by Monica Burns
“Damn it, Lysander Condellaire, talk to me. Don’t walk away from me.”
“We’ve a job to do. Get dressed.” The sharp command left her reeling.
“Just like that? We’re back to where we started before you made love to me?”
He became a statue at the question, his back a symmetrical line of tense beauty that DaVinci would have loved to have sculpted. His head dropped down toward his chest as he shook his head.
“Il Christi omnipotentia, woman, give me some breathing room.” There was a desperate note in his voice and it made her ache for him.
“If I give you breathing room, you’ll come up with a reason to run away from me again,” she whispered, her voice cracking with fear as she struggled to hold back tears.
The silence in the room was a ship’s anchor on her shoulders as she waited for him to say something. Anything. When he slowly turned around, her heart lodged in her throat. He looked trapped. Merda. She’d pushed him into a corner. If they had a chance together at all, he’d have to come to her. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t push the issue with him.
She whirled away from him and went searching for her clothes. She quickly found her jeans and underwear. The bra was useless. She suppressed the memory of how it got ripped. Her T-shirt was in the sitting room and would have to suffice until she got to her room.
With a sharp tug, she pulled her jeans on, eager to leave. The heat of him suddenly pressed into her back, and his strong hands settled on the curve of her shoulders. The gentle touch sent a tremor blasting through her. Deus, the power this man had over her was so strong, she knew she was willing to do anything for him.
“I’m not running, inamorato.” A shiver skated down her back as the warmth of his breath fanned across her bare back. “The other day you said we needed ground rules. I agree. I’m just not sure what they are yet.”
Relief spread through her, and she turned around to wrap her arms around his bare waist. Pressing one cheek into his chest, she swallowed the knot in her throat as he held her close. This time the silence between them was comforting, and she squeezed back tears for the tenderness she could feel in his embrace. He’d taken the first step. She couldn’t ask him for more than that.
He’d endured so much at the hands of the Praetorians. What she’d gone through yesterday was nothing compared to what he’d suffered. But it allowed her to understand his need for order and an ability to control what happened in his life. Yesterday she’d been helpless to stop what happened to her, and he’d been just as helpless a year ago. She’d been pushing so hard, she’d lost sight of the fact that he still had a lot of healing to do.
That desperate look on his face a few minutes ago had been a vivid reminder of what the Praetorians had stolen from him—from her. She hated them for it. The intensity of the emotion washed over her like a powerful wave of fire. Every single one of the bastardi deserved to die. They’d stolen her childhood when they’d slaughtered her parents, and she hated them for it.
As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t a Praetorian alive who deserved mercy. They’d never shown mercy to any Sicari. And somehow, she’d find a way to make as many of them pay as she could. The strong muscles beneath her hands suddenly grew hard and rigid, and she lifted her head to see a bleak expression flash across his face. She drew in a sharp breath, and a sliver of fear snaked its way through her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head before he gave her a quick kiss and released her. “I thought I heard someone knocking on the apartment door.”
As he turned away from her, she could have sworn she saw another look of despair twist the scarred tissue of his profile. But when she touched his arm, he turned his head to smile at her, his eyebrows arched in a silent question. Before she could speak, she heard a loud knock on the sitting room door followed by a shout of greeting. Lysander’s rueful expression matched her own sense of awkwardness.
“Fotte,” she exclaimed with a small groan. “Cleo.”
Chapter 16
LYSANDER summoned a black T-shirt from the closet with an imperceptible wave of his hand then pulled it over his head. With a light touch of reassurance to Phaedra’s cheek, he stepped around her and headed for the door.
It was a fact. He was certifiable. He’d had the opportunity to just let her go, and instead he’d gone to her. Told her they’d figure out how to go forward from here. He drew in a deep breath and released it as he moved from the bedroom into the sitting room.
“You need to learn how to knock.”
“I did. I always knock,” Cleo said with exasperation. “You don’t complain when I crash your place in Chicago.”
Whenever Cleo had a fight with her mother, she had a habit of dropping in unexpectedly. He didn’t mind. The two women were always at loggerheads, even if they adored each other. They were too much alike. He frowned.
“Yeah, well this isn’t Chicago where you have the run of the apartment.”
Cleo moved toward the couch and held up Phaedra’s shirt for inspection. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she slowly studied the tousled blanket and pillow on the sofa.
“I was looking for Phaedra, but I think I’ve found her.” Although his friend’s voice was neutral, he knew better.
“She was exhausted last night, so I made her sleep on the couch.”
It was the truth, but for some reason, it didn’t come out that way. His jaw locked with tension as the woman he viewed as a sister studied him intently. The assessment in her gaze raised his level of discomfort several notches.
“Right. So where is she now?”
Merda. He stood there for a moment unsure what to say. Was this how a deer in the headlights felt? He didn’t like the feeling at all. When he didn’t answer, Cleo sent a pointed look in the direction of the bedroom.
“Is she here?” There was just a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Exactly what is it you want, Cleo?” he ground out between clenched teeth.
“For you to be happy.”
The sincerity in her quiet response didn’t surprise him. It was the kind of wish any sister might have for a brother. But the usual layer of sisterly razzing was missing, and it took him aback. Cleo generally covered her deeper feelings with good-natured teasing and rarely showed the affection she felt for him. But the earnestness in her voice showed how much value she placed on their friendship.
Aside from Ignacio, he was the only other male figure in her life. The two of them had always been close, and they’d always looked out for each other. As his gaze met hers, he was suddenly aware how uncomfortable she was at showing her true emotions. She looked away from him as a grimace tugged at her features.
“So can I talk to her or do you just want to deliver the message?”
“Lysander, hand me my shirt please.” Phaedra’s voice floated out of the bedroom like a bumblebee hell-bent on stinging him.
A broad smile curved Cleo’s mouth, and when he uttered an oath beneath his breath, she laughed. Heat immediately flooded his face until the scarred tissue on his face was tingling with fire. He swallowed the tight knot rising in his throat and hurried forward to snatch Phaedra’s shirt out of his friend’s hand. Cleo held on to it for just a fraction too long, and he glared at her.
She immediately released it and raised her hands in playful surrender. In less than five seconds, he was across the room and thrusting the shirt through the narrow opening between the doorjamb and the bedroom door. In the next instant, his skin was ablaze as the moist warmth of Phaedra’s mouth enveloped his forefinger and her tongue swirled its way around the tip.
The image of her doing the same thing to his cock made him cough to cover up a surprised yelp as he yanked his hand away from the hot touch. Il Christi omnipotentia. The minute he turned back to face Cleo, his cheeks heated up again at her arched look of amusement. Fuck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this awkward. Unable to think of what to say, he just stood there. A second
later, Phaedra emerged from the bedroom, her gaze flitting from him to where Cleo was standing.
“Okay, you’ve found me. What’s so important?”
“Irini cut her hand on the meat slicer, and it looks like it’ll take eight to ten stitches to fix her up unless you’re up to offering the Curavi to her.”
Sympathy flitted across Phaedra’s face at the questioning look on Cleo’s face. She sent Lysander a quick glance before she nodded her head. “I’ll come right now.”
“Good,” Cleo said with a smile and turned to leave the room. The suite’s main door
halfway open, she stopped to look over her shoulder, a deadpan expression on her face. “By the way, Ares and Emma arrived about an hour ago. I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear the two of you are getting along so well.”
“Cleo Vorenus,” he snarled, but his friend was gone before he could finish saying her name. “Goddamn it! The woman’s going to announce to the whole world that you spent the night here.”
He started to pace the floor, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. The whole idea of being with Phaedra was still so new to him. He hadn’t even considered the notion of everyone knowing the two of them were in a relationship. Especially when he still wasn’t sure he was making the right decision to be with her. Christus, he didn’t like being this uncertain about something.
Up until this morning, everything had been cut and dried. Now all that had changed and he wasn’t sure of anything at all. He blew out a breath and turned to see Phaedra with her hand on the doorknob. With a frown, he immediately visualized his hand on the wooden door to hold it shut as he strode toward her.
“Now who’s walking out on who?” he snapped.
“I’m not walking out. Irini needs my help.”
She didn’t look at him, but the rigid stance of her body said she was angry. He stretched out his hand to brush his fingers across her cheek, only to have her flinch and shrink away from his touch. Damn it, she wasn’t angry. She was hurt. The fact that he’d not been happy about Cleo knowing she’d been here all night had sent her the wrong message. But then he was having a hard enough time adjusting to what had happened over the last hour or more. He was scaling a rocky versant without safety gear, and he wasn’t sure he should even be climbing the mountain.
“Phaedra … this isn’t easy for me,” he rasped. She turned her head and the sight of her blinking back tears was worse than that Praetorian bastardo trying to kill him last night.
“It’s not supposed to be easy, Lysander. Loving someone always involves risk. It’s not about ground rules, it’s about whether or not you’re going to take that leap of faith to be with me. It’s not like I’m asking for the blood bond.”
The minute he jerked away from her, regret slammed into him. The color drained from her face, and she bit down on her lower lip. The tormented expression in her beautiful brown eyes made him want to sweep her in his arms, but he couldn’t. How could he have been so stupido? Of course, she’d eventually want the blood bond.
Fear tightened his limbs like petrified wood. That was one place he wasn’t willing to go. Sex was one thing. It didn’t hold the same type of consequences or commitment the blood bond did. The transference of abilities between Sicari before a blood bond was sealed was extremely rare. It might happen once every couple of hundred years. And while the Sicari gene structure acted as a natural barrier to sexual diseases, the blood bond was a whole new ball game.
It wasn’t just a lifelong commitment. If they performed the blood bond, the odds of her gaining one of his abilities multiplied exponentially depending on the strength of her own powers. Phaedra’s intuitive nature was strong enough that the minute his blood mixed with hers the evolution of her ability was pretty much a certain thing. And, he sure as hell wasn’t going to mix his tainted blood with hers. He refused to make her into something that had caused her so much pain in her life. Praetorian. Pain flashed in her eyes when he didn’t answer her and she shook her head.
“I can’t begin to imagine what those figlio di puttanas did to you that night, but I know it changed you. Whatever this darkness is you’re carrying around inside you, it’s coming between you and the one person who cares the most about you. Me.”
“There are some things I’ll never talk about, Phaedra. And if that’s what you’re looking for from me, then it’s not going to happen,” he bit out.
“I wasn’t asking you to spill your guts,” she snapped back in a furious tone. “I’m just trying to figure which way to turn. First, you tell me you’re trying to come up with some ground rules between us, but that comment about Cleo sends a completely different message.”
“Fotte. Cleo caught me off guard, that’s all. Hell, I’m still trying to get adjusted to this us being together thing, let alone sharing it with anyone else. It wasn’t something I was ready for.”
“Then the real question is, are you ready for me?” There was a desperation in her voice that tugged at him. Christus, the slope of this mountain he was on was getting more slippery by the moment.
“No. The question is whether you’re prepared to handle damaged goods,” he muttered. And he was damaged goods. She deserved better. He wasn’t being totally honest with her. Instead, he was being selfish and deceitful when it came to being with her. A gentle hand touched the horrifically scarred side of his face. The emotion he saw shining in her eyes was frightening enough to make him want to run as far and as fast as he could from her. He was digging his own grave, and sooner or later, she was going to send him tumbling into the pit and bury him.
“I don’t think you’re damaged goods. I think you’re the most beautiful, courageous man I’ve ever known.”
The soft words made him close his eyes against the love and pain they aroused in him. He was neither of those things, but her belief in him gave birth to a hope that he might live up to her expectations. At that moment, he knew he’d crossed a burning bridge. There
wasn’t any going back. He’d have to take his chances with her. The longer he kept his secret the less chance there was of getting caught.
The blood bond. What about the blood bond? The inner voice in his head mocked him. He pushed the thought aside. He’d deal with that when the time came. And if she discovers the truth? He swallowed the knot in his throat and pulled her into his arms. Later. He’d come up with a plan later. He loved her, and at the moment, that was all that mattered to him. Everything else could wait until he had time to come up with a decent plan of action.
“Suggestions on what we say when Cleo blabs to everyone she can?” he asked with a wry twist of his lips.
“We just smile and act like it’s the most natural thing in the world,” she said as she pulled his head down to hers for a gentle kiss. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” There it was again, that note of fear in her voice. He nodded.
“The natural part is one thing. Smiling? That’s a different issue altogether.” He arched his eyebrows at her. It was true. He’d always been rather serious, but since that night in that warehouse, he’d been stoic to the point of being an automaton.
“Then save your smiles for me,” she murmured huskily. “They make me feel like I’m the only woman you see in the room.”
You’re the only woman I’ll ever see. Loving you makes me whole. The thought drifted out of him, and the minute he saw her frown, he panicked. Merda, he’d done it again. Maybe this wasn’t going to work after all. He forced a smile to his lips and faked an expression of curiosity.
“What?” He kept the question simple, hoping and praying she’d dismiss it as her imagination. Her gaze searched his face for a moment before she shook her head.
“Nothing. I just … well, for a second there, I thought I heard you say something.”
“Is that your way of fishing for a compliment?”
“Maybe.” She laughed. “But I’ll go fishing later. Right now, I need to get down to the kitchen and take care of Irini’s cut. I’ll see you in a little bit?”
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�Yes. I’m going to have Marco assemble the team for an update on yesterday’s progress after I talk with Ares and Emma. I think the two of them have some new information that might be useful.”