The breath hissed between her lips and a shiver slithered along her spine. Maximus had his own gods, his own culture and customs, and they weren’t hers.
He laughed because he thought she was flirting. Not because he mocked her beliefs.
He possessed no knowledge of her beliefs.
Her head dropped to his shoulder so he wouldn’t witness the blood flooding her cheeks. She’d had no need to explain to him. No reason to justify her lack of lovers.
And yet she’d told him the most intimate details. Things she’d never spoken of before. And there had been no need.
A mortified groan escaped and she resisted when he forcibly maneuvered her upright.
“Well?” His demand was harsh and she attempted to recall why he looked so mad, when she knew it had nothing to do with the way she’d slighted the Morrigan for so many years.
“I misunderstood.” She had the overwhelming urge to screw her eyes shut but refused to allow herself such luxury. “I thought you laughed because you found humor in my lack of homage.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “But I was wrong. I think.” And she shot him a desperate glance.
There was an excruciating silence as he raked his gaze over her burning face. She curled her toes and attempted to pull her hands from his chest, but Maximus pressed even closer, so they were meshed together and it was impossible for her to move a muscle without his permission.
Finally his scrutiny eased and he brushed an errant curl from her cheek. “There’s much about you I don’t yet understand.” His voice was gentle. “But I would never knowingly mock your ways.” He hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “I know your gods are important to you. I regret my actions made you think otherwise.”
The trembling knot of agony in the center of her chest eased, by a merest degree. “I should never have confessed to you.” Could she ever live it down? And not only had she shared her darkest secrets with Maximus, she had also come perilously close to telling him the entire nature of her status.
A shiver coursed through her. No matter how he professed to respect her beliefs, he would never respect her right as a Druid.
“Carys.” His whisper was an erotic caress along her soul. “I’m happy you confessed to me.”
The constriction in her chest ebbed and she realized she no longer minded Maximus knowing of her lack.
Because Maximus didn’t consider it a lack.
She took a deep breath. “Then I’m glad I told you.”
He tugged on her braid and began to unbind her wet hair. “You can tell me anything.”
If only that were true. But she smiled up at him anyway, because she knew his offer was genuine. And knew how easily she could succumb and spill the most devastating secret of all.
She moaned in protest when, after his fingers had worked magic against her scalp, he slid his arms around her and carried her from the bath. “I don’t want to go.” She wanted this night to last forever, because tonight might be all she would ever have.
But he ignored her and she curled against his chest, squeezing her eyes shut against the world, against the knowledge that soon she would have to leave him once again. And this time he might not deign to take her back.
He lowered her to her feet and swathed her in a huge length of absorbent cloth.
“It’s warm.” She snuggled into the decadent softness. “Romans don’t care for the cold, do they?”
He swiftly dried himself with another towel, his blue eyes never leaving hers. “Does the heat displease you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then we Romans have our uses.” He indicated a stone bench covered with yet more towels. “Lie down.”
Hiding a smile, Carys dropped her covering and stretched out, arms over her head, one knee provocatively bent.
“On your front.”
Her seductive smile wavered. Was he going to take her from behind, like an animal?
She rolled over, and wondered if she was in the right position. But if she wasn’t, then Maximus would soon show her. It was a relief to realize she didn’t have to pretend experience of such things, when the only knowledge she possessed came from gossip with friends.
Muscles tense with expectation she pillowed her cheek on her hands and raised her bottom into the air. Maximus made an odd choking noise and pressed the flat of his hand on the small of her back, until she was once again prone.
“Don’t move again.” It was a command. “Gods, Carys. You don’t make this easy for me.”
She watched him grab a small amphorae from the nearby stone plinth.
“Are you ready?” But he scarcely waited for her uncertain nod before he straddled her, his knees on either side of her hips, his calves imprisoning the length of her legs.
And then his hands swept across her shoulders, firm, warm, slick with oil, and a shocked gasp shook her entire body.
“Relax. This is supposed to be enjoyable.”
His fingers massaged her stiff muscles, a rhythmic, tantalizing motion, and with another expulsion of air the tension seeped from her rigid limbs.
His powerful legs imprisoned her, a willing captive, and corded muscles branded her back as he flattened himself onto her, his engorged shaft scorching her, and the pleasure of his touch sank through her skin, her muscles, and into the center of her heart.
And threaded through every touch, every gasp, every delirious sensation, the stark knowledge glittered that he was more to her than a lover who had taught her the wonders of sex. More than the man who had wiped away the uneasy feelings of inadequacy she’d harbored for the last six years.
More than her enemy, the conqueror of her people, the embodiment of Rome who would destroy everything she held dear.
And as he administered his magic to her feet, and she tried in vain not to grind her hips against the towels that hugged her throbbing clit, she finally acknowledged the truth.
She loved him. And that love could kill her.