“I only know the kind of artifact this is,” Kara protests. “Not who made it, or when, or even what this couple is supposed to represent.”
Arden pulls back and braces a hip on the edge of the desk. He finishes with a confident cross of arms, and I’m so relieved he’s not touching Kara anymore that I don’t mind the cutting glance he spares for me.
“The artist is unknown,” he says. “Likely because it’s been dated to the fourth or fifth century BC. They were also able to narrow down the age due to the piece’s subject matter.”
He takes another defined pause and swings his renewed focus on me.
“They’re definitely a couple, right?” Kara queries. “Either that, or those fourth-century heathens knew how to stare each other down.”
Arden pulls in air through his nose and juts up his Armani model chin. “They represent Heracles and Megara.”
“Heracles.” The name is instantly familiar, of course. At least once a week since hitting puberty, I’ve been compared to the Greek version of Hercules. “A half-mortal son of Zeus.”
“Very good, Professor,” he says, calmly dropping his hands between his outstretched legs. “Are you familiar with their story?”
And here we are, at last. To the heart of the point he’s been deftly angling for. The plot point that should have Kara’s ears perked, but nothing about my little demon is close to perky. Anxious is a better word, based on how she tosses the photo down as if it’s caught fire.
“Arden.” She shakily clears her throat. “An essay about every single one of these pieces isn’t urgent.”
“Or necessary.” My voice verges on a growl as I watch her tension spiral. I want to punch the wall, but flexing my intellectual might is clearly the better choice for helping her right now. That, and I’m curious about where he’s going with all this. “Megara was Creon’s daughter,” I push on. “A princess of Thebes. She was given to Heracles as a prize of war and then bore him several sons.”
“Bravo, Professor.” Prieto smacks his hands together—applause that sounds more like he’s hailing a dog. “And now for the bonus-round points. What eventually happened to the happy couple?”
“I can assure you, it doesn’t have anything to do with this piece of art and what we want to bid for it.” Despite her adamant claim, Kara fidgets through every word.
I abhor how her unease seems to feed Arden’s arrogance, represented by his new preen. “Oh, come now. Every story matters. Certainly you know it, yes?”
“Heracles was struck with madness, killing Megara and their children,” Kara finally says. “Happy now? Can we finally move on?”
He pushes buoyantly back to his feet. “Call me cruel, but that’s actually my favorite part.”
“But it wasn’t Heracles’s fault,” I argue.
“No. You’re right, of course. It’s deliciously tragic. With Hera being so overcome with jealousy and so dedicated to destroying his happiness at its pinnacle, he simply had no chance.” He pivots and regards me with a bold stare. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
I shrug. He’s just messing with our heads for his sick sport. I’m sure of it, even as new concern fires through my thoughts. Sport or not, the game is still on, and he seems determined to make it as ugly as possible as fast as possible.
Kara claps her own hands together. “Okay, gentlemen. Story time is over. I think everyone in this room is too overeducated to waste any more time on these pointless retellings.”
“I must humbly disagree.” Arden circles around and resettles onto both feet with confidence. “You gave me a theme, and by the fires of hell, I’m committed to it. Besides, you are the one who brought such an interesting plus-one to the party.” He uses the notation as an excuse to again examine me. His concentration is no less cutting and calculating as before. “You have such heroic possibility, Professor. I shall be watching and waiting with rapt interest to see how it all plays out. In all its tragic glory.”
With those words, Arden’s revealed more than an ancient threat. As if there were any doubt, he’s revealed who—or what—he’s really rooting for. My failure. My imminent doom. Despite the new sprint of my heart, I pretend that his story is just that. An ancient tale that couldn’t possibly touch our lives here and now.
“You know what, sweetheart?” I murmur, tugging her back to my side. Just the cinnamon scent of her hair brings an invigorated smile back to my lips. “I think you’re onto something. This meeting really is going nowhere.”
I raise my gaze back up and over to Prieto, positive I don’t have the slick smirk as mastered as he does. But I’m also the one leaving with the woman he still clearly craves and will never have. It’s more than a fair trade.
“Maybe it’s a better idea for us to go through this batch by email,” Kara offers gently to Arden. “You have my address. I can respond right away.”
“Of course.” But his pupils remain razor-sharp, and his smile gives way to a terse line. “But I’ll have to copy Veronica. The general who signs the checks is allowed to inspect the troops, after all.”
Kara releases a resigned sigh. “If that’s what she wants, that’s not a problem.”
The journey out of Arden’s office has my head nearly buzzing with relief. But Kara’s demeanor stays locked in that pensive space as we ride the elevator back down and walk across the tropical courtyard toward the valet stand. Right after we enter the long exit archway, she twists her head up and around, peering back at his office like a heroine in a gothic Victorian novel.
Then, even in the shadowed light of the tunnel, I watch her go totally pale.
“Hera,” she mutters almost too softly to hear.
I pause our retreat, turning her to face me. I respond to her shivery whisper in one of my own. “Kara? What is it?”
She lifts her face toward me. Her gaze frantically searches mine. “What if he’s right?”
I wince at the thought of giving Arden credit for anything. “Right about what?”
“About Hera. About the story,” she adds. “What if—”
I cut in with a soft laugh to lighten her growing anxiety and to hide the fact that I’m now nursing some of my own. “It’s just a story, Kara. He’s trying to get under your skin just like he did mine. He’s bitter and looking to piss us off any way he can, but we can’t give him that satisfaction.”
I’m not sure how thoroughly I believe that, but it feels good to state it.
Still, Kara shakes her head fervently. “I don’t know. Remember the first time we met Z? He said his wife kept him on a tight leash. Who else could he be talking about?”
“We’re talking about myths and legends here—”
“Maximus. Don’t you get it yet? We’re living the myths and the legends.” Her voice shoots up an octave, echoing through the tunnel. “Everything we discount as too unbelievable to fear could kill us.” She swallows hard. “Arden might be onto something with Hera or maybe knows something we don’t. I saw my grandfather the other day, and he thinks we should be worried about her too. Everything you and I have done in the spotlight could backfire if it draws attention to you. If the story is true… Hera’s merciless. She’ll try to find you, and…and…”
The wobble of her words cuts into me, right past my own worry. “Breathe, Kara.” I match my tone with a soothing glide down her arm.
She works her lips together and then complies with an inhalation through her nose. I’m suddenly driven to allay these new fears and save the rest of our day without Arden’s words haunting her. I can’t do it with total confidence until I know more, though, and that won’t happen until Z resurfaces. For now, I’m in a holding pattern about discrediting Arden’s threat.
But I can take full advantage of the small informational opening she’s given me, and that may be just as well. Perhaps even better.
“All right. If your grandfather’s onto something with this Hera business, then maybe we should lie low for a while.”
She swallows roughly. “We probably should.
But the premiere… My mother—”
I lean in and cut her off with a soft kiss. “I’m not letting her ruin another minute with you,” I whisper against her perfect lips. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Until I talk to Z, we do what we want. And that starts now.”
She gazes up at me, her eyes glittering with enough emotion and surrender to give me hope.
“My place.” I brush my thumb over her bottom lip.
Visions of possibility cause me to bite down on my own to keep the growl in my chest from tearing free. She releases a long and heavy breath, letting me collect her against my chest.
“Your place,” she murmurs softly.
Those two little words send an avalanche of celebration and relief through me as we head back to the truck. And as I catch a glimpse of Arden’s shadowed figure peering down at us through the glass wall of his office, I don’t bother denying myself the satisfaction of that small win.
Chapter Twelve
Kara
I’m obsessed with the feel of Maximus. The sheer force of him. The intoxicating contradiction of his strength and the care he takes when he’s making love to me. I melt into every blissed-out second of it, not taking anything for granted.
I revel in the brush of his lips along my neck, soft and rough at once. His sexy whispers in my ear. His strong hands on my hips, controlling the angle and pace of my motions as I’m straddled above him, taking him deeper and deeper into me.
The sheets have long been torn off the bed. The air smells like sex. Like us. And my cries of pleasure have turned into raspy whimpers.
We’ve passed the frenzy. This is delirium. Slow and decadent stokes of the flame that’s been burning all night. We’ve discovered and rediscovered each other in a thousand electrifying ways. I should be exhausted. But hours of being brought over the edge haven’t made me want him any less. The rising sun spears through the hazy, early morning rain clouds and filters in through the little apartment’s picture window. Still, I refuse to give up these last moments. Like a true addict, I cling to every charged slide of skin against skin. Every meaningful drive of his body into mine. Every precious second of this closeness between us.
“One more,” he whispers as he reaches between us to stroke his fingertips against my clit.
I gasp and brace my hands on his broad shoulders, feeling too sensitive to come that way again. “I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.” He pairs the low command with a wicked smile. Then he wraps his other arm around my waist possessively, shifts his hips higher, and deepens our connection, stealing my breath.
I gasp and press my nails into his flesh. I don’t know if I can, but oh, do I want to. My eyes flutter closed as I lose myself to the sensations once more.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, taking total control over my body, moving me exactly how he wants. “Love it when you get tight on me.”
As if on command, I clench at his depth and the change in our lazy rhythm. I’m chasing my next breath. Colors snap vividly behind my eyelids. I let my head fall back, trusting his hold on me. He takes advantage of the arch, sucking my nipples into his mouth, teasing the tips with the edge of his teeth, all the while fucking me like the ragdoll I’ve become in his powerful arms.
One more… One more…
My tired brain latches on to the plea. Reaches for it. Craves it just as badly as I’ve craved all the others.
The soft rain hitting the streets creates white noise in the background of our heavy breaths. Hardly a distraction from the orgasm thundering down on me. I tense and bow, bracing myself for all the beautiful waves of it. The sharp hit of release cascades over me as hints of tears collect in the corners of my eyes. I don’t know why they’re there all of a sudden. I can’t sort it out when I’m flying this high.
All I know is that my throat is even tighter from the words I can’t force out but desperately want to in this heightened moment. Not for the first time since last night either. Everything in me wants to tell Maximus that I’m in love with him. That I’m wildly, madly, and deeply consumed with an emotion I’ve never experienced before. But that doesn’t mean I’m not sure of it. I know what this is as well as I know my own breath and blood. It can have no other word but love.
But as he grates my name into the air again and again and fills me with his release, I keep the sentiment tucked away. The effort causes me to deepen my clench on his shoulders, drawing crescents of blood to the surface. If he feels it, he doesn’t let on. They’ll heal before we catch our breath anyway, as I’ve learned more than once tonight. His physical regeneration is not unlike the fires in my eyes that dim once my desire cools.
We’re inseparable for a long time as more sunshine breaks through the gray storm and fills the room. Our chests are molded warmly together. We’re damp with sweat and shaking from yet another explosive climax—one that I’m certain will haunt my thoughts all day.
I’ve never had a lover before Maximus, but somehow I know he isn’t like anyone else would be. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re not entirely human that creates this off-the-charts energy between us. I only know it’s not like anything I’ve ever experienced. And doubt I ever will again. As if I even want to.
My soul supplies that answer just before we collapse onto the bed together once more. I don’t want anyone else in my body, especially in my heart.
I’ve never wanted to tell him more…or been more afraid to.
I’m vaguely aware of the time now. The clock ticks quietly on his nightstand. It’s the dawning of a new day. I haven’t broken the news to my mother yet that we won’t be going along with her plans for the night, but I’ve resolved to endure whatever verbal wrath may come from it.
Maximus is right. We’ve jumped through enough media hoops for a week to have satisfied my mother’s PR plan. Besides, I’m more than ready to get back to campus. Back to something that feels a little more…normal. Less for show and more for my soul.
And listening to my favorite professor wax poetic about Dante is just the salve I need.
I turn into Maximus’s chest and peer up at him. “I can’t wait for your lecture this afternoon. I have a feeling the sixth circle will be one of my favorites.”
He doesn’t open his eyes but answers with a smirk. “You expect me to lecture intelligently now that you’ve completely wasted me? I’ve hardly slept.”
I hoist myself higher and press sweet kisses across his chest. “I suspect I have not wasted you completely yet.”
He laughs. “I hope you’re joking. Seriously, Kara.”
“You seemed pretty intent to test the limits of what I could do earlier, so it seems only fair to test you.”
“You’ve tested me. Trust me.”
I smile broadly. “A plus,” I murmur against the warm skin of his neck, breathing him as I do. He smells like a summer storm. Heat and lightning. He feels like home.
He trails his fingertips along my arm with a satisfied sigh. “I guess you weren’t wrong about the all-nighter. Thank God we’re bailing on tonight’s plans.”
He finally opens his eyes and studies me when I don’t respond.
“We are bailing on them, right?”
I nod tightly. “I’ll work it out with my mother.”
He furrows his brow slightly, then turns his body so we’re lying facing each other. “Good,” he answers quietly. “Because after we get home from class, I want you again.”
I giggle and let my head fall against the rumpled sheets. “I thought I wasted you.”
“I heal quickly,” he shoots back. “And don’t you know it.”
“Sorry.” My cheeks heat with a flush of embarrassment. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
He kisses my forehead. “I like it. Every second of it. I like feeling how this affects you.”
“I never… I never knew anything could be this intense.”
He feathers his fingers across my cheek before tunneling them into my hair. “Me neither.”
He looks like he might kiss me again,
which brings all sorts of other possibilities to mind. But if we keep this up, we’ll be more than exhausted. We’ll be late.
I lean in and kiss him before rising swiftly from the bed. I grab my dress from the floor and peek over my shoulder at him. His jaw is slack, and his eyes have a familiar lusty glaze.
“Get up, Professor, or we’ll be late for class.”
The whispers are worse than they’ve ever been when I walk into class hours later. Maximus appears oddly immune, maybe because now he knows there’s merit to them. I’m not just the famous girl with rumors swirling like wildfire around her. He is the rumor, and we’ve spent a lot of time spreading the news. Having a hand in our own narrative, despite Mom’s heavy sway on the pen, has given us back a little control. Not a lot, but enough.
The palpable new energy skittering over the class is almost enough to distract me from the way Maximus runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he flips through his worn copy of the Comedy. Or the way his forearms look like they’re going to split his rolled-up sleeves. Or his fingers, long and commanding, finding his way to the page with knowing strokes. Every inch of my visual journey is a heart-halting flashback to the many hours we spent in his bed last night.
I’m the only one in the room who’s seen him stripped bare. I’ve seen him overwhelmed. Past reason. Vulnerable. And in this strange moment, it feels like the greatest gift to know him in ways no one else has. To have shown him pieces of me too that only he’s been able to uncover.
He clears his throat and peers out across the crowded room, his expression stern. I can’t help but smirk. Thankfully he spares me his direct scrutiny, and I wonder if he’ll manage to avoid it all class. At least this time I won’t blame him for it.
“Apologies for the last-minute cancellation of our Monday and Wednesday classes. In the interest of staying on pace, I’ll cover both cantos today. I trust you’ve all done the scheduled reading. To ensure you have, I’ll expect full summaries on both for Friday.”
Heart of Fire Page 10