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insides melted, hot and aching. It was so long since I’d heard my real name, since I’d wanted anyone like this. He knew by heart all the things that moved me, and he was doing them, one by one. He kissed me deeper, tilting my head back, his tongue teasing me into response. He made me feel wanted. It was a lie. I didn’t care.
    Don’t do it. Don’t say his name.
    I turned my head away, testing the urge to throw him down on his back and take him. “This is a bad idea.”
    But he’d trapped me, giving me nowhere to go. He teased me, brushing hot kisses across my throat. The cool plastic wall did nothing to soothe my burning skin, and I shivered.
    His lips curled on my collarbone as he smiled. “But I’ve missed you. You were never like the others.”
    I murmured, arching my back to lean into his kisses, and for a long, sweet moment I believed him. He’s that good.
    Sweat trickled between my breasts, and he tugged my hair back so he could lick my throat, spreading delicious kisses downward, heat crawling over me. He crept hot fingers under my skirt, and I longed to draw him to me, feel him inside me.
    His fingertips brushed my tender flesh, teasing, and it felt so horribly good. I wanted his tongue there, on me, in me. When he felt how wet I was he slid his fingers into me, one long, smooth stroke, and my breath caught.
    I fought through swimming senses to think about something else, anything that would give me the presence of mind to make him stop. Much as I wanted him, much as I longed to pretend I was young and carefree again, just for a few hours, I couldn’t let him manipulate me like this.
    I pictured my shatterjay, pressed against his perfect throat, deadly ultraglass spearing into his bloodstream. But much as I loathed how he’d betrayed me, I didn’t wish him dead.
    I thought of Mishka, wounded and gentle, the last man I’d had a chance at loving before Dragonfly blew him to bits, but remembering Mishka only made my longing worse.
    Instead, I brought Dragonfly to mind, cool and smug, flirting with me, nothing but hate in his cold, murdering heart. I imagined they were his lips burning my throat, his dark hair brushing my skin, his elegant fingers sliding into me …
    I caught Nikita’s wrist, tugging his hand away. “Don’t.”
    He grazed my collarbone playfully with his teeth. “Don’t what? I haven’t started yet.”
    I pushed his face away. “Then don’t start.”
    He groaned theatrically, wrinkling his nose, but he planted a fond kiss on my forehead and let go. “You’re wasted on these other men, Aragon. You’ll realize that.”
    “No doubt. Go away.”
    He lingered at the top of the gangway, ruffling his blond hair, seductive. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”
    “Good night.” I thumbed the door shut behind him before I could.
    Nikita isn’t one to force when things don’t go his way; he just lies a little harder next time. Next time, I’d be ready for him.
    Sure I would.
    I walked unsteadily to the bathroom and peeled my sweaty dress off, stepped into the white plastic cubicle. “Shower,” I mumbled, “cold.”
    Water sprayed in four directions, and I closed my eyes, letting the bitter fluid wash over me. Gradually, the fire in my blood cooled, and Nikita’s delicious, poisonous fragrance sloughed off. But the imagined caress of Dragonfly’s hands didn’t, and I crawled into bed feeling cold and sick.
    ***
     
    I woke with a distant headache to the mouth-watering smell of frying eggs and tomatoes. My stomach rumbled. I sat up, bewildered.
    Nikita grinned at me from the galley. “Afternoon.”
    I was glad I’d pulled the quilt up with me. “How did you get back in here?” I mumbled, before I realized it was a stupid question. He’s worked for Axis all his life. The security system on a Phoenix wouldn’t give him even a moment’s pause.
    He sliced tomatoes with a flick of practiced fingers, knife blade glinting. The nerves and muscles in his hands are nano-tuned