Free Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air by Melissa Scott, Jo Graham Page B

a sigh of relief. Alma shed her fur on the nearest chair, and crossed to the window, pulling back the curtain to look down on the palm trees and the gaslit courtyard. The gold dress showed pale against the dark, and Lewis didn’t switch on the overhead, instead flicking on one of the small lights on the console behind the sofa. They had been given a semi-suite, with a sitting area in the big bedroom and a tiny second bedroom for Dora; it was nice to have the room entirely to themselves for an evening.
    He came up behind Alma, and she let the curtain fall into place, leaning against him as he put his arms around her waist. They were nearly of a height, and he rested his cheek against her hair, breathing in the scent of her perfume and other people’s cigarettes.
    “Well, I think I’ve got one buyer for Floyd,” she said.
    “The count?”
    She nodded.
    “What does he want a flying boat for? I mean, I can’t see a lot of demand in Europe, and he didn’t look like the sort of guy who was planning to start his own air service.”
    “He’s pretty slick, isn’t he?” Alma wrapped her hands over his, pulling him closer. “’He was cagey about what he wanted to do with a Cat if he could get one.”
    “Mm.” Lewis closed his eyes, but all he could sense was her warmth and the sleek satin under his fingers. There was no tingle of warning, none of the floating symbols he was learning to recognize as the call of his talent. He hadn’t much liked the count, but there had been no reason for it — well, if he was honest, he hadn’t liked the count because the count had given him an all-too-familiar look of disdain. Your wife wears the pants, it said. You’re not a man. It was a little better than the story the reporters had come up with during the Great Passenger Race — jealous Latin lover, going to catch on eventually and then she’ll get what’s coming to her — but he resented it as much for Alma’s sake as for his own. But he didn’t have anything to prove, not in this company. He was as good as the best of them, and everyone could see it.
    “Not that I think Floyd’s going to care,” Alma said. “He needs to sell a bunch of them if he doesn’t get that government contract.”
    “Yeah.”
    “What did you think of him?”
    Lewis blinked. “The count?”
    “No, Floyd! Of course I mean the count.”
    Lewis shrugged, still keeping his arms around her. “I don’t really have an opinion. I don’t know anything about him. Why?”
    “No funny feelings?”
    “No.”
    Alma sighed, leaning harder against him, and he shifted to take her weight. “He’s up to something. I’m sure of that.”
    “Probably. Most of these guys are — they’ve got something they want from the show.” Lewis kissed the smooth skin of her neck. “And he doesn’t know what to do with a woman who runs her own company.”
    Alma breathed a laugh. “Ok, you got me. That was annoying. But he got better.”
    “He’d better.” Lewis kissed her neck again, following the tendon down to the pale and faintly freckled skin of her shoulder.
    “Don’t stop.”
    “Don’t worry.” Lewis brought his hands up, cupping her breasts, and she made a small pleased sound, then turned so that she could kiss him properly, gloved hands winding around his neck, then dropping to loosen his tie.
    “Bed?”
    “Bed.”
    Alma smiled and turned so that he could work the zipper of her gown. Lewis tugged it down, and she let it fall to puddle at her feet, leaving her in stockings and garter belt, and brassiere, with the gloves and high heels looking sexier than any pin-up girl. Lewis drew a breath, shrugging hastily out of jacket and vest, and Alma rolled one glove and then the other down below her elbow. She tugged them off finger by finger, the thin leather clinging, and Lewis shrugged out of his suspenders. Alma took a step backward, still smiling, settled on the edge of the bed and reached down to unbuckle her right shoe. It was suddenly too much,