by Monica Burns
“That’s not possible.”
“Then how else do you explain the man’s death, carissima?”
“I can’t,” Atia said in a whisper.
He watched her as she struggled with the knowledge that there was a viper in her house and they didn’t know where. She rubbed at her temple again, and he longed to help ease her pain, but instinct said she’d only resent his touch at the moment. He looked down at the dead man again.
“Who else has seen the mutilation?”
“Just Ignacio, Pasquale, myself, and now you,” Atia replied.
“The Vigilavi?” His abrupt question made her shake her head.
“She didn’t get any farther than where she dropped Sandro’s breakfast tray.” Atia’s gaze shifted toward the mess on the floor just inside the research lab’s doorway. Marcus looked at Atia’s bodyguard.
“We need to have the man prepared for the Rogalis with as few people seeing his body as possible. Murder is one thing, but this mark will create widespread panic,” he said grimly. “We have no choice but to trust Pasquale, since he’s already seen the body. Do you have one or two men you can rely on to keep their mouths shut?”
“Yes.” Firmani nodded abruptly then looked at Atia. “Benedict? Fabrizio’s only been with us a little more than a year.”
“Yes, Benedict is completely loyal to me.” Atia nodded her head as she looked at Marcus. Color had returned to her face, and she looked far more composed now. With his thoughts, he lightly brushed his fingers across her cheek. She frowned slightly but didn’t say anything as he turned back to Firmani.
“You need to move the man’s body quickly. In the meantime, Atia will address the residents and call a special meeting of the Council.” Marcus turned his head as Atia uttered a small gasp.
“A special meeting . . . ? But I don’t—”
“You don’t have much choice,” he growled. “There’s a belligerent little worm outside who I’ve no doubt will cause trouble otherwise.”
“Cato.” Atia and her Celeris said the name simultaneously and with equal disgust.
“That’s the one,” he said in a sharp tone as he remembered the Council member’s self-importance. If the man had had any idea who he was talking to, Marcus was certain the obnoxious toad’s attitude would have been completely different.
“Marcus is right, Ignacio. I need to meet with the Council and reassure the rest of the estate’s residents. If you’ll see to Sandro and his Rogalis, I’ll deal with Cato.” Her voice was strong and commanding as she turned toward Marcus. “Do you think we should find a safer storage place for the document?”
It was a good question, and he frowned. If the document were less fragile, he would have been inclined to say yes, but the research lab had been designed to protect ancient artifacts. It was still the best place to keep the document. He shook his head.
“This is the safest option available to us. Once Firmani has seen to the body, I’ll work on making improvements to the security system in the room.”
“His name was Sandro,” she bit out in a tight voice. He flinched as he realized his pragmatism had made him seem uncaring. Marcus bowed slightly toward her.
“Forgive me, mea kara. I meant no disrespect to Sandro.” His jaw tightened as she nodded sharply at him before turning back to her Celeris.
“Ignacio, take care with him.”
Her voice softened as she glanced down at the dead man then turned and left the room. As she walked away, his senses picked up on Firmani’s malicious satisfaction. Slowly, he turned his head toward the man. The small smile on the Celeris’s face disappeared as Marcus eyed him with a cold calculation.
“You heard the Prima Consul. See to the man’s body.” His command made Firmani stiffen, but the Celeris nodded sharply then pulled a cell phone from his pants pocket and tapped on the screen. Marcus didn’t bother waiting to ensure the man followed Atia’s instructions. He was certain Firmani would do as he was told, and not just because the Prima Consul had ordered him to.
Firmani was too much in love with Atia to refuse her. What if she cared for the Celeris, too? The thought made Marcus’s entire body grow rigid with jealous tension. Little more than two weeks ago when he’d found Atia at La Terrazza del Ninfeo in Rome, she’d defended Firmani. She’d pleaded for the man’s life. Had that been because she was in love with her Celeris?
She’d mentioned breaking their blood bond that morning before Firmani had even showed up. His gut knotted at the possibility. No. He couldn’t believe that. Just a few minutes ago, when Marcus entered the lab, he’d been the one she’d run to, not Firmani. He was the one she’d clung to. It had been his arms Atia had sought solace in, not those of her Celeris.
A grim smile twisted his lips as he crossed the room toward the locked cabinet that held the Tyet of Isis document. He would win her back. He wouldn’t fail in that task. He’d spent too many years dreaming about her and how he would regain her love after Dante became the new Sicari Lord. He would not lose her now.
For the moment, he would do as she asked, just as Firmani would. He had no doubt the Celeris would do what he could to steal Atia from him, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. His thoughts were still on Atia as he examined the high-tech security lock on the steel lockbox that held the parchment he knew the Praetorians wanted desperately. As he looked around the room, he began to itemize the extra precautions that could be taken to protect the valuable document.
Several hours later, all of Marcus’s ideas were close to completion as the Vigilavi security expert on staff directed the placement of the last security camera that would give the control room a continuous view of the research lab. Sometime in the next week, new steel doors would be installed that could be locked remotely to prevent anyone trying to steal the Tyet of Isis document from escaping.
Satisfied the artifact was far more secure than it had been before the murder, he left the lab and headed to Atia’s suite. Pasquale had returned to the lab a short time ago and informed him that the Prima Consul had spent more than three hours fielding questions from the Council, or more specifically, Cato.
That the Council member had named Marcus as a possible suspect didn’t surprise him. He was a new arrival and not above suspicion. And while the worm’s audacious suggestion that Atia might also be the murderer wasn’t surprising, it infuriated him. Pasquale’s report had simply made him hunger for the chance to reduce the Council member to a quivering mass of fear.
It would be a mistake to do anything, though. Atia wouldn’t tolerate any interference in her affairs, even if it was to her benefit. As he came to a halt in front of Atia’s rooms, he started to knock then changed his mind. She was his wife, and he had every right to enter. The door opened quietly, and as he entered the main living area, it was as if he’d stepped back in time.
The room was almost a replica of the living room they’d had at Rennes-le-Château when they were first blood bonded. He moved deeper into the space, absently using his ability to close the door behind him.
Pictures on an end table caught his eye, and one of the framed photographs floated up off the table into his hand. It was a picture of him and Gabriel, taken shortly before the kidnapping. His throat swelled shut as grief welled up inside him. If only he’d taken Atia and Gabriel with him to the Absconditus that week.
“What are you doing here, Marcus?” Atia’s voice was like a cool breeze on the back of his neck.
Her tone said his presence had caught her by surprise and she wasn’t happy about it. He slowly turned to face her. Her rumpled clothing and tousled hair made him think she’d just gotten up from a nap. She looked as though the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders. But it was the bleak sadness in her gray eyes that tugged at him.
The force of her grief hammered away at his mind, the intensity of it as sharp as a finely honed blade. It made him want to pull her into his arms for the second time today.
“I came to check on you,” he said quietly. “Pasquale sai
d the Council meeting was rather contentious this afternoon.”
“Perhaps a little more than usual, but nothing I couldn’t handle.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Cato is a bastardo. He enjoys making things difficult.”
“When was the last time you ate?” His question made her frown.
“I don’t remember,” she said with a slight shrug. “Last night, I suppose.”
“Christus,” he muttered. “You never did know how to take care of yourself.”
Without asking her permission, he strode down a short hallway to the small kitchen that was in every one of the larger suites on the estate. If he was going to succeed in winning her back, he needed to woo her. He’d start with a little wine and some home cooking. She’d always enjoyed the meals he used to fix for them.
The refrigerator wasn’t bare, but the contents left a lot to be desired. He pulled out a brick of Fontina cheese, along with fresh salad ingredients. As he searched the cabinet for some pasta, Atia came into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing you something to eat.” He pulled a box of fettuccine from the cabinet and placed it on the counter next to the stove.
“That’s not necessary. I can easily order something from the main kitchen.”
“And pass up the opportunity to mock my cooking?” His attempt at brevity was rewarded with a slight smile from her.
“I never made fun of your cooking,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Yes, you did.” He quickly filled a pot with water and set it on the burner to boil.
“No, what I poked fun at was your singing.”
“Singing and cooking are part of being Sicari,” he grumbled.
“Yes, but only when you can actually sing,” she said with a laugh.
Her laughter was a beautiful sound, and he grinned at her while unwrapping the block of Fontina cheese. With a knife he’d found in one of the drawers, he started to shave pieces off the solid white block. As the slivers of cheese piled up on the cutting board, he began to hum “La Donna è Mobile.”
“If you insist on singing, I’m going to have a drink.”
“So now I’m driving you to drink?” he said with a raised eyebrow.
“No, your singing is.”
“I was humming.” He eyed her with amusement at the way she shook her head.
“The problem is you never just hum,” she said in a wry voice as she pulled a bottle of Galluccio wine from the rack sitting at one end of the counter.
She neatly pulled the cork from the bottle with a corkscrew as Marcus continued to shave the cheese. The water had started to boil, and she moved around him to drop the fettuccine into the hot water.
His body grew tight at her close proximity, and his cock was hard in an instant. What little concentration he had remaining vanished as the soft scent of her perfume feathered its way into his nose when she accidentally bumped into him. A second later, the knife slipped and nicked his finger.
“Fotte.”
“Deus, Marcus, I’m so sorry,” she gasped in dismay.
Moving quickly, she grabbed a nearby towel and ran it under cold water before she returned to his side. Gently, she took his hand in hers and dabbed at the cut. All thought of the annoying injury to his finger fled him as he drank in the sweet essence of her. Jupiter’s Stone. He’d always remembered her scent, but the memory had never been this sharp and enticing. This was like being drunk on a heady wine. Even after all these years, she had the ability to make him ready to rut like a bull. He bit down on the inside of his cheek as he dragged in a ragged breath.
“It’s a scrape. Just leave it be, Atia,” he growled as he pulled his hand away from her. She glared up at him and grasped his hand more firmly.
“Let me look at it. You might need a healer.”
“It’s a small cut. I don’t need a healer.” He needed her. Every part of him was on fire, and if she wouldn’t let him put some distance between them, he wasn’t going to be held responsible for what happened.
“Damn it, Marcus. Why do you have to be so hardheaded?” she snapped and pulled his hand back toward her.
“And why don’t you ever listen?”
His voice was tight with need as he swept the counter clean with one simple thought then lifted her up onto the flat surface with another mental command. The lovely curve of her mouth formed a small O as she gasped with astonishment.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he rasped and leaned into her. “I’m showing my wife that I find her as beautiful and sexy today as I did the first time we met.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said as her fingers splayed across his chest. “We’re too old to be acting like teenagers.”
“Old?” he growled. “Does this feel like an old man?”
His hands moved her legs apart and jerked her forward until she was pressed into his hard erection. Her eyes widened with surprise, and he was certain there was a hint of desire flashing there as well.
“Marcus, please.” She sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled her closer so she was snug against his cock.
“I’m more than ready to please you, carissima.” His suggestive comment made her blush, and she shook her head with a hint of shocked surprise.
“We aren’t young anymore, Marcus. And here on the counter . . . it’s . . . it’s hedonistic and unlike you.” The scandalized note in her voice faded into obvious confusion. He liked seeing her off balance, but he didn’t like her implied observation that he was incapable of doing something spontaneous.
“I’m fifty-six, Atia. I’d hardly call that ready for the funeral pyre,” he growled. “As for unconventional, what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything. It’s just—”
“Then forget you’re the Prima Consul and let me pleasure you, because right now, all I can think about is sliding in and out of you until we’re both satisfied.”
She gasped softly, the pink color in her cheeks darkening. He stared at her for a long moment, expecting her to say something, but she appeared too disconcerted. Christus, she was beautiful. When they’d first met, she’d been lovely, but then the sharply defined curves of her face had reflected an innocence they’d both lost over the years. Now, there was a soft roundness to her visage that hadn’t been there more than thirty years ago.
It only heightened her beauty, making him wish he’d not missed all those years that had changed her. Changed him. He reached out with one finger to lightly trace the line of her throat down to the vee of her blouse. The way her breathing quickened made him smile. If there was one thing that hadn’t changed between them, it was the sex.
They’d always been good together in bed, and if he could use that to make her see how much he loved her, had always loved her, then he would. He’d do anything to get her back. Her throat bobbed nervously beneath his finger. His gaze met hers, and this time he could plainly see the desire in her eyes.
The instant he mentally reached out to undo the top button of her shirt she inhaled a sharp breath. The sound made his body tighten with excitement. His gaze never left her face as he slowly used his ability to undo one button after another all the way down the front of her blouse. As her shirt flared open, he stared at the sculpted bra holding her breasts.
He’d always loved her breasts. He ached to remove the barrier between his mouth and the stiff nipple he could see through the material covering her. No, not yet. That could wait. He needed to let her know it wasn’t just her body he wanted. He wanted much more than that.
Slowly, he leaned forward and breathed in her perfume. It was different than what he remembered in their youth. This scent was more subtle. Richer. Mature. He recognized it as the fragrance of a woman, not the girl he’d blood bonded with. Mixed in with the soft scent was something else. Desire. The slight hint of musk that said she wanted him.
He swallowed hard. She might want him, but did she still love him? He pushed the thought
aside. He refused to believe she had ever stopped. Love had never been the problem. It had been Gabriel’s kidnapping and the way she’d retreated from him afterward that had broken them apart. The hunt for their son and his duties as the reigning Sicari Lord had only widened the gap between them. He trailed his fingers down to the valley between her breasts, his breathing almost as erratic as hers.
“I’ve missed you, mea kara. For years, night after night, I’ve dreamed of lying beside you. Holding you. Loving you,” he said softly. “And every morning I’d awake alone.”
Cupping her cheek with his hand, he rubbed his thumb over her mouth. A breathless sigh brushed past her lips as her gray eyes darkened.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered. It was a small concession, but at the moment, he’d take whatever she would give him. His hands slipped inside her open shirt to caress the smooth skin of her waist as he leaned forward and brushed his mouth across hers.
As if a dam had broken inside her, she suddenly cradled his face in her hands and kissed him with an intensity that was enough to drive him mad. The taste of her reminded him of the peaches she loved to eat. Her lips parted beneath his, and his tongue swept into the inner warmth of her mouth to taste the sweet fire of her. A shudder shook him as her tongue danced with his.
Jupiter’s Stone. He’d forgotten the power her kiss had always held over him. A mindless craving for her made him blindly pull her deeper into his chest. The result was her wiggling against him in a way that made his blood burn through his veins.
Heat streaked over his skin and found its way to his groin, where his erection hardened to a painful ache. Christus, he wasn’t going to be able to take this slowly like he’d intended. The woman had always pushed him over the edge, and now wasn’t any different. Another shudder wracked his body as her hand rubbed over his cock through his trousers.
At the touch, he lost his self-control. His hands left her waist to skim the waistband of her slacks. With blinding speed, he lifted her up off the counter and her pants slipped past her bare feet to hit the floor. She murmured a slight protest, but he easily silenced her as he returned her to a sitting position and sought the white-hot silk of her mouth.