Something had told her it would be 'Feminine View' even before the phone began to ring. In fact, the Captain's eyes met her with a "of course it is" expression as she said "Hello Mr. Gordon", and that sense of oneness became even a bit more disconcerting as he picked up his cigar and perched on the edge of her desk avidly listening.
Even though they had agreed earlier (she firmly, he reluctantly) that there would be no more adventures for Captain Webster, she watched him carefully, fully expecting him to take the phone and identify himself as the phantom writer and offer to complete the series on his own.
It was difficult to focus on the conversation with the Captain quite so close. Over the writing of the article, she noticed his increasing comfort (interest?) in being near to her. Leaning over her, his hand a mere whisper from her own, she began to wonder (fantasize?) that with the slightest adjustment they might even touch.
Shaking that image from her head, she finally delivered the finishing touch that her 'ghost writer' sadly had, in fact died. His sly wink then would have made her laugh, if it hadn't caused another round of most disturbing tingles between her thighs. Fighting the urge to bite her lip, she carefully put the phone on the receiver, aware his eyes were still fixed on her face.
The silence between them held for a beat and a half too long, and her blushing cheek, and his sudden need to tug at his ear told each of them they had inched closer again to their truth, but clearing his throat, the Captain quickly stood and walked over to the binnacle. Looking out the telescope, he seemed to take a deep breath, "So. He was still impressed with the story about the Captain?"
Watching him there, she turned away smiling, "And the girl."
"Oh, that's doubtful," he said in a rather matter-of-fact voice as he finally turned to look back at her.
Spinning his direction, her arched eyebrow was enough to make him continue quickly before another spat could begin. Moving to lean against the desk, quite close to her, he continued. "You mistake me, my dear. Not the girl. It's the woman. It takes a real, live woman to holds a man's interest, to capture the heart of a worldly sea captain. A mere girl, no matter how comely would find it impossible."
Of all the hundreds of things she might say in response, dozens that she considered saying, Carolyn contented herself with a long look and a breathless, knowing, "Ah. . ." Perhaps one day there would be more words, more . . . something, but today the shared looks and smiles were enough for the two of them. At least for today.