Beloved (42 page)

Stepping from the tub, she reached for the towel and mopped herself damp. The air would quickly dry the rest of her, but there still remained the problem of what to wear. She looked about the room. There was nothing. She made a sound of annoyance, which was answered by a soft laugh. Furious, and quite heedless of her own nudity, she whirled about to face Aurelian.

“How dare you spy on me!”

“It is my tent,” he answered.

“You ordered me placed here,” she snapped. “I should as soon have had my own tent.”

He walked across the floor to where she stood and, catching her face between his two hands, looked down into her angry eyes. “The wishes of a captive are never considered, Zenobia.” Then, to her surprise, he released her. Slowly he walked around her, studying her from every angle, but not yet touching her. Finally he said, “You were once described to me as the goddess incarnate, but seeing you now I must say, with apologies to the beauteous Venus, that the gentleman was not generous enough in his praise. If I put you on the block there is not enough gold in the entire world to secure your purchase, Zenobia.”

“Then I may assume you will not put me on the block,” she answered him coldly.

He laughed. “Only because I cannot gain enough for you,” he teased.

“I did not think you were a procurer, Aurelian. Your reputation is that of a warrior.”

He laughed again. “You can fight like a guttersnipe, goddess, but it will avail you nothing. I am Aurelian, and I never lose a battle.”

“You may have
me
, Roman, for I cannot hope to overcome your physical strength; but Palmyra’s gates will still be closed to you!” She stood tall, glaring icily at him, totally unconcerned by her total nudity; and Aurelian was further intrigued and inflamed by Zenobia.
This is a woman
, he thought admiringly.

“You are a brave creature, goddess,” he said quietly, “but you
are still just a woman as I am just a man. My spies tell me that there has been no man in your life since Marcus Alexander Britainus left you to return to Rome.” He was pleased to see her grow pale at the mention of Marcus’s name, and he continued. “He was your lover, and I do not doubt that he was a magnificent one. My niece is already with child.” Zenobia’s eyes closed for a moment, and she clutched at the hanging divider to keep from swaying.

“You are a bastard!” she managed to hiss at him.

He laughed pleasantly. “You are beautiful, and I desire you, goddess.” Now he reached out with gentle fingers to caress her creamy shoulder, stroking with a delicate touch, watching while she fought down the urge to shudder, which finally she was unable to suppress. “Are you beginning to understand what it means to be an imperial captive, goddess?” he asked her.

“I am not afraid,” she said low.

“I know that,” was his answer, “but you have caused me no end of trouble, goddess, and you must be punished for it.”

“So you will force me to be your mistress? Yes, Aurelian, that will indeed be punishment,” she replied. “I am accustomed to choosing my own lovers.”

Again he laughed. “What a defiant goddess you are, Zenobia. You were a virgin when you married Odenathus at fifteen. Marcus Alexander Britainus has been your only lover. You are an appallingly moral woman, goddess. Half, nay, most of the women in Rome have had half a dozen lovers before they marry. You have known two men, and it shall be for me as if you were a virgin.”

“Take me then!” she cried half angrily, half fearfully. “I will neither yield nor give you anything of myself!”

His light blue eyes glittered with anticipation, the tiny flecks of black and copper within them dancing wildly. His fingers closed about her shoulder, and he drew her to him. She stood perfectly still, neither resisting him nor accepting him, as his arm went tightly about her waist, molding her hard against him. The hand that had been on her shoulder took her face between thumb and forefinger, tipping it upward as his head came slowly down to claim her mouth with his. With frightening expertise he forced her lips apart, invading her mouth with a velvety tongue, exploring, taunting,
demanding!

I will show no emotion, she thought, but it took every bit of control not to struggle, not to tear herself away from this man whose mouth was so insistent. She wanted to run, to hide from him, for he frightened her although she would never admit it.
There was a look about him that said he would not be denied, and in her entire life she had never known that a man could be like this. She had always been loved gently as a woman, first by Odenathus, and then by Marcus. This man did not seek her love, he sought her very soul! She had to stop him, but without his knowing the terrible effect he was having on her. Pulling her mouth away from his, she said coldly, “Enough! If you wish to couple with me then let us get on with it!”

If she had hit him the effect would not have been any more jolting, but then he began to chuckle, and the chuckle grew into a rumble of pleased laughter. “Brava, goddess!
Magnificent!
And it almost worked, but almost is not good enough.” He set her back from him and studied her once more.

Zenobia was shocked. She had expected to cool his ardor by her disdain, and she had instead aroused his admiration. The next move was up to him, so she stood silently sneaking a careful look at him from beneath her thick, black lashes while she waited. She had to admit that he was a very handsome man in a virile, rugged sort of way. He was at least an inch over six feet in height, with a powerfully built body. He had a surprisingly elegant head for one of low birth, she thought. It was oval in shape, with high, well-sculpted cheekbones, a straight patrician nose almost classic in its perfection, extremely sensuous lips, a square chin with a deep cleft that was fairly well hidden by his well-cropped, short beard. The beard, like his close-clipped curly hair, had only faint touches of silver to mar its beautiful golden-blond color. The well-spaced, round eyes were sky blue with their odd-colored flecks, and edged in short, sandy lashes. They were eyes that pierced, but never divulged what they thought.

He began to undress. “Help me with this chest armor,” he said briskly as he undid the buckles that held his protective plating.

“Call a slave,” she said.

“I am at a loss for what to do with you,” he said slowly, pulling off the beautifully decorated breastplate and then undoing the belt that held the strips of armor that hung from his waist. Warrior that he was, he carefully placed the armor in a small chest for safekeeping, then turned back to her. His muscular arms pulled the short-sleeved, knee-length red tunic off, and this garment was followed by a natural-colored linen tunica interior. He was nude except for his sandals and leg shields. Sitting down, he held out a foot. “Will you undo my sandals?”

“I am not your servant, Aurelian.”

“You highborn wenches aren’t good for very much at all. You refuse to help me undress, and you kiss like a child. I wonder if you will be worth all the trouble I am going to have to take with you.”

“Then return me to Palmyra!” she spat at him. “Return me, and then fight me like a man, Roman!”

He looked up at her, now free of his sandals and leg shields. “I am going to fight you like a man, goddess, and for probably the first time in your life you are going to have to fight like a woman!” She gasped, outraged by his words, but he continued. “There will be no emperors or queens in this tent tonight, Zenobia, just a man and a woman waging the age-old battle between men and women!” His eyes blazed blue fire at her, and, startled, she stepped backward. It was all the advantage he needed. Stepping swiftly forward, he lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder.

He had made no attempt to be gentle, leaving her helpless to struggle, for she was too busy trying to catch her breath. Walking across the tent into his sleeping chamber, he unceremoniously dumped her upon his bed and then flung himself down atop her, trapping her face between his two hands.

“I have nothing to give you!” she hissed.

“You will before this night is finished,” he promised, and then yanked her head back to his. His lips claimed hers again.

This time Zenobia struggled against Aurelian. As his mouth ground down upon her an unreasoning fear welled up within her, destroying her intent to remain cool, increasing her panic as her heartbeat accelerated violentiy.

He quickly felt her terror, and suddenly his lips were gentle, barely brushing hers as he murmured against them, “No, goddess, don’t be afraid. Shhh. Shhh, I will not hurt you.”

She was unable to prevent the shudder that ripped through her. This was worse, she thought. She didn’t want him to be gentle. She wanted him to assault her with violence so she might hate him even more. With an angry cry she raised her hands and clawed at him.

Forcing her arms above her head, he held them there with one hand while the other sought to gentle her. “No, goddess,” he chided her, and then, “What are you afraid of, Zenobia? Give me some of the sweetness of your mouth, beloved. There cannot be great harm in that.”

She almost wept then.
Beloved!
He had called her beloved—until
now only Marcus, Marcus who had betrayed her and left her to this man, had called her beloved.

Aurelian sensed the weakness, and in that instant he descended on her again, his mouth tenderly taking hers in a kiss so passionate, and yet at the same time so gentle, that she was unable to resist any longer. Her lips softened beneath the insistent pressure of his. Finding her tongue, he sucked a long minute upon the tempting morsel, then released her from the kiss.

Zenobia was stunned by the sense of loss she felt. Why did she feel this way? She detested this man, and had a weapon been available she would have used it on him. Opening her eyes, she found him looking down on her, unsmiling. His free hand came up to caress her face. “Your skin is like silk,” he said softly, and then his hand began a lengthy exploration of her body.

Shifting his weight off her, he released her hands and put the arm that had imprisoned her about her shoulders, pinioning her as effectively as he had before, but allowing him the freedom he needed to caress her. A warm hand moved down her throat, a hand, she thought, that could as easily strangle her as make love to her. He read the thought in her gray eyes.

He dallied a moment in the soft hollow of her neck, and she could feel the blood coursing beneath his fingers. His hand next moved down to stroke the high swell of her breasts, trailing leisurely downward between her cleavage. A single finger teasingly encircled each nipple, shocking them, despite her best efforts to resist, to tight and tingling peaks, which he bent his head to kiss.

She could feel the cry welling up in her throat, and with a supreme surge of willpower she forced it back. He must not know—she would not let him know that his hungry mouth now sucking on her breasts was beginning to elicit a tiny response deep inside her. She could not understand it, and it not only puzzled her, it frightened her. She began to tremble, and tried to draw away from that insistent mouth.

Slowly he raised his head. His eyes were glazed with passion, and something else she could not fathom. She turned her head away from him so he might not see her fear. “You will not deny me, goddess,” he said softly. “I will possess you.”

“No,” she managed to whisper, “my body, but nothing else!”

“I will possess all!” he answered her. “You will belong to me alone, goddess, for never have I been beaten in battle, and I will not be beaten in this one.”

Scalding, slow tears began to course down her cheeks, but no
sound came from her throat. This was what it had been like for her mother those long years ago; pinned beneath a Roman who demanded everything of her and took it without a care for her soul. They had destroyed her mother, but whatever happened between Zenobia and this Roman, she would not allow him to destroy her.

“No, goddess,” and his voice was deceptively soft. “Don’t weep. I will not hurt you. I will only love you,” and he raised himself up so he might kiss the wetness on her face.

It was too much for Zenobia. With a wild cry she fought to escape him, but could not fight her way free, for his strength was too great. Aurelian laughed, her confused and terrified resistance seeming to give him great pleasure. He shifted his body once more, this time to cover hers. She could feel his muscular thighs with their soft blond down pressing down upon hers, and to her horror she felt a great flash of heat suffuse her body. His broad chest crushed her full breasts, his mouth again captured hers in a kiss of such blazing passion that she could feel her strength ebbing away. Against the inside of her thigh she felt his staff lengthening and growing hard with his desire for her.

He caught at her tongue and began to suck upon the velvet of it again, sending shock waves of desire—
dear Venus, it was desire!
—throughout her feverish body. With that admission to herself it was as if a dam had burst within her. Unwillingly her arms went about him, and she felt him seeking entrance to her unwilling, yet willing body. He thrust deep, and she cried out, her breath coming in quick pants, her long golden legs wrapping themselves about him. Again and again he plunged himself into her burning and wet sheath, making her cry with pleasure in spite of herself. And then with a pitiful sob she whimpered low “I
do not understand! I do not understand!”

He stopped in his rutting, and with a roar of laughter he caught her frightened face in his hands. “It is
lust
, Zenobia!
Sweet, hot lust!
How is it that you have never before experienced lust?” He drove again into her and, bending, murmured against her ear, “I will teach you to enjoy lust, my goddess, to revel in it, to yield to it!” His hands moved beneath her to cup her buttocks, and he squeezed them possessively. “Do you feel it, Zenobia? Do you feel the fire coursing through you?
Lust!
It is lust, and you have no choice but to give in to it; give in to me! The victory will be mine, goddess, as I warned you! The victory will be mine!”

Shocked, Zenobia realized that what he was saying was true.
She had no control over her body at that moment. Ripple after ripple of pure, sensuous pleasure was starting to wash over her, and she had not the strength to resist it. A tension was beginning to build deep within her, and the force of it was so great that it threatened either to consume or destroy her. She would either give in to it, or die from it; and as shameful as she found her situation, she did not want to die. The victory would be his whatever way she chose, but she would find a way to revenge herself upon him. This was only the opening battle in the war between them.