Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [51]
Archimedes grinned and shrugged out of his jacket. Far quicker than he, she was already across the room before he stood—and he took a few seconds to watch Yasmeen’s very delectable back before a burly woman picked up a chair to swing at it. With a whoop, he dove in.
His head throbbed again, but not with drink—and instead of Yasmeen’s knife at his throat, her arm supported his waist. She hadn’t stopped laughing since pulling him up from the tavern floor and half-carrying him out to the docks. Her arms were warm and strong, and Archimedes thought that he’d let himself be coshed over the head more often.
Which might, he realized, be the sort of thought only a coshed brain would have.
Her feet slid on the icy boards. Archimedes braced his own, caught her against him, his arm hooked around her waist. Heaven. Swearing, she steadied herself and lifted her hand, signaling for a steamcoach idling near a cabstand. As soon as it began puttering toward them, she looked up into his face. Her fingers touched his forehead and came away with a bit of blood.
She shook her head. “I yelled a warning that she was behind you.”
He’d heard, he’d looked. “She winked at me.”
“Idiot,” she said, with no real bite to it. “Barmaids live to smash brawlers over their heads and steal their purses. You’re lucky she only got away with your waistcoat.”
He sighed. “My favorite, too.”
“I like the blue best.”
“Then it’s not such a loss, after all.”
They both backed up a few steps as the rattling coach slid to a stop next to them. Yasmeen called the direction of his boardinghouse up to the driver. Then to the docks, where she’d row out to Vesuvius? Archimedes didn’t ask, didn’t dare presume. He opened the carriage door, and though she rolled her eyes when he held out his hand, her fingers folded over his as she climbed aboard.
He’d barely seated himself before she climbed aboard him.
His breathing stopped. She straddled his legs, the inner muscles of her thighs taut. His hands caught her waist. The coach lurched into motion. She fell against him and he felt the press of her breasts into his chest, the play of her fingers through the back of his hair. In the dark, he couldn’t see her expression, but there was no mistaking the warm purr in her voice when she said, “Perhaps we ought to seal our agreement in another way, Mr. Fox.”
A devil’s choice. Archimedes clenched his teeth against the answer his body demanded him to give. She was still drunk. This would just be a fuck—for her. He wanted more.
But he didn’t want to reject her. Her pride was an enormous thing, and even his tongue might not be able to soothe this wound.
Her hot mouth found his neck. A tortured groan welled up from his chest, and she laughed softly. Sharp teeth grazed his jaw before her lips tugged on his earlobe.
“You hold my waist, yet you’re all but holding me away,” she said into his ear. “Is this a no?”
God help him. “Yes.”
“A pity. You’d fall in love with me much faster.”
No doubt. “I don’t want to fall in love too quickly and miss every emotion along the way—even if it leads to frustration and pain.”
“Truly?” Though unable to see her, he sensed that she was studying his expression. “You’re an unusual man, Mr. Fox.”
Then her weight and warmth were gone, his body left aching. A spark lighter flared in the seat opposite; he saw her face, the amused smile, and his cigarillo case—he hadn’t even felt her lift it—before the light died.
“Stay with me anyway,” he said. “Don’t row out to Vesuvius this late. Sleep in my room.”
“I don’t sleep in the same bed as a man.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Not after Bloody Bartholomew. “I’ll use the floor.”
“Uncomfortable for you.”
Better than fishing her body out of the harbor. “There’s an empty room next to mine,” he said. “Sleep there tonight, and I’ll explain it to the house matron in the morning.”
Her pause told him she was considering it. “All right. I’ll need a room soon, anyway.”
“When does Vesuvius sail out?”
“In a few more days.”
The coach shuddered to a halt. Yasmeen didn’t wait for him to open the