Rose stood in the doorway. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, the candlelight picking up strands of brilliant honey gold in amongst the blue, and she wore a silk sarong in blue and gold wrapped around her lush figure as a dress, the ends twisted and tied at her nape to create a halter neck. On her feet she wore flat golden sandals, golden ties crisscrossing up her calves.
The silk billowed gently around her in the breeze, and he realised, with a start, that the silk was just a little transparent, giving him tantalising, shadowy glimpses of her curves. Making it very clear that she wore nothing underneath it.
Desire leapt inside him, and he had to concentrate very hard on staying exactly where he was and not moving an inch simply to stay in control.
She came slowly down the steps that led from the doorway to the terrace, the silk swirling around her legs, the fabric parting to reveal a hint of pale golden thigh.
She was beautiful, utterly beautiful. And it was clear that she knew it and that she was using it as some kind of power play, because as she came over to the table, the look she gave him from beneath those thick golden lashes was speculative. Assessing.
His little maid had come to the fight armed and was now sizing up her opponent.
Interesting. Very interesting.
He didn’t know which particular battle she wanted to engage him in, or what she thought she was fighting for, but he’d oblige her. He might even allow her a victory if the mood took him, because she couldn’t win, not if he didn’t let her.
Ignoring the desire that gripped him, Ares rose to his feet. He came around the table, pulled out her chair and held out a hand, inviting her to sit.
She gave a little frown, as if she hadn’t been expecting that, but made no comment, sitting down gracefully. She smelled sweet, like lilies, clearly having availed herself of one of the many different bath oils stocked in her bathroom.
Ares pushed her chair in, anticipation gathering in his gut at the coming fight, especially with such a worthy opponent.
It was only supposed to be dinner, remember?
Of course. And it would only be dinner no matter how many games she wanted to play.
Stepping back from her chair, he went over to where the champagne was cooling in the ice bucket and lifted it. ‘A drink to celebrate?’ he asked casually.
A flicker of irritation crossed her face, as if that wasn’t what she hoped he’d say, and then was gone. Carefully and with some ceremony, she adjusted the folds of her sarong. ‘Celebrate what?’
Ares couldn’t help himself. He was amused at her annoyance and further amused by her attempts to hide it. ‘Our marriage,’ he said, opening the champagne and popping the cork. ‘Though you aren’t here for a celebration, are you? You’re here for a fight.’
More emotions chased themselves over her face, though they were gone too fast for him to get a good glimpse of what they were. She was much more expressive than she had been three months earlier, as he’d already noted. Had that guardedness been a legacy of growing up in Ivan’s compound? Had she had to monitor herself all the time, to make sure she gave nothing away?
What must it have been like for her? Constantly under threat, constantly waiting for an attack. She was a prisoner of war, living with the enemy, nothing but property...
The smouldering anger tugged at the leash he’d put on it, but he dismissed it. Curiosity and desire he’d allow, but nothing more than that.
‘A fight?’ she echoed as he poured some champagne into her glass. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘The fact that you are wearing a transparent sarong with nothing on underneath it.’ He poured champagne for himself, dumped the bottle back in the ice bucket and sat down. Then he lifted his glass. ‘To my beautiful wife.’
Rose did not lift her glass. She stared at him, her chin jutting stubbornly. ‘I don’t want to fight you.’
Ares shrugged and took a sip of his champagne. ‘You want something, though.’
Her pretty mouth compressed with annoyance. Clearly, he was not supposed to have spotted that. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Since you didn’t seem to want what I offered at the pool, I thought I’d give you a preview of...what you said no to.’
He sat back in his chair as another unfamiliar, disquieting emotion flexed inside him. It felt like guilt, though he couldn’t think about what. Not that he’d refused her, that had been the right thing to do, and he didn’t need to think of Naya to know that. More because of what she’d thought she had to do in order to engage his attention, bargaining for something with her body...
Was that the way it had worked at Vasiliev’s? And did she really think he was the kind of man who indulged in such bargains? He’d refused her twice already and still she tried to give herself to him, so it was clear she did.
He didn’t like it.
‘You want something, Rose.’ Might as well be direct about it. ‘So why don’t you tell me what it is?’
She bit her lip a moment, frowning at him, as if she was weighing something up. Then she said flatly, ‘I want your help freeing my friend Athena in Vasiliev’s compound.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean Athena? She’s Ivan’s daughter.’