked an innocent look. "Washing you as you requested, Captain. Did I do something wrong?"

He had no answer for that. Because she hadn't, and yet she had because his body was reacting to her in ways he suspected she was not ready to find out. Fortunately, the suds from the soap she'd used in his hair covered the surface of the water, offering him some privacy to hide his condition. He wanted so desperately to pull her into the tub with him, consequences be damned.

But he couldn't do that. The game wasn't over, and he wasn't ready to admit defeat.

"My back," he commanded quietly. "Please do my back."

He leaned forward to give her access and had to suppress a shudder when the washcloth glided over his skin. She worked in silence, the only sound the trickle of water as she squeezed the cloth over his back. He might go mad from the torture of restraining himself, but he would not be the one to break.

Once he felt confident enough in having his body under control, he leaned back again. "Front."

For a moment, he thought she might refuse. That he finally pushed her too far. But then, with a stubborn tilt to her jaw, she obeyed.

It took Adrian no more than two seconds to realise this had been a terrible mistake. Having Oliver so close and her hand—even through the fabric of a washcloth—caressing his chest was more than he could handle. His one saving grace was that she appeared to struggle equally, her movements uncertain and her lips parted slightly.

A sudden splash of water soaked his face. He spluttered, blinking soap from his eyes, turning his head to glare at Oliver.

"Oops," she said, her tone anything but apologetic. "My hand must have slipped."

He narrowed his eyes. So that was how she wanted to play it? Well, two could play that game.

Twisting in the tub, he sent a wave of water cascading over the side and directly onto her. She let out a yelp of surprise, leaping back, but it was too late. She was drenched, her shirt clinging to her body.

"Oh dear," he said, his voice dripping with false concern. "How clumsy of me. Here, let me help you with that."

He reached for her, his fingers grazing the collar of her shirt. But before he could do anything else, she jerked away, her eyes wide and wild.

"No," she said sharply. "I...I'll be fine."

His hand dropped. What was he thinking? Of course he couldn't start undressing her. He opened his mouth to apologise, but before he could speak, Oliver leaned close.

"You have soap in your eye," she said. "Here, let me..."

She leaned over him; her face only inches from his. Adrian thought he might combust as time seemed to slow to this one moment. Her thumb wiped the suds away from the corner of his eye before tracing the length of his eyebrow.

So close. If he only leaned forward a fraction, he could taste her.

Her gaze met his, and her hand froze at his temple. He nearly groaned when her tongue darted out to wet her lips. This was pure torture.

"Captain?" It was a mere whisper against his face.

"Yes?"

Their breaths mingled as they remained still, neither of them willing to be the first to break. To take that next final, irrevocable step.

A sharp knock sounded at the door, and they jerked apart. Adrian cursed under his breath as his body hummed with unspent desire. If that knock hadn't come, he would have folded any second, having been so close to say to hell with it and capture her mouth with his.

"Captain!" a voice called from the other side of the door. "Captain, you're needed on deck."

Adrian closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that they'd been interrupted before the kiss. Before the confession. Of all the bloody times...

"I'll be right there," he called, his voice harsh with frustration. "Give me a moment."

Looking back at Oliver, he noted the flush on her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She looked as shaken as he felt by the near-kiss.

"You...you should go." She gestured towards the door. "You need to..."

He nodded. "Yes. I...yes."

"I'll let you get out and get ready..." She hesitated. "Unless you need me to assist you?"

"No!" The answer came a little too quickly, and he cleared his throat. "No, I... I will manage on my own this time."

She made to leave, but he caught her arm, his fingers curling around her wrist.

"Oliver," he said. "The bath. It's yours, if you want it."

"Oh, I..." Her gaze flicked to the water, and she hesitated. It took him a moment to realise she was worried about discovery. Strictly speaking, she was still the cabin boy, as neither of them had actually confirmed what they knew.

"I will make sure you're not disturbed," he mumbled. "Whatever the issue is on deck, I'll stay away long enough to give you some privacy."

She nodded. "Thank you... That is very kind of you, Captain."

Kind wasn't necessarily a word he'd use to describe himself. Especially right then. Once Oliver left him alone, he hauled himself out of the tub with a groan and reached for a towel. He had to stop obsessing about Oliver. He had a ship to run and couldn't afford to be distracted.

But as he dressed and left the cabin, his mind was filled with images and memories of her. With the feel of her hands on his skin, the heat of her gaze, and the ghost of her breath on his lips.

What a damned fool he was to want her the way he did. He didn't even know who she was. For all he knew, she could be married. Or betrothed.

And yet the thoughts wouldn't leave him. Was she in the tub now? Caressed by the same water that he had been submerged in only moments ago? The thought of her so close and yet so far away was maddening.

The rules of the game had changed with that bath, and he wasn't entirely sure what his next move should be. Oliver still refused to admit who she was, and he was reluctant to confess he knew.

It was a stalemate, and he didn't know how to break it without losing. And he did not want to lose.

~~~~~~