“Because?” She sat back on her heels, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around his neck and show him just how much his gesture meant to her.
Because it shouldn’t mean that much to her. He had likely bought them only because he felt guilty for abducting her in the first place. And yet even knowing that didn’t change the way she felt.
She still wanted to wrap herself around him. And, most worrying, never let go.
He let out a disgruntled breath, as if she were a great annoyance. Anyone catching sight of the scowl on his face would be forgiven for running in terror. Yet she had no fear because no matter how he grimaced or glared, he could never quite hide the truth of his feelings from his eyes.
Was she the only one who could see that?
Maximus was mistaken in his opinion. This Gaul with the astonishing chink of vulnerability in his eyes could never be responsible for the crimes leveled against him.
“Because.” The word was loaded with intense irritation. “Your gown was ruined in the forest.”
But not by him. Once again she stared at the ribbons, fascinated by how the colors shimmered as she twisted the silk between her fingers.
He hadn’t got them for her to apologize for abducting her, or chaining her like a slave. He’d bought them because his foul countrymen had attacked her.
Her brain knew such distinction meant nothing. Either way he had given them to her as a wordless apology for wrongs inflicted upon her.
Yet another, irrational, part of her insisted that the distinction meant everything.
* * *
Bren watched Morwyn enter the public baths as if it were something she did on a daily basis. He leaned his shoulder against one of the fluted stone columns that graced the entrance, checked the military dispatch was still safely secured, and folded his arms.
Morwyn would be a while. When he’d suggested she visit the baths, she’d looked thrilled and hadn’t even tried too hard to hide her reaction. As if she no longer cared whether he knew the thought of such indulgence fascinated her.
But while her face told him she had no reservations about trying out the Roman baths, her tongue launched into a scathing diatribe of the invaders’ decadence. He hadn’t bothered arguing with her, and after a moment she’d stopped midsentence and started to laugh.
Unexpected and contrary. Her convictions were as rock, yet she laughed at herself when the irony of her comments became absurd. If he thought she would say one thing, she said another. And while he’d imagined she would deny having left the inn if asked, she’d instead told him without any prompting. As if she considered it her right to come and go as she pleased and it had never crossed her mind he might think otherwise.
Her pleasure at the ribbons had been gratifying, although he’d been taken aback both by the extent of her evident delight and by his own private satisfaction of her response. They were only ribbons. He was glad she liked them but it was scarcely cause to ignite an odd warmth deep in the pit of his soul.
He sucked in a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at the still-bustling forum on the opposite corner of this most prestigious square in Camulodunon. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t expect Morwyn to confide in him, but the things she had let slip didn’t add up.
If she’d been a companion—or, more likely, a slave—to a patrician child, then she would have been in another province, as Britain had only been occupied for eight years. Maybe Gaul—she had admitted as much when she’d mentioned the tutor.
Yet she acted as if Cymru was not only her homeland, but the only place she had ever been before traveling to Camulodunon. Why did she insist she had never experienced the Roman ways before when she’d spent most, if not all, of her childhood in a Roman household?
More to the point, why was he so interested? It didn’t affect his plans one way or another. And yet still he wanted to know how old she had been when she’d left Cymru. How long she’d been back. Why her Roman mistress had allowed her to leave, when the bond between them was so obvious.
Maybe she just wanted to wipe the experience from her mind. He could understand that. If she’d been abducted from her family while still a child, no wonder she’d reacted so furiously when he’d chained her like a slave.
And he couldn’t even ask her. Because then he’d have to admit he’d seen her in the forum, embracing the Roman, and hadn’t mentioned it before.
It was only later, as Morwyn emerged from the bathhouse glowing and pampered and wearing the green silk ribbon in her hair, that it occurred to him he’d just missed the perfect opportunity to read the military dispatch.
Chapter 18
Instead of returning to the inn, the Gaul took her into a tavern in the forum. They sat near the door, for both light and fresh air, and Morwyn breathed deep, savoring the strange, foreign aromas that scented her hair and body.
“What’s your verdict on the Roman bathing experience?” His eyes glinted at her, as if daring her to say how much she had loathed the procedure.
“Extraordinary.” She’d forgotten how utterly wonderful it was to be massaged so thoroughly. She hadn’t been so pampered since the Romans had invaded and she and her fellow Druids had fled to the magical enclave Aeron created. An enclave prohibited to all others, including their slaves and servants who had been left to fend for themselves.
He made a noncommittal noise that sounded rather like a grunt. As if he didn’t believe her.
She rolled her shoulders and felt deliciously aroused. “Of course, I’ve been massaged in the past.” Now why had she told him that? She didn’t want him guessing she wasn’t really from the trading class. But too late to worry about that now. Besides, he didn’t look as if he’d jumped to the conclusion she was of noble blood. And certainly she’d said nothing that could point to her Druid ancestry.
“Have you?” His voice was completely neutral, as though he found nothing either strange or commonplace about her comment.
“Oh yes.” She flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture. “But never before have I been so thoroughly exfoliated.” She stretched out the word for emphasis, and exquisite shivers danced between her thighs at the memory.
At least that caught his attention. He looked at her, clearly unsure he’d heard her correctly, and then transferred his attention to the amphora of wine on the table as if it fascinated him.
She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on the backs of her fingers. He was pouring water for her from his personal waterskin and wine for himself, which was a little odd but she wasn’t about to complain. Wine befuddled her mind and she’d never much cared for the sour taste of ale.
“My legs,” she said, as he raised the goblet to his lips, “feel as soft as my silken ribbons.”
His eyes darkened. “I’ll examine your claim later.” His voice was low and vibrated with desire. Satisfied with such reaction, she leaned a little farther over the table.
“And my pussy is near naked.”
He choked, wine splaying from his mouth, and shot her a look of utter disbelief. A smug smile tilted her lips and she waited for his response. He appeared unable to articulate one.
“Well?” she prompted. “Do you intend to examine that claim later also?”
“Intimately.” His voice was hoarse, and he took a hasty gulp of wine as if that might ease his throat.
“And this night,” she said, “I intend to examine you as intimately.”
For a fleeting moment she thought grim disgust flashed across his face. But it vanished so swiftly perhaps it hadn’t been there at all. Because now he looked at her in a way that made her damp and tight and deliciously uncomfortable between her thighs.
Gods. How could she want him so savagely so soon after slaking her lust? Was it because her skin still tingled from the thorough cleansing ritual she’d enjoyed?
Or was it simply because the Gaul was . . . her Gaul?
* * *
They arrived back at the inn just as dusk fell. He hadn’t touched her on the journey
but she’d been achingly aware of him next to her, and on the few occasions his arm had brushed hers, lightning skittered along her nerves.
By the time he opened the door to their room she was so aroused she wanted to throw him to the floor and ravish him.
She sucked in a shaky breath. She’d done that once already this day. Although the door had substituted for the floor and he’d craftily switched their positions so he’d been in control.
This time he wouldn’t wrest power from her so easily. This time she would—
Her thoughts shattered as he gripped her shoulders and jerked her toward him, his mouth on hers. Hard and hot and merciless as he invaded and plundered her parted lips.
A moan slid along her throat, echoed through her mouth, and she thrust her own tongue against his, seeking and finding. He tasted of wine and spices and primitive aroused male.
She buried her fingers in his hair, so short, so foreign and yet so surprisingly erotic. His hands slid from her shoulders and without breaking their ravaging kiss he tugged open the ties at her bodice.
Her fingers dropped to his chest and feverishly she attempted to locate his elusive fastenings. He broke contact, panting in her face, his eyes dark in the flickering light from the lamps.
“Take off your gown.” His rough command sent tremors through her wet sheath but she wasn’t about to let him get away with issuing orders.
“No.” She flashed him a smile and tried to drag his chain mail from his chest.
He captured her fingers with one hard hand. “Remove your gown.” He pressed her hands against her breast and released her. “Or by the gods I’ll rip it from you.”
A spear of primal lust lanced through her. Her breath shortened and she stared up at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
His fingers slid into her bodice and his knuckles grazed her sensitized flesh. She arched against him, felt his hands fist, and then he ripped her bodice to her waist as if it were made of nothing more substantial than spring leaves.
Astonishment and disbelief tumbled through her, but before she could even take a breath, violent desire incinerated all other emotions.
He growled against her flushed cheek. “Never dare me, Morwyn.”
“Gallic barbarian.” She kicked off her leather footwear and pulled her ruined gown from her shoulders and allowed it to puddle around her feet. His gaze remained melded with hers. “Now you strip for me.”
He tore off his chain mail and dropped it onto the floor. Her breath lodged in her throat and her glance slid from his to rivet on his chest. But he made no move to remove the tunic, and with an impatient gasp she reached for him, to finish the job herself.
Swiftly he gripped her wrists in one large hand before she made contact and jerked her arms above her head, her bracelets tumbling down her forearms. Before her startled mind could fathom what he thought he was doing, he marched her backward and she had no choice but to comply or be dragged.
“Unhand me.” It sounded more like a plea to continue than a demand to acquiesce. The half smile he offered her suggested he thought so too.
A strange tenderness threaded through the sharp lust spearing low in her belly. She craved his smile. How insane to find such a natural expression so captivating.
Except on her Gaul it wasn’t natural. He rarely smiled. And when he did she had the incomprehensible urge to savor it, like a gift from benevolent gods.
The backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
From sheer habit she opened her mouth to disagree, because nobody gave her orders. But instead she merely expelled a noisy breath and sat as gracefully as she could manage with her arms still extended above her head.
He kneed her thighs open and stood between her parted legs. Yet still his gaze remained locked on hers. As though her face was the most arousing and fascinating part of her body, despite the way she was open for his most intimate of inspection.
And, inexplicably, that knowledge sent tremors skittering across the skin of her lower belly and the sensitized flesh of her breasts.
“Now will you strip for me?” Her voice was husky and she twisted her wrists but his grip didn’t relax. She trailed her feet up his rock-hard calves, balancing precariously as she explored his rigid thighs, bracing her weight on her captured hands.
Slowly he leaned forward and she could do nothing but go with the momentum. Flat on her back, legs hooked around him, she glared up at him. His smile was pure decadence, wiping years from his face, and she struggled to recall why she was angry with him.
What did it matter if he refused to relinquish control, when he smiled like that? Entranced despite herself, she stared at him, his face so close to hers. Towering over her like a conquering warlord, pinning her to the bed as if she were his captive spoil of battle.
“Have you forgotten?” His smoky voice curled deep within her as potent as any Druidic aphrodisiac. “I need to examine the veracity of your claims.”
She squirmed helplessly, digging her heels into the tops of his thighs, but he refused to lower himself onto her, to alleviate the pressure between her legs.
“Then make haste.” Her fingers flexed and clawed but still she couldn’t escape. “You torture me with your tongue.”
His lips all but brushed hers. “Not yet. But I will.”
The promise in his words lanced through her heated blood, tightening muscles and shortening breath, and erratic gasps fanned his face. Again he smiled, clearly well pleased by her reaction, and slowly he loosened the grip on her wrists.
“Don’t try to escape.” His fingers trailed the length of her arms and caressed her shoulders. She remained prone, unable to move a muscle, as if his words hypnotized.
She had not the slightest inclination to escape. She even forgave him for not stripping first, because that could come later. After he had fulfilled the promise glinting in his mesmeric eyes.
As if her silence satisfied, the tips of his roughened fingers continued to trail over her heated skin to the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips. Slow and maddening and unbelievably erotic. A featherlight touch she could feel all the way in the deepest recesses of her soul, as if flesh and psyche melded beneath his exploration.
“Back up.” There was the faintest undercurrent of a tremble in his command. His control wasn’t as absolute as he would have her believe. And because of that she obeyed, bracing her feet against his hips and pushing back onto the bed, until she sprawled across the mattress, legs spread in helpless abandon.
The palms of his hands glided over her thighs, her knees, her calves. Air hissed between her teeth and she dug her fingers into the mattress. Still his eyes never left hers. As if he wanted to watch every tiny reaction his touch evoked. As if that was of more import to him than examining her blatantly exposed pussy.
“Your legs,” he said, as his palms once again skimmed her shins, “are as silken as your ribbons.”
She knew that. It wasn’t her legs she wanted him to examine. Even if every touch caused shivers of desire to spill across her skin in ever-increasing spirals of anticipation.
“Some Roman implements have their uses.” Not that she would admit such to anyone else. But the Gaul wasn’t anyone else. He was the one admiring her smooth skin, and what did it matter if she confessed to enjoying the unexpected session of indulgence in the baths?
He would never repeat her words to those who would despise her for such weakness. And it wasn’t as if she would ever have the chance to experience that foreign pampering again.
His fingers splayed against the inside of her thighs, but still he maintained eye contact. How did he exert such self-control? Were their positions reversed, she would be all but devouring his cock with her eyes and mouth.
The fantasy was so real in her mind she squirmed again and wrapped her hands around his wrists. He didn’t move, except for his lips, and his smile scorched what little air remained in her lungs.
“Patience is not one of your virtues, Morwyn.”
“I never claimed it was.” She sounded parched, as if she were dying of thirst. And she was dying, but of hunger. Hunger for his touch.
His hands slid farther up her thighs and she gasped frantically for breath. But still he didn’t touch her where she needed him. Still he didn’t look at her where she wanted him to look at her.
“Patience,” he said again, but this time there was a raw undercurrent in his tone. “Is overrated.” His intense gaze slid over her trembling body, lingering on her breasts, before focusing between her thighs.
She saw his jaw lock, felt his fingers tense, and wet desire thudded through her aching sheath. Slowly he knelt on the floor, never taking his eyes from her, and she braced her weight on her elbows so she could watch his face.
Breath hissed between his lips. “I’ve never seen anything so tempting.”
She flexed her internal muscles in an effort to contain the rapidly escalating lust. It didn’t work. “My near-naked pussy arouses you?” The strangeness, when she’d examined herself in the bath house, had excited her in a way she’d never before imagined. The realization her Gaul had never taken a woman with such a severely groomed pussy not only heightened her own desire but thrilled her in a way that, in a dark corner of her mind, shivered with unspoken danger.
He widened her thighs, opening her farther for his pleasure. The air chilled her damp inner lips, but only momentarily. His scorching gaze warmed her as rapidly as if he were a forest fire.
“Your pouting lips entrance me.” He grazed his thumb across her shaved flesh and she jerked, shocked not only by his intimate touch but by his smoky words. “Your musky scent intoxicates.” Both thumbs slid into her, but only by the merest degree, before he gently spread her for his further visual exploration.
Gods, no man had ever examined her so thoroughly. Her heart thundered against her ribs, the air evaporated from her chest and it hurt, an unbearable pain she couldn’t explain and didn’t want to ever end.
The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection Page 45