Assassin's Honor (37 page)

           
"Too bad, because this conversation is over. I'm leaving."

           
Emma took two steps toward the door, but he reached it before her. In one swift move, he lifted her off her feet and cradled her in his arms. The instinctive move underscored how little control he had where she was concerned. Worse, the minute he caught her up in his arms, his senses exploded. Warmth settled into his body everywhere she pressed against him. Vanilla and the soft taste of rain mixed together to create a heady scent that made him hard in an instant.
Dolcis Mater Dei.

           
"Put me down," she ordered sharply.

           
They could both use a cooling-off period. But the only way to accomplish that was to put some space between them. If they were in separate rooms, it would give them a chance to let their anger drop a notch or two so they could discuss things rationally. He bit back a grunt of disgust. If she was mad now, she'd probably go ballistic when he explained the blood bond. Well, he'd have to deal with that when the time came.

           
"Both of us need some time to cool off."

           
"So why don't you do that in the pond outside, and I'll go back to the mansion." The sweetly spoken words had acid bubbling beneath the surface.

           
"Maybe I should drop you in the pond," he ground out between clenched teeth.

           
Christus, she always managed to bring out the worst in him. It didn't matter what he said or did, it always came out wrong where she was concerned. He strode toward the bedroom's doorway, ignoring her gasp.

           
The minute he entered the room, he realized there was only one place for someone to sit down.
The bed.
The one place he wanted to be with her was the only place to set her down. He ruthlessly crushed the desire threatening to take control of him as he carried her toward the bed.

           
"All right, you've had your fun," she said breathlessly. "Put me down.
Now."

           
"With pleasure," he growled and dropped her on the bed. Ignoring her cry of surprise, he turned and walked toward the door. When he reached the threshold, he looked back at her. "Come out when you've calmed down and we'll talk."

           
With that parting remark, the door crashed shut behind him. Stunned, she stared at the beveled squares carved into the back of the heavy oak door. He'd just dropped her on the bed and left.

           
Left her alone.

           
The disappointment spiraling through her was infuriating. God, what had she expected him to do? Stay here and make love to her? She didn't like the answer that popped into her head. Nor did she like knowing that from the moment he'd lifted her up into his arms, she'd had to work hard to keep her anger flowing hot and steady.

           
She flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes. Twisted, that's what she was, twisted. The manipulative bastard wanted to control her every move. He'd brought her to White Cloud not because he thought she'd be safer with him, but because he'd been hoping to convince her to use her ability on the Sicari artifacts and find that damn Tyet of Isis of his. It was all he cared about. She was little more than a means to an end as far as he was concerned. A loud voice in the back of her head protested.

           
He'd been emphatic that her safety was the only reason why he'd brought her to the White Cloud estate. And that argument about his refusal to let her go home had some validity. Why would he stop her from going if all he really cared about was the Tyet of Isis? She blew out a harsh breath and slammed her clenched fists into the mattress. She was making allowances for him. It was a dangerous thing to do.

           
Dangerous because it would be easy to forget she'd been down this road once before. Her ability wasn't something she readily shared, save for a few select people. But life had taught her that where some people were concerned, her ability was more important than her. Jonathan had made that painfully clear by his betrayal.

           
He'd asked her to marry him simply because having a wife capable of reading an antiquity would help him move up the career ladder. It had been all the more painful a revelation because she'd been the one to tell Jonathan about her gift. She'd wanted to be honest with him when it appeared their relationship had taken a serious turn.

           
All she'd done was made it easier for him to hurt her. It was unlikely that he would have ever proposed to her if she hadn't given him the perfect reason to do so. The bastard had even tried to tie her father's success to her ability.

           
While there had been a modicum of truth in her ex-fiance's words, her father had been a gifted archeologist. Her ability had simply made his work easier to do. She knew her parents had loved her deeply, but Jonathan's words had raised the old feelings of doubt she'd experienced as a kid.

           
She sat up and swung her feet off the bed to sit there staring at the oak door. He'd said they'd talk after they'd both cooled off, but there wasn't anything to discuss. She should have stayed in the research library and explored more of the historical riches she knew were there. In the library, there would at least be others around to interrupt them.

           
When the Prima Consul had mentioned the blood bond and Ares in the same breath, she'd been alarmed that Atia suspected her relationship with Ares was less than platonic. The idea that her attraction to Ares might be so transparent to the Prima Consul frightened her. One minute the man had her aching for his touch then the next she was ready to kill him.

           
Even more disturbing was the realization that she longed for something more from Ares. Something that she couldn't put into words even if she'd dared. But Atia had managed to read her so easily, which meant he might be able to do the same. And she didn't want to give him that much power over her.

           
The sound of the rain pulled her to the window and she stared out at the dreary scenery. From here, the mansion only reinforced her impression of a Gothic structure. The massive structure housed more than a hundred Sicari and was a bustling complex. Raindrops rolled down the glass panes in front of her and she sighed. In the past two weeks, there had been, at most, three days of sunshine. The remainder had been gray, damp, and rainy. She missed the sunny heat of Egypt.

           
"Are you ready to listen to me now?"

           
The sound of his voice scared the hell out of her. With a small scream, she whirled around to face him. She hadn't even heard the bedroom door open. One shoulder pressed into the doorjamb, he studied her with a wariness that surprised her. It seemed odd to see him wearing something other than the black leather pants she was used to seeing him in.

           
He'd discarded the standard black quasi-uniform he usually wore for jeans and a navy T-shirt. The sinewy muscles in his arms flexed slightly as he moved, and she watched him shove a hand into his back pocket. The jeans he wore stretched tight over his muscular legs and the memory of undressing him the night of the blood bond sent a wave of heat through her. God, this was insane. The corners of his mouth tilted upward slightly, almost as if he knew the effect he was having on her.

           
"I'll listen, but I won't change my mind," she said in response to his question.

           
"Emma, what's it going to take for me to get through to you?" He kept his voice just as quiet as hers, but that inflexible determination to get his way was still there. "It's not safe. Why do you have to be so stubborn about this?"

           
She studied him for a long moment then turned away and walked over to the bed to sink down onto the mattress. He was the stubborn one. How could she make him understand that she had to go home for more than just her father's note? If he was going to rip her free of her last mooring, the least he could do was give her a chance to say goodbye. She closed her eyes against tears of frustration. She shook her head.

           
"I'm not the enemy here, carissima." He crossed the floor to squat in front of her. "All I want to do is protect you."

           
"I have to go back," she said softly. "I need to find what my father left for me. And I need to say goodbye."

           
"Goodbye?" A frown wrinkled his forehead as he studied her with an assessing gaze.

           
"I grew up there. It's my last connection to my parents. I have to say goodbye. You've taken everything else from me--my life, my career,
my
friends--can't you at least let me say goodbye, even if it's in the dark?"

           
His eyes closed as she challenged him. The edge of his jaw was hard with tension as he weighed her words for a long moment. When he looked at her again, indecision darkened his eyes. She knew how much he hated the emotion. It was at that moment that she realized she'd won. It seemed like a hollow victory somehow. He drew in a deep breath and nodded.

           
"All right, Emma. You win." He raised his hand as she started to speak. "But you follow my instructions to the letter. No arguments whatsoever. You do as I say, when I say. Understood?"

           
"Thank you."

           
"I need to have my head examined," he muttered darkly as he stood up and paced the floor. "I knew from the beginning you'd be trouble, and I was right."

           
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Indignant, she stood to face him.

           
"It means I'm crazy for letting you talk me into agreeing to this." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, his shoulders hunching up then relaxing in a gesture of exasperation.

           
"Oh, the head thing I figured out." She placed her hands on her hips as she narrowed her gaze at him. "I'm talking about the trouble part."

           
He studied her long and hard for a moment. There was something about the intensity of his gaze that stole her breath from her. Something dark and sensual crossed his face, while a storm brewed in his dark, mysterious blue eyes. He slowly closed the distance between them. With only inches between them, she knew she should run like hell, but she didn't. The man mesmerized her. His fingertips lightly stroked her cheek.

           
"You're trouble of the worst kind, carissima.
Smart, brave, a good sense of humor, compassionate, beautiful, and incredibly sexy.
Life was complicated enough before you came along. I knew getting involved with you would cloud my judgment, but it's too late. I can't stay away from you."

           
The husky sound of his voice made her heart skip a beat and then another. Naked desire crossed his face and it sent her senses reeling. It threatened to drown her in a sensually wicked heat. No. She couldn't do this. She couldn't just forget the fact that he'd brought her here under false or near false pretenses.

           
"Stop it, okay," she said in a low voice. "Just stop."

           
"What do you want me to stop, dolce mia? Stop craving you? Stop dreaming about touching you?" His words were a gentle caress on her senses. "I've
tried,
carissima. I've tried hard to forget how you feel against my body. I've tried to forget because I know being with you is the worst thing that could happen to both of us. There are things I need to tell you, and yet every time I get near you, I lose my head. You slide into my senses until I can't think straight."

           
She drew in a deep breath. Oh God, if she were a piece of ice, she'd be completely melted by now. Definitely time to leave. With as much aplomb as possible, she turned away from him and headed toward the door. The sooner she got out of this cottage, the safer she and her heart would be.

           
"Look, let's just say we had some hot sex and let it go at that. Okay? There's no need to repeat it." She casually tossed the words over her shoulder as she headed for the exit. Almost to the door, she flinched as a hard, sinewy arm snapped down in front of her to block her way out of the bedroom.

           
"If I want hot sex as you call it, I know women who can give me that and they understand it's just that--sex," he ground out in a fierce tone.
" You
are not one of those women, carissima."

           
There was a primal note of possession in his voice, and it made her heart slam into her chest as she absorbed his words. The tension in him was easy to see by the way his hand gripped the doorjamb. It was a beautiful hand, strong and masculine. She slowly ran her gaze over the length of his muscular arm.
An arm that had held her close on a number of occasions.
And every one of those times, she'd enjoyed it far more than she should have. She turned her head to look up at him. The hunger she saw on his face sent her pulse racing, but she was reluctant to give in to the need slowly spiraling its way through her.