Celtic Fire(89)

He did as she commanded, spreading his arms on the edge of the pool, enjoying his passivity. She continued her ministrations, massaging oil onto his chest and stomach as he had done with her, sliding down his body with hands and lips. How far did she dare go? Anticipation coiled tightly as he watched her progress through half-closed eyelids.

Hot breath bathed his rod. She looked up at him, eyes glittering, the tips of her breasts just cresting the water. “Would you like this?” she murmured.

“Very much.”

Her mouth closed on him and all sense of time stopped. The bathing room faded. There was only Rhiannon, until he could bear it no more.

He grasped her shoulders and hauled her into his arms. Shining rivulets cascaded over her skin to fall like raindrops on the water’s surface. He pressed a kiss on her neck and eased her into the center of the pool where the water deepened. Her hair fanned out over the surface; her legs caged his hips. They were both slick with oil—one small movement and their bodies were joined. They moved slowly, in unison, seeking their deepest pleasure in the buoyant warmth. Flesh and bone, skin and water melded into one.

Then all thought fled. Somehow Lucius found the edge of the pool and anchored Rhiannon against it. He plunged faster, deeper, his chest sliding over her oiled breasts, his tongue ravaging her mouth. She made a soft mewling sound and he lifted his head to watch her passion. With her head flung back and her face a reflection of bliss, she seemed more than a mere woman. She was the nymph he’d once thought her to be. A goddess of the wild forest.

He worshiped her with his body, in the end offering his essence with each shudder of his heart until she broke in his arms like the fall of a thousand stars.



“I love you.”

Lucius’s whispered words fell on Rhiannon’s ears like a curse. She squeezed her eyes closed and endured the stroke of his hand on her bare shoulder and back. She lay sprawled on the narrow bed in her chamber, her cheek pillowed on her lover’s chest. Sunlight filtered through the closed shutters. It fell on the bed, warming her skin, but the brittle ice in her heart was beyond its touch. I love you. She’d never dared to hope to hear those words on his lips. If only she could give them back to him.

Lucius’s wandering hand had moved from her back to the long fall of her hair. He lifted the tresses, weighing them in his palm. Rhiannon imagined raising her head and looking into his dark eyes. The corners of his mouth would lift—first one side, then the other, in the crooked smile that she loved. The dimple that made him look like a lad would show in his cheek. He would kiss her gently at first, and then …

She burrowed her face further into his chest. If those things happened, her heart would overflow and she would return his words of love. She couldn’t allow that to happen. If it did, she would never find the courage to leave him.

“I love you,” he said again.

His voice wrapped around her and for a moment she felt dazed, as if caught in a dream. Then, with the care one would use to ease away from a mad dog, she raised herself from his chest.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t, look at him. “You cannot love me.”

“I can and I do. I want you as my wife.”

Dear Briga. Her gaze darted to his despite her resolve. He looked as surprised as she to hear his words. “You would take me to wife?”

His tone gentled. “Yes. If you’ll have me.”

“Oh, Lucius.”

He must have felt her withdrawal, for his arms tightened about her waist. “You returned to me when you might have fled. I thought …”

She disentangled herself from his arms and hugged her knees to her chest. “You would wed a slave?”

“You are no slave.”

“You named me so.”

“I was a fool to believe I could own you. I could more easily grasp the forest mist.” His expression grew serious. “It matters not how we first came together. No one in Rome need know you were once my captive.”

Rome.

“I’ll return there before winter.”

“To fill your father’s seat in the Senate.”

“Yes.” The prospect didn’t seem to please him.

“Do you wish to?”

He rose from the bed and paced to the window. “In truth? No. I spent a year as a magistrate after my first tour of military duty and found I preferred to face my enemies with a sword in my hand rather than words of flattery on my lips. When my term was finished, I left Rome to take command of my Legion.”

“Then why do this thing now?”

“Family honor demands I serve the people of Rome. I’ve prepared for that duty all my life.”

She tugged the blanket over herself. “Do many senators take barbarian wives?”