Slipping the Past (6 page)

“Get my whore in here, Josette, or I swear I’ll have you both horsewhipped.”

“Here, sir.” Madeline poked her head in the door. One hand gripped the jamb and pain etched her face. Dark circles sat under her eyes and she strained to stand under the burden. Her water had broken hours earlier and labor hadn’t started yet. It had taken its toll on her and Josette feared the worst.

He’d kill her. Madeline always took the brunt of the abuse, trying to protect her. She shouldn’t have come this time.

Josette could handle him, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been beaten before. “Madeline,” she whispered. “No.”

“Get over here.”

Madeline staggered toward him. Josette rose to her feet to protest.

Angus turned on her. “Get on your knees. Maybe you’ll learn something useful.”

Josette sank back to the floor. Any rebellion from her at this point would be taken out on Madeline. “Please, Angus. She’s having a baby.”

Madeline clutched her belly and cried out. Angus smiled at Josette and climbed to his feet. He stumbled as he unfastened his falls and tugged them open. “On your knees, love.”

Madeline dropped to the floor. He’d kill her. He’d already killed several of the female slaves, one a girl as young as thirteen years. He’d buried their bodies behind the orchard with the trash. Nobody cared. Nobody but Josette. She wouldn’t abide another death, slave or not. She rose and Angus spun, backhanding her into a wall next to the fireplace. “Wait your turn. I’ll get to you next.”

Angus dropped behind Madeline and yanked her skirt up. “You want this. I’m gonna fuck that baby out.”

No. Josette glanced sideways at the fireplace poker. Her hand slid over, fingers stretching for the wrought iron rod, curling around it as Angus shoved Madeline’s skirt higher.

Josette jumped to her feet and rushed him. “Get off her!”

She swung, hoping the hit would knock him out, not knowing what she’d do when he woke, but praying it would be enough. The poker connected with a dull thud and the back of Angus’s skull cracked open. He slumped to the floor. Blood poured into a puddle around him.

So much blood. It continued to gush, not slowing. “Angus?” He rolled to his back and turned his head, staring at her. His mouth opened and closed. His eyes bulged in the sockets.

A raspy hiss but no words. He reached for her and Josette stepped back, afraid of the man even as he lay dying. His hand dropped into the pool of blood and his chest stopped moving.

“Angus?”

Nothing.

“Dear God. I think I killed him.” The iron slipped from her grasp, dropping to the floor. Josette stared at the scarlet staining the hem of her dress and glanced over at Madeline, who’d collapsed in front of him. She writhed around in heavy contractions, crying.

All thoughts of Angus retreated. She rushed to Madeline’s side and helped her to her feet, half-dragging her, half-carrying her down the hall to Angus’s room, where she could lie on the bed. “I’ll get help.”

“Hide the body first,” Madeline begged, panting. Her face screwed up as another contraction hit.

“I can’t leave you alone.”

“Get Lucas. I’ll be all right.” She grabbed her belly and screamed. Her gaze drifted to Josette. “Go. Women have babies all the time. Please, hide the body. They’ll hang you for this.”

Josette backed from the room, turning to run down the hall for Lucas. She found him in the stables with his horse, brushing its coat. The glow of a lantern illuminated his hair in a golden halo.

“Lucas.” The tears released and poured down her cheeks. Around Lucas she could be herself. He was her protector, her strength. He’d seen her cry more than once and more than once he’d taken her in his arms and held her until the tears stopped. He only worked for her husband because he refused to leave her. He’d told her he’d never leave without her, and to this day he’d been true to his promise. Five years he’d waited.

He turned, amber eyes locked onto her. “Josette. What’s wrong?”

She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve done something awful. I’m damned, Lucas.”

“Easy, Josette. Slow down. What happened? That miserable husband of yours again?” He glanced down at her hand and his gaze snapped back to her face. “I’ll kill him.”

Josette shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” She collapsed in his arms, sobbing against his shirt, clutching the fabric in her hands. “What have I done?”

“Go back to the house. I’ll take care of this.” Lucas glanced around the stable and stopped when his attention came to rest upon an axe. “He’ll disappear.”

Jocelyn slumped to her side as the janitor rushed over. “Are you okay, miss?” He shook her shoulder and lifted his head to yell. “Somebody call the medics!”

Boot steps thudded on the marble flooring as someone approached. She’d been too focused to notice his energy before, but there it was, strong, reassuring. Her strength.

The janitor shuffled back and the man dropped to a knee beside her, stroking the side of her face. Arms slipped under her, lifting her from the floor and cradling her against a hard body. She turned her face into his chest and inhaled his spicy scent. The pain eased and Jocelyn relaxed, letting go of the remnants of the vision.

“I’ve got you.”

“Lucas,” she murmured as she slid into unconsciousness.

Hungry-lion eyes, the color of amber, filled her vision.

“Taste.” He dipped his fingers into the lead cup, coating them with wine and honey, and brushed her bottom lip, painting it, teasing her mouth open. Around them, sounds of the festival filled the streets. Men and women flirted, laughed, and found hidden corners to engage in deeper contact.

All faded but the heat between them and the beat of her heart, tapping against her breast. Jocasta sighed and parted her lips to take his fingers in, savoring the sweetness that spread across her tongue. His fingers slipped free, and he lowered his mouth, stopping a breath from hers. She leaned closer.

“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and stepped back.

Her eyes snapped open. “Where?”

He pulled her into the crowded street. “Do you trust me?”

“I barely know you. I think you’re trying to get me alone and naked.”

“Perhaps.”

“Are you?” Her stomach fluttered. His lips said maybe, his eyes said….

He drew her against his body. The corner of his mouth twitched, curling ever so slightly. Heat pulsed through her. “Would you say no if my intentions were so?”

“Perhaps.”
No
. Her thighs quivered at the thought. He was possession and seduction. “No” would be impossible, and from the look on his face, he knew it.

He lifted a brow.

“Perhaps not.” She reached up and skimmed her fingers along his cheek.

Augustus tugged her down the street, walking backward. “I think—perhaps not.” He handed his cup to a passerby, who shrugged and tipped it back. Jocasta glanced over her shoulder, scanning the crowd for her father and brothers. A well-bred woman wouldn’t sneak off with a man below her social station.

He ducked into a side street, guided her to where the shadows hid them, and pushed her against a building. With a growl, he captured her mouth. His hands were all over her, skimming from her shoulders to her hips. One slipped under her
tunica
and swept along the skin of her thigh.

The smell of spice and incense hung in the air, compelling lecherous acts, seducing hearts, and fracturing willpower. Jocasta leaned back, letting him roam. His lips moved from the column of her neck to her shoulder. Jolts zinged wherever he touched. She closed her eyes and absorbed the moment, intoxicated with his need.

Augustus pushed the fabric off her shoulder, exposing the top of her breast as a group of citizens stumbled along at the end of the alley, laughing. He shifted his position, blocking her from their view. She twisted and searched the street over his shoulder.

“My father—”

“Knows not where you are.” He gently cupped her chin and turned her back to face him.

“My brothers….” She licked her lips and stared into his eyes: predatory, hungry.

He leaned in and whispered, “…will never know.” Teeth nipped her earlobe. “Our secret.” His hand moved higher and slid between her thighs, slipping on either side of her sensitive nub. Jocasta turned in toward his mouth.

“If they discover….”

He kissed her silent and then pulled back to stare. His breath washed over her, spicy, dangerous. “They won’t.” He lowered his mouth again, drawing his tongue along the dip in her bottom lip, until he coaxed her submission. His fingers caressed her, rubbing, stroking, bringing her closer and closer to forgetting who she was.

A mistake. She’d never see him again. But this once…this once she wanted to feel love, possession of her body and soul. Just once, she needed to feel. “Here. Now,” she whispered.

“Yes. Here. Now. I can’t wait another moment. You make me hurt.”

She knew that feeling. Jocasta whimpered. Inside her belly, a ball of heat formed, swelling with each brush of his fingers. Around and around, he drew a slow circle. Desire tormented her. She couldn’t keep him. They would only have this once.

Here.

Now.

Her body vibrated from the point of contact to the tips of her fingers and toes, increasing the ache in her pelvis. The need coiled tighter.

“You want me.”

She sucked in a breath. “We shouldn’t.” No, her father would have him killed.

He applied pressure. Jocasta bucked against him, wanting more, needing more.

“I’m not a common soldier. I’m a Centurion. I can take care of you.”

“And I’m a senator’s daughter. My father will not agree to this relationship. I’m to be traded to the highest bidder, one of those who would make him a profitable association.”

“Do you feel it?” His fingers slipped inside her, twisting and stretching. He refused to listen. Jocasta moaned and rocked against him. “The heat between us burns me,” he growled.

In and out his digits moved. The heat increased until she thought for
certes
she would go up in flames.

“Augustus.” She moved against his fingers, needing to get closer. Most would call her insane for engaging with a stranger, but she could do nothing else. Her father be damned, she wanted him. Jocasta lifted her leg, bringing it up to his hip, where he captured it, holding it in place.

“Release yourself to me.” His fingers worked faster, rubbing, stroking, striking a spot deep inside that wound her to breaking and left her breathless.

“Augustus!” She grasped his shoulders and pushed her hips into him, moving with him, riding his fingers. Her muscles clenched around him, sending pleasure surging through her. He spread his fingers and stroked deeper. She cried out and arched into them. He leaned in, capturing her mouth, silencing the whimpering that would draw attention.

“I need inside you.” He yanked his tunic up and rubbed the head of his cock at the place where his fingers had worked her into a slick frenzy. She lifted her hips, rising onto her toes, pushing into him. He grabbed her buttocks and thrust in, sinking to his balls, working in and out, harder and faster, over and over, and the world around them disappeared. Gone was the merriment and laughter in the streets, all faded, leaving two bodies twined in a rhythmic dance.

“I feel it. I’m on fire.”

“Burn for me.”

“So hot.” Her body ignited. Jocelyn moaned. “Yes,” she mumbled. Something tugged at her, pulling her from the luscious dream, out of the heat and into an icy room.

A sharp pain ricocheted inside her skull and a noxious smell permeated the air. She knew that odor. A smell, not the spice and lust of her dream lover but of something sinister that twisted her insides. A combination of a cinnamon-scented sanitizer and the sour stench of illness and plastic sheets. Voices followed the squeaks of rubber-soled shoes up and down the hall. She pressed a hand to her forehead and tried to blot the pain. Jocelyn rubbed, expecting her fingers to sink in.

A tug and a kick worked her blanket loose, but not enough. She grabbed the offending cover and yanked. A tube attached to the top of her hand pulled, provoking a sharp sting. Jocelyn reached over and touched where cold liquid ran through a needle into her vein.

From the corner a chair creaked. “It’s about time you woke. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Nate.”

“Yes, Nate. Who’d you think it was? I’ve searched every hospital and morgue in this city.” He sighed and moved closer. “Why were you in the museum? You know you can’t handle places like that.”

She couldn’t handle places like this. She shoved the covers to the floor. “It called to me.”

“You’re lucky, Joce. Aside from some swelling in your brain from a concussion, you’re okay. A little too okay.” He sat on the bed beside her, leaning in to whisper in her ear and drop the blanket back over her legs. “It normally takes you days to come out of a bad trip like that, but it’s only been a couple of hours. What gives?” He ran a hand over her forehead and brushed the bangs off her face. “You don’t feel hot, either. Are you running a fever?”

Jocelyn pushed his hand away. “No. Please get me out of here.”

“That’s not going to happen. You need to rest.”

“I don’t feel safe.”

“You’re okay for now. I don’t think they’ve run you through the national med-link. They’ve downloaded from your implant that you’re coded as a past reader and prone to swelling in your brain. They’ve run you through a bio-scanner at least half a dozen times. I’ve seen at least twenty different doctors in here trying to determine where the mistake occurred.”

“What mistake?”

“There’s no scarring on your brain from the previous times you’ve suffered trauma.” He pulled a chair next to the bed and plopped down. “They might run your profile on the national link and that worries me. The reapers monitor it. I’m keeping an eye on them so they don’t.”