Free Heart of Steel by Meljean Brook

anyone from realizing exactly who he held.
    A damn quick step. He started into it as she stirred again—his heart still pounding, but feather-light against his ribs.
    He’d known that she’d be in his arms one day. And he wasn’t the least bit surprised that he hadn’t gone about it in the usual way.
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    In the garret that served as his room, Archimedes changed out of the drunkard’s rags and turned to find Captain Corsair awake and regarding him with narrowed eyes. His fingers stilled on the buckles of his emerald waistcoat.
    She hadn’t stirred again on the way to his room, hadn’t made a single noise after he’d laid her on the narrow bed. Now she stared at him, her gaze a whetted blade. No confusion or uncertainty clouded her eyes. Only the thin ring of green around her dilated pupils told him that she was still blissed on opium.
    â€œCaptain,” he greeted her. Unwilling to take his attention from her again, he left his boots lying on the floor and finished buckling his waistcoat. The emerald silk matched his eyes, and he was certain she’d notice. By the time he’d taken the two short steps to the side of the bed, he was certain she’d noticed everything—particularly the contraption locked around her left wrist and the pile of weapons on the bureau.
    He glanced toward the knives and pistols. “How does your airship fly with you aboard? You’ve tucked enough steel and iron into your pockets to weigh down Father Calvin the Blowhard.”
    She smiled, and the curve of a soft mouth never seemed to have so many sharp edges. Archimedes knew that if he’d been a sensible man, he’d have run to the nearest priest—blowhard or not—fallen to his knees, and prayed that she wouldn’t come after him. He’d heard of men who’d boldly hunted boilerworms across the Australian deserts freezing in terror at the sight of Captain Corsair’s smile, but the shiver it gave Archimedes had nothing to do with fear.
    Instead, he thrilled to the realization he hadn’t had to work very hard for her smile after all.
    As there was room on the mattress next to her hip, he sat. Her smile vanished. He suspected that if he’d run his fingers the length of her thigh, tension would have hardened her muscles to stone.
    But although he wasn’t always a sensible man, Archimedes didn’t touch her. He hadn’t touched her beyond the brisk, necessary search for weapons. And though it had killed him, he hadn’t even touched her warm skin during that brief exploration, not even when he’d spotted the small key on the silver chain around her waist. Some actions crossed a boundary into unforgivable. Captain Corsair was uncharted territory, but he didn’t think he’d crossed the line yet.
    No need to mention that he’d sniffed her hair while searching through the thick strands for pins that she could use to stab him. Tobacco and coconut. He’d never smell either again without remembering the silken plaits that weaved the intricate crown, usually hidden beneath her kerchief. Without wondering whether she braided them herself, arms lifted like a dancer’s and her neck arched.
    And absolutely no need to mention the short black tufts at the tips of her ears. She’d purposely concealed them under her braids and kerchief, and he suspected that admitting the inadvertent discovery would leave her feeling as violated as shoving his hand between her legs.
    She could keep her secrets. One day, when he nibbled on her ears, perhaps she’d reveal them.
    â€œNo doubt I missed a few weapons,” he told her. “You’ve likely tucked some away in places that no man would search—at least, no man who intended to live.”
    Her eyes narrowed farther, but her gaze turned inward, as if searching out the truth of his statement. When she focused on him again, he saw anger and irritation, but nothing like his