by Monica Burns
“No, Madame Consul,” he said in an icy voice as he flashed a look in Marcus’s direction. “You already have my replacement. I can only hope he will serve you as faithfully as I have and that he doesn’t put his own needs ahead of yours.”
The moment the door closed behind the man, Atia moved to go after him. An invisible hand grasped her arm to hold her back.
“Let him go, Atia. His pride is wounded, and he’s in love with you.”
“I know,” she said softly as she faced Marcus. “I always knew he cared for me, I just didn’t realize how deeply.”
“That morning at La Terrazza del Ninfeo.” His lips twisted in a grim smile. “I thought I’d lost you to him.”
There was a look on his face that said he was waiting for her to reaffirm her feelings for him, but she remained silent. She’d already confessed her soul to him once this evening. To do it a second time would only give him more power over her. Power she wasn’t willing to give. When she didn’t speak, Marcus sighed heavily.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a more stubborn woman than you, Atia,” he said with quiet exasperation. His frustration was suddenly amusing, because he looked just like Cleo did whenever she was annoyed about something. She smiled slightly, which made him scowl darkly.
“Cleo looks just like you when she’s irritated.” Her words made Marcus’s expression lighten.
“Then you must aggravate her as much as you do me.” Although his voice still held a note of exasperation, there was humor there as well. Her smile widened.
“We’ve had more than our fair share of battles. Cleo can be incredibly stubborn.”
“Like her mother.” Marcus’s blue eyes studied her with an intensity that suddenly made her uncomfortable. “I know you’re worried about her, Atia. I am, too. But you can’t keep her locked up because of what happened to Gabriel.”
She closed her eyes against the truth in his words. It was true. No matter how much she wanted to lock Cleo up to keep her safe from harm, she couldn’t. Losing Gabriel had left a wound that would never heal, even though she’d only known him a short time. She’d never known the man he might have become. She’d only known the monster Nicostratus had created.
But losing Cleo would be like losing not just another piece of her heart but a part of herself as well. She didn’t really see Marcus move. She only realized the space between them had disappeared. As he cupped her face in his hands, his touch ignited a familiar fire inside her. She trembled and opened her eyes to look at him, struggling not to let him see how disturbing the simple caress was to her.
“Why do you think I blame you for Gabriel, carissima?” His question doused her skin with a frigid chill. She swallowed hard and shook her head.
“Not now, Marcus. I don’t want to do this now.”
“Then when?” he said through clenched teeth. “Tomorrow? Next week? If I let you, you’ll avoid discussing it altogether.”
“Deus, and you call me stubborn,” she said as she jerked away from his touch. Frustrated, she blew out a harsh sigh. “You push too hard. You always did.”
“I push because I refuse to let the past come between us.”
“You can’t just wipe it out with a wave of your hand, Marcus.” She made a gesture in midair as if she were waving a wand. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Then tell me what will work, Atia. Tell me how I’m supposed to get my beautiful, stubborn wife to accept the fact that we belong together?”
“You can’t,” she snapped, angry that he refused to drop the matter. A knot swelled in her throat as she put more space between them. “I’m not the girl you married, Marcus. Losing Gabriel changed me. Changed us.”
“Tell me how it changed? When I came back from Rome that last time, you wouldn’t even talk to me.”
“Because you left me,” she cried out. “You went looking for Gabriel’s kidnappers and left me alone. I needed you.”
“Are you saying you wanted me to stay at the château and do nothing?” The ferocity of his question made her wince.
“No. But you wouldn’t take me with you. You shut me out. You took on a burden that wasn’t—that wasn’t yours to carry.”
“I didn’t shut you out. You weren’t in any condition to go with me.”
“You did shut me out. You went racing off to Rome in search of Gabriel, and you didn’t call me for almost two weeks, Marcus. Two weeks,” she hissed angrily as she remembered those terrible dark days. “Is it any wonder I didn’t want to talk to you when you came back? I felt like you’d deserted me. You left me alone to deal with the fact that it was my fault Gabriel was gone.”
“Christus, it wasn’t your fault, carissima,” Marcus exclaimed as he stepped toward her, but she avoided his grasp. “Is that what you’ve believed all these years? Those Praetorian bastardi almost killed you. It wasn’t your fault, Atia.”
“It was my fault,” she shouted. “I lied to you. To everyone. I was a coward. I could have taken Gabriel’s life before those bastardi took him out of my arms and I didn’t.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted them, as the color drained from Marcus’s face. Stunned, he stared at her as if she’d taken a sword and plunged it into him. Her entire body was as tight as a piece of elastic stretched to its breaking point. Slowly, Marcus’s disbelief faded and his fury rolled over her senses like a tidal wave. If she had been feeling less drained, she might have been able to keep from drowning under his harsh emotions. She couldn’t. Her headache had weakened her ability to protect herself, and it was impossible not to feel the impact of his anger.
“Sweet mother of Juno,” he snarled. “What kind of a man do you think I am, Atia? Do you really think I would have judged you for not following the old ways?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “You practiced the ways of the first Sicari Lords. You still do. What was I supposed to think?”
“That I would have understood,” he said fiercely. “That I would have told you it was all right.”
“Would you have?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“All this time you’ve believed me to be that much of a bastardo.” The disgust in his voice cut deep like a razor.
“No. I believed your loyalty to the Absconditus was, and still is, absolute. The minute the Praetorians took Gabriel, he became a serious threat to the Order as well as the Absconditus. I was certain you would despise me for choosing our son’s life over the Order. So I lied.”
She bowed her head, unable to bear looking at his angry features. The confrontation was every bit as painful as she’d imagined it would be. Exhausted, the pain inside her was a raw wound. The ache made her feel like she’d aged twenty years in the last half hour. The throbbing in her head only added to the mental anguish tearing her apart inside. She wanted to end this. Be done with it. The tension between them thickened as she opened her eyes to look at him. The fury blazing in his eyes made her hesitate for a moment before she drew in a deep breath.
“I think you should go, Marcus.”
“Fuck.”
The violent response made her nerve endings scream with tension, and fear propelled her backward as he took a quick step in her direction. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or anguish that made his features darken that much more as he came to a halt. They stared at each other for a long moment before Atia turned her head away, unable to bear the censure in his gaze any longer.
“Please go, Marcus.”
The quiet command drew a dark noise from him, and she jerked her head in his direction to look at him again. His face was a sharply defined mask that hid everything he was feeling. He’d even regained control of his emotions, as she realized they were no longer bombarding her senses. With a low growl of frustration, he started to move toward the door then hesitated.
He didn’t say anything, and the invisible stroke of his hand against her cheek startled her. Emotion flashed in his blue eyes, making them darken, and she could have sworn he was in some great
torment. As they stared at each other, somewhere in the depths of her mind she heard the whisper of his thoughts touching hers. The instant her mind recoiled from the mental touch, it was gone.
Marcus drew in a sharp breath, and with another guttural sound, he left the suite. As the door closed behind him, Atia stumbled forward to collapse into the soft cushions of the sofa. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she huddled against the arm of the couch and cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.
Chapter 12
THE sound of the library door opening made Cleo look up from the building plans she’d spread out on the table in front of her. Instantly, her senses were on fire as Dante walked into the room. Her entire body might as well have been a magnet, the way she was drawn to him. As he crossed the room toward her, she enjoyed watching the way he moved.
He was dressed in black again, but this time it was a neatly pressed black cotton shirt rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his forearms while the shirt flared open at the neck. The black pants he wore were just as crisp looking as the shirt, with a sharp crease running down the front of his trousers to brush the top of his Italian-made shoes. And they had to be Italian-made. She didn’t know how she knew. She just did. Maybe it was that careless yet flawless look of a man who’d just stepped out of the best men’s shop in Rome.
As he drew closer, her heart rate quickened to twice its normal pace. Deus, he was without a doubt the sexiest, most confident man she’d seen in a very long time. Her gaze drifted over his tanned arms with their dusting of black hair. She’d always loved a man’s arms. They emphasized male strength and beauty in one fell swoop. Well, short of the rest of a man’s body.
And she was willing to bet that Dante Condellaire—
Cleo stiffened as her thoughts slammed to a halt. Condellaire. That’s what had really been bugging her every time she heard his name. It hadn’t registered with her this morning, and she’d forgotten it until now. It was an old Sicari name, but it was rare to hear it.
Lysander was the only one off the top of her head she could think of with the same last name. Perhaps they had a connection somewhere in the past. It wasn’t impossible, since the Sicari population numbered less than three thousand all over the world. Then again, Dante was a Sicari Lord and Lysander wasn’t. Well, her friend did have some Sicari Lord talents, considering he had a Praetorian father. Dante came to a stop in front of the table, and she forgot all about his possible relationship to Lysander.
It was clear the gods had taken their time creating Dante, right down to those dark blue eyes of his that reminded her of the sea during a storm. Eyes that were studying her carefully at the moment. A shiver skimmed its way across her skin as she met his gaze. Something had changed. In the garden when she’d teased him, she’d had the advantage. Not now.
He was in complete control, and she was the one who was suddenly feeling discombobulated. She wasn’t sure she liked the feeling. Her gaze flew to his sensuous mouth, and she saw it tip upward slightly. Her heart skipped a beat. Now she was certain she didn’t like the way she was feeling. Suddenly, she was glad there was a table between them.
Folding her arms across her chest, she narrowed her gaze at him and waited for him to say something. Hands clasped behind his back, Dante studied her. The appraisal in his dark eyes made her edgy, and she forced herself not to squirm beneath his observation.
“Why are you so eager to get into the convent?” His quiet question made it clear he expected an honest answer.
“I have a friend in there, and I want to get her out.”
“How do you know she’s in the convent?” Again, his tone indicated he wanted a straightforward answer.
“Marta was taken more than a year ago when one of the Chicago guild’s missions went south. I tracked her back to the convent a few months later.”
She didn’t bother to go into detail about Lysander’s torture or her desire to help not only Marta, but her best friend as well. Lysander was like a brother to her, and she knew he still felt the sting of that failed mission.
“And you’re sure she’s there?” he asked quietly.
“Would it matter if she wasn’t? It’s a breeding facility, and that means there are Sicari women . . . and children there,” Cleo said grimly. Dante’s gaze narrowed for a moment before he nodded.
“All right,” he said with a somber expression. “Why don’t we make a pact? You tell me everything you know about the convent, and I’ll give you my word you’ll be part of the team.”
“You mean the assault team that enters the convent when you authorize the rescue.”
He frowned, and she instinctively knew he’d been trying to keep his promise vague. Now that she’d narrowed the definition, he wasn’t so keen on the terms. With a cheerful smile, she waited for his answer. Irritation flared in his blue eyes. She’d backed him into a corner, and he wasn’t happy about it.
“Done,” he bit out in a fierce tone. “But you’re to do as I say. No questions asked. Capisci?”
“Understood.”
“All right then. Show me what you have.”
“Take a look,” she said with a smile as she nodded toward the blueprints she’d been studying when he’d entered the room.
With a fluid move that reminded her of the power she’d seen him exhibit in his martial arts exercise, Dante’s invisible touch flattened the floor plans on the table. One hand pressed into the tabletop, he examined the architectural drawings of the convent for a moment before he raised his head to look at her.
“Where did you get these?” he asked with amazement.
“I had them sent over from the safe house along with the rest of my things.” She stressed the last few words in her reply. Best to let him know she had no intention of going anywhere. “I have a source who does odd jobs for me when I need something.”
She didn’t bother to mention that Antonio had been her lover over a year ago and, despite going their separate ways, he was always willing to help her whenever she asked. Something told her the man was still in love with her. It was the reason she’d left him. Love wasn’t in the cards for her. Not even with a man outside of the Order.
“I’ve been trying for almost a year to get my hands on these floor plans.”
“Maybe you just didn’t ask nice enough,” she said in a husky voice.
Her hands caressed the table as she extended her arms out to the side and leaned toward him until her face was inches from his. She knew she was being deliberately provocative, but she didn’t like the way the balance of power had shifted between them. It made her feel vulnerable, and she didn’t enjoy the sensation one bit. Being provocative was a way to balance things out.
Although he didn’t move, she could see the way his entire body went rigid as he looked up to meet her gaze. Something flashed in his blue eyes, and she suddenly wished she’d worn something a little more feminine instead of her black knit shirt and slacks. Suggestive words and body language would only get her so far where this guy was concerned. And the thought of breaking through that steely exterior of his filled her with more excitement than she knew she should be feeling.
That impetuous kiss she’d given him this morning had been hotter than anything she’d experienced in a long time. She knew it had affected him, too. His hard-on had announced that fact loud and clear. A tremor rocked through her as she remembered the way her body had responded when she’d pressed against his erection. As suddenly as the memory assaulted her body, she recoiled from the thought.
What the fuck was she thinking? He was a Sicari Lord. She knew better than to get involved with one of her own kind. No, not her kind. This man was way out of her league. Still, what would it be like to tempt him? And she was certain temptation was something he was trying to avoid where she was concerned. She jerked away from the table, suddenly uncomfortable in his presence.
Distance. She needed to put some mental distance between the two of them. That was the best way to handle things. More importantly, she had to stop letting he
r attraction to the man interfere with her goal of freeing Marta from that hellhole the Praetorians had her in. An odd expression crossed Dante’s face, and once again, she wondered if he was reading her thoughts. The notion made her edgy.
“Reading my thoughts is forbidden, il mio signore.”
“I wasn’t reading your mind, Cleopatra,” he murmured. “Your face is expressive enough that it’s unnecessary.”
“Oh really?” she snapped. “What am I thinking now?”
“You’re feeling vulnerable, and you’re worried I’ll find a way to keep you from going with me to the convent.”
“Well, you’re right about me thinking you’ll find a way to lock me out of the rescue,” she said with a grim smile. “But vulnerable? That’s a bit of a reach.”
Deus, she was a liar. The man had every one of her senses on full alert. He had no idea how much she wanted to see him completely naked and aroused. Her stomach did a flip-flop at the image filling her head. She’d lost her mind. Her gaze met his, and although he gave the appearance of being in control, she was certain it was a façade. He straightened upright as if aware he’d revealed more than he cared to.
“Tell me what else you know.” His terse words were an order, and she quickly pointed to the drawing on the table.
“The convent is heavily guarded. Angotti said there are always ten guards on duty outside the convent and at least five or six more inside. That doesn’t count the Praetorians who’re inside for . . . other reasons.” Her words made Dante draw in a sharp hiss of air.
“That’s at least twenty or more Praetorians on-site with more on the way if they get an alarm out,” he said grimly as he ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Not only do we have to fight Praetorians, but we need time to get the women out, and some of them might not be in good shape.”
“Angotti told me where the control room is. If we take out their communications links, that will buy us enough time to get in and out before they know what hit them.”
“And exactly how do you think you can get to the control room before they realize they’re under attack?” The dark, skeptical tone of his voice made her smile. Dante Condellaire, like most people, underestimated her.