Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [81]
“We have. They will not return from the New World as long as Temür is still governor.” He smiled again. “Until then, I will follow my conscience—and drink tea fit for camels rather than wine.”
Chapter Ten
Archimedes followed Yasmeen out of Hassan’s stateroom, before spinning around and entering again. Curious, she stopped to wait for him, then had to laugh when he came back out with the bottle of wine in hand.
Yes, they could put it to much better use. His grin wide, his long stride carried him close, but she didn’t back away. She loved to look at him—his wicked smile, his active expressions, his handsome features. She wanted him close.
If only his longing would grow deep enough to kiss her.
She felt his breath instead, the dip of his head as he bent to her ear. “Did you find out everything you wanted to know about Temür Agha?”
“Mostly, yes.”
“Good.”
He didn’t move. She was listening for others; so was he. His gaze roamed her face, fell to her lips. “When I kiss you, I don’t know if I’ll stop.”
She didn’t want him to. Her heart pounded as his mouth moved across her cheek, hovered over her lips.
“Now, I breathe your breath, and it’s sweeter than any kiss I’ve ever had.” His thumb dragged over her bottom lip. “When I’m finally inside you . . .”
He trailed off, his eyes glazing as if imagining it. Yasmeen did, too—the heavy thrust, the slide of sweaty limbs. Opening her mouth, she bit the tip of his thumb, and with a flick of her tongue, tasted the salt of his skin. His eyes met hers, and the world stilled.
A door opened farther down the passageway.
He drew back, pushed his fingers through his hair. His breathing wasn’t steady. “I’ll see if Ollivier has those notes ready.”
“Don’t drink anything.”
“I won’t.”
She looked down the passageway. “If Bigor’s in the wardroom, I’ll talk to him about tomorrow.”
“We’ll go in before dawn?”
“Yes.” They’d reach the pass by the middle of the night. Using the darkness for cover, they could slip in—or they could wait a day. She didn’t want to wait. The more quickly this expedition finished, the more quickly they’d fly to Rabat.
Archimedes stopped at the next cabin, knocked. Yasmeen continued aft. Amidships, she met Deflowered Henri, who paused and fidgeted, mouth flapping like a fish as she passed. She’d seen that look before on young aviators: anxious to speak with her, but lacking the position to address her without being acknowledged first.
Because she could still remember his feet twitching on a tavern table, his stiffened toes spreading wide—and because the memory still amused her to no end—she stopped. “Yes?”
Bright red, he said, “Is it true you only gave your crew fifty percent, ma’am?”
It was true. “Why?”
“Last year, your girl Ginger said she earned three livre. But the engine stoker’s boy says he’s heard only a fifty percent split between Lady Corsair’s crew. Even Guillouet gives us seventy, so I told him that couldn’t be true. And as she’s dead, I won’t stand for him calling her a liar.”
The boy was defending Ginger’s honor. That was sweet. “Ginger’s still alive, Henri. She’s with a friend of mine in London. If you like, I can pass on a message for you.”
“No.” His blush deepened. “Thank you, ma’am. I just wanted to know, so I can tell the stoker what you said.”
Was it so important? Interesting. In Yasmeen’s experience, if the boys on a ship were discussing earnings and percentages, then the rest of the crew was, too. She might as well set straight whatever rumor was flying around.
“I gave them fifty percent,” she said and watched his face droop. “But she did earn three livre last year. Most of my crew earned five each.”
“Truly?” His eyes widened. “And Ginger said that if they lost a hand or an eye, you paid for a replacement, too.”
“Yes.”
“I told him that. He said: But she can’t replace their lives.”
Yasmeen hoped she didn’t run into this stoker’s boy anytime soon. “That’s also true. Now go on, before the captain finds you talking with me and thinks you’re staging a mutiny.”
Face suddenly pale, he ran off. Yasmeen grinned.