13
S
ilvia woke late on the morning that followed Moonful. She was lying on a softly scented bed of ElseWorld moss in the grotto. Alone. Her body felt boneless, satiated, deliciously well-used. But her face was wet from crying. Michaela. Was.
Dead.
Tears leaked from violet eyes, dribbling down her cheeks. They were the tears not of one woman, but of two. Two lifelong friends who would be parted forever come next Moonful, only a month from now. When Silvia must take a new host.
Gradually, she felt her mood alter and calm under her current host's influence. Michaela wouldn't allow her to think on matters so morose. Not yet. Not while the two of them still had some time left together.
She mopped at her tears with the coverlet that Bastian had produced just after dawn when they'd snuggled here together, replete and exhausted. Below the grotto, the salon was silent this morning, save for the occasional sounds of a door opening and shutting or the clink of china as occupants desultorily breakfasted. ElseWorld males would go about their business early today, she knew. The Calling always had the effect of energizing them. But for their women, it was a different matter. They usually slept away the day following Moonful. It's no doubt what Bastian expected her to do. However, she had tasks to complete. Firestones to locate. Maybe just a few more minutes, though, before she went about things.
She stretched luxuriously and yawned, feeling sore muscles twinge. She laughed quietly, ruefully shaking her head. As usual, Michaela had gotten what she wanted. She'd maneuvered Silvia into bed with her and her lover last night, but Silvia was grateful. It had been what she wanted, and now Michaela knew, and had seemed to accept it.
It was fortunate that Bastian had departed their makeshift bed so he would not question her tears or her laughter. She should go before he returned. In the coming weeks she wouldn't leave his orbit entirely, not until she had the firestones he would unwittingly help her locate. But in the meantime, she would distance herself. Remain here at the salon instead of returning to Esquiline. Leave his bed. Her heart squeezed at the thought. But to stay and take him as her own while Michaela was her host would be an insupportable betrayal. Maybe after much time had passed and the firestones were all found . . . maybe once she'd dealt with Pontifex . . . maybe then she might return one day and see if their passion was of the lasting kind. But that day was not today. Not while Michaela was with her. Not while there were still six firestones at large.
At the thought of the stones, she groaned. She'd completely forgotten the opal in Bastian's pocket last night! After he slept, she could have stolen it from him so easily.
Fool!
As she lay there, trying to summon the energy to move, a whisper entered her mind, like a tendril of smoke curling from a dying fire. Michaela's voice.
And what of Aemilia's stone . . . I didn't take it with me last night after all . . . not so stupid as Pontifex believes . . . No, it's hidden here. . . .
Silvia sat bolt upright, the coverlet falling to her waist. “Where?” she asked aloud. Her question died away, going unanswered. She pushed the covers aside and rose from the bed. Moving to the pool, she quickly washed under the waterfall and then cleaned her teeth in a nearby fountain, her mind racing all the while. It seemed Michaela had revealed all she planned to for the moment. But if the missing stone was in this building, it was likely she'd hidden it in her personal apartment, and Silvia was anxious to search for it.
Fresh towels had been left for her on the wall surrounding the pool, all neatly folded. Her lips curved at the thoughtful gesture. Bastian. However, his courtesy didn't extend to clothing. Michaela's dress and underthings from last night were sodden and torn, and she cringed from donning them. Instead, she wrapped the voluminous toweling around herself, and with a wistful, lingering glance at the grotto, she took the path downward.
The Shimmerskin sentries still stood guard outside the gates and when they wordlessly opened them for her, she slipped out of paradise. Feeling like a thief, which she was, she stealthily moved through the quiet of the salon. There, she passed other women, who were going about as she was, each with tousled hair and scant or rumpled clothing, and each bearing the marks of last night's lovers on their flesh. They glanced at one another with secret smiles that acknowledged the pleasurable manner in which they'd all passed the previous night.
Having visited before, Silvia knew Michaela's lodgingsâher “glorified closet,” as she fondly termed itâwere on the third floor. When she arrived there and entered, she glanced around the room in dismay. She'd forgotten what a disastrous housekeeper Kayla was. Petticoats, dresses, corsets, gloves, ribbons, fans, hats, laceâall were strewn across the bed, flung over the chairs, or hanging haphazardly from drawers in the armoire. Michaela still refused to allow any sadness and blocked all thoughts of death, so the sight of her things caused Silvia no pain. However, she'd never find anything in here until she got dressed and cleaned this up.
She had just pulled a day gown from the armoire when she heard the door from the corridor open. Bastian! Her heart leaped with joy upon seeing him, though they'd been parted only a few hours. He joined her in the small room without invitation, and she turned toward him, pressing Michaela's dress to the front of her body like she was some sort of giant paper doll, who might wear it in that way. He was dressed in fresh clothingâblack trousers and boots, a cream-colored shirt, and a black jacketâtypical daywear that befitted a gentleman. A cursory glance revealed no telltale bulge of an opal in either of his pockets.
Still, she could not help but note a rather impressive bulge of another sort at the front of his trousers. Concupiscent memories of the night they'd passed together abruptly crowded her mind and flushed her cheeks. Would he remind her of it? No, last night had been just another Moonful to him. But she knew she would forever cherish that stolen time.
Bastian shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, gazing around the room. “I thought you would sleep in today,” he began after a moment.
“I thought you'd be at the excavations,” she said at the same time.
Pushing from the door, he came closer. He studied her face; then his eyes dropped to the dress she held like a shield. “Rico has disappeared, leaving only his dog and a cryptic note in my study. I spent the morning with the
polizia
and other contacts, sending out runners to search for him.”
Silvia swallowed guiltily. She'd known he would worry, but there was nothing she could tell him without giving herself away. “I should think you'd be glad not to have him underfoot.”
“I'd grown rather accustomed to him as it happens.” Reaching out, he traced with masculine fingers the fragile lace at the neckline of the dress she held. “It's a beautiful gown.”
She nodded, shy with him now. “Yes.”
He smiled at her, having reverted to the polished gentleman once again with the coming of this morning's sun. Suddenly, their time in the grotto seemed like some distant erotic dream. Yet deep in his eyes, she saw the carnal beast of last night lurking, only temporarily held at bay. Bracing a forearm on the armoire, he bent his head and brushed his lips up the side of her throat. “A lovely gown indeed.”
“Umm-hmm.”
His hand came at her waist and then drew down over her bottom, gently shaping her nakedness. Her breath caught. “Very, very lovely,” he added.
“However, I wish to see what further loveliness it hides.” His hand fisted in the fabric between them and he slowly plucked the dress from her hands, then tossed it casually away. In a swish of satin, it plummeted to the floor somewhere behind him.
She crossed her arms over herself and arched a brow at him. “I begin to see how this room came to such disorder.”
He only laughed and lifted her hands to rest flat on his crisp shirtfront, drawing her nakedness against him until she felt that impressive bulge of his at her belly. Now was the time to mention her plans to move back to the salon on a full-time basis. Before anything happened. Yet, Michaela's desire for him and her own swirled inside her, pumping renewed passion through her system. And she couldn't seem to bring herself to say the words that would send him away.
In the first twenty-four hours, a host's emotions lingered on with a persuasive strength. Silvia wanted Michaela to have what she wanted. And what Michaela wanted with a passionate urgency was what Silvia wantedâthis man.
Acknowledging the hardness she felt between them, she cocked her head, slanting him a coquettish glance. “Did you want something?”
He smiled again, a flash of white teeth, and she found herself lifted and tossed upon the bed to lie among Michaela's belongings. Locating a stray petticoat by feel, she tugged it to cover her from breast to mid-thigh.
Bastian's hand went to his trousers, opening them. “Yes, I want something.”
He divested himself of trousers and boots, then came down between her legs.
Silvia stared at him in amazement. “Again? After last night, I thought you'd be . . .”
“Sated?” Bastian smiled at her again, for yet a third time. Really, he was becoming quite giddy. His brothers were going to tease him for this. It was considered bad manners to mate one's partner again so soon after Moonful. But there was something about her that delighted and drew him. She'd seemed different ever since he'd found her last night, and it wasn't just the color that still clung to her and bled over into her immediate surroundings. He'd hurried through his business this morning, rushing back to find her gone from the grotto.
The guards had been instructed to inform him of her comings and goings, so he knew she had not departed the salon. Still, the relief he'd felt upon finding her here in this room was ridiculous. She was a puzzle, possibly a dangerous one. One who'd just felt up his pockets. A behavior she had in common with the presence from Monti. Yet, he wanted her. So he would keep her close and slowly work her secrets from her.
He dropped a kiss on her lips. “Thank you for last night. It was good.”
“Let's not speak of it,” she said, still looking charmingly shy of him.
His brows rose. Not speak of it? This from Michaela, who usually wished to wallow in conversation in the aftermath of coitus, often well beyond his endurance. And when had she grown modest? The woman under him clutched that stray petticoat to her breast like a shield.
“Are you all right? I know I wasâ”
She nodded, blushing, her thoughts secret.
A need rose in him to have her at her most vulnerable, in a way that she could not hide what she felt from him. He propped himself on one elbow and smiled down at her. His hand wandered over the petticoat she clasped to herself, and he drew aimless patterns with his fingertips, moving ever lower. “I'm asking because I want to lie with you again, but I don't want to hurt you.”
“Oh.” The tip of her tongue slipped out, moistening her lips. “You won't.”
“Sevin's pool did its work, then?” he persisted.
“Yes, I'm fine. I'mâI want what you do.”
His smile broadened. “What I want, my dearest Michaela, is for you to open your legs for me again.” The mention of her name seemed to startle her, but she relaxed slightly for him and his hand slipped under the hem of her shield. Their eyes clung as it went between her thighs, finding her warmth.
“What I want,” he informed her, “is to put my mouth on you here and to feel you come under my kiss.” As his touch drew up along her feminine furrow, a full awareness of what he intended darkened her gaze. The pink of her cheeks deepened to red as she managed another nod.
“You'll let me taste you?” He watched her as his fingertip traced along her slit again, deeper this time. “Here, where I had you last night. Dear, sweet Michaela?” He punctuated the last three words with a gentle sawing motion that mimicked the carnal act.
“Gods, yes,” she murmured, reaching for him.
His thigh slid between hers and his body followed. Her hands were cool on the muscles of his arms as he brushed her lips with his. “Good,” he murmured.
Then he was moving lower on the mattress. Wrapping his arms under her thighs, he pushed them wide and high with his broad shoulders. Gazing upon the rosy petals of her fleshly heart and remembering the pleasure it had given him the previous night, his need for her escalated.
Turning his head, he kissed along her inner thigh and felt her body tense with anticipation. As he parted her with the pads of his thumbs, he took her with his mouth and his tongue, enjoying her moan. He hadn't shaved this morning, and she always squirmed with delight under the drag of his blue-black stubble on her flesh here. He knew what he was about in this. Knew just how to stroke and suckle a woman. Within minutes, her fingers were white-knuckled on that silken petticoat, her clit was twisting in his hot mouth, and her slick channel was rhythmically fisting on the two fingers he'd used to fuck her.
When her coming slowed, he tugged her petticoat from her and wiped his face; then she reached for him and pulled him to press her into the mattress with his body. She opened herself and let him push his cock between slick lips he'd just kissed. And let him tunnel into the reward of a nether throat rendered buttery soft by her enjoyment of that kiss. Together, they made leisurely love there in the morning sun among a jumble of ribbons and flounces and lace. And when he felt her body's passionate milking of his, he spent himself inside her, and radiant sparks in every color of the rainbow burst under his eyelids, stunning him with their brilliance. At her sweet, soft gasp, a fierce tenderness swept him.