The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (20 page)

“I was the only male in a household of females. I learned more from my sisters than any member of my gender should and keep a sane mind.” He added with a chuckle, “Playing Cleopatra leaves a mark on a man.”

Julia smiled at the thought of Damon being overwhelmed by his siblings, a rare occurrence she was sure, though his protest was unconvincing. “I’m sure your sisters outgrew their need to torment their brother.”

“I’m sure they did. But I wasn’t there to see it. We were sold to three different masters.”

Her heart clutched at the raw pain etched on his handsome face. It had not been her intention to raise unpleasant memories. Damon might well be adept at maintaining a cool, detached demeanor the majority of the time, but on the few occasions he had spoken of his family he was as transparent as water.

Meeting her gaze, Damon cleared his throat and began to brush with renewed vigor. Knowing that he would dismiss her concern and wishing to save her head from further abuse, Julia caught his wrist and slipped the brush from it. “The hour is late and I am tired.”

Tired really did not describe the fatigue she was feeling. The constant tension of being around Damon—never knowing what he was going to say, what he was going to do and being surprised by both—had kept her strung as tight as the strings of a harp. It did not help matters that she was drawn to him, fascinated beyond purpose by his hard, muscled body, clever mind and knowing glint in those incredible silver eyes.

Gods, it was hot in the chamber.

Swallowing hard, Julia rose from the chair, turned toward the bed and frowned at the empty space on the floor. Where was the pallet? Kaj was supposed to have brought Damon’s pallet to the room. Trying to ignore the swell of panic churning in her stomach, Julia circled the dais only to find the other side just as vacant.

“Are you searching for something?”

The deep, smooth voice close to her ear caused Julia to jump and spin around so fast that her foot caught in the edge of the bed covering. Damon steadied her, which was not difficult to do since he had managed to position himself directly behind her. The man had to be part feline to move so soundlessly. Studying the expression on his face—as if he had just swallowed a songbird—convinced her of it. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was looking for your pallet.”

“My pallet? Do you mean the thin, lumpy one from my previous accommodations?”

Julia pursed her lips and nodded, recognizing feigned confusion for what it was—a tactic to evade and distract.

Damon shrugged one shoulder. “I threw it out the window.”

“You did what?” she sputtered.

“I threw it out the window,” he repeated, shifting his stance so that her legs were firmly wedged between his muscled thighs, her lower back pinned against the bed and her heart lodged in her throat. With a crooked finger he lifted her chin and forced her to look at him. “I’m not sleeping on the floor, goddess.”

Julia forced herself to remain still, which was quite a feat considering the pressure of his legs against her own was like a hot iron branding her skin. Damon was not going to get a reaction from her, some impulsive response that proved he could sway her to do his bidding. She was a Roman lady and would not be intimidated. Schooling her expression into her best regal look, she held his unwavering gaze.

Damon did not react as she had hoped. Instead, he tilted his head, his gaze searching. With his thumb, he gently traced the tender skin beneath her jaw, sending tiny shivers of delight cascading along her spine. How, Julia thought irritably, was she going to maintain her cool detachment when she was so close to all this rough, raw masculinity?

Julia splayed her hands against his chest, eager for distance from the sheer physical intensity. The skin beneath her hand was warm, firm over muscles that rippled when he shifted to encircle her in his arms. “Where else would you sleep?” Instantly, she wished she’d cut her tongue out.

“Why Julia,” he answered with a faint smile, “Where else would a husband sleep?”

“Ohhhhhh,” Julia pushed against the immobile wall of his chest, relieved when he allowed her to slip past him.

“You have lost your mind,” she said, pacing between the bed and vanity. The gall of the man. The utter gall.

“I’ve explained it to you, Julia,” he said, his patient tone grating. “We must keep up the appearance of a devoted couple. It would not do for word to leak out that Julia Manulus makes her husband sleep on the floor like a slave.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Who would know? Who?”

He crossed his arms. “A servant coming in to awaken us. Perhaps someone watching from the balcony.”

He could not be serious. “The balcony? Someone would climb up the side of this dwelling to peer in our bedchamber?” She realized she had slipped and referred to the room as belonging to both of them. Was it any wonder with his infuriating ways?

“Spying from an exterior opening is an oft-used method,” he answered in a bored voice. “How else would I know that Magistrate Aulus forces his mistress to wear a sheep skin and make bleating noises while they...”

Julia halted his explanation with a raised hand. He had to be making this up. Stealing a peek at the gleam in his eyes told her he wasn’t. Dear Jupiter, the images that were branded in her mind now would take weeks to disappear.

“All right. Fine.” She snarled, striding around the dais and snatching up a round pillow from first one divan then the other, throwing them on the bed. Her teeth ground together. She could feel him watching and knew, just knew he was finding her amusing and thought that he had won the upper hand.

With five more cushions added to the pile, Julia climbed up on her knees into the bed and lined them down the middle of the pallet. Glaring triumphantly at him over the barrier, she pointed to the other side. “You are welcome to sleep in the master’s bed, but if you even so much as release a breath on this side of the barrier I will throw you in the Tiber myself! Now, I am going to sleep.”

Julia blew out the oil lamp beside the bed, slipped beneath the covers, turned on her right side and held her breath. Damon had been silent during her little tirade. She wasn’t sure how he would react. They were alone here in the bedchamber and though Kaj was no doubt very close by, there was no telling what her husband could do to her before aid arrived.

A shadow flitted at the foot of the bed. Julia glanced down and saw the corner of the silk robe lying across the covers. Dear Gods, he had been all but naked beneath the garment. Behind her the mattress dipped.

“Sleep well, wife.”

Julia squeezed her eyes shut. She doubted she’d ever sleep well again.

T
he scent of roses stirred him from his dreams.

Damon woke from a fitful sleep to find the wall of pillows scattered on the floor and Julia spooned against him, one of his legs trapping hers and his face nestled in a soft blanket of honeyed tresses. He inhaled the luscious scent that was hers alone.

Careful not to disturb her, Damon propped his head on one hand and studied his goddess. She lay curled on her right side, tucked into the curve of his body. It was a perfect fit, as if her lithe, slender form had been fashioned to complement his own. Gods, it felt wonderful.

Damon smiled at the small bolster pillow fisted in one of her delicate hands. A formidable weapon indeed, especially if she awoke now and discovered him so close, though the image of Julia straddling him, skin flush with temper, breasts bouncing as she pummeled him with the cushion sent a bolt of heat through his loins.

He knew he should move away but the temptation to explore was too great even for a disciplined man. A few more moments spent appreciating her beauty would not constitute a breach of honor—at least not a large one.

With two fingers, he lifted a tangle of curls away from her cheek, revealing the fine line of her neck. The skin looked so soft, so smooth and flowed like silk along the graceful curve of her shoulder down the arm draped loosely across her waist. Damon flexed his free hand. It was hard and calloused, the blunt tips of his fingers rough and unsuited for touching silk.

Fortunately, years of rummaging through locked coffers, correspondence and other possessions of Tertius’ enemies had given him a light touch.

Using his forefinger, Damon lightly skimmed the trail of lush skin. Julia shivered as if she were cold while his blood sparked with heat.
Let it be
a small voice in the back of his mind urged,
you’ve had a taste, more than someone like you
deserves. Be satisfied. The consequences are too great
. He pressed his lips together. In the Roman world he, a slave, would be killed for daring to touch a patrician lady. He trusted that instinct, had escaped several nasty situations in the past by paying attention to it.

Julia sighed and nestled closer against him, causing the desire heating his blood to flare. This situation could hardly be called dangerous as long as he was in control. One more moment could bring no harm.

The sleeve of her tunic was gathered at her shoulder with a silken tie. Damon eased the end of the cord away and bit by bit pulled the knot free. The material fell away exposing one perfect breast.

Damon sucked in a breath. Perfect. A globe fit just for his hand, the tip pebbled and pink and begging to be suckled. His blood flamed and his shaft went hard. Mocking laughter echoed in his head.

He’d never considered himself a glutton but he wanted more. More, he suddenly realized than mere physical release, more than a base seduction. He wanted to feel Julia beneath him, willing and eager for his caress, wanted to see her eyes go dark with desire—for him.

He might as well wish for a seat on Olympus.

It would never happen. No matter that Julia had accepted him to an extent, allowed him limited freedoms, even relaxed enough to converse with him—he was still her prisoner, held to her by oath, if not by chains. Damon pressed his lips together tightly. Held to her by law if she were to press the matter. She
had
paid coin for him. A few words to the proper authorities and she could have him declared a slave once more.

Damon pulled his gaze from the gentle rise and fall of her chest to the dim corner of the room, an apt reflection of his life. Always on the periphery of happiness, able to watch from the shadows but never allowed to enjoy. The bitter truth of the comparison constricted his chest.

Julia made a small, mewling noise, her brow creased in confusion as she tossed her head back and forth. He stroked her hair, murmured soothing words in a barely audible voice that he hoped would banish whatever nightmare disturbed her rest. After a few moments, she settled, though her squirming against his groin had done nothing to ease his arousal.

This woman intrigued him—that was the simple truth of it. Not so much her obvious strength and determination—he’d known plenty of women with those traits as a slave and as a spy mingling with the working class plebeians who needed every strength just to survive the streets of Rome. It was the passion, the fiery spirit simmering just below the surface, ready to meet any challenge that fascinated him. He respected that kind of courage.

Damon blew out a slow breath. Yes, he respected her and wanted her respect in return—which he would never gain rutting around her like a wild beast. Resigned and cursing the entire concept of honor, he reached over, snagged the edge of the sleeve material, raised it to her shoulder and froze, caught in the gaze of two turquoise eyes.

*****

Julia resisted the urge to sink back into the grogginess of deep sleep. It was dangerous to go back there, to the dreams that were filled with visions of Damon. She closed her eyes. The Greek god
Eros
must have visited her, plied his mischief by filling her with images of Damon holding her, stroking her, kissing her like a man possessed. A smile tugged at her lips. It had felt wonderful to be touched, to be wanted in such a manner even if it were nothing more than fantasy.

She dragged her eyes back open, blinked, and frowned. Why was Damon looking so wary? This Damon looked like a little boy might after being caught stealing a honey cake before dinner. Her heart clutched at the sweetness of it. She raised her hand and touched the side his face. The lingering fog of sleep dissolved at the warm flesh of his angled jaw.

Julia held his gaze, watched in fascination as his eyes visibly darkened with desire related, it seemed, to the tiny strokes she was making to the coarse stubble of his beard. Beneath her hand the muscle in his cheek jumped.

Fully awake now, she realized that the pillows at her back had not suddenly turned to brick as in her dream, but all Damon—lean, hard muscle that seared her skin through the thin material of her sheath. His long, muscled leg had both of hers pinned but oddly, she did not feel constrained.

He was watching her, waiting for her to scream, to call for rescue. It was exactly what she should do, call for Kaj to escort him back to the spartan storeroom, secure him under lock and key. Save her from all the sensations, the want, the need for him created in her dreams, the very real feelings that now plucked at her, threatening to breach the barriers that must be between them.

Instead, Julia slid her hand down and mimicked his earlier action, rubbed her thumb along the line of his bottom lip. It was as she had imagined, firm and full. Holding her gaze, Damon turned his head and kissed her palm. Heat flared in her belly.

The tender gesture touched her heart. Wondering if she hadn’t at last gone mad, Julia shifted around to face him, slipped both hands around the strong column of his throat, beneath the soft, thick hair brushing his shoulders and kneaded the back of his neck.

“Julia?” he whispered, his voice roughened, his hand sliding up and down her arm.

She heard the question in his voice and for once in her life she had no words to explain. In the far corners of her mind, her proper, patrician, self, demanded to know what in the gods name was she doing? But the woman here, now, in Damon’s embrace ignored the fear in favor of the curiosity begun by erotic dreams of this man.