Instead of contemplating further, I took in the room—ways of ingress, places to take cover, where to stash some of Cranfel’s weapons. I imagined enemies swarming through the front door and made a mental map of how many steps it would take for them to overtake the room. I could hold them off at the foyer for a time, then fall back to the hallway to the right—a handy bottleneck. The fluffy couches could be flipped to use defensively. A large white rug, no doubt the pelt of some mythical beast, would serve to trip attackers if bunched up just right. And the light alone, streaming in from the walls of glass, would dazzle anyone upon first sight.
Satisfied with the space for now, though I wanted to know where the three interior doors led, I perused the home through a different lens. The fur rug looked so soft, I wanted to run my fingers through it. Before I could even kick my boot off to glide a toe through the silky fur, something at the side of the room caught my eye.
A small half-moon-shaped indention in the glass wall held an ornate golden table with a piece of exquisite statuary on top. The space and the table seemed made solely to display the item, whose marble gleamed as if only recently polished. The light hit it at all angles such that the nook was aglow. I approached, drawn to it.
The statue appeared to be a game piece, akin to the white queen of a chess board. The figure stood with a sparkling crystal sword raised over her head, ready to strike, while a shield bearing a crest of laurel adorned her other arm. The workmanship was exquisite down to the very expression on her face, determination set in stone.
I raised my hand to it but didn’t touch. “Hmm, what are you?”
“A piece made long ago for a game called latrones.” Paris stood behind me, though I had not heard him reenter the room. I intentionally kept my eyes on the game piece, not wanting to reveal how startled I was that he could creep up on me so easily.
But his words piqued my interest; I had long been a lover of games. “What sort of game?”
“Strategy. A game of warfare.”
My favorite. “Where are the rest of the pieces and the board?”
“Why? Do you want to play?” Mischief was in his voice, and his question meant a bit more than what it seemed.
“Maybe.” He wasn’t the only one who could be mischievous.
“Then I’m sorry to say that this is the only piece I have left.”
“What happened to the rest?”
“They were destroyed.” The ache in his voice was like a wound, one that should have healed long ago but instead still pained him anew each day.
That whisper within me, the one telling me of a life already lived, grew louder. I turned to him, sensing that I needed to know the rest of the story, needed to put the puzzle pieces together. I found myself looking up into those sky-blue eyes, his lips only a breath away from mine. The passion in his gaze burned into me, searing a path down my body and into my most secret places. I had never wanted the touch of a male. But I knew then that I didn’t want the touch of just any male. Only the one whose reverent gaze rested on me, searching my eyes, my heart. Logic told me to back away, to take a defensive tack given the unfamiliar terrain. But I didn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find a muscle willing to obey the command of my mind. Instinct ruled me.
“Gods,” I breathed as my heart kicked into a staccato beat.
The sound of my exhale set him into motion, as if he’d been waiting for a sign from me. His hands pressed against my back, no longer the hesitant fingertips. His wide palms pulled me to him. Without warning, he claimed my mouth with a passion the likes of which I’d never felt. My mind screamed for me to torch him, a shimmer filling the air around us. But my body responded to him as if under his command instead of mine. His mouth, so insistent, so full of that fervor he had been trying to hide, made me giddy. This felt right, as if it was where I was meant to be. Here, in his arms. My lips parted, and his wicked tongue darted in, tasting me. My knees went weak, and I allowed him to pull me even closer.
His kiss was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced. My budded nipples grazed against him through the sweater with each of my quick breaths, making them ache. He ran a hand up my side and under the material, cupping my breast as he deepened our kiss. A moan rose from my throat at the sensation of him kneading the soft mound. He backed me into the window wall, covering me with his body. It was as if I were a magic bomb that had ignited, suddenly ablaze at his touch, his kiss. He ripped the remaining fabric from my top. His hands strayed to my breasts, the feeling of his thumbs teasing the hardened tips making me lose all sense of time and place.