by Monica Burns
Shame rolled over him. Only a Praetorian would have lost control like that. Honor was a trait the Sicari prized above all other things. And his behavior had been far from honorable. He closed his eye. He wanted to hit something. The gym. He’d go and expend his energy on a punching bag. A hard knock on the door made him jerk. He’d not had any visitors over the past couple of days, and aside from team briefings, he’d kept to himself.
“Come in,” he commanded in a sharp voice, suppressing the hope that it might be Phaedra trying one last time to reason with him. Cleo’s appearance was a stark disappointment.
“So how long are you going to hide out in here?”
“I’m not hiding. I’m giving people time to adjust.”
“Adjust to what? The news that you’re half-Praetorian or the fact that the man who raped your mother is a monster?” Her blunt words put him on edge.
“Both.” He spun away from her and moved to the balcony door to look out at the Colosseum.
“That’s a load of crap. You’re acting like you’re some sort of pariah. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were ashamed to be seen.” Her words drove a spike of tension into his shoulders, but he didn’t answer her. She drew in a sharp breath. “You are ashamed. Of what?”
“Don’t try to analyze me, Cleo.”
“Fuck. If either one of us needs therapy, it’s me. But you … you have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not responsible for who your father is, and you sure as hell haven’t ever acted like him.”
“Just because you haven’t seen that side of me doesn’t make it untrue.” Angry that she was pushing him so hard, he whirled around and took two steps toward her. “It’s not just Praetorian blood running through my veins, it’s the Patriarch’s.”
“All right, let’s test your theory.”
She pulled a dagger from the small scabbard attached to her thigh and closed the space between them. Her hand grabbed his to place the hilt of the blade in his palm and forced his fingers to wrap around the hilt. Still holding his hand, she placed the tip of the dagger against her throat. Appalled, he tugged his hand backward, but Cleo only leaned into the blade.
“What the hell are you trying to do?” he snarled.
“I’m trying to find out if you’re like your father.” Her violet eyes flashed with indignation. “And I was right. You’re nothing like Nicostratus. That Praetorian fuck would have slit my throat the minute I handed him my blade.”
He jerked away from her, the dagger falling to the floor with a clatter that made him jump. A sympathetic gleam in her eyes, Cleo shook her head as she picked up the weapon and put it back into the leather sheath on her leg.
“You got dealt a lousy hand when it comes to who your dad is. No doubt about that. But you’re not him, and you don’t have anything to be ashamed of. Your heart is Sicari. Nothing else matters.”
He wanted to believe what his friend believed, but it wasn’t that simple. With a shake of his head, he turned and moved back to the balcony door. Hands braced against the wood frame, he stared out at the rooftops of Rome before ducking his head to study the wood floor beneath his feet. Cleo sighed heavily.
“Look, some people will despise you because of your Praetorian blood. Others won’t give a fotte. Some will understand why you didn’t tell anyone the truth right away. Some might say you’re a spy. Other are going to say you acted dishonorably by not being upfront with everyone from the get-go.” She paused to clear her throat, and he heard her shift restlessly. “None of that matters because your friends are standing by you. We know you. We know how loyal you are to the Order. And you have friends in high places.”
He lifted his head to stare out the window, his mouth curled in a slight smile at her last statement. Straight and to the point as always. It was one of Cleo’s strengths as much as it was a weakness. Sometimes she didn’t know when to be diplomatic.
“So are you going to go talk to her or what?” Cleo’s abrupt change of subject shouldn’t have startled him. It was her way of throwing someone off balance when she was forming an argument.
“I talked to her after Atia’s address to the Order. She—it won’t work out.”
“Do you love her?” The question made him turn around and glare at her. She raised her hands in surrender. “Forget I asked. I already know the answer.”
“Why did you come here, Cleo?”
“I came because I’m your friend, and I know you and Phae belong together.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You know, on the field of battle I’ve never seen you hesitate, and yet when it comes to Phae, you’re like a kid afraid of getting burned by fire.”
“Leave it be, Cleo,” he snapped.
“If a Praetorian was breathing down my neck, would you just let them kill me?”
“You know better.”
“Do I? If you can’t trust Phae, how can I believe you trust me? Our friendship isn’t worth squat if you don’t trust me to watch your back and vice versa.”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it.”
“It is the same thing,” she exclaimed angrily. “And if you can’t trust the people who care about you, you can’t trust anyone. Not even yourself.”
The staccato tempo of her fiery words made him feel like he was the punching bag he’d considered using earlier. Violet eyes dark with anger, she glared at him before she stalked out of his suite. The door slammed behind her with a crash, and he winced. One of the most aggravating things about Cleo was that she was usually right when it came to things like this. She had good instincts, and it wasn’t the first time she’d acted as his conscience. And as much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He hadn’t trusted anyone for more than a year now.
Nicostratus had done a number on him in more ways than one. The bastard had made him question everything he’d ever believed about himself. Not only that, the Praetorian had destroyed his relationship with Phaedra before it had even begun. No. He’d done that all by himself. If he wanted to be with Phaedra, he only had one option. He had to take a step into the unknown and trust her. But before he could do that, he needed to win her trust. That wasn’t going to be easy. He’d created a chasm so wide between them, he wasn’t sure she’d forgive him easily, let alone trust him. There was only one thing he could think of that might earn her trust; he just wasn’t sure he was ready to accept what it meant. He swallowed hard. He didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t gain her trust, he’d lose her. Maybe he already had.
Chapter 23
LYSANDER paced the hall outside of Phaedra’s suite. Exactly what was he going to say to her? He’d come to his senses? He wanted to tell her about his dreams? Christus, if it was this hard just to knock on her door, how hard was it going to be telling her about everything he’d dreamt in the past few weeks.
Steeling himself not to run, he stopped in front of her suite for what had to be the twentieth time in the past fifteen minutes and knocked. It took only a minute for her to open the door, but it seemed like an hour. The smile on her face swiftly dissolved, and her expression became guarded the moment she saw him standing in the doorway.
“Yes?” There wasn’t any hostility in her voice, but there wasn’t any warmth either.
“Can we talk?” He clenched his jaw as he saw the hesitation slide across her face and he prepared himself for a rejection.
“All right.”
She stepped back and opened the door wider so he could cross the threshold. Not about to give her a chance to change her mind, he moved deeper into the room. From the bedroom, he heard the unwelcome sound of a male voice.
“Carissima, you’re all out of …” Luciano Pasquale’s voice trailed off as he emerged from the bedroom.
Jealousy made Lysander’s blood boil at the sight of the man. What in the hell was this Italian Casanova doing in Phaedra’s suite? In her bedroom. His fingers itched as he fought the urge to mentally throttle the man. Instead, he pinned the man with an icy glare. With a grimace, Pasquale moved
toward Phaedra. In bitter silence, Lysander watched as the man took Phaedra’s hand and raised it to his lips. He murmured something to her, and Phaedra shook her head.
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
“As you wish, cara. You know where to find me if you need me.”
“She doesn’t need protection from me,” he said with a sharp precision that mimicked a blade being honed.
“For your sake, il mio signore, I hope not.” Pasquale’s response added more fuel to the fire streaming through his blood, increasing his need to hurt the man. Badly. Instead, he remained silent.
A moment later, the suite door closed behind the Sicari warrior, leaving him alone with Phaedra. His jaw ached from the pressure of keeping his teeth clenched so he wouldn’t say something he’d regret, but the minute Pasquale was gone, he exploded.
“What the fuck was he doing in your bedroom?”
She bristled with anger. “You don’t have any right asking that question.”
“Maybe not. But I want an answer.” He moved quickly to put himself in her path as she appeared ready to walk past him. Her beautiful brown eyes flickered with something he immediately wanted to shy away from.
“All right, he needed to use the bathroom.”
Defiant. That’s what she was. She actually expected him to believe that bastardo had been in her bedroom for no other reason than to take a leak. He flinched. Trust. He’d made up his mind to trust her, and that meant believing her when she said something. Christus, he wasn’t sure he could do this without screwing things up worse than they were. Not to mention how bad his jaw was hurting again. He blew out a harsh breath and turned away from her.
“Okay,” he growled.
“Okay?” The incredulous note in her voice forced the muscles in his shoulders to go tight.
“I believe you, okay?” he snapped. “It’s just that Pasquale’s been looking to find a way into your bed since the first time he laid eyes on you. And I—well, I don’t want you making some sort of mistake where he’s concerned.”
When she didn’t answer, he looked over his shoulder at her. The expression of amazement on her face made him grimace. Was she that blind? Pasquale hadn’t been able to keep away from her since day one. She narrowed her eyes at him as he faced her again.
“And this concerns you, how?”
“Because you belong to me,” he growled as he wheeled about and closed the gap between them until he could feel the heat of her body penetrating his clothing. “You’re mine, and I don’t want him anywhere near you.”
“You arrogant bastardo. I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you.”
He knew he sounded arrogant and possessive, but it was how he felt. He was jealous as hell of Pasquale, and he wasn’t going to let go of her without a fight. He leaned into her, his nostrils breathing in the sweet honeyed scent of her. Deus, she smelled incredible. And he knew she’d taste just as good as she smelled. Desire clouded his brain as his gaze studied her mouth for a long moment before he noticed her breathing had suddenly become ragged. Breathless even. His gaze scanned her face, noting the way her eyes had widened, and a familiar emotion fluttered across her features.
“I might be arrogant,” he rasped. “But you do belong to me, and you know it.”
She shook her head, but he could see her wavering as he reached out with his mind to lightly drag an invisible finger down her throat to the base of her neck. His erection thickened in his pants as his body responded to hers. Christus, he wanted her so bad right now.
“Why are you doing this, Lysander?”
“Doing what?” he muttered, well aware that he wasn’t playing fair with her. Not a good way to earn her trust.
“Toying with me,” she whispered.
“Believe me, carissima. I’m not toying with you. I’m trying to make you see how much I need you. When I say you belong to me, I’m really saying that we belong to each other.”
He swallowed hard as he ventured out into a place he’d never gone before. It was one thing to say she was his, but to take the chance that she wouldn’t reject him was unfamiliar territory for him. Surprise widened her eyes, and he flinched, waiting for her to drop the hammer on him. An instant later, her hands tugged his head downward, and she kissed him hard.
The unexpected response opened a floodgate of emotion as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight. Her lips parted against his, and his tongue swept into her mouth savoring the sweet, cinnamon flavor of her. She tasted like hot, spicy apples. Damn, how was it possible the woman could twist his insides with just one taste of her?
Warm and soft in his arms, she pressed her hips into his until his erection was pressing into the apex of her thighs. She immediately swiveled her hips against him. It pulled a deep groan from his throat and filled him with the need to strip her clothes off and make love to her right here in her living room. Her fingers worked frantically at his sides as she tugged his shirt free of his pants and pushed it upward.
The minute she touched his bare skin, he was on fire. A shudder rocked his body a second later as her mouth blazed a fiery trail across his stomach. Desperate to remove every article of clothing separating them, he pulled the shirt up over his head and tossed it aside. At the same time, he used his mental ability to remove her clothes just as quickly.
As they undressed each other in a state of frenzy, he deepened their kiss until need, hunger, and desire consumed him. In that moment, he knew she was a part of him. He was incomplete without her. The tiny mewls of pleasure escaping her sent him tumbling
toward a place only she could take him. Hands clutching her round, lush buttocks, he picked her up and carried her toward the bedroom.
With her long legs wrapped around his waist, the heat of her core seared him through the scrap of silk she wore. His cock rock hard, he ached to bury himself inside her and feel her hot folds squeezing him until he exploded from the sheer pleasure of it. Her mouth broke away from his and slid along his jaw and down the side of his neck. A moment later, her teeth lightly nipped his shoulder. It tugged a growl from him as she came back to his mouth, her tongue insistent on teasing his again.
The moment his shin hit the edge of the bed, they tumbled downward onto the mattress. Before he could pin her beneath him, she escaped his arms and straddled him. The sultry look on her face made his mouth go dry. Scooting backward until she was sitting on his thighs, she made short work of his pants then moved forward until the only thing between his cock and her heat was a wispy piece of silk.
Not willing to wait for her to remove them, he visualized her panties ripping at the seams and flying out from between them. She gasped, her face darkening with desire as he quickly lifted her up and seated her on his cock. The hot, creamy center of her clenched hard around him, and he released a cry of pleasure. Unable to hold himself back, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he rocked back and forth against her.
Sleek and velvety smooth, her body gripped him like a hot vise, the pleasure of it pulling him over the edge and down into the abyss. The entire way down, his body cried out for her, until he went rigid and throbbed violently inside her. Slowly the haze of passion drifted away, and he rolled her onto her back.
Color heightened the beauty of her cheekbones, and he lightly ran his fingertips across her face. He was never going to get enough of her. She was the light to his darkness, and if he ever lost her, he’d descend into a madness from which there was no return. She smiled up at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.
“That was wonderful. Can we do it again?”
“Il Christi omnipotentia, woman. Give me a few minutes to recover.”
She laughed, her hands lightly rubbing over his shoulders only to stop on the pinkish scar on his arms. Her fingertips traced the line of the scar as a haunted look flashed across her features.
“He could have killed you.”
“But he didn’t, carissima. And there are worse things in the world than a cut.” He dropped his head un
til his forehead pressed against hers.