me, and I’ll see them done. My wedding gift to you.’
‘No.’ Severina shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Why not? This is a business arrangement…with very agreeable terms.’
‘It feels more like a bribe.’
Lucan spread his hands in supplication. ‘Maybe it is a bribe, but I need a wife and I don’t want anyone but you.’
‘Lucan—’
‘Severina, be logical. The censor can’t take your inn if we’re married. And those improvements would still be there for you long after I’m gone. Divorce me whenever you want, but keep the new and improved inn. You gain much and lose nothing. Think of that.’
Damn him. He’d known exactly which lure to dangle before her.
Silence stretched between them, tension mounting as each second ticked by.
Lucan stood and came to her. He raised a hand, but stopped just short of touching her as if he, too, sensed the power that would be unleashed with the contact. ‘Severina…’ he whispered into the hushed air.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she murmured, licking dry lips. She closed her eyes against the hard pulse of her drumming blood.
‘I can’t help wanting you,’ he whispered, his breath fanning warmth against the moisture her tongue had left on her lips. ‘I always have. I still do.’
He waited for her to respond, to open her eyes and look at him, but she didn’t dare. She knew what she’d see—Lucan, his eyes dark and intent, hunger in his lean, bronzed face. He would be as beautiful as sin, tempting her towards all the dark glories a man like him could give.
She did not look. Her eyes remained closed, but her other senses heightened, expanding to fill the void. She felt his heat as his body came nearer and heard the whisper of his clothing as he moved. He slid one large, callused hand underneath the fall of her hair to caress the back of her neck. She was aware of the pad of every individual fingertip against her sensitive nape, the elegant curve of his hand as he held her there with the lightest of pressures. His clean scent twined around her, an essence of sunshine and fresh air, of warm and sensual man.
And then his lips came down on hers, gently at first, as if he teased her with softness.
Her answering whimper spoke of hunger as her hands clutched and held in the folds of his cloak, and his kiss deepened to satisfy the subtle urging that he somehow understood.
His mouth was hot and flavoured with wine; Severina’s heart hurt with yearning for the sweet familiarity of him. His tongue licked across the seam of her lips and she opened herself to him, rejoicing in his harsh groan as he took her and filled her with his taste.
It had been too long. She’d missed this, missed him. Her hands moved restlessly over his rough clothing, exulting in the feel of his muscled back beneath her palms, in the powerful strength of his arms and the silk of his tousled hair. His body was lean and hard and towered over her, enveloping her, heating her.
She was glad he’d missed her, too, glad for the powerful hands that moulded her buttocks and lifted her up and against him, glad for the startling friction of his hardened ridge against her core. She couldn’t breathe beneath such an onslaught of sensation.
When she thought she might die in the void of air, his mouth left hers and moved lower, burning a path of wet fire through the hollows of her neck, behind her ear, across her collarbone. He moved slowly, tantalising, tempting, teasing her into gasps and moans.
She was restless now, and needy. Her breasts ached with an unfamiliar heaviness, the peaks hard and thrusting forwards, beseeching his touch, begging for his lips.
The silver fibula that held her stola at the shoulder dropped to the floor near her feet. She barely noted its fall; Lucan’s hand closed around her breast and his mouth found the soft pink pebble of her bare nipple, shocking her with the intense, sweet pull into pleasure.
‘Oh!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Lucan!’
Her hands left his shoulders and speared into his hair, clenching in the softness, holding him fettered so he couldn’t leave her and stop the laving that made her senseless, mindless, crazed with need.
‘I’m here,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I won’t leave you.’
She whimpered and mewled, twisting in his arms until he lifted her and carried her the few feet to the bed. He placed her gently against the pillows and covered her with his weight and heat. The sheets were cool against her naked back, and Lucan’s mouth was like flowing lava across the swell and heave of her bosom.
‘You taste good,’ he whispered. ‘So sweet.’ And he circled his tongue around her areola and drew her aching nipple into his mouth again.
She writhed beneath him, her hips jerking and thrusting, her pubis pulsing hard against his. Need ravaged her. It made her wild, eager, beside herself with desire, not caring if he thought her shameless.
She gloried in sheer physical splendour, dizzy with longing, unable to find reason in the deluge of wanting. Her limbs trembled; her womb clenched with strange urgency and wept for more. Because it was Lucan. Because she’d missed him so…
A sound at the door caused Lucan to jerk away from her, flinging himself partially upright with a growled oath. He threw the bedclothes over Severina’s exposed breasts and shook his head when, still befuddled and confused, she tried to rise.
Ariadne coughed again, delicately, and rapped on the door frame before tentatively peering inside. ‘I brought an elixir for your pain, Master Lucan,’ she said. ‘It tastes awful, but works wonders for the headache. And here’s wine to follow it.’
‘Thank you,’ Lucan said, his voice amazingly steady. ‘Put it on the table. I’ll get to it in a minute.’
Ariadne slipped in and hurriedly did as directed, studiously keeping her eyes away from Lucan and from Severina, who lay rigid in the bed. Lucan kept his back to the slave, not wanting to shock her with his arousal. He raked one hand through his hair and rubbed tension from the back of his neck.
He exhaled deeply when Ariadne pulled the door closed behind her.
Severina left the bed immediately, retrieving her silver fibula from the floor so she could cover her nakedness.
‘Severina…’ Lucan’s voice was soft.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t apologise. Just…forget it.’
She felt his eyes on her as she tried to pin her garment together with hands that were shaking.
‘Here,’ he said, taking the fibula from her, pushing her nervous hands aside. ‘Let me do that.’
It made her angry that he could speak and act so calmly while she felt she’d been blown through a tempest. It made her angry that her breasts still tingled and that he seemed to know it, the back and side of his hands torturing her aching flesh as he pinned her garment into place. She made an exasperated sound and looked up to the ceiling until he finished.
She wasn’t angry with Lucan; she was angry
