Skies of Steel: The Ether Chronicles by Zoe Archer

supposed to happen. It shouldn’t happen. Yet, like so much of life, things had a way of slipping out of one’s control, no matter how hard one struggled to keep hold.
    “A shame,” he murmured. “I’d like you to be relaxed around me.”
    A half smile teased his lips, and she wanted to trace her fingers along their intriguing curves. It had to be the two glasses of vodka she’d imbibed that made her want to do something so outrageous. No—she’d always had a strong tolerance for spirits. Her wits were as sharp as ever. This desire came from intoxication, but not from alcohol.
    Somehow, the distance between them diminished, but whether it was because he drew nearer to her, or because she’d stepped closer to him, she couldn’t tell. Whatever pulled them together, it seemed its own force, incapable of being reasoned with or neatly compartmentalized.
    Danger from outside enemies had passed, for now. They were here, together, in his stateroom. The glow of the quartz lamp made the space seem small, intimate. Possibility and recklessness thickened the air.
    Heat surrounded her, and the scent of hot metal. “Letting my guard down around you wouldn’t be wise,” she said, breathless.
    “Most pleasure isn’t wise, yet we crave it.” His gaze went heavy-lidded. Each word he spoke strummed through her in low, sonorous ripples.
    “We do.”
    She couldn’t stop herself. She lifted her hands and ran them up his chest, over the silk and wool of his waistcoat, feeling the fabric, the buckles, and the solid form of his torso beneath. He hissed in a breath as her hands traveled higher, to his exposed flesh above the vee of his waistcoat. He was impossibly firm under her palms. Yet through the telumium, she felt his heart beating furiously—as hers did.
    A growl sounded deep in his chest. His expression tightened. He brought his own hands up, cupping one around the back of her neck, the other curving at her waist. Her eyes drifted shut from the feel of their bare skin touching. He was so warm, she felt as though she melted.
    His head lowered. At the same time, she rose up on her toes. Bringing their bodies flush against each other. She thought she’d never felt anything as hard and unyielding as his body. Then their mouths met, and everything became satiny and sleek.
    You shouldn’t be doing this , her mind shouted.
    I know and I don’t care , her body shouted back.
    His kiss was … overwhelming. Not in terms of physical force—his lips against hers were surprisingly tender. At first. But she sank into the kiss, and together they became resolute, determined to taste and know each other. Their boldness increased from breath to breath. His mouth was intent on seducing hers. He was audacious, then sensuous, then gentle, and back again. This was a man who knew the power of a kiss, who treated it not as a precursor to other pleasures, but as the pleasure itself.
    It resonated everywhere in her. Her mouth was merely the conduit. She felt his kiss in her breasts, between her legs, all the places she might expect would respond to a devastating kiss. But also in the arches of her feet. In the crook of her elbows. Behind her eyelids. Not one part of her went unaffected.
    His hands stayed precisely where they were, one covering her neck, the other at her waist. His fingers tightened, but only slightly. He was holding himself back, and for some reason, that touched her. That he could be so protective. A Man O’ War’s strength was legendary, but he wouldn’t use it on her. He wouldn’t hurt her.
    Still, he pressed her closer, kissing her with growing hunger. Her own built to a towering height. She needed this, needed him . Needed to forget everything but the pure heat of desire.
    Impossible. She couldn’t allow herself that indulgence. Not now. Not with this man. Not with the secret weight on her conscience.
    She made a pained sound, and ended the kiss. It was surprisingly easy to break from his hold, and she realized again