Jaded (9 page)

“I guess after all you’ve been through, it just seems strange.”

“You can never understand the decisions another makes unless you’ve walked in their shoes. My choice of career has empowered me by allowing me control where men are concerned.”

He studied her, thinking that wasn’t necessarily the healthiest way for her to deal with her trauma. Yet, it wasn’t his place to point that out. He might very well be guilty of unhealthy dealing himself. After all, how many times had Byron accused him of burying himself in his studies to avoid the past?

Instead he said, “I truly am sorry for the insult I offered earlier.”

Lilya smiled. She was beautiful, captivating, and had a charm that drew men easily to her. Some people had a spark inside them that attracted people. Ivan had not doused it in Lilya and that was something like a miracle. “It’s not the first time I’ve endured them.”

“If I had known, I never would have—”

“I know. Your apology is accepted. Anyway, all that happened a long time ago.”

Yes, he liked to say the same thing. Brush it under the carpet. Not talk about it. Ignoring some things made them easier to deal with.

Byron cleared his throat. Alek looked over and saw emotion on his face. Not much could make Byron Andropov show his feelings. “Is your curiosity satisfied?”

“More than.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat again. Alek knew Byron well enough to know he was attempting to mask his reaction to Lilya’s story. “It’s late and it’s been a long day of traveling. I think we should all go to sleep. Would you show Lilya to one of the guest bedrooms, Alek?” Byron stood.

Ah, Alek understood. Byron needed to be alone. “I’d be happy to.”

Alek fell into step with Lilya as they went up to the second floor of the house. He’d had enough schooling to see the emotional and psychological underpinnings of her desire to become a courtesan since it gave her control of men, instead of the other way around. Unhealthy though that might be. He wondered if there weren’t other things in play too, perhaps ways she might be using her obvious beauty and charm to punish her clients. He wouldn’t doubt it—or blame her, really—if that were the case.

He led her to the nicest of all the guest rooms, one not far away from Byron’s. Byron may profess to have invited Lilya here for Alek’s sake, but he wasn’t blind or stupid. Lilya and Byron had a chemistry that snapped like a current of elusian crystal. Every move they made, every gesture, every word they shared seemed like foreplay. He sensed there was much unfinished and unsaid between them and her time here would consummate their relationship.

She looked into the room, noted the huge soft bed, the fireplace, and heavy carved-wood furnishings. “It’s beautiful.”

“I can start a fire for you, if you wish.”

She shook her head and smiled at him. “I can do it myself. I see there’s kindling there and flint.”

“I’ll just bring up your bag, then.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to leave, but she caught his arm. Her touch was light, nice. Her hand on him made him think about things he hadn’t in a long time. He eased away from her, a flare of something long forgotten igniting inside him.

She withdrew her hand. “I hear you’re a scholar of history.”

“I’m getting a degree specialization in the Purion Era right now.”

“Do you intend to teach?”

“I intend to write books.”

“Ah.” She pressed her lips together and looked down at the polished black toes of her expensive pair of boots. It seemed like she wanted to say something else.

“What is it, Lilya?”

She raised her gaze to him, her cheeks a charming shade of pink. “I never went to school. Or, at least, I stopped going to school once my father died. He was a good man who thought education was very important, but he was also a poor man who couldn’t make provisions for a daughter with no other family once he’d died.”

“He was right to value education.”

“You say you don’t intend to teach, but I wondered, if while I’m here, maybe you could impart to me some of what you know. If it’s too much of an imposition, just forget I asked.”

His eyebrows rose and he wondered for a moment if she was sincere, or if she was only trying to lure him in, using something she knew he loved in order to grow closer to him. But judging from the blush on her cheeks and the embarrassed way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he came to the conclusion her request was genuine. Either that or she was a wonderful actress. “It’s not an imposition. What topic would you most like to learn about?”

She shrugged and met his eyes for the barest of moments. “You’re better suited to selecting one. Your choice. I have only a rudimentary grasp of the history of Rylisk.”

He nodded, his mind already whirling with possibilities. “We can start tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, leaned in, and kissed him on his cheek. He went very still at the feel of her soft mouth on his skin and the barest waft of her scent that surrounded him for a moment.

He was still standing there like an imbecile after she’d backed into her room and closed the door.

 

 

That night, after the fire was doused and the lights were out, Lilya found herself unable to sleep. She tossed and turned in the huge four-poster bed. Even though the mattress was comfortable and the blankets stroked her skin like the soft wing of a bird, she couldn’t find rest.

Sitting up, she surveyed the room by the waning silver light of the moon coming in through the large windows. It cast shadows along the thick area rugs, the sofa, and the chairs. The hearth showed the muted red coals of a fire that wished to be.

The fire inside of her didn’t wish to be—it burned. Ever since Byron had shown up at the temple, she’d been in turns uncomfortable, frightened, bliss-filled, and desirous. That man seemed to sow nothing but emotional chaos in his wake. She’d been happy to see him again, yet a part of her wished for the bland reality she’d been living since he’d left.

Thoughts thus occupied, sleep was only a distant aspiration. She rose, found her night wrap, and headed downstairs for a drink of water.

“Lilya?”

She froze at the bottom of the stairs and searched the darkness for Byron. She spotted him at a window to her left and walked to him. “You scared me. What are you doing staring out the window in the middle of the night?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She studied his profile in the silver light of the moon, stony and a little rough. No, he wasn’t pretty, but she thought he was beautiful.

Clearly, she was doomed.

With a sigh, she settled in beside him and stared out the window at the sweep of lawn that surrounded his home. “Usually when I can’t sleep there’s a reason for it.” She had a reason tonight, but she wasn’t about to share it with him.

He moved a little, seemingly restless. He remained silent for a moment longer than it took for her to wonder if something was really wrong. “Bad dreams. Why are you awake?”

“I often have trouble sleeping when I’m away from home. I was going to try and find the kitchen for a glass of water.”

“I’ll show you where it is.”

She followed him down a corridor and into a large kitchen, larger than the one at the Temple of Dreams. Their footsteps echoed. He lit two lamps, sought a glass for her, and filled it with water from the water pipes running through his home. Not many could afford pipes or had a large enough water supply to draw from.

“Don’t you get lonely in this big house all by yourself?” She accepted the glass of water and sank into a nearby chair. It was chilly in the huge room and she shivered.

“Now that my family is gone, yes, sometimes, but I’m used to it being big and empty. You’re used to a bustling house with lots of people in it at all times.”

“It helps me feel less lonesome. I hate feeling lonely.” She sipped her water. “I guess I felt so alone after my father died that I developed a serious aversion to it. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t stay in the house you so graciously provided for me. After what happened, I could have easily become a recluse there.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. The world benefits from your presence.” He paused. “Alek is already warming to you.”

In the low light of the room, she studied him. “You’re a strange man, Byron, wanting what you want from me. I don’t understand it.” She finished the rest of her water and stood, pulling her wrap more firmly around her against the chill. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“I’m unique, am I? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Indeed, you’re matchless in your inscrutability.”

His brows rose. “Am I now?”

Hiding a smile, she walked over to set the glass on the counter, coming deliberately close to him. She was pleased when he didn’t back away. His body felt nice, warming her through her clothes. They had nice rapport. There were few men she shared this kind of energy with and, with this particular man, she wanted to explore it further. And not because she could control it, or use it, or because she wanted him to pay her.

She just wanted him because he was
Byron
.

He turned toward her and cupped her face in his hands. Lowering his head, he tasted her lips and her knees went weak. His mouth dragged across hers slowly as he rocked her back against the counter. It seemed like she’d been waiting forever for this.

“Lilya, I want you,” he whispered. “Having you here, so close to me, and not touching you, it’s torture.”

“I want you too, Byron, you know that.” Her hands found his waist and the hem of the shirt he slept in. His skin beneath felt warm under her palms, the muscles of his back tight as he moved. He brushed the shoulder of her night wrap, pulling it down and off. It slithered to the floor at her feet. She didn’t even feel the cold, not when she was in his arms.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he murmured against her lips.

“So have I.” Her nipples had gone hard and pressed through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “I’ve chosen all my partners, but I’m not sure I’ve wanted to be with a man as much as I want to be with you right now.” Her voice trembled from the force of that desire.

He stilled in the semidark, one hand at the nape of her neck, and stared down at her as if he couldn’t believe what she’d just said. For a moment he looked like he would say something, but instead he lowered his mouth and kissed her again, this time slanting his mouth hungrily over hers and slipping his tongue deep into her mouth.

She gripped his upper arms, appreciating the bunch and flex of them as he made minute movements. Anticipation thrilled through her body, raced through her veins, and set her heart to thumping out a crazy rhythm she hadn’t felt in years.

He broke the kiss softly and murmured against her lips, “Then come to my bedroom and let’s do this right.”

Her answer came without hesitation. “Yes.” She forced herself not to whimper and add a
please
. The depth of her desire for this man frightened her, yet she was far too immersed in her need to put a stop to this. Desire overrode good sense and she didn’t care.

He took her by the hand, a hand that felt warm and strong in hers, and led her up the stairs to his bedroom. Anticipation of being intimate with him raced through her blood in a way she’d never experienced. Six years ago he’d been all she’d wanted and had never been able to have.

And now, he was hers, if perhaps only just for a night.

A low fire burned in the enormous stone hearth that dominated one wall. To her right stood a divan, two chairs, and a low table. At the other end of the room was a huge four-poster bed, the size of which only the very wealthy possessed, covered with pillows at the top, soft sheets, and a thick comforter, all mussed from his body. For a crazy moment she resisted the urge to dive across the room, into the bed, and roll in the scent of him that undoubtedly lingered in the blanket folds. Soon she would have the real thing—his bare body up against hers.

They’d left her wrap on the floor of the kitchen. He lifted her nightgown over her head, tossing it to the couch. Then he stood back and took in her nude body, bathed by the gentle glow of the fire that burned in the great stone hearth.

“You are more beautiful than I ever imagined.” His voice was low, gruff, filled with an intense arousal that heated her blood.

She stepped toward him, intending to make him every bit as nude as she was, but he lifted her suddenly into his arms, making her squeal with surprise. He walked her over to the bed and tossed her down onto the mattress. The softness of the bed enveloped her, making her laugh for the sheer joy of being with him. She rolled in the comforter, burying her face in his pillow and inhaling the scent that clung to it—leather, a little wood smoke, and a hint of his spicy aftershave.
Heaven
.

Byron made a low, hungry sound in the back of his throat. “You look good in my bed, Lilya. I may decide to keep you there for the next three weeks.”

She rolled onto her back and looked at him. “I have no problem with that.” The words came out a little breathless. “Come here.”