A Lily Among Thorns(25)

But she was paralyzed by desire and the sudden bloom of color across her blankness; she could only tremble and kiss him back. When he leaned his weight on her it felt as if they were melting into each other like sugar and water caramelizing in a double boiler, slow and delicious. His chest was heaving against hers. Her breasts strained against her corset when she breathed, too. She wanted him to touch them, but he didn’t. He just pressed against her, his hands resting on her hips, and kissed her as if that was all he wanted, as if he could do it forever. As if it were her first time.

But it wasn’t her first time. He should know that. Why didn’t he know that? She was a whore and she wanted more from him than kisses, and when he realized that—he wouldn’t kiss her like this anymore. He was giving her this, and that meant he could take it away. He was in control, now. He nipped at her lower lip, and she made a needy, surprised little sound, like a damned kitten. She froze, mortified.

But if Serena had learned one thing in the last six years, it was that when you were threatened, usually the best thing to do was go on the attack. She wrenched herself away. “Someone will see us.”

He blinked at her, his eyes dark in the dim corridor. His lips were wet and parted. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

She smiled, slow and full of promise. “Open your door.”

He swallowed. “Y—yes. I—” He fumbled in his pocket for his key, and just like that, she was on top again. She could do this. She could kiss him and still be herself, still be in control. It took him three tries to get the key in the lock.

The door swung open, and bright light danced and leapt onto the hallway carpet. She smelled smoke even before she pushed past him into the room and saw. The great carved mantelpiece was on fire.

The flames had not yet reached very high. It wouldn’t be a disaster if she acted quickly. But Solomon had made her soft and open, and terror swept right in. She was rooted to the spot. It was Solomon who rushed to the water jug and found it empty.

“I filled it this afternoon!” He glanced once around the room and then, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Sorry, Uncle Hathaway,” he grabbed a stylish greatcoat off the bed, knelt down, and smothered the flames.

Now Serena could move again. She strode to the hearth and whisked away what remained of a very fine coat. She coughed helplessly, tears springing to her eyes at the smoke. An overturned candlestick, a puddle of hot wax, the ashes of some stray kindling from the fire that had been set for Solomon to light when he returned, and the charred underside of a carved crescent moon were all she could see through the afterimage of the flames. She turned a furious face on him. “You left a candle burning?” she rasped.

“Of course not. Someone set that up! I never leave a candle burning. A chemist learns soon enough to be very careful with fire or he finds his house in ashes!”

Her eyes turned to Solomon’s worktable, covered with mysterious jars, beakers, and bags. He was dangerous. She had known it, and here was the proof. “You mean there are things there that could blow up the Arms?”

Getting to his feet, Solomon rolled his eyes. “Not in their current state. Besides, I make dyes, not gunpowder. But when I was a student—”

She barely heard him. All she could see or hear was the Arms engulfed in flame. The Arms, gone. He had almost caused it, and it didn’t even give him pause. Her life had been built so painstakingly; it was fragile, and he couldn’t seem to realize it. He just went his merry way, charming her and kissing her and almost burning her home to the ground—“That’s it,” she told him. “Get out. Just—just go. First thing in the morning, you and your infernal chemicals!”

He gaped at her. “What?”

He sounded so incredulous, as if he knew how much she wanted him. As if he knew how much she already regretted her words. It goaded her on. “You heard me.”

He frowned at her. “Serena, if this is about the kiss—I didn’t expect that either, I didn’t expect it to be so—”

“Boring?” she said cruelly, and went through the connecting door and slammed it.

Solomon stood there, trying to figure out what had just happened. He’d thought everything had been going so well.

Too well, maybe. He’d pushed her too far, thrown her off-balance with the kiss. Maybe he should have given up when she’d backed away, that first moment. But that was what he liked about her, how she fought everything. How she’d been crushed so many times and she just kept going, kept clawing her way forward.