Part of her yearned to feed his interest and relive those simpler times.
“This is hardly the time and place for a lesson,” she reminded them both.
He nodded, though his shoulders slumped.
Hiding her echo of disappointment, she pulled a gold medallion out of her pouch. “Do you want this in the trunk?”
“I’ll do it.” His fingers were a warm brush across her skin as he took the medallion. He fumbled and dropped the golden disk. Muttering an embarrassed curse, he scooped it off the floor.
Had he been so affected by their innocent touch? She rubbed her tingling palm against her scratchy chiton, fighting the temptation to touch him again.
He bent over the trunk and removed a familiar bundle.
She gasped. “Are those the offerings to the Novenary?”
As one of the three rulers of Destin, the Novenary oversaw all the temples in the country. Her religious orders were exempt from the ordinary taxes paid by other landholders. Instead, their titled patrons were expected to deliver lavish Allgoday gifts to the Novenary as a sign of their respect and loyalty.
While large temples and wealthy nobles sent their own messengers to present their annual gifts, most minor temples could not spare a devotee for the trip to the capital. Aerynet certainly couldn’t, even before Mystic Patricia grew too frail for the long journey. Like many other Trimble patrons, Em had entrusted her tribute to the tax collectors. Her stomach rebelled at the betrayal.
This job got rottener all the time.
“What do you know about the tribute?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“I’m a thief. It’s my business to know of any treasures in the city,” she snapped back. Her face heated at her slip. She couldn’t very well tell him she had spent the last year hunting parrots to make the headdress he so casually handled.
He frowned at her. “Well, we’re not going to steal them.”
“Good,” she said shortly, trying to hide her relief. She must not have succeeded because he sent her a quizzical look. She pursed her lips. “No sense in angering the gods.”
“I quite agree.” He tied the medallion to the end of a small skein of thread. The colorful knotted strands reminded her of the quipus her father used for his accounts, only in miniature. He placed the thread-wrapped medallion in the trunk and rearranged the tributes in the order he had found them.
“Now I’ll truly earn my fee,” she joked, trying to restore their earlier camaraderie. “Re-locking these things is a trick. Not every thief can do it.”
He chuckled. “You needn’t convince me of your skills.”
She slid her tools into the lock. “You’re welcome to come closer and watch.”
He picked up the candle and leaned over her shoulder. The warmth of his body seeped into her like the sultry heat of the midday sun. His breath stirred the hairs on her neck. The scent of clean tallow soap mixed with something purely masculine coiled through her body.
Why was she so affected by him? Had she been too long without a lover? It had been nearly a season since her last, largely unsatisfying, tumble. Whatever the cause, it took all her professional skill to focus on the lock in front of her instead of the man behind her.
Finally, it clicked closed.
“Amazing,” he said again.
Pleased with his flattery, she smiled up at him.
He inhaled sharply, interest flaring in his eyes. He swayed toward her, a curl of hair falling across his beguiling features.
Did he want to kiss her? Her tongue darted across her dry lips. Fermena preserve her! In that moment she would welcome his touch. It had been too long since she’d enjoyed a man.
He abruptly straightened and backed away.
She sighed, torn between relief and regret. Though she’d always been impulsive, wanting to kiss a stranger while on a sneak job crossed the line from reckless to outrageous. Her hands trembled as she returned her picks to their cloth sleeve.
He retrieved his staff from the wall next to the doorway. “Now we go?”
Not trusting herself to speak, Em nodded and stood.
Again, he held the beaded curtain aside for her. This time they walked side by side through the building, awareness throbbing in the space between them.
Or had she only imagined his attraction? In her best sari, she did not have the beauty to inspire unbridled lust. In her dull chiton, she blended into the shadows, as unremarkable as any servant or laborer. Her own fevered appetites had addled her wits. Why would he want—
He gasped and grabbed her elbow.
“What is it?” she asked in alarm.
“Someone’s coming!”
Chapter 3
Han-Auditor Quintin nearly choked on his own panic. They were doomed. “The Bursar’s coming!”
“What?” the lovely thief whispered. “How do you know?”
“We have to hide you,” he told her, though he had no idea where.
She took a step back toward the room with the trunk.
“Not there.” He dug his fingers into her elbow. “That’s his office.”
The sparsely furnished warehouse offered no better options.
Hurry! A thought belonging to another whistled through Quintin’s mind. Boss at door.
The front door rattled ominously.
He froze like a rabbit spooked by an owl. This was a disaster. The Bursar was about to find him skulking around the Tribute Office with a professional thief. He would be dismissed in disgrace, his honor and standing as a Hand called into question. His friends would be shamed to know him and his mother—
The thief pushed him.
He staggered into a pile of goods and sat with a thump on a barrel. His staff clattered to the floor.
Before he could recover his balance, she straddled his lap. “Trust me.”
He opened his mouth to speak.
She sealed it shut with her own. She grabbed one of his hands, and unceremoniously shoved it under her clothes. The delicate skin of her backside filled his palm, softer and smoother than anything he had ever touched.
His mind swirled in confusion, his body instinctively reacting to the fierce pleasure of a beautiful woman in his arms. With a groan, he caressed the tempting flesh in his grasp.
She whimpered into his mouth and deepened their kiss. Her lips held the sweet zing of ginger, while a hint of jasmine teased his senses. The rasp of her tongue sent desire galloping to his groin. He had never realized how intoxicating a kiss could be.
Her hips rocked against the burgeoning ridge in his lap. A fever swept through him. He wanted—needed—more. Forgetting where they were and why, he strained closer to her heat.
“Ho, ho, what’s this?”
The words were loud, the voice unwelcome. Unimportant. Nothing mattered but the woman in his embrace.
The beauty, however, wrenched out of his grasp and scrambled to straighten her clothing.
His body howled with need. Quintin stood and reached for her.
Bursar Fredrick held up an oil lamp, flooding the scene with light. “And here I hoped to do you a favor by breaking the monotony of guard duty.”
Quintin squinted at his superior, trying to parse the Bursar’s words over the pounding in his blood. Guard duty? Oh, rotting hell!
“You said no one would bother us here,” the thief prompted in a stage whisper.
“It was pure luck I stopped by.” Fredrick leered at her, his dark eyes gleaming in the light. “No wonder you were so eager to take Taricday duty, Quintin. You’d already planned a tryst with your lover.”
His ears burned. “She’s not—”
“This is awful!” his accomplice interrupted. She clung to him, hiding her face in his shoulder.
By Fermice’s holy breath, he’
d almost given them away with his instinctive honesty. As a Hand and a tax collector, he was duty bound to uphold the law. This subterfuge chafed like borrowed garments.
Thank the God of Wisdom for his ally’s quick wits. He wrapped an arm around her. His heart continued to beat double time from her wondrous kiss. His cheek brushed against her silky hair. Their adventures had loosened her neat coils, and a braid drifted over her shoulder, the dark strands gleaming red in the lamplight.
“I’m shocked at you, of all people, using the warehouse for such a tawdry purpose.” The Bursar clucked his tongue disapprovingly, his tone revealing his malicious pleasure. “What will the Luminary say?”
Known as the Mind of Destin, the Luminary managed all the taxes collected by the auditors throughout the country. As a Hand in service to the office, Quintin had been presented to the Luminary exactly once. The dour, imposing man would not be amused to learn of any shenanigans going on in a tribute office.
Quintin gulped. “You won’t report me, will you, sir?”
“I should, you know.” The Bursar wagged a thick brown finger at them both. “Taricday duty is serious business. An intruder could have snuck into my office while you were distracted.”
“They’d regret it, I assure you,” Quintin replied with complete honesty. He, at least, regretted this entire risky scheme, though his mystic friend Ophelia was desperate to contact the Novenary and they had no better plan.
The thief gripped his kaftan, her shoulders shaking under his arm. Surely, she was too much the professional to bark with laughter, though he sensed it might be a near thing.
The Bursar rubbed his chin. “If anyone finds out I let you get away with this—”
“I won’t tell anyone.” He squeezed his lovely accomplice. “She won’t tell anyone, either.”
Fredrick fondled the end of her loose braid. “I would hate to see such a pretty little thing in trouble. I’m sure she is entirely innocent.”
“Entirely,” Quintin agreed through gritted teeth as he fought the urge to swat his superior’s hand.
“I’ll let it go this time.” The Bursar dropped her hair, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “You owe me one, Quintin.”
Quintin flinched. His boss was sure to hold the debt against him. Despite the risks, he took the boon the Bursar offered. He had no other choice. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. If you’ll indulge me, sir, I’ll walk my, uh, friend home now.”
“Yes, yes. Be careful. Who knows what dangerous outlaws are out there.”
Quintin kept his arm around one outlaw’s shoulders as they left the warehouse. He told himself he only wanted to perpetuate their romantic charade, but his body did not believe him. Desire hummed through him with every step as he tried and failed to banish the memory of their passionate kiss.
Follow you? The question slithered into Quintin’s mind through his bond with his waccat, Elkart.
Yes. Stay out of sight, he replied in the same silent manner. Hallmarks of the Hands of Destin, waccats were a symbol of power and an emblem of trust. Beyond what they represented, waccats boasted wicked fangs and lethal claws. Even the hardiest outlaw would spook if confronted by one of the great cats. Fortunately, Elkart’s dark coat and keen senses would allow him to keep pace without alerting the lovely thief.
“What happens now?” The woman at Quintin’s side kept her voice low. “Will he follow us?”
“He won’t leave the warehouse unattended, not on Taricday.” Why had Fredrick come to the office at all? His story about relieving the tedium of Taricday duty did not ring true. Quintin shuddered. “I wouldn’t put it past him to climb a barrel and watch us from the windows.”
“Then I suppose we’ll go our separate ways in a few blocks.”
“Yes.” His arm tightened around her. “But not yet.”
“No, not yet.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. Her body was soft and warm against his side and fit perfectly under his arm. The sheer rightness of holding her took his breath away.
With only one of the three moons risen, shadows filled the street, threatening to trip them with every step. By the grace of the Air God Fermice he could use his elemental air talent to help navigate their path. Quintin took a deep breath to fortify his connection to the firmament. Once he felt centered, he opened his mind to the air around them, giving him a kind of second sight.
The bronzed tip of his staff tapped the dirt road in rhythm with their feet as they strolled past slumbering warehouses. Any observer would dismiss them as a couple returning from a tryst. Sadness weighed heavy on Quintin as part of him wished their facade was the truth.
Their steps slowed as one when they reached a corner out of sight of the Tribute Office. If he were wise, he would disengage from her now, and return to the warehouse without a backward glance.
She eased away from him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. The light of the moon threw the planes of her face into sharp relief. Her wide set eyes looked huge and luminous. She seemed very young for an outlaw.
He swallowed and tried not to remember how sweet she tasted. “You had nimble wits,” he said, “back at the warehouse.”
“Sometimes the easiest place to hide is in plain sight.”
“You certainly demonstrated that tonight and saved us both.” He held his staff between his palms and bowed his head in respect. “Thank you.”
She nodded though he wasn’t convinced she heard him. His heart pounded at the intensity of her gaze. Was she reliving their kiss as he was? Had it affected her half as much as it had him?
“This is far enough,” she said. “It’s time we parted company.”
“Yes.” Quintin licked his lips. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
She planted a hard kiss on his mouth.
Before he could react, she backed around a corner. With a flash of red from her unusual hair, she melted into the shadows.
He touched his lips, staring at the spot where she had disappeared. He longed to pursue her though he had never been one to follow his heart into madness. What would he say to her if he caught her? He had no skill for flirtation. Besides, trying to engage in a romance with an outlaw went beyond foolish.
Marching footsteps thumped toward him. “Halt, who goes there?”
He spun to watch a pair of guards approach him. The silhouette of a large cat prowled between them. He held his staff out to one side for a deep bow. “Han-Auditor Quintin of Jardin. Is there some trouble?”
“Quintin? What are you doing out on Taricday?”
“Madi?” He peered around the blazing torch at Han-Triguard Magdalena, known as Madi to her friends. Selected by their waccats in the same season, Quintin and Madi had trained as Hands together and become fast friends. The rigorous training molded Hands into worthy agents of the Troika, ready to serve as everything from diplomats to healers. No one was surprised when stalwart, earthy Madi joined the ranks of the guard under the Mortarary.
Serious as ever while on duty, Madi frowned at Quintin. Tall and imposing at the best of times, her severe features were an ominous mask in the torchlight. “Do you need an escort?”
“Elkart is enough protection for me.” He nodded to the side as a brown feline the size of a hunting hound slipped out of the shadows. His waccat stalked forward to sniff noses with Madi’s waccat before settling on his haunches at Quintin’s side.
Madi bowed her head respectfully at Elkart. “We had best continue on, then.”
“How goes patrol?” he asked quickly, not wanting the guards to follow his thief too soon.
She shrugged. “It’s Taricday. We’ve kept busy clearing the streets of lowlifes.”
He kept his eyes fixed on her face, fighting the urge to glance at the corner where one such lowlife had disappeared. “I’m sure the citizens of Trimble sleep better for
your vigilance.”
The other guard snorted. “Not likely.”
“I’m afraid the citizens of Trimble don’t think of us much at all.” Madi smirked. “Which is probably better than their opinion of you auditors.”
He chuckled. “The citizens of Trimble always treat me with the utmost respect and courtesy. I’m sure they are courteous to you guards as well.”
“Only because they don’t want to end up in the stocks,” Madi said, her teeth flashing in a feral grin.
“Who can blame them?” His stomach turned at how close he had come to such a fate. Thank Marana for his quick-witted thief.
The other guard cleared her throat. “We should get on with patrol, Han-Triguard.”
Madi nodded. “Can you find your way without a torch?”
“Yes, my air gift gives me eyes as sharp as Elkart’s.” He bowed while the guards took their leave. His fingers tightened around his staff as he watched them walk away.
Elkart’s thoughts whispered through Quintin’s mind. Task all finished?
Yes. Ophelia will be pleased, he told the great cat. Like Madi, Ophelia was one of his year-mates, though the pretty Hand’s gift for water led her to more peaceful work as a seer for Marana, the Goddess of the Future.
She be pleased you like her thief so much?
His face heated. She doesn’t need to know about that.
When he sent a message to her temple in the morning to inform her of the quipu’s safe delivery, he would leave out any details of the escapade. He shuddered at the thought of Ophelia, or worse yet Madi, knowing he had kissed an outlaw.
Quintin rubbed his fingers against his lips, disturbed by how much he wished to do it again.
Chapter 4
The next morning Lady Emmanuella rode to Trimble in a spacious palanquin. Wrapped from head to toe in an elaborate sari, her rank as a Lady of the Realm sparkled as brightly as the silver stitches on her hem. No one looking at her would guess she’d spent the night dressed as a laborer while sneaking around government buildings and sharing passionate kisses with strange men. Kisses that, try as she might, she could not quite forget in the light of day, when she dared not breathe a word about her nocturnal activities.
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 2