Tethered (Novella) - By Meljean Brook Page 0,20

hurry back.”

She slipped her hand into the warmth between her thighs. Archimedes caught his breath and scrambled to his feet, dumping her face-first into the cushions.

“Christ.” He raced across the cabin, followed by her laughter. At the desk, he stabbed a pen into ink, and spoke aloud as he scrawled:

Zenobia—

Bilson is aboard. His brother has been taken to New Eden. He wants us to mount a rescue. We refused. He might come to you, hoping that you’ll help him to persuade us. Remain steadfast, O! brilliant Zenobia. Neither my darling captain nor I wish to become praying gardeners.

Yours,

Archimedes

He suddenly paused, frowning.

“Lady Lynx and the Smuggler’s Secret Scheme?“Yasmeen suggested.

“By God, that’s awful,” he said, even as he added it to the postscript. He tossed down the pen and lifted the paper, pursing his lips and blowing to dry the ink.

Oh, his mouth was beautiful. Watching him, Yasmeen slid her hands beneath her shirt, and gave her imagination full sail—his hot tongue on her skin, the gentle suction of his lips. Her nipples hardened between her fingers.

Her back arched. “Hurry, Archimedes.”

With a tortured groan, he shoved the letter into an envelope and ran for the door. He stopped before opening it, abruptly faced her.

“Don’t move,” he commanded, and turned to lift the latch—then spun around again. “Unless it’s to take off your clothes. And prepare a cigarillo for afterward.”

Yasmeen grinned. “Is that an order, sir?”

“Yes.”

He rushed into the corridor, slammed the door. With her muscles warmed by anticipation and desire, Yasmeen stretched luxuriously, then dipped her fingers beneath her red sash.

She paused. The shape and feel of her cigarillo case had changed…but both were still so familiar.

A heavy lump formed in her throat even before she saw the silver case, its decorative engraving almost rubbed away from years of constant use. Oh, Archimedes. He’d said that he’d chosen a gift for her at the silversmith’s, but she’d never dreamed he would know to buy this—one of the few items to survive the explosion that had destroyed Lady Corsair. Yasmeen had lost everything else, and she’d been forced to sell the case just to have money enough to pursue her revenge.

She’d never said anything about it, but Archimedes must have known what she’d done—and he must have known that she would never return to the silversmith’s, afraid that her case would already be gone. It was easier to tell herself she didn’t want it than to know she’d lost it forever.

So he’d gone for it. She’d never said anything, but he’d gone for it, and slipped the case into her sash without her noticing.

She looked up when Archimedes came into the cabin. His warm gaze lifted from the case in her hands to search her features. She blinked away the burning in her eyes, swallowing hard.

“You,” she said. It was all that she could manage. Incredible man.

“And you’re still dressed,” he said softly.

She rose from the cushions and met him halfway. His lips parted against hers, yet a kiss wasn’t enough. Through the swelling in her chest, the ache in her throat, she said, “I love you.”

“Of course you do.” Despite the teasing reply, his voice was rough with emotion. “I’m far too manly to resist.”

So he was. And he was the only man she’d ever allow to sweep her up into his arms. She brought his mouth to hers as he crossed the cabin, loving his easy strength. He shouldered through the heavy curtains surrounding their bed, laying her in the center and following her down.

He pulled her shirt from her breeches, found bare skin beneath. His touch sent fire racing across her nerves, searing her senses, taking her breath. Panting, Yasmeen rolled him over, straddling his lean hips.

“Let me, Mr. Fox,” she said against his lips.

He smiled. “I’m all yours, Captain.”

He was, thank the lady. Her fingers made quick work of his waistcoat buckles, but as she spread the emerald silk to reveal the white linen beneath, memory of their conversation with Bilson intruded. She met his eyes. “What happened that summer?”

“I picked a flower, brought it home to my mother, and put it in her hair.” He untied the silk tails of Yasmeen’s kerchief, and coiled one of her narrow braids around his hand. “She blushed and smiled—her smiles came rarely then. When we were children, they came more frequently. But this was the first I’d seen in some time.”

“Your father ruined it?” Yasmeen guessed.

“Adornments are for sodomites and whores. And when he was done with me, he started in