Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [95]
“No, Mr. Fox.” She rolled to face him and came up on her elbow, her mouth almost to his. “It’s just that they’re very, very . . . ticklish.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, stifling his laugh.
Her fingers stroked the side of his jaw. “Do you stay awake first, or do I?”
“I will.” Though they didn’t have to worry about the soldiers, it was still best to keep watch. “Five hours?”
“Yes.” Softly, she pressed her lips to his neck. He heard her deep inhalation, as if drawing in his scent. “Do you know that I have read all of your stories?”
He didn’t. But now his mind sifted frantically through them, trying to remember what Zenobia had included, what was fact—and what he might hate to have Yasmeen know. Carefully, he asked, “What did you think?”
“Archimedes Fox did some very stupid things.”
Ah, yes. Some of those were fact, too. God. Gritting his teeth, he said, “You think so?”
“Yes.” She sighed against his throat. “And yet, I could never get enough of him.”
And while he was still trying to find the words to reply, she climbed into the bedroll and closed her eyes.
Yasmeen would be sorry to leave. The freezing cold, empty fortress, and the two days spent walking through it with Archimedes Fox had been perfect in every way. Yet as they climbed to the southeast tower after saying their farewells to Nergüi and Terbish, his expression was thoughtful, maybe troubled.
He doused the light at the top of the tower, and they waited atop the wall. Fresh snow covered the flying machine in the courtyard, making it difficult to see even with her eyes. Terbish and Nergüi had agreed to their request to meet the airship alone; knowing that she and Archimedes had been friendly with two members of the Horde might raise suspicions against them, and she didn’t want to add to the crew’s tension.
Farther up the valley, Ceres approached under full sail, her deck lanterns dark. Apparently they hadn’t mutinied yet.
And Archimedes had nothing to show for this expedition thus far.
“Are you worried because there was nothing to find?” she wondered.
He shook his head. She couldn’t read him—only that something was wrong.
“Have I already broken your heart?” She hoped not. She hoped she never did. She hoped that if he loved her, that he would go on, content to love her.
“Not yet.” His gaze softened. He stroked his hand down her cheek, then suddenly cupped her jaw in both hands and his head fell, hovering, hovering just above her mouth. His ragged breath across her lips seemed to echo the shaking of her body.
Her heart pounded. “Kiss me.”
“Kiss me,” he said.
Damn him. Why did he never follow orders? “I can’t. But I want to finish this, and I need you in my bed. How can your longing not be great enough, when I want you so much without love? When will you love me, long for me enough to kiss me?”
“When will you?”
Her chest ached suddenly, painful, deep. “That was not part of this. You know I cannot.”
“I don’t know that anymore. Ah, God. And that makes the pain worse. If you can love me but won’t . . .”
Torment filled his eyes, his voice. He clutched her against his lean body, face buried in her hair. She kissed his neck, jaw, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight.
And he said softly against her ear, “I saw gliders that night.”
“What?” She drew back, looked up into his face. “What night?”
“Just after I left you on Lady Corsair, while I was hiding from Nasrin behind the crates. I thought they were acrobats, practicing—as they sometimes do late.”
“So?” They did practice late.
He looked to the batwing gliders that Bigor had lent. “There were four of them.”
Her stomach suddenly seemed filled with hot coals. He thought Bigor and his men had boarded her lady? But that was exactly the type of work they did in the war. Quiet, quick, and then erase the evidence.
She remembered Bigor’s voice. Doing things I’d never want my wife and children to know. Had that been an apology? An explanation? An excuse?
Just something said from one person who’d lost their brother to someone who’d lost their crew?
“How can we know?” she whispered.