Tainted (11 page)

Gawain waited just inside the tavern and watched Antonia as
she approached. Even in this back street, where no patrician lady should set
foot, she had an aura of confidence in her step and a smile tugged his mouth.

When he’d seen her across the square, as she left the Roman
baths, something had tightened in his chest. He wasn’t sure why. He had been
certain that she would turn up so it couldn’t have been relief.

He leaned against the open doorjamb and saw her face light
up as she caught sight of him. In that moment, she looked so young, so
carefree, as though she was not risking her good name by meeting him here this
day.

“Is this your idea of a disguise?” He tweaked the hood of
her slave’s cloak, which covered her pale gold hair. She laughed up at him and
swayed toward him as if she intended to wrap her arms around him. But she
didn’t.

“Who will see me? Only you.”

“Make sure it stays that way.” The growled words were out
before he could prevent them. Gods. He didn’t usually care if his conquests
fucked around with other men. But the thought of Antonia doing so did not sit
well with him.

She raised her eyebrows. “I do believe we are talking at
cross-purposes.” She appeared to find that amusing if the quirk to her lips was
anything to go by. “You have no cause to be jealous, Gawain.”

That was taking it too far. He wrapped his arm around her
waist and propelled her into the dark tavern.

“I am not the jealous type,” he said against her ear as he
led her to the room he had hired. But the image of Antonia sharing her charms
with another goaded his mind. “But while you’re with me, don’t even think about
taking another lover.”

Fuck, what had possessed him to tell her that? He thrust
open the door and allowed her to enter before him, aware that her slave
remained in the passageway. She would be safe enough. He had given
instructions, and paid the tavern keeper enough coin, to ensure they would be
undisturbed.

He kicked the door shut and watched Antonia as she slowly
turned, examining the room. It was little more than a hovel. The thought irked
him, even though it had been her idea to meet here instead of the luxurious
surroundings of Carys’ villa.

“This is quite charming.” Her voice was breathless and from
the subdued glow that came through the dingy windows her eyes sparkled with
mirth. He took one step toward her, ripped open her cloak and flung it onto the
unsavory-looking bed.

“Do you often conduct assignations in such disreputable
surrounds?” Perhaps she made a habit of it. The possibility stoked his ire. But
why did it? Why did it bother him? Why did he give a shit where or how Antonia
had taken her lovers in the past?

“Juno, of course not.” She sounded scandalized. “This is the
first time I have ever set foot inside a tavern. I confess it is quite
exciting.”

He laughed, even though he had not meant to. But she said
the most extraordinary things, and in such a way that he was hard-pressed not
to believe she meant every word. Maybe she did. Why would she lie?

“You are easily excited, my lady.” His comment, and the
unintended double entendre, sent another rumble of laughter through his chest.

“Oh yes.” She gave him a sinful glance from beneath her
lashes. “I am very easily pleased, Gawain. I have never craved a great deal
from life.”

He pulled a jeweled pin from her hair and twisted it between
his fingers so the gems glittered. “I believe you.” But what a gently bred
Roman might consider the bare necessities would be unobtainable luxury for a
noble born Druid. “So what is it you do crave from life, Antonia?”

Her smile faltered and for a fleeting moment, he once again
saw that haunting vulnerability cloud her eyes.
What was she hiding?
The
demand thundered through his mind but before he could order his thoughts,
before he could formulate the question, she gave a breathless laugh and shook
her head, shattering the moment. Her ringlet bounced against her throat,
captivating his attention, and she trailed her fingers along his jaw.

“No more than any other woman.”

“Other Roman women.” He covered her hand, pressed his lips
against her open palm. Her gaze locked with his and he watched, bewitched, as
desire darkened her ice-blue eyes.

“Are we so different from Celtic women?” Her question was
barely above a whisper and he caught an odd vulnerability in her voice.

“Yes.” His hungry gaze roved over her aristocratic face, her
intricately styled hair, the foreign gown she wore. But even if he dressed her
as a Celtic noble, it wasn’t the way she looked that divided them. “We live in
two different worlds, Antonia. You would not last a Roman month in mine.”

A small smile curved her lips. “I did not imagine you were
so close-minded, Gawain. How easily
you
could fit into the world of
Roman politics.”

Her words were unexpected. Once again, she appeared less
than dazzled with her cursed empire and her attitude intrigued him. He slid his
fingers through hers and tugged her forward. “Did you just insult me, my lady?”

“Do you have ambitions to infiltrate the Senate?”

She was laughing at him, but that wasn’t all. She was
laughing at her own culture and he found it enchanting. “Do you think I would
succeed if I attempted such a feat?”

She tilted her head in a deliberately provocative manner. “I
should like to witness such a thing. But I fear patricians are very fond of
nepotism when it comes to matters of state.”

“How fortunate I harbor no such ambitions, then.” He slid
the neckline of her gown off her shoulder and the savage mark of possession
he’d given her the previous day riveted his attention.

“Is your way so different?” Her voice was breathless as she
leaned toward him. “Before the conquest would your chieftains welcome outsiders
into their inner sanctum?”

His gut clenched at the word
conquest
but then an ice
cold realization speared through him.

Before the Romans had invaded, it was the Druids who had
held the power. Kings and chieftains had sought their wisdom and knowledge and
deferred to them in all matters concerning the gods and portents.

It was the reason her emperor so feared and hated Druids.
The reason he wanted to eliminate every last one in his cursed empire.

Druids did not, had never, open their sacred ranks to
outsiders. The blood of the gods flowed through their veins and their magic
passed down from one generation to the next. Occasionally an acolyte was
accepted from the nobility or, rarely, the peasant class if they showed
exceptional potential, but since the dawn of creation, Druids had enjoyed an
elevated, privileged status.

That did not mean they were in any way similar to Roman
patricians. The thought was abhorrent.

He frowned down at Antonia. She had only gently mocked his
ways the same as she had mocked her own. And she had no idea that he was a
Druid, and therefore her bitterest enemy. But the unintentional parallel her
words had drawn between their two cultures rankled nevertheless.

“No, they wouldn’t.” It might irk to admit it, but in some
things, all peoples were united. “The ties of blood and links to ancestors are
paramount.”

“When our blood ties do not suffice,” Antonia trailed her
finger over the front of his shirt, a featherlight distraction that managed to
shred his concentration. “We find adoption an appropriate solution.”

He had the urge to laugh again, and all things considered,
he wasn’t sure why. How did Antonia manage to twist a conversation that had
struck at the heart of his existence into something that tickled his sense of
humor?

“Romans,” he said, “are a swamp of contradictions.”

She rose onto her toes and brushed her lips over his. So
soft. So irresistibly seductive. “Yes. I have always thought so.”

He slid the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips
and wound his free arm about her waist, tugging her against his body so he
could feel every delicious curve. “You also are contradictory.”

“Good.” She breathed the word into his mouth, and the
familiar hint of fresh mint teased his senses. “How I would hate you to find me
predictable.”

This time he did laugh, and he tightened his grip on her
hand and waist. Her erratic breath feathered his jaw and her breasts pressed
against his chest in a delightful torture.

Predictable was the last thing he found her.

“Why are you still standing?” He untangled his fingers from
hers and palmed the firm globes of her arse. “I want you on your knees.”

The vision of her on her knees before him, sucking him into
her wet mouth, caused his balls to tighten with need. He would plunge his
fingers through her artfully arranged curls, come inside her delectable mouth,
and watch her swallow his hot seed. A strangled groan razed his throat at the
potent image.

Antonia flattened her hands against his broad chest and the
strong beat of his heart thudded against her palm. She loved the way he held
her so forcefully, and the thought of him taking her from behind, while she
knelt on the dirty floor, was intoxicating.

“First,” she whispered, “I want you naked, Gawain. I want to
explore every hard ridge of your body with my mouth.”
Except his rod.
She thrust that notion aside with a shudder of distaste.

“On one condition.” But already he tore his shirt over his
head as if he could not wait for her to begin. Mesmerized she drank in his
magnificent corded muscles and bronzed flesh and involuntarily the tip of her
tongue moistened her lips.

“What condition?” Her voice was husky and her eyes locked
between his thighs as he now slowly, maddeningly, tugged his
braccae
over his hips.

“That you also are naked.” He kicked his clothes aside and a
breathless sigh escaped as she admired his proud weapon. She might not have any
intention of using her mouth on that part of his body, but she could not wait
to touch and stroke and feel its alluring texture.

“That does not seem unreasonable.” With clumsy fingers, she
unclasped the
fibula
at her shoulder, unable to tear her fascinated gaze
from between Gawain’s thighs. Already her core was damp and tender and she
fought the urge to squirm as she tugged free of her
stola
and pulled
feverishly at her under-tunic. She stepped from the pool of linen at her feet
and cupped his strong jaw. “Now I have you at my mercy.”

He cradled her hips, his hands hard and possessive and a
delicious tremor claimed her sensitive folds.

“Not yet.” He sounded on the verge of laughter again. She
loved how easily she could amuse him. How different he was in reality from the
first impression she’d gained when he had appeared beside her father’s
carpentum
.

She rose onto her toes, and her erect nipples brushed
against his chest. His fingers bit into her and he jerked her forward, his shaft
burning her stomach.

“You are not supposed to be touching me.” Not that she
wanted him to let go. But she also dearly wanted to explore his body and how
could she do that if he drove her mindless with desire with barely a touch?

“That wasn’t part of the bargain.” His hands curved over her
bottom, igniting a thousand dancing flames deep within her cleft. “You have a
delectable arse, my lady. Did you know that?”

She laughed, shocked and thrilled in equal scandalous
measure by his unexpected observation. “I have never been told such a thing
before.” And then she couldn’t help herself. “Have I really?”

His grin was the wickedest thing she had ever seen. “One day
soon,” he said, and his gaze was so intense she could not have looked away if
the world was ending, “your tempting arse will be mine, Antonia.”

Her mouth dried. Her former friends had whispered of such
delights but it was something Scipio had never demanded from her. The thought
of having Gawain take her
there
caused liquid heat to bloom low between her
thighs and pump with erratic disarray through her blood.

She knew her face was flushed, knew her desire showed
plainly in her eyes. But she did not care. She stared up at him and the
reflected lust that darkened his features aroused her as much as his erotic
promise.

“You haven’t answered, my lady.” His finger caressed the
outer edges of her crevice, an exquisite torture. “Does this thought excite
you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was low, hoarse, did not sound like her at
all. “Not today?” It was a question and her breath stalled in her throat in
dark anticipation.

His fingers trailed up the length of her spine, while his
other hand continued to hold her
arse
with predatory intention. Wet heat
licked along her sheath and she shifted against him, her nipples aching with
need.

“No.” His voice throbbed with passion and her hands fell
from his jaw to cling onto his shoulders. He lowered his head and his hot
breath tantalized her ear. “I will give you time to think on it, to imagine how
it will feel when my cock claims your virginity.”

Her nails dug into his rigid flesh and her legs threatened
to collapse. If not for how he held her so securely, she knew she would fall at
his feet.

Writhe at his feet.
The image inflamed her overheated
imagination.

“I trust you will not keep me waiting too long.” The words
were erratic, hard to articulate around the wild beat of her heart.

She felt his teeth graze her ear and could imagine his
sinful smile. “I’ll keep you waiting until you are ready for me. Until you beg
me for it.”

His words smoldered through her veins and she struggled
against the urge to beg him for it now. If he could show restraint, then so
could she. But it was hard to think of anything else but his breathtaking
promise of hedonistic pleasure.

“Perhaps,” she whispered, “you will be the one begging
me
for it.”

His rumble of laughter vibrated through her, sending sparks
of arousal across her sensitized skin. “There’s a first time for everything.”

She could not imagine Gawain begging for anything. But the
seductive image of him begging for her favors entranced her, nevertheless.

Her fingers slid across his shoulders and along his powerful
biceps, sculpting the muscled flesh. He relinquished his grip on her exposed
bottom and stood before her, and when she glanced up at him, he had a
half-smile on his lips, as though her tentative attempt at seduction amused
him.

A wisp of unease wove through her mind. She might enjoy
making him laugh, but there was a time and a place. And now, as she practiced
her unsophisticated skills, was neither. He should not be smiling at her. He
should be battling the need to pin her to the bed.

“Is something wrong?” She heard the edge to her voice, but
could not help it. The thought of Gawain mocking her, the way Scipio had mocked
her, caused her stomach to clench with distress.

“What could possibly be wrong?” His grin evolved, reminding
her, obscurely, of a wolf eyeing its prey. “I’m about to be seduced by a
beautiful woman. Every red-blooded man’s fantasy.”

His words stoked the embers glowing between her thighs and
soothed the unease plaguing her mind. He wasn’t laughing at her. He simply
found sex an amusing pastime, and hadn’t she discovered it could also be fun,
the last time she had been with him?

She had to answer him. Just because his idle comment had
smothered her flare of panic, she knew full well that he had meant nothing deep
or personal by it. “Your practiced flattery will get you far.”

For a moment, the muscles of his face tightened, as if she
had insulted his honor. But it was gone in a flash and once again his eyes
crinkled in apparent humor. “Then my mission is accomplished.”

It was a perfectly reasonable response and she knew she
should laugh. But something felt wrong, although she could not put her finger
on it. Why did it matter that he was merely flattering her with his words? She
had always known that, right from the moment he had set out to seduce her in
Carys’ atrium.

Hadn’t she just virtually forced him to admit his ulterior
motives? So why did the illogical wish weave through her breast that he had
never said such pretty words to another woman—that he had not said them to her
simply because he felt he should?

This was insane. She had only limited time before she needed
to leave him. Why was she wasting it by analyzing their conversation? Their
conversation was not the reason she risked coming to see him.

Even if a part of her craved their conversation as
passionately as she craved his body.

She pushed the errant thought aside. It had no place here,
had no place in her life. Instead she closed her eyes, pressed her lips against
his chest and inhaled his intoxicating scent of primal danger and dark,
unknowable forests.

Once again, she curved her hands around his biceps and his
hard muscles and unforgiving strength sent delicious tremors cascading through
her blood. She teased the tip of her tongue along the rough length of an old
wound and felt him shudder beneath her touch.

Her fierce Cambrian warrior. The thought pounded through her
mind, as potent as any exotic aphrodisiac.

Slowly her palms slid down his powerful arms, over his
wrists, and flattened against his hands. How small her fingers were, compared
to his. How easily he could bend her to his will, force her to do anything he
desired. Except there was nothing she could imagine he would demand that she
would not eagerly give.

Erotic shivers feathered over her body and she circled her
tongue around his erect nipple. His rock-hard shaft scorched her belly and his
hands fisted, but he did not grab her hips or spear his fingers through her
hair. A thrill spun through her as she realized he was deliberately not
touching her. Because she had told him he shouldn’t.

A growl rumbled through his chest and she abandoned his
hands so she could explore the hard ridges of his body. Mouth still fastened
over his irresistible flesh she pulled back so she was no longer crushed
against him. The tips of her fingers caressed his abdomen, felt his taut
muscles contract farther and it took all her willpower not to fall against him
once again. How could she explore every delicious inch of him if his
magnificent rod burning her flesh constantly distracted her?

“Bite me.” His feral command thudded through her head and
she relinquished his nipple and looked up at him. He was staring at her, eyes
glazed with lust, and he was no longer smiling. He looked in pain.

As she continued to gaze at him, mesmerized by the sight of
her warrior lover poised on the edge of civility, he bared his teeth.

“Stop laughing and use your teeth on me, woman. Or I shall
be forced to once again
touch
you
.”

She realized she was smiling. She also realized she couldn’t
stop. It might be an ephemeral illusion, but the feminine power that surged
through her at both the look on his face and the agony in his words was
exhilarating.

With slow deliberation, she returned her attention to his
magnificent chest. She’d had no idea a man’s nipples could become aroused in
such a way, or that they might be as sensitive to touch as a woman’s.
Experimentally she lightly captured him between her teeth and his strangled
groan thundered through her mind.

Encouraged, she sucked him between her lips and her nails
dug into him as his heady essence of raw masculinity flooded her senses. His uneven
breath dusted the top of her head and the erratic rise and fall of his chest
enhanced the sensation of him inside her mouth.

She nibbled kisses across his chest, his light dusting of
hair tickling her nose and lips and jaw. She flicked her tongue across his
other nipple and then, daringly, sucked hard on his flesh.

Through the pounding of blood at her temples, she heard his
seductive growl. The vibration sank into her veins and teased her pussy. Her
hands gripped his hips as she slid sensuously down his body, no longer able to
keep any distance between them, her sensitive nipples scoring a fiery trail
along his rigid flesh.

Her nails scored across his taut buttocks—
his arse
—and
with a breathless gasp she sank onto her knees. His mesmerizing erection filled
her vision and her fingers tightened involuntarily as she gripped his behind.

“Antonia.” The word was tortured. She knew he wanted her
attention but she could not drag her fascinated gaze away.

“Yes?” It was a throaty whisper, and clinging onto his arse
with one hand her other glided over his hip.

“You are an enchantress.” He made it sound like an
accusation but still she couldn’t look up at him.

“Yes,” she breathed, because if he wanted her to be an
enchantress, then she had no objection. Her finger trembled as she finally
touched his rigid shaft, and the heat radiating from him scalded her enslaved
senses.

“I have imagined you on your knees at my feet.” His words
were ragged. She held her breath and trailed her finger to his root. Merciful
Juno. She gazed at his testicles in mute, reverential awe. Gawain’s finger
strayed across her face, as though he could not help himself. “The reality
surpasses any of my fantasies.”

She wanted to tell him that her fantasies also were
surpassed, but it was impossible to speak. All she could do was admire the
vision of masculine perfection displayed before her.

Her jagged breath sounded loud in her ears as she
tentatively cradled his heavy balls. His fingers jerked against her face and
then he twisted stray curls around his knuckles, sending darts of pleasure
across her scalp.

“How long do you intend to torture me, enchantress?”

She licked her lips and breathed in his evocative, masculine
essence. A heady, addictive scent of reined-in desire and impending sex.
Ripples of need teased her damp cleft and without conscious thought, her
fingers tightened around his taut sac. If he expected a coherent answer, he was
going to be disappointed.

Finally she released her death grip on his arse and dragged
her fingernails across his hips, thrilled by the way her touch caused him to
shudder with repressed desire. With infinite care, she curled her fingers
around him, her breath hitching, heart hammering at her daring. He was so hard
and hot and thick. She could feel his blood thundering beneath her palm, the
sensation so arousing and astonishing she forgot how to breathe.

“Gods, Antonia.” His hoarse voice penetrated her swirling
senses but not enough for her to respond. “Take me now.”

She dragged her gaze from his magnificent rod and looked up
at him, her breath ragged. He gritted his teeth in a semblance of a smile and
without warning plunged his hands through her hair, gripping her head in a
merciless vise as he jerked her forward.

Her open mouth smashed against the length of his erection
and she attempted to rear back but Gawain’s hold on her was absolute. Panic
flared and she loosened her grip on him, flattening her palms against his
thighs as he inexorably shifted their positions to his masculine advantage.

She felt the familiar scream of denial lodge in her throat
and a fetid wave of revulsion washed through her. Blindly she raked her nails
along his thighs, her body rigid, her mind reeling.

No. No…

“No.” Her voice cracked and she sucked in a strangled gasp
of air. She was no longer plastered against Gawain’s length, and although his
hands held her head, he had forced her to look up at him.

She could not look at him. She squeezed her eyes shut and
wrapped her hands around his wrists in a vain attempt to loosen his grip.

“Antonia.” His harsh voice whipped across her mind. She
redoubled her efforts to escape before he forced her to—before he tarnished
every memory they had made together.

“Release me.” Her jagged command sounded pathetic to her
ears and inwardly she shriveled. “I refuse to do it. You cannot make me.”
Except she knew only too well that he could make her. He might not have the
right to force her to his will by virtue of a marriage contract. But he had the
strength and he could overpower her in the blink of an eye.

Her stomach churned.
Merciful Juno, please do not let me
disgrace myself in front of him.

“Look at me.” His demand was absolute and against her will
her eyes opened. He was kneeling in front of her, a savage gleam in his eyes,
and to her infinite shame, she began to shake uncontrollably. His mouth
tightened in obvious distaste and his grip on her relaxed, but not enough for
her to escape. “Fuck the gods, Antonia. What’s wrong?”

She tried to regulate her erratic gasps, but failed. Gawain
was not Scipio. Gawain had never raped her, and he was not forcing his shaft
down her throat. He was asking her why she was behaving like a—

A useless, frigid encumbrance.

No.
Her former husband had called her that whenever
she had displeased him. But with Gawain, she was not frigid. With Gawain sex
was everything she had always dreamed it could—should—be, and with this
Cambrian warrior, she had nothing to prove by way of producing a live, healthy
son.

Her galloping heart slowed, her breath became less
torturous. And still Gawain held her head and looked at her with that wild,
intense expression on his face.

He had no idea why she was so panicked. The last thing she
wanted to talk about was
why
, but she owed him an explanation.

“I am sorry.” Sorry for making a fool of herself. Sorry that
Gawain had seen this side of her. When their affair ended, would this be all he
recalled of their time together? “I cannot—I won’t take you into my mouth.”

Gawain stared into Antonia’s panic-glazed eyes and forcibly
relaxed his fingers. Sick disgust pounded through his gut at the knowledge he
had frightened her with his demand. But gods, she had been on her knees before
him. Her uneven breath had caressed his cock and he’d been certain that, within
moments, she had intended to wrap her delectable mouth around him.

His fingers trailed along her face. She did not pull back
with distaste, so he cradled her jaw.

“I would never make you do something against your will.” His
pride was injured that she had even imagined such a thing and yet it dug deeper
than mere pride. It speared to the elemental essence of who he was, and what
Antonia thought he was. She had said he was no barbarian. But her reaction now
proved otherwise. The question formed before he could prevent it. “Why would
you think such a thing, Antonia?”

Her grip around his wrists relaxed, but she didn’t release
him. Instead her thumbs gently caressed the back of his hands but he wasn’t
certain whether she was even aware of her actions.

“I am sorry.” Her whisper tore into him. Why did she feel
the need to keep apologizing? He was the one who was sorry. And he was the one
who could not spit the words out. “In my heart I know you would never force me,
Gawain. It wasn’t you. It was just the memory of-of other times when I had no
choice.”