Burning Up

that he’d been drunk at the time. Trahaearn had liked the idea well enough.
    “And who is paying for it?”
    His grin broadened. “The Iron Duke.”
    “So this is all about you and the Iron Duke destroying the Black Guard?”
    “Just taking one source of their money. They’ll no doubt find another.”
    “And then?”
    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