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Chapter 12
I looked at Mircea warily. «I'm not your Cassandra.» He began unbuttoning the remaining toggles on his shirt. «Give me a moment, dulceata, and we will see.» He peeled off the shirt and tossed it over the end of the couch. He wore nothing underneath.
«What are you doing?» I sat up, my pulse leaping although he hadn't done anything really alarming. But he stood between me and the door, and that enticing face was suddenly pretty intense.
Mircea began removing his highly polished shoes. «I would prefer that we had more time, dulceata. I have long anticipated renewing our acquaintance, but did not envision quite this scenario. However"—he paused to place his shoes and socks neatly by the sofa—"I am beginning to learn that, with you, it is best to assume the unexpected.»
I could have said the same about him. «Cut it out, Mircea. Just tell me what is going on.»
He watched me steadily as he slowly removed the belt from the loops of his slacks. «You do not wish to be given over to the Circle, I assume?»
«What does that have to do with you getting undressed? What is this?»
Mircea prowled across the room—there was simply no other word for the way he moved—and knelt at my feet. He looked up at me soulfully. «Think of it as a rescue, dulceata. I am your knight come to save you from all those who would do you harm.»
I choked back a laugh. «That has got to be the corniest line I ever heard.»
Mircea put on an exaggerated look of outrage that brought a reluctant smile to my face. «You wound me! I assure you, once upon a time, as they say, that is exactly what I was.»
I thought about it and, technically, he was right. Of course, real knights in shining armor hadn't been quite the same as the legend. Most of them had spent more time harassing the peasants for taxes than rescuing ladies fair. «Okay. And what are you now?»
He didn't answer, but I noticed that his eyes had turned a glowing cinnamon amber. The only time I'd seen that before, he had been threatening Pritkin's life, but he didn't seem to be angry now. He reached behind his head to slide the platinum clasp out of his long, dark hair. «The Circle demands your return, dulceata, and by our treaty with them, we have no right to refuse. If you were a normal human, a claim by any master would be enough to hold you, but not for a powerful seer. The Pythia's court has control over all such individuals.» His hair spread over his shoulders and back like a dark cape. The contrast between his midnight hair and the pale perfection of his skin was mesmerizing.
He saw me admiring it, and his voice dropped to just above a whisper. «You liked my hair once, dulceata, don't you remember? You enjoyed braiding it as a child. I went around Antonio's court with as many styles and ornaments as a doll.» He lifted my hands and placed them on his shoulders, under the heavy weight of that hair. It fell like a skein of silk over my hands, and I wasn't sure which was more distracting, the feel of it or the hard muscles of his shoulders. «I did not mind you playing with me, dulceata.» He moved his head to press a kiss to the back of my hand. «I do not mind it now.»
I opened my shields slightly to see whether he was imitating Tomas and trying to influence me, but there was no sign that power was being exerted. The exhilarating rush I'd felt earlier was simply not there. But then, he didn't really need it. He rubbed his cheek languidly against my hand and I knew he could probably hear the pounding of my heart in my wrist. I swallowed. «What's your point, Mircea?»
His hands had moved while I was distracted, and it was a shock to feel them suddenly slide into my robe and encircle my waist. I hadn't felt him remove the belt, but it was gone. The robe didn't gape far, but it was enough to bare a line of flesh from my neck to my navel. I moved to close it, but Mircea lifted my hand away and pressed the palm to his lips. I felt a smooth hint of tongue as he swept it slowly over my skin, as if savoring the taste. A bolt of desire ran from his kiss down all my nerve endings, causing me to gasp.
«Mircea…»
«Do you know how you taste, my Cassandra?» he asked me softly. «I have never known anything like it. You go to my head like aged brandy.» He breathed deeply of the skin above my pulse. «You cannot imagine how intoxicating I find your scent.» His thumb moved slightly on my waist, up and down the center of my rib cage. It wasn't an overly sexual touch, but I caught my breath. «Or how very good you feel.»
«Mircea, please.»
«Anything you want,» the great negotiator whispered, leaning in so that he spoke just above my mouth, his breath warm on my lips. His mouth ghosted over mine, gentle, barely there, and I shivered. He had said we were going to negotiate, but he wasn't even trying to make a deal, which alone was scary. «Anything in my power to give, it is yours.» His hand moved back to the front of my robe, one finger tracing the line of exposed skin from neck to navel. Goose bumps sprung up along that path, and my breath caught.