In the daylight, her laboratory was nothing short of spectacular.

It was everything his own workshop was not. Beakers, test tubes, and glass decanters, each in their proper place on mahogany workbenches, gleamed in the bright autumn light. All neat and tidy and pleasingly arranged, not unlike the scientist who worked there.

If he hadn't been so close to strangling her, Edison would've enjoyed watching her work.

She'd exchanged her pretty gown for a dark skirt and a crisp white blouse, all covered by a heavy laboratory apron that draped from the top of her chest down past her knees. Eminently practical and amazingly arousing, the very plainness of her dress allowed her sensual curves to command the attention. The dark, lustrous hair she had pinned tightly at the back of her head in a sensible bun, the lush breasts, the narrow waist, all hidden beneath a thick rubberized apron could not have been better designed to stir him. All the more so as he suspected the effect was completely accidental.

And then there was her scent. That light swirl of violets. Even in the midst of the acrid, metallic odors emanating from every beaker and box in the crowded room, he sensed it.

Delightful perfume aside, the woman's obstinance was beginning to grate. Badly.

Edison rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I can't keep it safe if you don't tell me where it is."

She raised a beaker to eye level, frowning as she measured dry plaster of Paris to her liking. "The battery is perfectly safe. Have no worry about that."

"Have no worry? Are you mental?" Edison threw his hands up. “What do you think those men were looking for last night? What about the men before that? They weren’t after your excessive hoard of plaster.”

She continued with her measuring. "You'll have to trust me, Mr. Sweet… Edison. The device is secure. What I do need your assistance with—and I am fully willing to admit it—is protection for my family."

"Yes, yes. Of course we’ll keep you all safe. That’s the easy part." Edison jammed his hands onto his hips. "But I can't protect your device, unless—"

“That is my responsibility."

“You don't trust me."

“Had I distrusted you, you wouldn’t have remained in my home.” She set down the beaker, and turned around, meeting his eye with a strong, steady gaze of her own. “I trusted you in my house last night. I trusted you not to slay my entire household over burnt ham and toast this morning. Trust is not the issue.”

“What is the issue?”

She slammed the jar of powder down onto the counter. “You’re already taking a risk to protect us. I won’t add to that. The device is safe. Even if it were not, I won’t have you endanger yourself to save it.”

Edison snorted. “Men like I ran off last night are no danger.”

Graceful eyebrows arched high. “What makes you think the next lot will be equally inferior?”

“I’m not fool enough to rely on that.” Edison flattened his palms on the workbench. “My family will arrive any moment. With all of us here, the next lot won’t stand a chance.”

She shook her head, clearly impatient. “No one can anticipate all contingencies. I won’t have you injured defending an inanimate object.”

Unlike most women, she didn’t resort to coquetry. She met him head to head. Any other time, he would have found that profoundly appealing. Under the current conditions, however, it was unduly aggravating.

He closed his eyes, wishing he were contending with the sort of woman who liked to be cosseted and protected. He understood those women. Understood how they thought, what they desired.

Understood how to get what he wanted in return.

“All right. The device will be your responsibility.” For now. Edison prided himself on knowing when to make a strategic retreat—and find a new angle of attack.

He picked up one of the jars. “For the battery?”

She snatched it back and lined it up with the other two, each with a different level of the white powder. "It's the stabilizer. I'm not sure I have the ratios right."

Edison studied the beakers. "Ingenious. That's damned ingenious. Your mix of chemicals is inherently unstable. That’s what generates the electrical charge,” he reasoned out loud. “What's needed is a substance to slow the reaction, spread it out over a longer time."

The faint smile she offered felt like a delightful little gift. “You've a fair knowledge of electrochemical chemistry."

“I dabble.” He examined a pair of tongs, pretending not to study her. "So your prototype, it's not yet functional?"

Ada looked at him with surprise. “It works quite well. The sustained output is far better than I anticipated.”

Edison pointed to the jars. "Then what's all this about?"

Ada crouched down until the jars were at eye level. “If I adjust the level of the stabilizer, I can squeeze out a few more volts. Hand me that chloride, would you? It's next to the iron chloride. The red one."

Edison plucked the vial of clear liquid off the shelf, and handed it to her. The jolt of electrical energy that hit him square in the chest, had nothing to do with actual electricity.

Damned if it wasn't the brush of her slender fingers against his. He couldn't think of the last time such a casual touch had affected him so deeply. He couldn't think of the last time he liked it.

Especially when the touch came attached to a woman so far out of his reach.

Habit made him lean close, so his breath would caress her ear. He'd been told more than once it made women shiver delightfully. "I'll find it eventually, you know."

Instead of melting, instead of softening or shivering or sighing, she jerked away as if he reeked like a fishmonger.

"Search all you like.” She measured chloride into each beaker. “You won't find it."

Dear God, he’d seen granite cliffs less stubborn. Edison pinched the bridge of his nose. If charm had no effect, intimidation might.

He lifted the beaker from her hand and set it on the bench.

She glared fiercely. “I beg your pardon?”

He ignored her, and closed in, backing her up against a filing cabinet. When she could back up no further, he spread his arms wide, his palms flat against the cabinet front, pinning her in.

He’d planned to frighten her, to scare her into letting him have the device. But that sweet scent wrapped around him, obscuring his train of thought in a sensual mist. All he could think of were her lips, slightly parted and begging to be kissed.

“What are your intentions?”

The words did not match the tone. The tone was soft and sweet and—dare he hope—welcoming. “What would you like them to be?”

Her mouth opened wider. Her chest rose and fell as her breath deepened and her eyes dilated.

“I believe I should like you to kiss me,” she said, finally.

“I believe I can accommodate that request.” He leaned in, letting his chest brush her breasts.

She shivered in a most pleasing way. And then, with a small grunt of annoyance, she cupped the sides of his face with her hands and pulled his mouth down toward hers. “Do you always chatter this much?”

Being a man of action, Edison could not let such an accusation stand.

He covered her mouth with his, tasting her. He kissed her slowly, heavily, achingly aware it would no doubt prove to be a grave mistake.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with an enthusiasm that made his head whirl. While he explored her sweet mouth, he spread his hands over her ribs, letting his thumbs caress the very base of her breasts where they thrust out, above her corset.

A tiny moan of pleasure shuddered through her. She slid her fingertips through his hair and kissed him back with rising urgency.

Edison slid his hands upward until her breasts filled his hands. Round and firm and pleasingly heavy, they taunted him, driving his desire even higher, making him ache with the need to feel her naked beneath him.

She made a soft, erotic sound and pressed into his palms.

“Edison?”

Even through the fog of passion, he heard his name. But the direction was all wrong. The voice, loud and sure and devoid of passion came from outside, across the lawn.

He groaned against Ada’s mouth and broke off the kiss, his body still hot and heavy and pulsing with desire. “Hell’s teeth.”

Eyes wide, Ada blinked up at him. Her lips red and full from his kisses, she looked as stunned by their mutual passion as he felt.

He lifted a stray lock of hair off of her cheek and tucked it back behind her ear, watching the glow in her eyes sharpen into alarm. “That,” she whispered, “was a tremendously bad idea.”

Although he had to agree, her assessment stabbed him straight in the heart.

It was a bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea.

The worst of it was, he ached to do it again.

* * *

Never—not once in her life—had a kiss set her aflame.

And from now on, she’d be exquisitely aware of what she’d been missing.

It altered her. As surely as hydrogen transformed oxygen into water, that kiss changed her, transmuting her atoms, her very chemistry.

Ada stared up at Edison, wondering if he’d been similarly affected, even as she knew with certainty that he hadn’t.

But for the slight reddening of his lips and his riffled hair, one would never have known they’d been fused together, mouth to mouth, body to body not seconds before. Worldly men like Edison Sweet played at seduction as frequently as they ate buttered toast.

Which was precisely why it had been such a spectacularly bad idea.

After tucking the lock of hair behind her ear, he’d stepped back, taking his warmth with him. He plucked at the shoulders of her blouse, smoothing away the wrinkles and then straightening her collar as if he were readying a small child for church. Not a shred of heat or passion remained in his impersonal touch.

She wondered how he did that, how he threw off such powerful emotions so easily. Her body still pulsed with desire, even as she knew the rest of his league would burst through the door any second.

She snuck a look around his broad frame. Five figures hurtled down the lawn toward them. Two men, one gray-haired, the other not much older than she, struggled with a great steamer trunk. A woman in a delightful green walking dress led the way, followed by another with striking auburn curls that cascaded down her back. Behind them all trailed a younger woman, hurrying to keep pace with the rest.

Every one of them exuded purpose and energy.

She tensed, preparing for the whirlwind about to rip through her quiet world.

As if he could read her thoughts, Edison squeezed her hand. “They don’t bite. At least not without good reason.”

His footfalls silent on the plank floor, he sped to the door and held it open for her.

“Hello.” The woman in green waved as Ada stepped outside.

Shading her eyes with a hand, Ada blinked in the bright sunlight. Edison took her elbow, guiding her toward the approaching crowd.

Edison stopped in front of the woman in green. "Mrs. Templeton, this is my cousin, Mrs. Philomena Crane."

While a wide smile lit Mrs. Crane’s face, Ada didn’t miss the speculative gleam in her eye as she studied the two of them.

Ada felt as if she were covered in telltale clues. She stilled under the scrutiny, praying no signs of Edison’s kisses showed on her face.

“Please call me Meena,” the woman said, offering a hand.

“I’m Ada.” She liked the woman immediately. Edison’s cousin was pretty, in a most genuine manner. A quick, lively intelligence lit her face.

"That is my husband, Spencer.” Meena pointed at an impossibly handsome man leaning a hip against the trunk.

The man's beautiful mouth tilted up in a small smile of greeting and he nodded in Ada’s direction.

“Next to him is our Mr. Hapgood.” She indicated the gray-haired gentleman who’d assisted her husband with the luggage. “He and his wife are indispensable."

"And more dangerous than they look." The beauty with the auburn curls chimed in. "I'm Briar. That great lump at your side is my brother."

Edison growled softly.

Though Meena's dress was lovely in its simplicity, Edison's sister was far more fashionably attired. On any other woman, Ada suspected the white satin bows and bold blue stripes would be over-the-top. Somehow, the busy dress only complemented the young woman's vast store of energy. The only awkward element was the very large black rucksack slung over her back.

Noting her interest, Briar swung the bag off of her shoulder. It fell to the ground with a distinct clunk. "I brought a great many weapons. There's no telling what sort of trouble we’ll run into."

The girl seemed inordinately pleased at the possibility.

Meena beamed at her cousin. “Briar is especially adept with swords and throwing knives."

The smallest of the lot, a fine boned girl, with straight hair the color of chestnuts, poked her head out between Meena’s husband and the older man. In contrast to Briar’s ruffles and bows, her dress was quite plain, almost severe in it’s lines. Just the sort of thing she herself would wear.

"I'm Nelly.” The girl dropped a lovely curtsy. "Nelly Tremaine. I'm what you might call the office girl."

"Delighted." Ada inclined her head in greeting. What an odd, intriguing group they were.

Edison had left her side to throw open the trunk. Brow furrowed, he stared down into it. "You got all of it?"

“We decided to leave the head at home.” His sister caught Ada’s eye and grinned.

Edison opened his mouth to protest, but slammed it shut when he saw his sister’s teasing grin. “Better not have done,” he muttered.

Curiosity got the better of her. Ada moved to look for herself. A jumble of brass gears and wires and something that looked like a metal arm filled the box.

"It's an automaton.” Nelly, the office girl explained.

Ada looked at Edison in surprise. "An automaton? Truly? But it’s so… large.”

"Life-sized," he acknowleged. “Been planning to design an automated manservant.”

Briar rolled her eyes. “Because everyone needs a metal butler to pour their tea.”

“Once I get things sorted out, it’s got a lot of possibilities.” Edison frowned down at the tangle of parts. “Like silence. A man could have silence with his tea. That alone is worth a fortune.”

Ada smiled down at the jumble of parts. Being an only child, she’d never had the chance to engage in the sort of playful banter that seemed so effortless for siblings like Edison and Briar. The kind of teasing one could engage in with a person one knew so very well there was no risk of offense.

A loved one.

Without warning, the brass parts sparkled behind a sheen of tears. Ada blinked them away. That kiss had knocked her every emotion askew.

Another reason it had been a very poor decision.

She set her hands on her hips, determined to regain her equilibrium. Scientists did not succumb to the vagaries of emotion. They used reason, testing—the scientific method—to make sense of things.

Though the painful lump in her throat remained, her eyes began to clear. The brass parts came back into sharp focus. “Speaking of tea, may I offer you some?”

Meena tossed a gear back into the trunk. “That would be delightful.”

Edison tilted his chin toward Ada. “Maybe you can get her to give up the battery,” he challenged his cousin. “She’s as stubborn as you are.”

Meena grinned at her. “You say that as if it were a bad thing.”

He sent Ada a piercing look. “Bad or not, in this instance, it’s a get-you-killed sort of thing.”

“Do stop badgering the poor dear.” Meena set her hands on her hips and glared at her cousin. “She's got a perfect right to be wary. Besides, it's not the device we need to guard." She studied Ada with sharp intelligence. "It's her."

“Me?" Ada squeaked.

“Most certainly,” Meena said. "Given time, someone very skilled could replicate your device, but the sorts of creatures after you are not known for their patience. Far easier to steal the inventor herself."

“But once it’s delivered—”

“Once the government has it, you’ll be a far less attractive target.” Meena stared down at the jumble of parts in Edison’s box. “You do have a manufacturer at the ready, do you not?”

Ada nodded.

“Once your battery is being produced, it’ll be too late to steal your ideas. But until then you, my dear, are a prize target.”

Realization hit like a bucket of icy water tossed over her head. Meena’s logic was impeccable. Until the Navy approved it for production, neither she, nor her household would be safe.

She would have to persevere for two more days.

Two more torturous days trying to ignore the man’s magnetism, his warm, wicked hands, his irresistible mouth. Two more days before she could begin erasing that kiss from her mind.

Because men like Edison didn’t dally with women like her.

And women like her—she learned—couldn’t handle the flames.