ROMAN: Fury of Her King (Kings of the Blood Book 2)

by Julia Mills

  The Commander shifted as he spoke, looking over his shoulder with fury at the party raging in honor of Romanus’ death. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Thirty days will come and go while your body rests and transforms. As the sun touches the horizon on the night of the thirty-first day, you shall rise. Your heart will again beat. Your lungs will again draw breath and you, my friend and loyal General, will be made immortal. You will serve Zeus himself as a King of the Blood. You will serve a higher purpose. You will smite the enemies that mortals cannot, those who threaten the world so generously given to us by the gods. You will live in resurrection as you have lived in life—a warrior amongst the masses with a worth beyond measure.”

  “Our time is up, General. There is much more I need to explain but your heart is beating its last. Your death is nigh. Know that I am watching and waiting for you to rise. Know that your purpose is true and just, blessed by the King of the Gods.”

  Viktoras gripped the hilt of the spear and asked, “Do you, Romanus, wish to live the life of a King of the Blood? Do you accept the destiny written by the gods in your name?”

  “Yesssss,” Romanus slurred as his world turned to darkness.

  Pain unlike any other wracked his broken body as the Commander removed the spear from his chest. The last breath left his body at the same time his heart beat its last beat and he heard his Commander’s voice utter, “Go forth, brave warrior. Die so that you might live and fulfill your honor bound destiny.”

  And so it began as it had ended, on a cold dark night in the middle of the desert…

  the true life of Roman Marinos.

  Chapter One

  Present day…

  “Why’d you come in here lookin’ like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans. All decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that? Here comes my baby, draggin' my heart behind. He's drivin' me cra…” Her best Dolly Parton imitation, complete with line dancing, at least the best she could in her navy blue pinstriped suit and matching stilettos, was cut short by the sound of a masculine chuckle followed by, “I believe the word is crazy.” He smiled that cool, calm, ‘I know I’m good looking’ smile that curled her toes as he walked into her office like he owned the place.

  Sitting in the chair across from her desk, Roman Marinos, the gorgeous, arrogant, most eligible bachelor in the world, twirled his index finger in the air and said, “Please, don’t stop on my account,” he raised his left eyebrow just so and looked her up and down before adding, “I was quite enjoying the show.”

  Snapping her mouth shut to save what little dignity she had left, Cynthia St. James straightened her skirt, buttoned her suit jacket, and sat down in her chair attempting to regain the dignity her impromptu concert had taken from her. She thought about explaining that it had been a real bitch of a day and she just needed to blow off some steam before diving into the pile of FDA test results from their newest prototype. Instead, she went with her patented snark.

  “I’m not sure what you’re doing here. I told you I had other plans for this evening and wouldn’t be attending the KI/Roma Tech party.” Cyn refused to look up. She’d barely avoided the magnetism of his amber gaze when he’d shocked her by walking into her office. There was no way she was going for two.

  Roman made her nervous, more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. There was something old world about him that stood out even more than his custom made tuxedo or Italian leather loafers. He was her kryptonite. She had no doubt if he crooked his little finger just-so that she would be all tied up in her underwear and unable to string more than two words together at a time. She hadn’t worked her way up from part-time receptionist to top sales consultant in six years in a male dominated industry just to be turned into a quivering mass of goo by the first sexy man who showed the least bit of interest.

  It didn’t matter that he was six-foot-four with shoulders that rivaled Mr. Universe’s, a bum that made her mouth water, and no doubt six-pack abs she could bounce a quarter off of. She wondered how much a man had to work out to look that good then pushed the thought out of her head.

  She didn’t have to look up to know his wavy brown hair with its roguish mussed-up style still had the golden streaks that gave the man an ethereal glow. Nor would even one glance help her to not dream about his perfectly bowed lips touching every inch of her body. Nope, keeping her eyes on the papers on her desk didn’t drive away the image of those amazing whiskey-colored eyes. All that not looking up did was possibly save her from making a bigger fool out of herself…possibly.

  She knew she needed to get the hell outta dodge before he did something she wouldn’t be able to resist. It was bad enough that he was sitting across from her looking better than homemade sin and smelling better than apple pie on Grandma’s windowsill. Her resistance was already trying to make a discreet exit, no matter how much she repeated, “you will resist, you will resist, you will resist,” in her head. There was no doubt that if the man said two more words with his panty-dropping accent, she’d be a goner.

  Pushing back her chair and standing in one sweeping motion, Cyn hot-footed it around the corner of her desk farthest from Roman and made a beeline for the door. Unfortunately, the object of her desire could move faster than the speed of light and cut her off at the pass. Picking her up, he held her against the wall with one hand under her bum and his hips pressed to hers while kicking her office door shut.

  Fire was brewing in the depth of those damnable hypnotic hazel eyes of his as he growled through gritted teeth, “Gods be damned, Cynthia. Why do you insist on being so stubborn? Do you enjoy tormenting me so?”

  His chest heaved against hers as he balled his free hand into a fist and ground it into the wall beside her head to maintain their balance. She could feel the heat of his body. His scent, a soft woodsy, manly aroma, filled her senses. Roman narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. She could almost see the thoughts whipping through his brilliant mind and it made the perfect male specimen before her all the more intoxicating.

  Cyn knew she’d pushed all the wrong buttons. Had refused all of his advances and was witnessing a side of Roman Marinos few had ever seen. He was the calm, cool playboy who laughed in the face of hostile takeovers and drank hundred-year-old scotch with warlords from third world countries. He didn’t rattle easily, but little ol’ Cynthia St. James from Muleshoe, Texas had somehow slipped under his perfectly polished veneer. It was a heady feeling and she had to admit she liked what she saw. The unfiltered version topped the buttoned-up business one hands down.

  Call me a masochist but this man is better than homemade sin when he’s mad.

  Scared out of her mind, she placed her hands on both sides of his face, closed the scant inches between their lips, and kissed the man of her dreams as if it was her last act on earth.

  It was an explosion of passion and pent up desire that grew hotter and burnt brighter every second their lips touched. Cyn may have started this encounter, but Roman quickly took over, demanding entrance and accepting nothing less than her unconditional surrender to what was happening between them.

  A burst of pure, white hot electricity sped through her body at the first touch of his tongue to hers, forcing a low moan from her throat as proof of her arousal warmed her from the inside out. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him go. Her legs wound around his waist, locking her body to his, reveling in the way her soft, round curves fit perfectly against the hard muscular planes of his body. Her nipples pebbled to hard sensitive peaks that rubbed against the lace cups of her bra as her body moved against his. Goose bumps rose up and down her arms; the sensory overload so great she saw stars. Not only did his taste illicit visions of devouring every single inch of his delectable body, but it drove Cyn to heights of arousal she’d never thought possible. There would be no going back; Roman Marinos was now her only addiction. He was unlike any other man she’d ever known, better than cake and more sinful than chocolate. His kisses we
re what romance novels could only hint at.

  The need to feel more, to experience all she’d dreamt of since first meeting him, forced Cyn to roll her hips against his. Roman tore his mouth from hers, gasping as he mimicked her movements, the proof of his excitement colliding with her swollen nub.

  “Oh my God, Roman…” Cyn mewled as he nipped and tasted along her jawline then down her neck, whispering the words she longed to hear.

  “Yes, fýlakas tis kardiás mou, yes. Cynthia, you drive me crazy. I cannot get enough of you. You haunt my every thought. Please gíne dikós mou pánta.”

  She had no idea what language he was speaking or what he was saying, but with his lips on her heated flesh and his rumbling baritone vibrating through her body, she didn’t care if it was pig Latin as long as he promised never to stop. Lost to their passion, needing more, she slid her hands under his jacket and pushed the elegant fabric as far off his shoulders as it would go, irritated that she couldn’t remove it completely but not wanting him to remove his hands from her bottom. Reaching for the buttons of his perfectly tailored white cotton shirt, she slowly slid them loose as his lips found their way under the collar of her jacket and nipped at the tender skin at the top of her shoulder.

  Somewhere off in the distance, the sound of the bell indicating the elevator was stopping at the sixteenth floor broke through her euphoria, dimming the lust and desire Roman’s kiss rose within her. Cyn’s fingers stilled and her breath caught in her throat as she heard the doors of the lift open and the tell-tale sounds of heels hitting the marble tile. Pushing at his chest and moving her body as far to the side as she could to get his attention, she whispered loudly, “Roman, stop. Someone’s coming.”

  “I don’t care,” he mumbled as his lips once again found her neck.

  Putting her hands on both sides of his face, the irony of which was not lost on her since this was the same action that had started her present predicament, Cyn forcibly pulled his head up and looked into his dreamy eyes, all but snarling, “I do care. I work here and this,” she looked down at their joined bodies and immediately released her legs from his hips, “is really, really unprofessional.”

  Any other time the cheeky grin that crossed his lips would’ve made her smile but, in this instance, she thought about kneeing him in the crotch. When he spoke, his accent was more pronounced and his voice deeper with an almost growly quality that did funny things to her stomach, but it was his words that made her heart beat even faster than his kiss ever could’ve. “I will let you down on one condition.”

  He paused and Cyn thought about waiting him out, but the footsteps in the hall were growing ever closer and she truly did not want to be caught in flagrante delicto by a coworker. Time forcing her hand, she asked with a sigh, “What is it? Anything. Just let me down…please.”

  Kissing the tip of her nose, he chuckled, “Have dinner with me tomorrow night, eight o’clock, my home.”

  Her mind went blank. Her eyes felt like they would pop out of her head, closely followed by her heart as it beat against her chest. This man, a multi-millionaire, who made women swoon by simply walking by, the one she dreamt of on a nightly basis, who could kiss like a demon and looked better than any man had a right to, wanted to have dinner with her, Cynthia St. James, curvy pharmaceutical rep from a small town in the middle of nowhere.

  The sounds of the footsteps approaching her door snapped her back to reality and her response from her lips, “Yeah, sure, whatever. Just let me down.” She gave another shove against his chest for emphasis.

  Yeah, that sounded nonchalant. Oh, crap, who the hell am I kidding?

  Nodding, he moved his hands from her bum and held her waist, carefully helping her to stand before stepping away. No sooner had his hands left her body than Adele pushed open the door and called, “Hey, girlie, you workin…”

  Her best friend and long-time assistant’s eyes grew bigger than saucers and a shit-eating grin crossed her face as she winked at Cyn and asked, “Am I interrupting?” She gave a little wag of her finger for added effect.

  “No,” Cyn barked at the precise moment Roman said, “Yes.”

  She shot him a look, to which he winked, then looked back at Adele and said, “Mr. Marinos…”

  Cutting her off midsentence, Roman smiled, “Was just leaving.” He stepped forward, held out his hand to Adele and after kissing her knuckles, looked back to Cyn.

  She could see the embers of the arousal from their kiss still burning in his eyes. Her body continued to tingle from his touch but once again it was his words that made her pulse race and her thighs press together of their own accord. “Be ready at seven-thirty. Dress casually. I’ll send my car for you. And Cynthia,” he leveled his gaze and cocked his eyebrow, “please do not make me come and get you...again.” He paused and lifted just the corner of his mouth in a half smirk. “For if you do…”

  Cyn held her breath, willing him to continue, needing to hear what he had to say but also fearful that everything was quickly spinning out of control. Three long seconds ticked by before he finally winked and just above a whisper said, “The price of defiance will be high.” He turned and left without another word.

  She felt light-headed. Roman Marinos had just invited her to dinner…at his house…all alone… after kissing her like…well, like she’d never been kissed before. Cyn wanted to be excited. She wanted to squeal and act all girlie and talk to Adele about what she should wear but the truth of the matter was, she was scared out of her wits.

  Cyn was what her sorority sisters had called a ‘good girl’. When they were all going to frat parties and hopping from bed to bed she had been studying for exams and writing term papers. It had always been her dream to leave the small town she grew up in and have a career like all the women she read about in her favorite books.

  Having been raised to the age of ten by a single father after the loss of her mother to cancer at five, and then her grandfather after her dad died of a heart attack, Cyn had always promised herself she’d be self-sufficient and make both her parents and her grandpa proud. Family may have been sparse for her but they’d all been great people who’d instilled good values and a sense of purpose in her. They had given her the ability to dream and to make her dreams her goals. Once those goals were in sight, she’d done everything to achieve them. Dating came second to good grades and contacts that would help her once she’d graduated.

  She had to admit, she’d always sort of envied the party girls. Not only did they seem to have lots of fun, they all looked like models out of the magazines she’d read back on the farm. There had been a time in her life when she tried every fad diet and joined every gym in an effort to get rid of her curves and be more like what she saw all around her. But after years of sacrifice and wasted money, coupled with her never-changing figure, she ditched all the hassle in favor of accepting who she was—flaws and all—and just being healthy.

  She did develop one vice—her shoes. Since her first interview all those years ago, she wore heels to add to her five-foot-eight-inch frame. It allowed her to look men in the eye and avoid as many ‘little woman’ comments as possible. Her straight platinum hair was cut in a bob that just touched her shoulders and she always wore just a touch of makeup to add to what her grandpa had called her natural glow. All-in-all, she liked what she saw in the mirror every morning and that was, after all, what mattered, right?

  Right!

  But now he had altered her perspective…or maybe just twisted it a bit. Men, especially men like Roman Marinos, did not ask Cynthia St. James out on a date. Hell, she didn’t even know any other men like him. The ones she had been acquainted with over the years stood in the middle of the pack on their best days. They were of the ‘not too tall, not too short, some wore glasses, most had a football addiction, and all of them referred to her as babe’ kind of guys. Sure, she had dated them all…for a while, and when the new had worn off had come up with some dumb excuse and run for the hills.

  They had in no way, shape
, or form prepared her for Mr. Sexy Man, as Adele called him. First of all, he was from a foreign country and had an accent that sounded alluring when he asked to be passed the salt.

  Secondly, he was what people referred to as suave and debonair. Cyn had no doubt that he looked good after mowing the lawn or playing cricket or whatever millionaire playboys did in their spare time that made them all hot and sweaty.

  Hot and sweaty. Good Lordy, he makes me hot and sweaty…

  Lastly, and most importantly, he was Roman-freaking-Marinos. The man could and did turn her to a quivering mass of hormones with one look. The man who haunted her dreams. The man she couldn’t forget. The man who drove her absolutely, unequivocally, completely and totally out of her mind. The man who had been on magazine covers, and not just the business ones.

  He knew what he was doing in every situation, every day of his life, no matter what it was, and Cyn was so far out of her depth, not even the Bay Watch lifeguards could save her floundering bum. What in all that was holy was she going to do? How in the hell could she get out of dinner? He’d proven that if she stood him up he would come and find her.

  And kiss me silly….

  Lost in thought, she jumped when Adele appeared at her side fanning her face with her a file folder and handing Cyn a glass of water. “Girl, you look like you need something stronger, but water’s all I got right now.”

  Pulling up a chair, the short, chatty redhead she’d known since their senior year in high school sat down, patted Cyn’s knee, and with bright eyes and sly smile said, “Dish, girl. This has got to be better than the Gossip Girl reruns waiting for me at home.”

  Taking a huge gulp of water, mostly to waste time but also because her mouth felt like the Sahara, Cyn tried to play it cool by shrugging and chuckling, “Guess he didn’t like being stood up.”

  Rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue, Adele shook her head. “That was not even a good try. I know from the way your jacket is hanging at half-mast and your skirt is hiked up over your knee, not to mention the ‘I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar’ look you gave me when I walked in, that something way more than a man being upset over being stood up went on around here.” Adele whipped her hand around in the air and glared. “So spill it and do not leave out a single detail or I will go call Mr. Sexy Man myself and find out exactly what went on up in here.”