He caught a strand of her hair and let it slide between his fingers. “Do you, my nymph?”
“Yes. They sate their needs with a few quick thrusts. Afterwards, they run to their mugs and boast.”
He frowned.
Rhiannon closed her eyes, berating herself for her quick tongue. She’d wanted to buy herself time in the hope that she could contact Cormac before the Roman forced himself on her. Instead she’d provoked her captor past any man’s patience. She braced herself for his assault. He would press her into the cushions and part her legs. She would fight, but in the end she would not escape his lust.
“A few quick thrusts?” His incredulous whisper stroked her ear. “Not all men expire so soon, little one. You and I will enjoy a far more leisurely lovemaking.” He drew back slightly and captured her with his dark gaze. “First I’ll explore you with my fingertips, learning your body until it becomes as familiar as my own. Then I’ll lower my lips to your sweet flesh. Your scent will fill my nostrils. I’ll savor your taste on my tongue until you writhe beneath me.”
His words were as heady as the wine Rhiannon had tasted earlier. They poured like sparkling heat through her veins. Taste her? Dear Briga! Surely he did not mean …
She shifted, trying to assuage the restless ache that had sprung up between her thighs. What was happening to her? Neither Edmyg’s words nor his touch had ever provoked such a reaction.
Lucius’s voice dipped low and she found herself leaning forward, closer to his heat. Still, he did not touch her.
“Your moans will be sweet music in my ears, your fingertips like fire on my skin,” he whispered. “My flesh will harden, longing to find its home within you.”
The words painted a vivid image in Rhiannon’s mind.
Instinctively she reached for him, if only to steady herself on the strength of his body.
He stepped back. Cool air rushed over her skin. The door closed with a soft thud, leaving her alone.
Rosebushes hardly belonged in Britannia.
Lucius leaned on the wooden rail opposite the nymph’s chamber door and looked down into the courtyard below. Clusters of bare canes, studded with thorns, ringed a small fountain pool. In Rome, no doubt, gardens were already resplendent with roses. Here in Britannia, the first tentative leaves had scarcely begun to unfurl.
A flicker of white settled beside him.
“The roses are too large for you to have brought them with you three years ago,” he commented without turning his head. Aulus had reappeared the instant he’d emerged from the nymph’s chamber.
“One of our hapless predecessors must have transported the shrubs north for his wife.” Lucius snorted. “I hope she polished his sword well for his trouble.”
He turned in time to catch his brother’s answering grin. His heart slammed in his chest at the familiar sight. Lucius would have given much to be able to throw his arm around Aulus’s shoulders, but the chill that accompanied the specter kept him from closing the distance between them.
He pushed himself back from the railing. “Why do you stay away from the nymph?”
Aulus shrugged.
“Ah, so I am right, you are avoiding her. Why?”
Aulus looked away, into the courtyard, as if studying the roses.
“Perhaps,” Lucius mused as he paced toward his chamber, “you wish to afford me a modicum of privacy at last. Jupiter knows I’ve been loath to bed a woman in your presence.” He paused to shoot a glare at his brother. “Though I suspect you wouldn’t have protested.”
Aulus glanced back at the nymph’s door and smirked.
Lucius’s own gaze followed his brother’s. His rod was still hard from his encounter with Rhiannon; he’d barely escaped the room without ravishing her. He’d approached her too soon, of course. Too soon for both of them. He’d been intending to allow her a few days to become accustomed to her new situation, but he’d found himself unable to stay away.
Rhiannon. She was as mysterious as the forest from which she’d sprung. She brought to mind fingers of mist sifting through the trees, beckoning him to explore wild places he had never known. He was as eager to taste her as a man dying of thirst was to drink from a mountain spring. She’d been gloriously savage in her resistance to him—how much more so would she be in surrender?
His mind raced with plans for her seduction, his rod springing upward once again. He would gentle her like a new colt, drawing her closer each day, until she rested in his arms. He had no doubt of his ultimate success. Women varied little from one end of the empire to the other. They were creatures of sensation, susceptible to flattery. Rhiannon would revel in his endearments and the luxuries a civilized household provided. And she would no doubt enjoy making love to a man who lasted beyond a few swift thrusts.