“I believe I shall.”
Adhaniá removed her clothing and descended the three steps into the bath. A puzzled Layla poured oil of lotus into the water while Thalia sat on the edge, dangling her feet into the pool, tossing an apple into the air and artfully catching it.
Glancing at Layla and feeling bewildered and overwhelmed, Adhaniá said hesitantly, “I need … you must give me … instructions. Tell me what you know about seducing a man.”
Layla stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Pardon, mistress?”
“What man?” Thalia asked suspiciously, finally asking the question that was plaguing both her and Layla. “What did that serving woman want of you? I told you not to trust her.”
“Her warning was dire. She told me that if Marcullus keeps his appointment tonight, he will be set upon by assassins. To keep him with me until dawn, I must know how to please a man.”
“Hit him over the head,” Thalia suggested, taking a bite of the apple. “If he’s unconscious, he can’t go anywhere. If you are too squeamish to do it, I’ll do it for you.”
“Hush, child,” Layla scolded. When Thalia started to object, Layla held up a hand to silence her. “What you suggest is grave indeed, mistress, especially for a woman of your innocence. Although there are those who think you are merely a dancer, you are a highborn lady of Egypt.”
“What you say is true, but I must make sure Marcellus does not leave this house tonight. I will need to tempt him so he will want to remain with me all night.”
“You may not know how you affect men, mistress. I have seen you dance and heard my queen say you are a natural temptress. Perhaps all you will need to do is dance for Tribune Valerius.”
“Nay, Layla. You know in your heart I will need to go beyond dancing.”
Layla glanced at Thalia, who was splashing her feet in the water and pretending she was not listening to their conversation, when in truth she heard every word. “Since that may be the case, mistress, I will share with you what I know.” She nodded at Thalia. “What I have to say is not for young ears.”
Adhaniá smiled at the child. “Leave us.”
“But I could help—I know how to trick people into doing what I want,” Thalia said, setting her chin obstinately.
“Go now.”
The girl drew her feet out of the water and stomped away, leaving Adhaniá frowning after her. Then she turned her attention to Layla. “Now tell me everything …”
Marcellus had just come from his bath, barefoot and wearing only his tunic. Tonight he was meeting the Greek, Damianon, whom he had wisely made his assistant. The man’s work habits were beyond anything Marcellus had expected. When he had given the Greek his freedom, he’d thought the man might leave—but instead, Damianon had become indispensable. The meeting tonight was to discuss plans for a library Caesar wanted dedicated to the god Mars, from whom he believed he was descended.
“Will you wear armor tonight, master?” Planus asked, brushing the plume on Marcellus’s helm.
Marcellus was thinking about Adhaniá—he had been all day. He had not properly thanked her for saving his life the night before and was considering walking across the garden to her chamber. After last night, his feelings had undergone a dramatic change. Try as he might, he could not get her out of his mind, and he did not trust himself near her.
Planus stood beside his master patiently waiting, holding the new breastplate. “Master?”
Marcellus’s mind snapped back to the present. “Nay. I will wear—”
He was interrupted by a soft rap on the door and waited for Planus to see who it was. When he heard Adhaniá’s voice, he bade his manservant to admit her and to leave them alone.
Adhaniá stepped into the chamber with trepidation. If her mission failed, she would have to tell Marcellus about his mother’s warning, and that could be just as hazardous as letting him go not knowing what to expect.
But now that she stood before him, his hair still damp from the bath and his tall form clad only in a tunic, she considered leaving because her mouth went dry. She wanted to reach out and twirl a wet strand of hair around her finger.
He noticed she was nervous and wanted to put her at ease. “Excuse my manner of dress,” he apologized. “I have just come from my bath.”
Her gaze flickered over him and her chest tightened. “I should not have come.”
“Stay. I haven’t properly thanked you for saving my life last night. And I wanted to inquire if your wound is healing.”
Adhaniá shook her head, unable to breathe. He filled the room—he filled her heart.
She wanted to run.
She wanted to stay.
“There is no reason for you to thank me, and the wound hardly troubles me at all. I have come to you on a very different matter.”
Marcellus smiled lazily down at her, and it was almost her undoing. He couldn’t possibly know the power behind his smile, or perhaps he did.
“What can I do for you—name it and it is yours.”
“You will think me vain and foolish if I tell you.” She gathered her cloak about her. “I should leave.” Everything Layla had so carefully explained to her went right out of her head.
“I never met a young woman with less vanity than you have, and nothing you do will seem foolish to me.” He clasped his hands on both sides of her face and forced her to look into his eyes. “Tell me.”
“It’s just this new dance I have been practicing.” The lie did not come easily to her lips.
But was this not for a noble cause?
“I would like your opinion and was wondering if you would let me show you the dance.”
Folding his arms over his broad chest, he said, “Ordinarily I would be delighted to watch you dance. But it will have to wait until tomorrow,” he said regretfully. “I have an appointment I must keep.”
Adhaniá took a step toward him and gave him her most pleading smile—the one that had always worked on Heikki when she wanted her way about something. “It is but a short dance.”
She watched his gaze darken and sweep across her face. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she wondered if she could go through with her plan. When his gaze fastened on her eyes, she saw barely concealed yearning and puzzlement. Adhaniá was sure he did not believe she was there to dance.
His resistance crumbled as he touched her hair, and his fingers drifted through the strands as if he could not stop himself. For the moment he was distracted, but could she hold his interest for an entire evening? Most probably Marcellus was drawn to women who were wiser in the ways of luring a man.
With her heart in her mouth, she touched his arm. “As I said … ’tis but a short dance.” Adhaniá was shaking inside. She wished she could remember what Layla had told her to do.
Unexpectedly he smiled and dropped down onto a couch, nodding. “You have my attention. Entertain me.”
She tried to hide her shyness but was not completely successful because she could feel a blush climbing her face. “You understand the dance would be better if I had music?”
“I understand.”
At the moment he was merely humoring her. She would need to put sensuality into her dance if she hoped to entice him. Slowly, she unfastened her cloak and tossed it aside. Marcellus deftly caught it and brought it against his face, closing his eyes. “Dance for me, little Egyptian.” His voice thickened as he stared at her in a costume that revealed more than it hid. “Dance only for me.”
Taking a stance with legs spread and her hands sweeping upward, she moved her hips in small circles, then reached toward him as if she was inviting him to join her. When she saw him staring at her breasts, she became bolder in her movements. He had asked her to dance for him alone, and that was just what she was doing.
She lost her embarrassment and thought only of him. She imagined his hands touching her, his mouth dominating hers. She moved closer to him, wetting her lips and tossing her hair so it swirled about her head like an ebony fan. Closer and closer she moved t
o him, swirling, twirling, using her body to entrap him. For in truth, she knew of no other way to make him want to stay with her. When she swept her right arm upward she felt the pain of her wound, but it did not deter her.
At first Marcellus smiled at Adhaniá’s antics, wondering what she was doing. But when he noticed her costume was no more than a thin veil of fabric, and she wore nothing underneath, her wild, exotic beauty captured him and held him entranced. He swallowed tightly, angry with her—angry with himself. He knew he should turn away, but his eyes focused on the dark nipples that were visible beneath the sheer costume.
He could neither move nor speak.
Images flashed through his mind of her body wrapped around his, and he hardened with need. He wondered what it would feel like to have her beneath him, and he swelled painfully. Her golden skin shimmered in the soft, flickering light—her legs were long and beautifully shaped, and he imagined them locked about his waist. Her midriff was bare, and he wanted to press his lips against her navel.
If he could only clear his head, he would insist she leave immediately. But his mind was anything but clear. Realizing where this was leading him, he rose slowly.
Whether she was there by design or had innocently sought his advice on her dance, he had to stop her. “Adhaniá—” His voice was deep with feeling. “I believe you should cease. I have seen enough. You will not perform this dance for anyone—ever!”
Marcullus watched her eyes widen with alarm, and he wondered at the cause. “I don’t know what you were thinking to come here like this. But never do it again.” He grabbed up her cloak and covered her. “Never.”
“But—”
Holding on to his sanity by only a thin thread, he grasped her shoulders and propelled her toward the door.
Swallowing, she quickly twisted her body toward him and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her mouth against his.
He was startled at first, then Marcullus shaped his mouth against hers. With an impatient growl, he jerked her against him, crushing her breasts against his hard chest, his hands moving to the curve of her waist, his mouth grinding against hers. She smelled of the desert, mysterious and exotic, intoxicating his senses. He had never craved a woman as he craved her.
He pulled back to look at Adhaniá and saw passion shining in her golden eyes. “Do you know what you are doing to me?” he demanded. “I want to be with you.”
He traced a finger across the swell of her breast and felt her deep intake of breath. “I don’t think you know what the consequences will be if I continue.”
“Oh, but I do.”
He was undone. Bending, he kissed her swollen nipple through the thinness of her costume.
A sweetness built in the pit of Adhaniá’s stomach and spread throughout her body.
He stepped back as reason returned. “I shall not be the one to rob you of your innocence. You should leave.” Yet he still held her to him.
Adhaniá feigned a hurt expression. “You don’t want me?”
His jaw hardened like granite. “More than you can possibly imagine. That’s the very reason you must leave.”
In desperation, she leaned toward him and gently blew against his lips. That simple act caused Marcellus to draw in a thick breath and emit an agonized groan.
He lifted her in his arms, taking care not to hurt her wounded arm. His mouth hovering just above hers, he could think of nothing but burying himself in her sweet warmth. “I am just a man, and you have pushed me too far.” His voice deepened. “If you want to leave, say so now.”
Adhaniá’s voice came out in a breathy whisper, and a feeling of awareness cut through her like a knife. “I want to remain.”
Marcellus’s eyes drifted shut, and sweet yearning stabbed at him like a dagger while want and need poured though him like hot honey that had been heated by the desert sun.
“If you were mine to keep …”
“Tonight I am.”
* * *
Adhaniá felt every breath Marcellus took and every move he made as he laid her on his bed and slid up the length of her body. He was fire, melting the very heart of her. She felt his hands tremble when they slid down her thighs.
“This is wrong,” he admitted. “But I am not inclined to let you leave now.”
With a cry, she drew his dark head down to her. “Pretend I am yours to keep, and you are mine.”
She saw him swallow deeply.
“I will have you,” he growled, as her silken hair sifted through his fingers. He adjusted his position so the swell of his body rested between her inviting thighs.
Marcellus knew how to touch her in places that made her catch her breath. His mouth moved along the column of her neck, and she arched her back, murmuring with pleasure as his mouth moved to the valley between her breasts.
Daringly, as if she were driven by an age-old instinct, she touched her tongue to his lips, and he grabbed her so swiftly it took her by surprise.
“Don’t do that again.” But even as he warned her, his gaze dropped to her lips, and he lowered his head. “You push me too far, little temptress.”
Marcellus took her face in his hands, tilting it upward. “You are my torment, and perhaps my redemption.”
He removed his tunic; beneath it he wore only a loincloth. Her gauze costume proved no problem for him to remove. Her teeth nibbled at his mouth, and he shook, trembling and groaning with need.
They were naked in each other’s arms, and Adhaniá’s virginal body was quaking.
Marcellus eased between her legs and lowered himself against her.
Adhaniá’s eyes widened with surprise when he slid just inside her. Moaning his name, she closed her eyes.
He was more tender with her than he had ever been with a woman, always aware of the wound on her arm. And she could not know as he did—their mating was a moment of perfection. The gods had created her for him, and he would need her as long as he lived.
Marcellus buried himself deep in her warmth, watching her eyes widen. She tossed her head as he eased farther inside her.
Then she did something unexpected—she arched her lower body to meet his movements, and he thrust deep and hard, her warmth closing around him. He trembled with the effort to keep from giving her his entire length. Adhaniá had come to him pure—now she was pure no more—she was his.
When she whispered his name, his mouth closed over hers, and they were both lost to reason.
Adhaniá was swamped by many new emotions. Spasm after spasm shook her, and Marcellus tenderly held her in his arms. She groped for his hand, not knowing what was happening to her when he quaked and spilled his seed into her.
“Beloved,” he whispered, breathing against her ear. “What’s happening between us is not natural.”
When she emerged from the beautiful fog he had created for her, she looked at him questioningly. “Not natural?”
“What I mean to say—” He seemed to grope for words. “It is that we are perfect for one another. You instinctively knew how to react to me, and I knew your body as if it was meant for me.”
“I never want to leave you,” she cried after her body had trembled once more.
He laid his face against her breasts and whispered, “But you will leave me.”
She had experienced for the first time why a man was built differently from a woman. She ran her hand over his chest, the hair tickling her palm. Her fingers explored further—his arms were muscled. She laced her fingers with his and noticed how much longer they were than hers.
He lifted her hand and kissed each finger one at a time, and she thought she would melt.
“You hold me entranced,” he told her. “Almost from our first meeting, I somehow knew our futures would intertwine.”
“How can that be?”
“I know not. Call it fate.”
She slid her body along his, glorying in the feel of him. “Perhaps it was fate,” she said, tossing her head and gazing into his intense eyes. “I wish this night would never end
.”
Marcellus touched his mouth against her ear, and she shivered. “I have the same wish. But there will be an ending for us.”
Her eyes widened. “As you said, fate brought us together, but what will tear us apart?”
“The dawning of the sun … your brother … Rome.”
“Then let us make the most of what we have.” She reached for him, and he took her in his arms, moaning her name.
For a long time, Marcellus held Adhaniá in his arms, and neither of them spoke. The lantern flickered and went out, and still he held her. When she turned to face him, he made love to her again, this time lingeringly, and with even more tenderness.
Even as Adhaniá’s body reacted to his lovemaking, she rejoiced for another reason—she had kept him from danger. At one point, he left the bed and spoke to someone outside the door.
When he came back to her, she cuddled in his arms. “What was that about?”
“I sent poor Planus to tell the Greek I would be unable to meet with him tonight.”
Adhaniá raised herself on her elbow and brushed his hair off his forehead. “I am glad you stayed with me.”
He laughed and pulled her on top of him, his hand running across her back and hips. “I would die a thousand deaths to feel again what I felt with you tonight.”
She laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I do not think it would take such a sacrifice from you.” She smiled, boldly allowing her hand to go lower, and she touched the swell of him.
Frantically, he took her again, and frantically, she gave herself to him.
Afterward, they held each other. “Tell me,” he said, touching his mouth to her earlobe. “Why did you really come to me tonight?”
“There are more reasons than one—but I shall only tell you one.” She dared not tell him the most important reason was to save his life. “I know I shall be leaving soon, and I did not want to go without having known your body.”
It hurt her to say it.
It hurt him to hear it.
His body stilled. “Do you speak of returning to Queen Cleopatra?”
Sword of Rome Page 18
