Tethered

by Meljean Brook

  Her gaze turned speculative. “As soon as we’re under way, we’ll let him out of the stateroom and move about the airship as any passenger might.”

  Clever. “And hope he speaks to the person with the device?”

  “Yes. Longcock and Vashon know to keep an eye on him.” She took a deep breath, met his eyes. “How many of the aviators have decided to leave?”

  “One, but not because of New Eden.”

  “Only one?” Astonishment swept across her expression, and a pained emotion that wasn’t relief or gratitude, but somewhere in between. She’d thought it would be much worse, he realized. “Who was it? What was the reason?”

  “It was Suskind, the third engineer. A letter caught up to him in Port Fallow yesterday, almost six months out. His wife is due to deliver their first child within a week or two now, and when he saw that we were bringing on three months’ worth of supplies, he asked for leave.”

  “God forbid that it takes three months,” Yasmeen said softly. “Suskind? Goddammit. They’re already short by a shoveler. Has Farnsburrow said how he’ll split the third’s duties?”

  The head engineer hadn’t made that decision yet, because he was waiting for Yasmeen’s. “I offered to take them.”

  Yasmeen frowned at him. “You’re not trained as a stoker.”

  “Not for the engines, but under full steam, the third will spend most of his time shoveling coal. If there’s a problem with the engines or pipes on my watch, I’ll call on Farnsburrow.”

  “You can’t be crew.”

  Because it would upset the order of authority on the ship—where he already possessed an odd standing outside of the normal rankings, as it was. He knew she worried that his presence in the engine room might put Farnsburrow in the awkward position of giving orders to the captain’s husband.

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve told Farnsburrow that I wouldn’t be signing on, just helping out. Just as I’ve helped out on the deck before. None of the aviators gave me orders when something needed to be done; they gave me directions about how to do it.”

  It was a small distinction, but an important one. Her frown smoothed and she nodded. “So they did.”

  “So I’ll just be there to help shovel during the third’s watch—and I’ll need to do it,” he added. “We had to disassemble the pugilist machine to make room for the autogyros and the extra coal in the cargo hold. I won’t be off this airship for a while, so I might as well sweat at the heart of her.”

  Her expression didn’t soften, but he saw the sudden understanding in her eyes. Books and journals would keep him occupied on this journey, but not enough. “You’ll sweat,” she said. “Did Farnsburrow tell you the third’s hours?”

  Two shifts every day, one in the dead of night. He nodded. “I’ll survive.”

  “He might feel obligated to give you the first’s hours. Don’t let him.”

  “I won’t.”

  “All right. Your watch starts in thirty minutes, Mr. Fox.” Her lips curved as her gaze moved down his length. “You’ll probably want to change your clothing before you begin shoveling coal into a furnace for four hours.”

  He sighed. “The one drawback.”

  She laughed and started down the ladder. “I suggest you wear the clothes you use to avoid the zombies. They’re already black.”

  * * *

  It didn’t matter which clothes he wore. By the middle of his second shift, he’d stripped down to his breeches, sweating from the heat of the furnace and the exertion, covered in coal dust and breathing the engine room’s thick air, humid with steam from the boiler. God, he loved it. Though not exciting in the slightest, the work pushed his body harder than the automaton had. His muscles would pay for it later, he knew, with soreness and exhaustion—and it would likely take a few days to become accustomed to this new schedule. During salvaging runs, he often went weeks on little sleep, but the constant threat of zombies kept him alert, aware of everything around him, and relishing the thrill of every foreign sound.

  This offered a different sort of bliss—not from danger, but of shutting everything out. He stuffed cotton into his ears to muffle the deafening roar of the engines, and though his sweat belonged to the furnace, he had his brain to himself for a stretch of four hours.

  His head was never a dull place to be.

  Naturally, on that night Yasmeen occupied most of his thoughts. She was always a surprise to him. The most incredible surprise. And he’d always known that he’d enjoyed a fair amount of good luck in his life, but her love for him led to an inescapable truth:

  Archimedes Fox was the single luckiest man to ever walk the Earth.

  So it should be written…and as soon as they got Zenobia back, he’d ask her to.

  His entire body was pleasantly aching by the end of his watch, and the hot water from the evaporators washed away the worst of the dust and sweat. The sound of the engines slowly quieted as he made his way to the captain’s cabin; after months on the ship, he rarely noticed the constant vibration through the decks, aside from the moments when they ceased or resumed.

  Yasmeen wasn’t in bed. A lantern burned low on the table. Before his shift had begun, he’d left her on the cushions there, naked and glistening, her satisfied smile matching the purr from her chest. Since then, she’d apparently poured herself a glass of wine and fallen asleep reading Zenobia’s latest tale. Half of the pages were stacked neatly on the table, the others turned facedown beside her. Wearing a blue silk wrap, she slept on her side, curled up on the pillows and with her back to the door.

  He hated to disturb her, but he would be glad to hold her. Intending to carry her to the bed, he crouched beside her, then paused. She wasn’t sleeping easily. A sheen of perspiration covered her forehead. Her fingers twitched. Each breath was a small, sobbing pant.

  Another nightmare. He knew they’d come before, but never this often—and he hadn’t asked about them, hadn’t needed to. She’d been trapped in her cabin while her crew was slaughtered, and still aboard her lady when it had exploded. That ship had been everything to her.

  And this was the third night in a row she’d woken from those nightmares…beginning when Bilson had activated that damn device, and all but stolen her ship with his demands.

  “Yasmeen.” His chest tight, he gently stroked the long muscles of her back. He couldn’t erase the devastation that caused these dreams, but his touch soothed her. “Yasmeen.”

  Her eyes flew open, met his, and the shattering fear he saw there undid him. With a harsh denial, he gathered her into his lap. Clinging to him, she buried her face against his throat. Hot tears burned against his skin.

  “You won’t lose her,” he promised roughly. “I swear to you.”

  She nodded against his neck—then lifted her head, eyes bright and lashes matted. “Her?”

  “Lady Nergüi.”

  Her lips parted, as if in confusion, before suddenly widening in a laugh. “Oh, Mr. Fox. Is that what you expected? These dreams aren’t about my losing my lady.”

  “Your dreams are about me, of course,” he agreed. “The nightmares are losing her.”

  “No. They’re about losing you.”

  He wasn’t often lost for words. In the silence, she lowered her cheek to his shoulder, slipped her arms around him.

  “You won’t,” he finally managed.

  “I can’t.” Her breath shuddered against his neck. “It’s not what I expected, either. A year ago, losing my ship to New Eden was the most painful thing I could imagine. And if Lady Corsair ever fell, I swore I’d go down with her. But when the time came, I didn’t. It all changed when I lost my crew, when I saw them bleeding on the decks. They were more important to me than my lady was, and avenging them was more important than dying with her. So I don’t dream of losing my ship. That’s not the worst I can imagine anymore.”

  Losing him was. Too overcome to speak, Archimedes’ arms tightened around her.

  “The irrational part of it is that I should be dreaming of
the explosion. It truly happened, and Lady Corsair was destroyed. The zombies breaking that door really happened, too…but you were fine. Not even a scratch. And yet, that’s what I see over and over. Just the threat of losing you terrifies me. You’ve become more important than everything else: my crew, my ship. Even my own life.”

  He stiffened. “No. Don’t say that.”

  “I’m not rushing to jump over the side, Archimedes. Trust me when I say that I’ll go to frightening lengths to save both of us…and I’m truly not certain whether I’d be saving you or myself. It would destroy me to lose you.”

  His throat closed. Somehow, he rasped, “I’m supposed to be the romantic one.”

  “Blame your emerald eyes, if you must. I’ve apparently looked into them for too long.” She was smiling as she lifted her face to his, pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

  He couldn’t answer. He captured her mouth instead, and abandoned everything to this kiss. Every promise, every thought, every feeling, they were all hers. Fierce and sweet, she clung to him, her lips tasting of wine and adventure, her hair smelling of tobacco and coconut, simply the most incredible woman God had ever created. By some miracle, she was his—and she was completely and utterly deluded if she truly thought that anything would ever take him from her side.

  Her skin was flushed when he lifted his head, her breathing as sharp as his.

  “You won’t lose me,” he vowed. “You could throw me off your ship a thousand times, and even if I landed in the mouth of Hell, I’d always come back to you.”

  Her arms tightened around his shoulders as he rose to his feet, lifting her against his chest. “You have overtaken me as the romantic again.”

  “If it pleases you, I will be the realist: after the hundredth time, I might come back as a zombie.” Her burst of laughter disarmed him. He couldn’t maintain a stoic façade. “But I swear to God in Heaven that even if my brains have rotted and my flesh falls from my bones, my heart will still beat for you.”

  “Your brains are already rotted. You don’t have a bit of sense in you.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong, my captain. I am everything that is sensible.” Though almost to the bed, he turned away from it, and started for the desk. “I will show you the solution to your dilemma.”

  “Which one?”

  “Your fear of losing me.” He swept aside a map and set her down, her delectable bottom on the desk and her legs dangling over the edge. “It’s very simple.”

  Her eyes narrowed with amusement. “Is it?”

  “It is. Here is one solid, undeniable fact: I will never leave your side. So all you have to do is sit here, forever.” He hooked the leg of his chair with his booted foot and pulled it close. “I will be right here. You’ll see that I’m perfectly safe, and all of your fears will vanish.”

  He sat in front of her. With a grin, she rested her toes on his knees and let hers fall open. The shadows in the room became his greatest enemy, preventing him from seeing any of the luscious beauty between her thighs. Ah, well. He’d wage war on those shadows with his hands and tongue, instead.

  She nudged him with her foot. He dragged his gaze back to her face. “And when I leave the cabin?”

  “I’d still be at your side. But the practical solution is, of course, that you would never leave.”

  “Oh, so practical.”

  Leaning forward, he placed his hands on her knees. Her eyelashes fell to half-mast, her lips softening, parting. Anticipation. Already hard, his cock stiffened in response. The need to taste her was almost unendurable.

  So he endured it, drew it out further. “I could make it easy to stay, too—there’s a simple solution for that.”

  Her voice was low and throaty. “Tell me.”

  Her command almost broke his control. He pushed at her knees, widening them, making room for his shoulders. Tell me. God. He was a man of endless sense and restraint, yet her words sent him toppling over into mindless need. His brain stopped functioning, and his responses piled up and tumbled out, all of them ridiculous.

  “I could lock the door.”

  She dragged her fingertips up the inside of her thigh, into the shadows. “I have a key.”

  “I could hire a guard to keep you in.”

  “I’ll tear him apart.”

  God help him, he had to have her. “I’ll tie you to the desk.”

  Not truly, not after the terrified reaction she’d had when he’d held her wrists together, but by God he could barely think of anything else at this point. There was no other practical course but touching her, nothing would make sense but tasting her. He leaned in—then froze as sudden tension shook her legs.

  That wasn’t just anticipation.

  He looked up. Her jaw had set. She stared at him, her eyes glittering with an unreadable emotion. Because he’d mentioned tying her…?

  “I wouldn’t restrain you.” He ran his hands the length of her legs, soothing. “I wouldn’t.”

  She seemed to struggle with her reply—then finally spoke, and surprised him all over again.

  “But I want you to,” she said.

  * * *

  He hadn’t expected that.

  Yasmeen hadn’t either. And in truth, despite wanting him to do it, she wasn’t certain that she would be able to…but that only made her more determined to try.

  Archimedes must have seen her doubt. “I won’t.”

  “You will.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything, Yasmeen.” His hands stilled on her knees, his gaze holding hers. The beautiful flush of arousal still darkened his cheekbones. “If it’s instinct, that’s all there is to it.”

  Wonderful man. She had nothing to prove to him, because he loved her so well. Proving it to herself was another matter. “I won’t be ruled by instinct.”

  “Or any other tyrant?”

  He knew her so well. “Yes,” she said, but when he rose and moved to the wardrobe, retrieving two of her long silk kerchiefs, she couldn’t stop the shaking that suddenly overcame her. Heart pounding, she imagined them tightening around her wrists, holding her immobile—

  He paused, watching her face. “Yasmeen?”

  “Just my legs.” She could bear that more easily than her hands. Even tied to the desk, she could shoot, she could throw a dagger, she could rip and tear. “This first time.”

  His jaw tightened. “There won’t be another time.”

  Perhaps not. He’d touched her hundreds of times, thousands—but knowing that he would tie her, it took all of her control not to push him away when he sat again and clasped her right ankle, gently drawing her foot toward the desk’s leg. Her ankle touched smooth wood. She trembled.

  He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth. “Yasmeen.”

  “Do it.”

  She had to gasp out the order, then hold herself still when she felt the light tug of silk. He sat back, his expression tormented.

  “It’s done.”

  And so loosely tied that if she pulled at the bindings even a bit, the knot would fall apart. Yasmeen stared down at the slack loop around her ankle. It was not restraining her at all; to stay bound, she would have to hold her leg immobile. In truth, she was restricted by nothing but her own determination to stay that way.

  Perhaps that was for the best, this time. “The other leg now.”

  He didn’t move. With a sigh, she slid her left leg toward the corner of the desk, scooting forward so that her ankle would reach. It wasn’t easy. The position spread her wide, stretching the inner muscles of her thighs. She paused at the soft hitch of his breath.

  “Christ,” he groaned. The remaining kerchief crumpled in his fist. “Christ, Yasmeen. Look at you.”

  She didn’t need to. The roughness of his voice told her, the erection straining at the front of his breeches. Silence fell, and there was only his harsh breathing, the soft vibration of the engines through the desk beneath her, the rapid thrum of her pulse in her ears.

  Deliberately, she pressed
her ankle to the desk leg. A shiver ran over her skin—not fear this time, though that lurked just beneath the desire.

  “Tie me, Archimedes. Please.”

  With another groan and trembling hands, he did—the same loose knot that forced her to keep her legs open rather than holding them open for her. His callused palm smoothed up the length of her shin, over her knee.

  “Stay still, if you can,” he said. “And lie back.”

  Yasmeen didn’t ask why. He’d done this difficult thing for her; she would do this easy thing for him.

  As her back met the cool surface of the desk, however, she found it wasn’t so easy. Holding her legs open wasn’t a physical effort, but she’d never been this acutely aware of being exposed. So bare. Was he looking at her? She couldn’t see him to know. Lying as she was, with her head resting almost at the opposite edge of the desk, she could only see the rise of her silk-covered breasts, lifting rhythmically with each shallow breath. She fought the urge to pull free, to close her legs, to regain some sort of certainty.

  She froze as a soft caress brushed her knee. His fingers? His lips?

  His lips. The warmth of his mouth heated that spot as he said, “Untie your wrap.”

  Leaving her more exposed, though the trepidation that accompanied that realization was being swept away by anticipation, by excitement. There was fear here, the need to pull her legs free, that battle against instinct, but it only served to heighten her awareness and every sensation. She yanked her wrap open and pressed her palms flat to the desk beside her hips.

  Where was he? A cool whisper of breath against her heated sex told her. A shudder wracked her body and she immediately stiffened, desperately trying to remain still.

  “It’s like your zombies,” she panted. That terrifying, wonderful thrill—and she might become as addicted to this feeling as he was. “Oh, sweet lady, help me.”

  “This is like a zombie? No. Though I will soon devour you.” His laughing reply was punctuated by a nip to the sensitive tendon at juncture of her inner thigh.

  That gentle bite all but devastated her self-control. She cried out, her back bowing. The flames of need that had been licking beneath her skin erupted into a rolling fire that seared every nerve and coiled with liquid heat through her core. His hands gripped her thighs, to support her or to help her stay still, she didn’t know, but as his thumbs slid inward, she needed the assistance.