Angela Knight - Burning Up

He pictured the people in the hold of that first ship—and all of them that had come after. “Then I’ll find them again.”

“But with the Horde gone, Britain has a navy again. Why can’t they—”

“Because after two hundred years, the navy is nothing but muscle for the Manhattan City merchants.” Pirates in fancy uniforms. “And the people being taken are too poor to matter to them—and they’ve no interest in patrolling this coast.”

“So you’re going to do their job with a monster.”

“Yes.” But he needed to tell her, “The crew doesn’t know about the kraken, Ivy. Barker does—but the others, they assume we’re being paid by Trahaearn to recover his people, and I’m in it for the money. And I can’t afford them or anyone else thinking I’ve gone soft.”

“And so that’s the reason behind the stories.” She studied his face. “ Have you gone soft?”

“The crews of the Black Guard’s mercenary ships wouldn’t think so.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” she said quietly, and he knew she was thinking of the slave handler he’d shot, of the barrage of cannon fire that had destroyed the ship. Looking into his eyes, she lifted her hand to his jaw. His heart sledgehammered against his ribs.

“One denier,” she said. “And I’ll kiss you.”

Anticipation became tearing pain—and anger. He still had to pay?

By God, he wouldn’t. He’d take the kiss and every god-damn thing he wanted from her, and she’d beg for more.

He let himself imagine it, only for a second. Then the red haze cleared from his vision and he saw her pale face, her rounded eyes. Fear? Christ, no. But he didn’t know what his expression had shown her—and he didn’t know what she thought when she looked at him. He only knew he had to put some distance between them.

“Eben,” she said.

He tried to shrug her off as he sat up, but she clung to him, her strong fingers clamped over his shoulders. “Move away, Ivy.”

“Eben.”

His name. For the first time, his name. He stopped, met her searching gaze.

“I don’t mean to—” She cut herself off, and started again. “I need a limit. Something tangible. Something that prevents us from taking this beyond a kiss . . . or very far beyond it.”

He struggled to take in her meaning. “You want to set terms—and back them up with the denier?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because if we make an agreement, you’ll honor it. And I can’t afford . . . I can’t risk more.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and a wistful note softened her voice. “No matter how tempted I am.”

Risk? What did she risk by—

Oh, hell. Eben closed his eyes. God, what a fool he was. Under Horde rule, only one result came from a coupling between a man and a woman, and most didn’t remain together afterward. Then the child would be taken and raised in a crèche.

But Ivy would have kept her child. And when she’d come to Vesuvius , she’d only had eight deniers . . . all of which he’d taken.

Quietly, he told her, “I wouldn’t risk it either, Ivy. A ship is no place to raise a child, and I’m not a man who’d be content visiting the family I’ve made four or five times a year. When I return to land permanently, maybe then. Not while I’m out to sea.”

“Oh.” Confusion furrowed her brow. “You never meant to shag me?”

Eben had to laugh. Of course he had. Even now, hearing that word from her lips left him as hard as a cannon.

“I mean to, Ivy. Every night, and twice in the day. And each time, using a lambskin sheath that will catch my seed.”

Disbelief widened her eyes. “You have such a thing?”

“Yes.”

When she gave a delighted laugh, he determined to buy a crate more the next time Vesuvius put into port.

“And it does not fail?”

He almost lied. Then he admitted, “Yes. But only rarely, Ivy. Very rarely.”

Her face fell. She looked away from him, biting her bottom lip.

Her disappointment was simultaneously the most heartening and the most torturous response he’d ever witnessed. She wanted him—but she wouldn’t risk having him.

Unless Eben convinced her it wasn’t a risk at all.

Yasmeen had warned him that Ivy wouldn’t know what courting was, and he hadn’t forgotten that—but he hadn’t truly understood it, either. He’d hoped that she would accept him as a partner. But it would probably never occur to her to imagine him—or anyone—in that position, even if she began to care for him.

He touched her chin, made her meet his eyes. “If it failed, I wouldn’t leave you alone, Ivy. I’d come with you to shore. I’d see that you and the baby had everything you needed. And I’d stay with you, always.”

Surprise, hope, and doubt warred across her features. “Eben, I think . . .” She trailed off, staring at him, as if searching for an answer within. Whatever she found drooped her shoulders and softened her mouth into a sad curve. “I just don’t know.”

Though he recognized that her response indicated uncertainty rather than rejection, he had to fight the hollow ache in his chest. Determination soon filled it. She’d already come to believe he was man enough not to force her; she would come to believe he was man enough to care for her, too. Until then, he could pleasure them both without risking a child.

“Let me up, Ivy.”

She let him go—reluctantly, he was gratified to see. After lighting the gas lamp, Eben retrieved a heavy gold coin.

Her eyes widened when he placed the coin in her palm. “A sous?”

“I’ll only kiss you,” he promised, then guided her hand to the juncture of her thighs. With his fingers over hers, he tucked their hands between her legs. He watched her lips part, heard her soft gasp. “But only if I kiss you here.”

O h, blue heavens. As Ivy stared up at him, the pressure of his palm increased until her hand firmly cupped her most sensitive flesh. Wetness seeped through the thin cotton of her nightgown onto her fingers.

Need roughened Eben’s voice. “This can be my mouth, Ivy.”

And she wanted that kiss beyond measure. Heat unfurled through her belly. She dropped the sous to the mattress, reaching for him. He caught her wrist and tugged her toward the side of the bed.

“Come to the window.”

Her choppy breaths, the clank of his foot, and the creak of the ship were the only sounds in the cabin as he led her to the leather armchair. So many times, he’d come in to find her watching the stars. Had he imagined doing this ?

At his urging, she sat, perching at the edge of the seat. Eben loomed over her, his back to the window. The glow from the lamp cast soft gold over the right side of his face, leaving the other half shadowed. Just to look at him was a pleasure—but her hands would have known him, even in the dark. They’d memorized his lean features, the breadth of his shoulders, every line and hollow of his chest and stomach, packed with muscle.

His gaze burned with intensity. “Lean back, Ivy.”

Slowly, she sank deeper into the chair. Her hands slid along the tops of her thighs, a whisper of metal over cotton. When her shoulders rested against the leather back, Eben knelt before her. His fingers caught the hem of her nightgown and began to draw it up to her knees. Ivy shivered.

“Cold?”

A breathless laugh escaped her. Hardly. She was burning up from the inside. Cheeks flushed, she felt faint perspiration across her brow, but it didn’t soothe the heat building beneath her skin.

She caught the hint of his smile before he bent his head. Her toes curled against the deck. She trembled again when his lips brushed her right knee.