A Riveting Affair (Entangled Ever After)

by Candace Havens

  Sebastian leaned against the box and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in days and couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Thoughts of the device had consumed his every thought, and now he stood in front of it, one hand resting against the frame.

  But he was not looking at the machine. He was not looking at the cat. He was looking at Rose as she danced around the workshop, laughing, her blue skirts swirling around her ankles. She wore the dress he had bought for her, and she looked so beautiful that his breath caught for a moment.

  “We did it!”

  She danced toward him and threw her arms around his neck. For a long, breathless moment, he stared into her laughing face, her fathoms-deep eyes.

  And then, without thinking, he bent his head and kissed her.

  For a moment, she froze beneath his touch, the hands around his neck going limp with shock. Cursing himself, he loosened his hold to release her, but in the next heartbeat she tightened her fingers around him, raised herself onto her toes, and kissed him back.

  She kept her lips closed, because she didn’t know how to kiss properly, but her clumsiness didn’t matter. He forgot everything except that he wanted this woman more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life. She gently caressed his face, tracing the terrible scars that proved him less man than machine. Her fragile spine arched as she pressed closer to him, and he slid his hands up her back to the delicate nape of her neck.

  He kept his touch gentle, not wanting to hurt her accidentally, and tried to keep his breathing even as he deepened the kiss, traced the shape of her soft mouth with his tongue. She sighed a little and parted her lips, letting him inside, and he couldn’t stop himself from running his hands over her, pulling her closer so she pressed against the ridge of his erection.

  She was warm and perfect in his arms, the one pure and untarnished thing in his life.

  The one person he hadn’t yet destroyed.

  He felt a terrible pressure in his chest, as though his clockwork heart were human, able to feel human emotions. The sensation paralyzed him.

  He had to let her go.

  He could never let her go.

  “Rose,” he said against her lips.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m here.”

  At her whispered words, Sebastian’s big body shuddered against her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed her again. Without breaking the kiss, he bent and lifted her in his arms. She made a small sound in the back of her throat and clung tight to him.

  She must not waste a single minute.

  “Sebastian?” she whispered.

  He made no response. Instead, still balancing her on one arm, he swept the tools and materials off the nearest work bench, then laid her gently down and knelt on the floor beside her. She stared up at him in a sensual daze, unwilling to relinquish her hold on his neck, and he laughed and pressed soft kisses down the sensitive column of her throat.

  She tossed her head against the work bench.

  He unfastened the buttons that ran down the front of her blouse, and he trailed his lips down each inch of skin and corset he exposed. When her blouse was entirely undone, he produced a pocket knife from somewhere and opened the corset she wore beneath with one clean slice. Rose gasped at the loosening of the tight garment, then moaned as his lips immediately closed over her left breast.

  “Sebastian?” she asked again. She barely recognized her own voice, so breathless and frantic.

  “I’m here,” he said, and his tone was also different, lower and huskier than usual.

  His hands moved at her waist, and she thought he was searching for the fastening of her skirt. He let out a frustrated growl and used his knife to tear the material from waist to ankle. Freed from her heavy skirts, her petticoats frothed around her legs, and he pushed them aside as well before stripping her drawers down over her buttoned half-boots.

  She had only half a second for nerves, a brief flash of panic. Then she remembered; this was Sebastian. She knew him.

  She knew him.

  He spread her legs, bent his dark head, and kissed her thighs. Her entire body quivered.

  “Sebastian,” she said. “Please.”

  “Yes,” he said, his fingers stroking gently between her legs at the curls he found there. His breath touched her sensitive flesh, and then his tongue, licking gently.

  She cried out.

  “Shh,” he said between long, slow laps. “Greaves will hear you.”

  She went still as he slid a finger inside her, stroking gently in time to the movements of his tongue. She threw her head back, her head thrashing, her hips bucking against him, and then it happened, a burst of pure pleasure unlike anything she had ever known before.

  Afterward, he wrapped her in the shreds of her clothes and carried her to her bedchamber. He swept back the covers and set her down on the mattress, but when he stood as though to go, Rose caught at his wrists.

  “Stay,” she whispered, wanting to be in his arms.

  For a moment he seemed to hesitate. Then he nodded and sat at the edge of the bed to remove his leg brace. He swung himself full onto the bed beside her, pulling her against his chest.

  She wrapped her arms around him, feeling warm and safe against his body, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  …

  When she woke again, it was morning. At her side, Sebastian was still asleep, his scarred chest rising and falling with each breath.

  He was snoring a little, which made her smile. She rolled onto her stomach so she could kiss him, and he stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. He rolled away, as if to rise from the bed.

  She reached for him. “No, don’t get up. Not yet…”

  She explored his body with leisurely caresses, first with her hands and then, because it seemed to please him, with her mouth. She traced the shape of the long scar down his face, brushed her mouth over his chest, over the twisted muscles of his damaged left leg. His voice grew hoarse, his breathing irregular, and with a growl, he rolled her onto her back.

  For a moment he hesitated, raised on his arms above her. “Rose…”

  Impatient, she reached for him, pulling him down to her. The breath left his body on a long, low sigh, and then he kissed her, pulling her into his arms and making love to her until she was as breathless and panting as he was.

  Afterward, she scavenged a cold collation of bread and cheese and two ripe, juicy pears from the kitchen, and they ate in bed, laughing and naked and utterly at ease.

  It was late afternoon.

  Rose reached over the side and dragged the leg brace onto the bed. She managed the task with difficulty, for it was exceedingly heavy. No wonder he was always limping so heavily. It was a wonder he could walk at all.

  “What the devil are you doing?” Sebastian demanded, rolling onto his side and scowling ferociously at her.

  “I just want to see it,” she said.

  He looked as though he wished to protest further, but she ignored him, focusing her attention instead on the brace. It was badly in need of repair. The brass was cracked and corroding, the leather worn. It also left streaks of dirt on the white sheets, which made her frown.

  “Did the army give this to you, or is it one of your design?” she asked.

  He looked briefly startled at the question. “Standard army issue,” he said.

  “Yes, of course,” Rose said, leaning over so she could study it more closely. “You would never create something so bulky and inelegant. Why haven’t you made yourself a new brace? You are capable of something much better.”

  She glanced up at him. His expression was once again closed and stony.

  “Why the devil should I?”

  “Well,” Rose said, disconcerted at the question. The answer seemed obvious to her. “Surely this cannot be comfortable to wear or easy to walk in. It’s too heavy, and the design is awkward.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.


  “Of course it matters.” She looked down at the brace, angered by his obstinacy, his seeming determination to make himself as miserable as possible. She was tired of his guilt about the war, tired of the penance he felt he had to perform because of the machines he had built and the deaths he believed he had caused.

  “The damned thing works well enough,” he said.

  “You ought to take better care of it, at the very least.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, in a tone that indicated he didn’t intend to discuss the subject any further. Reaching over her, he shoved at the brace to push it over the side of the bed and back onto the floor.

  She caught hold of his wrist to stop him. “It’s not fine,” she said, sitting up. “Sebastian. Look at me.”

  She knelt over him, his wrist caught between her fingers. Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to hers.

  “You deserve better,” she said.

  “It’s only a leg brace,” he said.

  “It’s your life,” she said, and her voice rose perilously.

  For a moment he gazed at her without speaking. Then he nodded, his mouth tight, and released his hold on the brace. With his other arm, he drew her down to him and kissed her with a ferocity that ought to have frightened her.

  Instead, she felt only love and a nearly unbearable sense of tenderness and protectiveness for this man who didn’t believe he was worth saving.

  …

  The next day, Sebastian stood next to Rose in the chaos of the laboratory and scowled at her.

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  He didn’t want to be there. He would have been perfectly happy to remain in bed all day, as they had the previous day, making love. But after they had finally dragged themselves out of bed at noon to forage for food in the kitchens, Rose had made her way to the laboratory.

  Sebastian had followed her, blissfully unaware of her intentions.

  That happy state hadn’t lasted long.

  He had endured, with tolerable grace, her ministrations to his damned leg brace. He had sat obediently on a bench at her request and permitted her to oil the joints and shine the brass, and exacted, for payment, only a single kiss.

  But this…

  “Be reasonable, Sebastian. If something happens, I’m not capable of fixing the machine. You must be the one operating it.”

  Sebastian scowled. “You’re mad if you think I’ll let you do it.”

  “Well, someone has to do it,” she said in a tone generally reserved for explaining things to recalcitrant small children.

  “We tested the device on the blasted cat already. The damned thing works.”

  “We don’t know that it works with people, which is the entire point. Therefore, we have to test it on a person. There are two people in this house besides Greaves. He’s a thousand years old, and I doubt his heart could withstand a trip through the box. That leaves you and me.” She crossed her arms. “And I do not know this device as well as you do. If something should go wrong, you are the only person who can fix it.”

  “If something can go wrong, you are going nowhere near that cursed thing!”

  “Sebastian,” she said, “nothing will go wrong. The device works. We tried it several times on Ashputtel, and he is perfectly fine. Look at him.” She gave the cat, asleep on a pile of leather scraps, a small prod with the toe of her half-boot. The animal opened one eye and gave her a baleful look.

  “If nothing will go wrong,” Sebastian said triumphantly, “I will go into the box.”

  “Nothing will go wrong,” she said, sounding exasperated, “but if something does, you are the only one who can fix it. Please, Sebastian. It has to be. If something should happen to you—” She broke off, her voice faltering. “I should be helpless. I couldn’t endure it. Please.”

  “No,” he said, “and that is final. The subject is closed. The damned machine works.”

  He turned and took a step toward the door, only to stop at the sound of her quiet, determined voice.

  “If you refuse,” she said, “I shall simply ask Greaves to assist me.”

  Sebastian turned his head. “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “But you can’t be certain, can you?”

  For a moment they gazed at each other without moving, the force of their wills clashing as tangibly as two airships in battle.

  Then she sighed, shaking her head. “Please, Sebastian. This is what I came here to do.”

  “And if something should go wrong?” he asked, his voice harsher than he intended it to be. “What then?”

  “Then you shall rectify the error,” she said with complete conviction.

  He gazed across the room at her. The late afternoon sunlight turned her braids to gold, and he remembered the silk of her hair slipping through his fingers. His own private sun, burning away the dark corners of his heart.

  He had to resist an urge to cross the distance that separated them and draw her into his arms again. But could he keep her safe even there? She was strong, he knew, the strongest woman he had ever met—but there was no safety in this world. What if something happened to her?

  Even the thought was unendurable.

  “We could hire someone to go into the box,” he said.

  “No, we can’t,” she said. “Involving an outsider would mean there’s a chance our work could be stolen. We would have to submit all sorts of odious applications and paperwork to Washington to make sure it’s patented properly. It would take too much time.” She smiled at him, clearly unaware of his inner turmoil. “I’ll be all right. I promise. Go on.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her no again, to tell her that he had no intention of allowing her to enter the device. To risk her life.

  Then he thought again, she is the strongest woman I have ever known. She wasn’t being foolish or reckless. She was right. The machine was perfectly safe. They needed to test the device with a human subject, and he was the only one who understood the operation of the machine. He was the only one who knew precisely how to fix any errors should something go wrong. And he had no doubt that she was perfectly capable of charming Greaves into helping her test the damned thing if he refused.

  He conceded with ill grace. “Fine.” Her expression softened, and she crossed the distance that separated them, stepped into his arms, and raised her face to him. He kissed her, trying to convey with his touch and his mouth all the things he didn’t know how to say. That she was the only thing that felt real and alive to him in this world. That she was his bright burning midnight sun.

  That he loved her.

  He lifted his head to look down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark against her skin, her mouth flushed from his kiss. Above the neckline of her dress he could see a rosy mark, where his beard must have scraped when he kissed her slender throat.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She ducked her head as she stepped on to the box’s raised platform. Smiling at him, she sat in the chair and tugged her skirts straight.

  “I’ll be all right,” she said. “I promise.”

  He nodded, picked up the punch card, and slipped it into place. He checked that everything was in its proper place, the wires and connections secure and properly grounded. A trickle of sweat worked its way down his hairline, but he ignored it, forcing himself to concentrate.

  When he was confident that everything looked as it should, he nodded at Rose. “Just across the room this time,” he said.

  Then he switched on the machine.

  For a moment everything seemed to work perfectly. She shimmered, the lights on the side of the box lit up in order, and the machine spit out the punch card.

  He let out a slow breath. It was going to be all right.

  Then—a loud popping noise. A bright white flare. A burst of black smoke that briefly obscured his vision.

  “Rose!”

  He shoved the handle back down. The machine switched off immediately.

  But it was too late. Rose tumbled out of the box, her bright hai
r streaming over the floor, her skirts pooling around her. A cloud of smoke poured out with her.

  She wasn’t moving.

  “Rose.”

  He fell to his knees at her side, landing painfully on his bad leg and barely noticing. Carefully, not wanting to hurt her, he turned her over in his arms.

  Her eyes were closed. Blood trickled in a thin thread from the corner of her mouth.

  She wasn’t breathing.

  His hand moved to her wrist.

  No pulse.

  He made a sound like a sob. Snatching up a pair of scissors from a nearby workbench, he began to slice through the bodice of her gown. The cloth parted over her breasts.

  There was no heartbeat.

  He must get her heart started again. But how? Looking wildly around the laboratory, his gaze fell upon the battery that powered the teleportation device.

  He thought of his own clockwork heart.

  Without giving himself time to think or hesitate, he snatched up a pair of wires and a metal plate. His hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the plate, wasting precious seconds.

  Finally, he managed to connect the plate to the wire, and the wire to the machine. Leaving the plate directly above her chest, he went to the machine and switched it on and off again.

  For a moment, nothing happened except the smell of burning flesh filling the room.

  Then Rose jerked and coughed.

  He fell to his knees at her side once more and yanked the metal plate free.

  The skin against which it had lain was bright red and already blistering.

  “Rose.”

  He picked up her wrist, checked her pulse. It was weak, but distinct.

  Her lashes fluttered weakly.

  “Sebastian?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’m here. You’re all right. It’s going to be all right.”

  He carried her to the bedchamber, then sent Greaves to summon a doctor. The portly, competent-looking man who arrived half an hour later informed Sebastian that the lady would recover. She would be weak for a few days, no doubt, but there had been no permanent damage done. The doctor left a salve for the burn mark on her chest, then bowed and departed.