Wait, what? Love? She wasn’t in love. She couldn’t be in fucking love!
“Cassandra?”
She shook herself slightly. Of course she wasn’t in love. She’d simply gotten carried away at the sight of all that golden flesh. And who wouldn’t? She forced a smile.
“Sorry, I was just thinking about . . . you know. Anyway, I thought I’d wash up while the potatoes cook. How’s the shower?”
He stepped right into her space and stroked his callused fingers over her cheek. “Not as good as this morning’s. I missed you.”
She drew in his clean soap scent, could feel the heat of his skin, and, oh, my God, the press of his growing erection. “Damian,” she whispered.
He leaned over and kissed her. Gentle, sensual, thorough. The kind of kiss she read about in romance novels. She sighed against his mouth. “We’ll never get dinner,” she warned him, smiling.
He grinned back at her. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” she said, intentionally rubbing against his hard shaft.
He grunted. “Cassandra.” Just her name, a warning. But then his stomach growled loudly, and they both laughed.
“There’s always dessert,” she said, crooking one eyebrow.
“And after-dinner drinks,” he agreed, biting her lower lip before smoothing his tongue over the small hurt.
“It’s a date. I’m going to shower now, and you’re going to put on some clothes.”
“Why?”
“The shower or—”
“The clothes. If I put them on now, you’ll only tear them off when you attack me later.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But that’s half the fun.”
He laughed and turned her toward the bathroom with a swat on her ass. “Don’t take too long, woman. I’m hungry.”
She rolled her eyes, but resisted the urge to punch him over the “woman” comment. They’d only end up in bed, and she really needed a shower. She also needed some distance from Damian. She couldn’t seem to think straight when he was so close. It made her start wanting things she couldn’t have.
Stopping at the walk-in closet, she stripped off everything, feeling more relaxed now that they were away from predator hotel bars and shooting gallery parking lots.
She walked into the master bath and stopped. It was like a mini-spa, with marble floors and a floating vanity. There was even a selection of bath products in a basket on the counter. What the hell was this? She’d used other safe houses, but they hadn’t been this elegant. It made her wonder what Nick used the place for when it wasn’t needed as a safe house. A venue for secret assignations, maybe? Did Nick have a lover no one knew about? Actually, if rumors were true, he had several. One in every city. Although that last part seemed a bit of an exaggeration.
She laughed softly, wondering why she was wasting time wondering about Nick’s love life, when she should be focused on her own. That thought sent her over to glance in one of the mirrors, and her laughter died. Good God, she looked awful. It was a miracle that Damian wanted to have sex with her at all. There were dark circles under her eyes, her skin looked like it had never seen an ounce of moisturizer, and her hair . . . there were probably small animals nesting in there somewhere.
She shuddered at the thought, which jarred her injured shoulder beneath its voluminous bandage. It was the same bandage Damian had applied, and it was probably time for a change. She started tearing away the tape, wincing at the occasional tug on her skin, dreading what she was going to find. The bloody bandage went into the trash, and then she stood in front of the mirror with her eyes closed, steeling herself for what she was about to see.
She opened her eyes. Okay. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. It wasn’t pretty, but at least it wasn’t green. A part of her had feared finding a big, swollen, infected mass of green goo underneath the bandage. But no, Damian had done a good job of cleaning it out, and although her arm and shoulder were purple with bruising, the wound itself looked good. It was definitely going to leave a scar, though. She might even need to see a plastic surgeon to make sure the scar tissue didn’t limit her range of motion. But right now, tonight, she’d settle for cleaning it up and applying a new bandage.
“Cassandra.” Damian knocked on the door and entered without waiting. She whirled, catching up a towel to cover herself, which was pretty ridiculous. Her face heated with embarrassment, but it was too late.
“I thought you might need help with your shoulder.” His eyes were twinkling in amusement.
She swallowed. He was wearing a pair of unbuttoned jeans and nothing else. And she had only her towel. But then she caught her reflection and remembered. She looked awful. “I’ve got it,” she told him.
He held her gaze a moment longer. “If you need anything,” he said finally. “Call me.”
She nodded. “I will.”
He gave her a little smile, then backed out of the bathroom and closed the door.
Casey leaned weakly against the vanity, no longer sure she was up to this. She knew better than to get involved with a man like Damian. But it’s just sex, her brain reminded her. She wasn’t getting involved, they were just having sex. And that was something she hadn’t had nearly enough of in the last few years. She straightened, then marched over and turned on the hot water in the shower, filling the enclosure with steam. Just sex. She could do this. She would do this.
DAMIAN COULD SMELL something baking when he got downstairs after talking to Cassandra, and he found meat sitting in a glass dish, soaking in a liquid that smelled of oil and herbs. He didn’t have much to offer when it came to cooking in this modern era, but one thing remained constant through ages and worlds, and that was wine. It was one of the oldest alcoholic beverages in the history of man, and his samplings from room service over the past couple of days proved that the process had improved dramatically.
This house had been set up by Nico, and judging by its opulence, he knew that his friend stayed here himself on occasion. Which meant there had to be alcohol in the house somewhere. A quick perusal of the kitchen showed him a glass-fronted cabinet with several bottles of wine inside. Opening the door, he read the labels and made a selection. A wooden block of knives produced a blade suited to the task, and he soon had the cork out of the bottle. The room service waiter had used a clever device for the same purpose, but he saw no reason to change what didn’t need changing.
A search of the cabinets turned up a variety of glasses. He chose two and set them on the counter, then filled one with the rich, red vintage he’d chosen. He smiled at the bouquet of fruit and oak that wafted into the air as he poured. A quick taste gave him all of those flavors, along with just a touch of black pepper. His smile widened. Winemaking had indeed come a long way while he’d been imprisoned.
Carrying his glass, he walked over and opened the sliding glass door to the backyard, where a turquoise pool wafted steam into the cool air. The temperature was just on the edge of being too cold, which was perfect for him. But then, any fresh air felt good on his skin these days. He didn’t care if it was freezing cold, or steamy hot, or anything in between. He walked over and sat in one of the chairs, staring out into the moonlit night, seeing nothing but open space. . . .
He sucked in a breath against the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. So much had happened since his release, so many new things to learn, people to remember . . . not to mention keeping himself and Cassandra alive. He felt as if this quiet moment sitting next to the pool was the first chance he’d had to truly appreciate his long-delayed freedom. There had been entire decades, centuries even, when he’d been trapped within that statue, that he’d despaired of ever seeing the curse lifted. Times when he’d thought he would go mad, and had tormented himself with thinking up ways to end his existence.
But Sotiris had planned well. He’d been no more capable of killing him
self, than he’d been of freeing himself. Thank the gods that Cassandra had come along when she had. He was even grateful that she’d been shot, as selfish as that seemed. Because if she hadn’t been, if blood hadn’t been dripping over her hand, she could have gripped his stone arm all night long, and his curse still wouldn’t have been lifted.
The glass door opened behind him. “Hey,” Cassandra said. “You okay out here?”
He glanced up as she came around his chair. She was wearing skin-tight pants of some stretchy fabric that emphasized the elegant strength in her long legs, and over that, a long-sleeved sweater that kept slipping from her uninjured shoulder. And she wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d seen plenty of bras during his tenure on the roof, and he knew they could be lovely adornments to a woman’s breasts. But nothing was sexier than the sway of Cassandra’s full, naked breasts beneath the silky sweater.
He watched silently as she took the chair across from him and leaned back to take a sip from the glass she carried. “Good choice on the wine.”
He nodded. “This house fairly screams of my old friend Nico. He also had excellent taste.”
She took another small sip. “I’m no connoisseur, but this is delicious.”
He smiled at her enjoyment, then gave a somber nod in her direction. “Your arm?”
“Still sore, but it’s better,” she said cheerfully. “Much better than I expected. You did a good job of cleaning it out. I put a new bandage on. A lot smaller,” she added with a chuckle.
He nodded, then turned his attention back to the seemingly endless emptiness around them. Cassandra didn’t say anything for several minutes, then asked, “Does it bother you? The wide-open space, I mean?”
Damian looked at her in surprise. “On the contrary. It’s a balm to my very soul,” he said somberly. “Every single sensation—from the moisture in the air to the sounds all around me—is brighter, sharper, richer than anything I could have imagined, even in my darkest hours of entrapment. Sometimes I think I finally died within the tomb Sotiris crafted for me, and that this is Elysium.”
She tilted her head curiously. “Elysium. The Roman version of heaven. But from what Nick’s told me, and what you’ve said yourself, you guys predate Rome by a whole lot of years.”
He shrugged. “Elysium, Valhalla, nirvana, heaven . . . it doesn’t matter what you call it. They’re all the same.”
She studied him a moment longer. “But you know this isn’t heaven, that you’re alive, right? Because I’m definitely alive, and you’re here with me.”
He grinned and scooted forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, hands dangling between his legs, the wine held loosely in his fingers. “Are you sure of that, Cassandra?”
She laughed. He could have told her that her laugh was one of those sounds that was pure sweetness to his ears. “I’m sure,” she told him. “And I’m hungry. How about you?”
“Ravenous,” he growled and was rewarded with a hot blush that stole over her chest and neck to color her cheeks. He loved the way she blushed like a virgin, but fucked like a siren.
“Damn it. You do that to me every time. I’m going inside to the put the steaks on before this gets any worse.” She stood and started to walk past him, but then stopped. “Would you rather eat out here?”
A rush of warmth filled his chest. She was so busy convincing herself she didn’t care, that she forgot not to do it. She’d taken to heart his comments about being free to breathe the fresh air, but her concern wasn’t necessary. He’d been teasing her, saying he didn’t know if he really was alive and free. But he was certain of both. Just as he was certain no one would ever imprison him again. He’d happily die first. But because he knew it down to the depths of his soul, and because he was a man, not a needy child, he didn’t require constant reinforcement of the truth. And besides, it was too cool out here for Cassandra.
“We should sit inside,” he told her. “It’s the civilized thing to do.”
“Okay, let’s be civilized.” She winked. “Until after dinner anyway.”
CASEY TOOK ANOTHER sip of her delicious wine. The food had been great so far, and she was really looking forward to dessert. So when the hell was Damian going to make his move? Or maybe he was waiting for her? This was stupid. They’d already fucked once. Well, actually more than once. So why the teenaged nerves now?
“Come here,” Damian said, and lifted her hand from the table, urging her out of her chair and around the edge of the table onto his lap.
She frowned. Had she ever sat on a man’s lap before? She didn’t think so, not even her father’s. Especially not her father’s.
“Relax,” Damian murmured, one hand massaging up and down her back, strong fingers shaping her spine. That’s all he did for a long time. It was just the two of them in the candlelit room, the patio door open enough to admit the sounds of the night and the fresh air that Damian craved. The movement of his hand was almost hypnotic, his big body so warm. All of her muscles slowly relaxed, one at a time, and she found herself leaning into his heat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled into his shoulder, rubbing her cheek against his jaw.
Damian made a sound low in his throat as his hand skimmed over her ribs and around to brush the underside of her breast. Casey arched her back in invitation, and he slipped his hand under her sweater to squeeze her breast gently, his thumb dragging over her nipple, rubbing back and forth until it was wildly aroused and exquisitely sensitive. The sensation was almost too much for her and she wanted to sob in relief when he freed her nipple with a gentle caress, only to switch to her other breast to give it the same achingly delicious treatment.
Every movement was so slow, so desperately erotic. She wanted it to go on forever, even as she thought she couldn’t stand another moment. The tension was nearly overwhelming. How long had it been since a man had made love to her like this? Not the quick meet in a bar, have sex, and never see each other again kind of hook-up, but like this . . . slow and seductive.
Hell, she wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced anything like this. Like Damian.
His lips touched her neck, warm and wet as he nibbled his way to her mouth, kissing just the corner, before gliding his tongue over the crease of her lips in both invitation and demand. Casey opened her mouth with a soft moan, meeting the spear of his tongue with the tentative touch of her own. His lips moved over hers with a luxurious slowness, as if he had all night to kiss her. She moaned again, almost embarrassed by her easy arousal, by the slick heat building between her thighs.
“Damian,” she whispered, turning into his kiss, twining her tongue around his.
He gripped the bottom of her sweater, and she lifted her arms as he tugged it over her head. She had an instant of embarrassment over her own nakedness, but that was soon lost in the wash of sensation as Damian lowered his head to one breast and sucked her nipple into his warm mouth, his tongue lashing the swollen peak, his teeth coming together in soft bites that flirted with the edge of pain, turning it into the most erotic sensation. She could have sat there all night, letting him worship her breasts.
Thankfully Damian had other plans.
He stood, slipping one arm under her legs and taking her with him, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. She rested her head on his shoulder as he climbed the stairs, trying to remember if anything had ever felt this right before. This wasn’t just sex anymore. She was fooling herself.
Damian must have felt her growing tension, or maybe he understood her better than she knew. Because he tightened his grip and tipped his head down to bite her cheek. “Relax, Cassandra. You’ll love dessert.”
She laughed and bit him back. “Will there be chocolate syrup?”
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, kicking the bedroom door open. He strode over and dropped her onto the bed, following her down. “We don’t need chocolate syrup. You’re going to be sticky
enough when I’m finished with you.”
Casey shivered, not with the cold—who could be cold with Damian’s heat surrounding her?—but with anticipation. She watched hungrily as he moved away enough to tear off his T-shirt and toss it aside, and then grabbed the waist of her yoga pants and tugged them down her legs, snagging the silk panties she’d donned just to tease him. They were stripped off along with her pants and thrown on the floor on top of his shirt.
Feeling suddenly vulnerable in her nakedness, she opened her mouth to say something, but was stopped when he knelt between her legs, pushing her knees wider as he massaged her calves. His eyes studied her, grazing over her flesh, his regard so intense that it was like a brand, searing his mark into her wherever his gaze landed.
He kissed her, beginning with her knees, the inside of her thighs and then stretching out on top of her to kiss her lips, his tongue tangling with hers, caressing her mouth until her heart was pounding so hard, he had to feel it thumping in rhythm against his chest.
His kisses moved downward to her neck, her breasts, her belly, while his hands stroked every inch of her. She gasped when his broad shoulders spread her thighs and she felt the warm brush of his breath against her heated flesh. She wanted his mouth on her sex. She flexed her hips, thrusting upward, but he placed one big hand on her belly and held her down while he continued tormenting her, licking her swollen outer lips, murmuring about her waxed-bare pussy.
“Smooth as silk, my Cassandra,” he said, a moment before he slid one thick finger into her pussy, her sex so slick and wet with arousal that he’d barely begun before he added a second finger, pumping in and out, while she bucked against his hand, wanting more.
The Stone Warriors: Damian Page 16
