Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [32]
The fingers of her right hand slid along his jaw. Her slow smile exposed sharp teeth. “Careful, Mr. Fox. I’d hate to be poisoned.”
Sweat dampened his heated skin. His blood raced. “Only one more segment.”
Her hand drifted across his shoulder, down his left arm. He twisted the copper once . . . then again. The bracelet clicked.
Yasmeen stiffened. Anger and disbelief flashed over her expression, followed by terror. “You fucking bast—”
Her eyes rolled back. He caught her when she dropped.
“Opium,” he said urgently against her ear, hoping she was still conscious enough to understand. “Not poison. Never poison for you.”
Her head lolled forward, her muscles went lax. Copper glinted as an object fell from her right hand and thunked against the boards.
Archimedes stared at it in astonishment. Another slave bracelet—larger than the one still around her wrist. Good God. When had she palmed it? Only a few seconds ago, she’d been running her fingers over his skin.
He’d known he was in trouble. He hadn’t realized just how close she’d come to turning the tables on him.
Thankfully, the opium had acted more quickly this time. He’d expected to dive into the hideaway until the drug had taken her down, but apparently even Captain Corsair didn’t have much resistance against a second dose. Was it too much?
No. Her breathing and pulse were both strong. She simply needed to sleep it off. He glanced at the bed but immediately recognized the folly of it. She might forgive him the trickery, but she wouldn’t if any of her crew came in and saw her drugged in bed, fully dressed.
She also wouldn’t forgive him if he stripped her naked.
Damn it all. He looked to the hideaway—and hoped she could forgive him this, too.
He didn’t risk the food, no matter how tempting. And if, during the ride down to the docks on the cargo platform, he entertained the fantasy of wearing only a slave bracelet in Yasmeen’s bed and feeding her tender morsels on command, at least none of the crew could discern his thoughts.
That probably wasn’t what she’d had in mind for him. Ah, well. She’d be after him soon enough, and he looked forward to the chase.
With the satchel strapped to his back, he hopped off the platform to the dock. Though the night was in the wee hours, there were still a few handfuls of sailors and aviators about, most of them staggering. The only person not in motion was a robed figure at the west end of the docks—
Oh, Christ save him. Archimedes almost stumbled over his own feet when his heart burst into a rapid pace and his gut urged him to run, then forced himself to continue walking as if nothing were amiss.
Cold sweat gathered along his spine. A man with a taste for danger, he embraced the sweet excitement and challenge of it, but even standing a hundred yards from that woman was nothing like the delicious thrill of being next to Yasmeen. With the captain, there always existed the hope of success.
If the woman at the end of the docks spotted him, there would be no hope at all.
Archimedes walked almost forty yards before casually turning toward the wooden crates stacked along the boarded walk. They’d hid him well before, and they could do the same now. He hunkered down next to a sailor passed out and his clothes soaked in urine—if he was lucky, his own.
Breathing through his mouth, Archimedes forced a crate forward a few inches and created a narrow opening through which he could watch the woman. Judging by the angle of her body, she didn’t appear to be looking his way, though he couldn’t be certain. From this distance, he couldn’t even be certain that she was Temür Agha’s assassin—but the rebel’s personal guard had stood exactly as this woman did now: quiet and watchful, as if nothing escaped her notice.
Hopefully, Archimedes had.
Minutes passed. The awkward crouch cramped the muscles in his thighs, but he’d sat through worse for longer. The woman didn’t move. What was she looking at? Perhaps the harbor itself, studying the boats and airships. He glanced back at Lady Corsair. Like the other airships, her balloon shone