Desire Me (23 page)

“Right.” He made no move away from her, still holding her up and assisting her balance.

“I can finish now,” she said with a nod.

“No more mistakes,” he suggested.

She smiled. “I’ll try.”

She didn’t know how much longer it took her to work
through the game, but eventually she came down to her last move. She closed
her eyes and concentrated, then examined the remaining tiles. “Last one,” she said.

“Are you certain?” Max asked.

“More or less,” she said as she took the final step. The tile did not break, but instantly the box, in which she’d cast her
rocks, began to shake.

Max made his way over there. “The box opened,” he said. He reached down into it and pulled something back. “It’s a letter.”

“What does it say?” she asked, standing still, afraid to move.

He met her eyes. His own sparkled with excitement. “It’s another clue.”

They made their way down the hill. Sabine moved more quickly in their descent, clearly eager to get back to their room. Max
had no difficulty keeping up with her pace, but twice he had to grab her elbow to steady her when she hit a rocky portion
of the hill. They walked in silence into the tiny inn and had barely closed the door to their room before Sabine grabbed his
arm. “What does it say again?” she asked.

Max unfolded the parchment again and read aloud: “‘
At the Virgin’s rock, the dove bathes where the ancients found tranquillity.
’”

Sabine sat on the edge of the bed. Deep creases settled into her brow. “It’s a riddle,” she said.

“So it would seem.” Max eyed the handwritten note again. It was written on papyrus, but anyone could purchase the antique
paper. So the question was, how old was this particular note? The ink had faded, but was still
legible. And the note had been
scrawled in Greek, not the native Atlantean language.

Max sat next to her on the bed, and beneath both their weight, it creaked and moaned.

“If the Chosen One has a copy of the prophecy, which I’m assuming he does in some form or another, then he knows about the
dove, too,” Sabine reasoned. “He will undoubtedly be looking for the dove as well. Or has looked for it in the past.”

Max nodded. “And what better way to keep him from getting his hands on it than to hide it with a series of puzzles.”

“But we solved the first one,” she said.

“No, you did. I wouldn’t have known how to play that game. Hell, I didn’t even know what it was,” Max said.

“I almost failed,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“But you didn’t.”

“Let me see the note,” she asked.

He handed her the note, then scooted backward so that he lay on one side of the bed, if there could actually be sides in a
bed this small. He folded his arms up behind his head. In this position, his feet hung off the bed past his ankles.

She still wore the men’s clothing he’d given her, and he tried not to let his eyes linger on the way the suspenders cupped
her breasts, or the way her hips and bottom seemed even rounder in those pants. Her hair bound up in that cap gave him a clear
view of her tender throat.

“Virgin’s rock, I don’t know what to make of that,” she muttered. She turned to hand the note back to him. Her head cocked
to one side. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

He patted the empty portion next to him. “There’s plenty of room.”

She snorted. “For elves, perhaps, but not for grown people.”

“We might have to snuggle.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

The edge of her lips curled, but she did not fully smile. “You are incorrigible.”

There was a long pause as she eyed him warily. She glanced at the bed, then finally resigned herself to lying next to him.
He busied himself by reading the riddle again and again. Or rather he simply stared at the note pretending to read while she
settled her warm, luscious body next to his.

Once she stopped moving, he rolled over and braced his arms on either side of her so that he leaned above her body. She looked
up at him with molten amber-colored eyes. Her lips parted in a protest, but she said nothing.

He moved even closer, putting no more than a breath of distance between their mouths. Her eyes widened, then fluttered closed
as she waited for him to kiss her. But he did not. She wanted him, too. Satisfaction surged through him.

“I’ve thought about that night on the train again and again,” he said.

She said nothing in response, but made no move to retreat.

“I know you have, too,” he ventured. He lowered himself onto her. They were fully clothed; still he could feel her soft curves
below him.

He kissed her. Not a slow, gentle, romantic kiss intended to seduce, but rather one full of the pent-up passion and desire
he’d felt since the moment he set eyes on her. She
didn’t shy away from his advances. She wrapped her arms around him and
kissed him back.

He moved against her, his erection rubbing against the juncture of her thighs. Her legs parted, pressing him closer to her.
She kissed him more deeply.

With one hand, he reached up and cupped her right breast. Her nipple pressed hard against the fabric of her shirt, and he
stroked it with his palm. She arched beneath him, pressing herself into him.

Damn, but he wanted her. As he’d never wanted another woman. He tugged on her shirt, pulling it up from beneath her waistband,
and then slid his hand up to touch her bare breast. He rocked against her again, feeling more like a boy touching a girl for
the first time than the man he was now. His fingers fumbled across the buttons on her shirt, but he managed to get it unfastened.

Her breasts were perfect. Round and pert with dark rose-colored areolas. He dipped his mouth to one, covering the tip. She
cried out. Her nails dug into his arms. He laved kisses from one breast to the other and all in between. Her soft, olive-colored
skin was warm beneath his lips, simply delicious under his tongue.

“Wait,” she whispered.

He stilled, listening for her next words. Her eyes met his.

“I can’t.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” But her words died out.

He rolled off her. Lying on his side, he stared at the wall. He was not above seducing a woman into his bed, but he would
not take what was not freely offered.

“I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to,” she said with a humorless laugh. “But I just can’t. You make me want more…,” she
said quietly, her words trailing off.

Max didn’t say anything else. He wanted more, too. More touching, more kissing, more passion. But he didn’t think that’s what
she’d meant. He couldn’t offer her anything more than an affair.

He got up from the bed and made his way to the small window. The first hint of morning peeked out from the horizon in a soft
golden glow. There was nothing to say; nothing more to discuss. She could rest, and in the meantime, he would try to decipher
the riddle to figure out where they would go next.

He found a chair behind the dressing screen and pulled it out beside the fire. Sabine rolled over to face away from him, but
said nothing. With no cover and the way her legs curled up, those trousers molded to her backside, leaving nothing to his
imagination.

For more than an hour, he sat in that plain wooden chair.
At the Virgin’s rock, the dove bathes where the ancients found tranquillity
. He read it again and again. The fire in the hearth died down to a handful of embers. A chill settled on the room. He didn’t
know if Sabine had fallen asleep or just lay there in silence.

He leaned the chair back against the wall, pulling the two front legs off the floor. Virgin’s rock. Bathes. Weapons did not
bathe, though. Perhaps it was the site of a previous battle, a stream where warriors would have washed their swords. But what
did that have to do with tranquillity? What if they meant bath as in a Roman bath? Then how did Virgin’s rock fit in?

Damnation!

He let the chair fall forward. Could it be that simple? If he was right, they had a lengthy drive ahead of them. He glanced
out the window to find that the sun had fully risen now. They needed to leave.

Gently he nudged Sabine’s shoulder. “Sabine,” he said.

Her eyes opened, and she sat upright. “What?”

“I think I’ve figured it out. But we need to leave now.”

She nodded and stood. Quickly she buttoned her shirt and tucked it back into her pants. He boldly watched her, but said nothing
and made no attempt to touch her.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Kent, to Maidstone.”

S
everal hours and two very sore backsides later, they found themselves in the bustling town of Maidstone. They had not spoken
much in the carriage, other than to exchange theories about who might have set up the clues leading to the dove.

Max didn’t know precisely what had made her pull away from him. He supposed most women wanted more from a relationship than
a passionate night spent in a dingy hotel. After his family died, he’d decided then and there, he’d never again get close
to anyone. And he’d never even been tempted—
until now
, echoed through his mind, but it was only her kisses that tempted him. Nothing more.

Now they were walking the streets, and the late-afternoon crowds were thinning out. The shops prepared to close for the day.

“If the clue pointed to a Roman bathhouse,” Sabine said, “it stands to reason that Bath is where we should have gone. I don’t
recall ever hearing of a bathhouse in Kent.”

“Nor have I,” Max said. “But Bath would have been far too obvious. Additionally, Bath wouldn’t explain the mention of the
Virgin’s rock, which clearly points to Maidstone. If I’m wrong and we find nothing, we will go to Bath. And you’ll have my
permission to box my ears. Does that make you feel better?”

She paused awhile as if considering his offer. “Perhaps. I have wanted to do that on occasion.”

He chuckled, but said nothing more on the subject. “We’re looking for anything having to do with bathing or tranquillity or
ancients.”

They got to the end of the cobblestone street and turned down another. There were fewer people here, fewer carriages, and
eventually the road stopped at an alleyway.

“A dead end. Where to next?” she asked.

Max looked down the alley. Farther up on the right sat an old three-story redbrick building with a rounded turret of windows.
Something about the design, different from the Tudor-style buildings that housed the other shops, drew his attention. And
there was that niggling feeling at the base of his stomach—instinct, the men at Solomon’s had called it. It had been his experience
that if something stood out, was the exception to the rule, it often warranted inspection.

“I think we should visit that building.” He pointed, and she nodded, then followed him down the alley.

The cobblestones here were irregularly shaped and uneven, clearly older and less maintained, so navigating to the shop proved
challenging. Max held his arm out for Sabine, and much to his surprise, she took it, her delicate fingers wrapped onto his
forearm. Her touch, though innocent, sent desire charging through him.

There were several different types of chairs crowding
the landing of the shop. Though he would have sworn he saw a light burning
in one of the upper-story windows, there was no other indication of life in the old place. Another sign hung over the front
door that read
The Ancient and Unique
.

“Ancient. This could be it,” Max said.

Sabine stopped walking and looked up at the building with a perplexed expression. “This certainly looks nothing like any bathhouse
I’ve seen.”

Max pointed to the sign. “The riddle said something about where the ancients go.”

“Ancient is a common name for antiquities shops,” she said as she climbed the steps. She looked unconvinced, but followed
him nonetheless. “I suppose it is worth a look. Though I wouldn’t think it would be old enough for this clue.”

“We don’t know when this hunt was established, though,” Max said.

She thought a moment before speaking. “True. I suppose any of my ancestors could have hidden the dove for protection. Just
as they did with the map.” They reached the front stoop and Sabine peered into the windows.

There were no lights downstairs that he could see, and the front door was locked. But he never traveled anywhere without his
tools, so he reached into his pocket and retrieved them.

“Is that how you got into my shop?” Sabine asked from over his shoulder as he slid the first pick into the lock.

“It is.” He smiled at her.

“You are a criminal, Maxwell Barrett.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

He chuckled, but continued working on the lock. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No, I do not. But don’t you think someone might see us?” she asked.

“I doubt it. We are in an alleyway, and most of the shops have closed for the evening.”

“Probably,” she muttered. “Very comforting.” She continued to pace the porch and look out at the alleyway, checking for passersby.