Tainted (7 page)

She half expected Gawain himself to help her from the
carpentum
,
but he was nowhere in sight. Was he allowing her a façade of respectability
before her father’s guards? Or was it because he had no intention of following
through on their hastily arranged assignation?

Oddly, that thought calmed her nerves in a way nothing else
had. If he imagined to slight her by ignoring her, he greatly underestimated
her. And if he supposed she would be willing to overlook his arrogance and
arrange a second illicit rendezvous then he most certainly would be
disappointed.

Head held high she followed the tribune’s servant to the
door, Elpis at her heels. There was still no sign of Gawain. Had he only wanted
to see if she would take his bait? She stiffened her spine and hoped Carys was
home and able to greet her. She would explain the reason for her unexpected
visit was to invite the tribune and his wife to a feast the following week. Her
father would be delighted.

She ignored the dull ache deep in her chest as she entered
the atrium. She had feared Gawain might discard her the moment he’d had her.
Wasn’t it better that he’d discarded her before? At least this way she could
retain a chilly veneer of indifference, should they ever meet again.

And then disbelief punched through her, stalling her
thoughts, and she stared in shocked silence as Carys walked toward her. Her
hair was braided like a primitive savage, her daughter perched on her hip and
her gown was like nothing Antonia had ever seen before.

The Roman noblewoman had vanished. And in that instant
Antonia understood how this woman could have thwarted a mad Druid.

“Antonia, welcome.” Carys gestured her forward. “I’ve been
expecting you.”

“Thank you.” The words slipped out, unthinking, as she tried
not to stare at the extraordinary bejeweled belt around Carys’ waist. And then
the other woman’s statement penetrated and heat flooded her cheeks.

Carys had been expecting her. That meant Gawain had told her
of their assignation.

It meant Gawain intended to follow through on his promise.

“I’ll show you to our bathhouse.” Carys led the way through
the atrium. “My husband insisted on building one, although he assures me its
splendor fades to insignificance besides the grand ones in Rome.”

They left the villa and, directly ahead, Antonia saw a small
building, marble columns flanking its entrance. Was that where she was to meet
Gawain?

“The public baths are magnificent.” Her voice was breathless
as the prospect of bathing with him flooded her mind. She hoped Carys had not
noticed. “But there is something to be said for the intimacy of a private
bathhouse.”

Not that she knew from experience. But several of her former
friends had enjoyed scandalous affairs in such steamy surrounds.

“Very true.” Carys shot her a glance she couldn’t quite
decipher and continued around the side of the bathhouse. She paused in front of
another building that abutted the bathhouse and pushed open the door. “I will
see you later.”

Antonia stepped into the room, and was momentarily confused.
She’d expected a secondary bathhouse, a hot or a cold room, or perhaps a small
exercise area. Instead there were benches and a couple of couches as if this
was another living area and nothing to do with the ritual of bathing.

A door opened to her left and she turned to see Gawain stroll
in from the bathhouse. Her heart thudded against her chest, making it hard to
draw breath, and the pit of her stomach trembled with strange, liquid heat.

He looked utterly foreign, a savage warrior, and sunlight
glinted on the barbaric jewelry around his throat and at his ear. He smiled, a
slow, seductive smile that sent tremors through her blood and did nothing to
ease the constriction in her breast.

Except for Elpis, she was alone with a strange man, a man
she had virtually propositioned in the street. A native of a conquered land who
made no secret of the fact he despised her people. And yet it wasn’t derision
that glowed in his eyes. It was lust.

For her.

“Lady Antonia.” His smoky voice wrapped around her senses,
as potent as though he had wrapped his arms around her naked body. “You kept
your word.”

“Did you doubt I would?” She scarcely recognized her voice.
She sounded like a sultry seductress. Perhaps, after all, Gawain would never
guess what a novice she was when it came to playing such dangerous games.

He stopped in front of her, so close that the amber flecks
in his dark eyes mesmerized her. “No.” The word sank into her blood, igniting
sparks of pleasure that skittered across her exposed flesh. “You want this as
much as I do.”

It was true. Why should she deny it? “Yes.”

Elpis began to remove her
palla
, and Gawain took
another step toward her. “You have no need of a chaperone, Antonia.”

For a moment, she stared at him, bemused. A chaperone? Did
he mean he wished her to dismiss Elpis?

Such a thing had never occurred to her. She had simply
assumed Elpis would remain in the room, a familiar shadow, while she and Gawain
had sex. But now the thought of being completely alone with Gawain had crossed
her mind it was shockingly alluring.

She turned to Elpis. “You may leave.”

Elpis hesitated, before she bowed her head and left to wait
outside.

Gawain took her hand and brushed his lips across her
knuckles. His warm breath seared her flesh, a lover’s touch.

Soon he would truly be her lover.
The knowledge caused
damp heat to stir between her thighs.

“Did your father suspect anything?” He tugged her closer,
his lips still grazing the back of her hand.

A sliver of guilt pierced her heart at how she had deceived
her father. “No.” But even the guilt couldn’t force her to drag her fascinated
gaze from his mouth.

“Does your husband ever suspect your illicit liaisons?”

Scipio had never had cause to suspect her of any such thing.
But she had no intention of telling Gawain he had the dubious honor of being
her first illicit liaison.

Yet she had to tell him something.

“I no longer possess a husband.” It was easier to say that,
than admit Scipio had divorced her because she had failed, so spectacularly, to
provide him with a living son. “I belong to no man but my father.”

Gawain gave her a probing look, and for a moment, she had
the oddest sensation that he had already known of her divorce. But if he had,
why would he have phrased his question in such a way?

“Soon,” He took another step toward her, her hand still
captured in his. The intense look in his eyes caused her mouth to dry and it
seemed a thousand butterfly wings were trapped in her breast. “You will belong
to
me
.”

Gawain watched the enchanting blush suffuse Antonia’s
flawless skin. But she didn’t break eye contact.

“I will belong to you for only a fleeting moment.” Her
breathless voice entranced as much as her blush. She was truly a mistress of
her art. How many men had fallen for her air of innocence?

“I intend for our
moment
,” he stressed the word and
could not keep the mocking grin from his face, “to be anything but fleeting.”

The tip of her tongue moistened the seam of her lips. He
could almost believe his words truly discomposed her.

“That,” she said at last, “was not what I meant. And you know
it.”

He laughed out loud at her final thrust and wound his free
arm about her waist. “I’m more than aware how fleeting our affair will be,
Antonia. I would have it no other way.”

She trailed the tips of her fingers along the front of his
shirt, a light touch that branded his flesh with provocative promise. His cock
thickened and it took more willpower than he cared to admit not to push her to
her knees and invade her inviting mouth. She already knew how much he wanted
her. He wasn’t prepared to also let her know how far she tested his
self-control.

“And is this how you usually conduct your clandestine
affairs?” There was an irresistible huskiness in her voice and the hint of fire
in her ice-blue eyes threatened to sever the tenuous threads that remained of
his cursed self-control.

He unfastened her cloak and it fell to the floor. Her gown
was of the palest blue silk and his palms skimmed over her delicately defined
biceps, her skin smooth and warm beneath his touch.

“No. Usually I’m invited into my lover’s bedchamber while
her husband is occupied elsewhere.”

Antonia tugged at the fastenings of his shirt. It was
obvious she had never attempted to strip a man who didn’t wear the Roman toga.

“I will never,” she said, giving him a quick glance before
she returned her attention to the ineptitude of her fingers, “invite you into
my bedchamber.”

He had no inclination to enter her bedchamber when they
could meet here without the need for evading guards and bribing servants to
silence.

“Rest assured I’ll never attempt to persuade you otherwise.”

She looked up at him again, and this time he could no longer
resist. He cradled her face and his thumb caressed the pink curve of her lips.
Her uneven breath whispered across his jaw and he caught an elusive hint of
Roman mint as he lowered his head toward her.

Her mouth opened but for a moment he lingered, her lips soft
and tempting beneath his. Her hands fisted in his shirt as she rose onto her
toes, and the tip of her tongue ventured between their joined lips.

Still cupping her face, his other hand slid up her arm and
over her shoulder. The combination of sensuous silk and smooth skin collided
with the raw lust pounding through his veins, and it was all he could do to
stop himself from ripping the exquisite material from her body like a mindless
savage.

Her tongue invaded, a torturous, tentative invasion that
scalded his reason. She kissed with the innocence of an untouched maid, and yet
her kiss aroused like a potent aphrodisiac. Desire speared through his groin,
and he plunged his fingers into her hair, twisting the silken threads until her
curls tumbled from their jeweled restraints.

She pressed her body close, her breasts against his chest,
her belly cradling his rigid shaft. Her fingers mirrored his, tangling in his
hair, the tips of her nails digging into the back of his head.

Her tongue continued to torment him with shallow, fleeting
intrusions. Did she want him to burst into flame beneath her teasing touch?

A growl burned his throat and he thrust into her, devouring
her shocked gasp as he claimed her delectable mouth. The evocative taste of
fresh mint and exotic spices teased his senses and his cock jerked with
frustrated need. His hand slid from her face to capture her vulnerable throat.

Her pulse hammered against his fingers, intensifying the
pounding in his temples, the thunder of his heart. He wanted her naked,
writhing beneath him, and his fingers were inside her gown before he realized
his intention.

Panting, he pulled back. Whatever she imagined, he was no
barbarian and he wouldn’t rip her gown to shreds no matter how much the image
inflamed.

“Strip for me.” It was a command, but it was agony to find
the words to tell her what he needed. How much easier it would be if she
understood his language. But even though he’d spoken in Latin she gazed at him
in seeming confusion. He bared his teeth in a feral snarl. “
Now
.”

Slowly she began to remove her gown. Her golden hair tumbled
around her shoulders, giving her a strangely ethereal air. As her fingers
fumbled, he wondered if she had ever performed such a simple task for herself
without the aid of slaves.

He didn’t offer to assist. And with each tortured breath,
she revealed another tantalizing glimpse of flesh. Finally her gown slid down
her body to pool at her feet and his cock throbbed at the sight of her standing
before him, a naked vision of temptation.

A blush highlighted her aristocratic cheeks but she did not
drop her gaze in feigned modesty. “Now you must strip for me.” Her voice was
low and he imagined he detected a tremble, but it was likely another ploy she
used to engage the devotion of her lovers.

“Patience, Antonia.” He managed a mocking smile but it
almost killed him. He wanted nothing more than to pin her to the nearest
available surface and thrust deep inside her wet pussy, but she would learn no
woman told him what to do. Even if she told him exactly what his rabid libido
wanted him to do.

He raked his gaze over her full breasts, her nipples erect
and inviting. Desire clawed through him but he remained rooted to the spot
through sheer druidic pride. Her body was slender, beautiful, with subtle signs
that she had borne children. His gaze shifted to between her thighs and his
mouth dried.

A narrow band of pale golden curls hugged her pussy lips.
The hair was so fine, so delicate, it appeared translucent and her mound
enticed him to fall to his knees and worship at her glistening shrine.

His hands fisted and he remained standing although the gods
only knew how. “Turn around.” The order was raw, brutal, and for the life of
him he couldn’t drag his mesmerized eyes from her dewy folds.

Without a word, she slowly turned and even without looking
at her face he could imagine her smile of triumph. He barely cared. Because
although she only half turned away from him she looked over her shoulder and
her provocative pose caused violent spirals of lust deep in his gut. Her curls
tumbled down her back to the dip of her waist, brushing against the swell of
her arse. Gods, he’d never seen such a captivating arse. Firm globes of
delectable flesh and he ached to taste, to touch. To grip her rounded cheeks
while she rode him into a frenzy.

But not yet.
He intended to savor this first time
with her, and her practiced charms would not sway him from his purpose.

Even if every frustrated sense he possessed thudded with the
urge to
take her now
and explore her tantalizing body later, at his
leisure.

Antonia wound a curl around her finger, a nervous reaction
to the breathless desire fluttering through her breast and belly. Gawain had
barely touched her and yet her body tingled with languorous arousal. Unable to
help herself she slowly turned back to face him. Should she demand that he now
strip for her? But it didn’t matter what she thought because the dark passion in
his eyes held her spellbound.

Without moving toward her, he ripped off his shirt. The
breath lodged in her throat. He had the body of a warrior god. Bronzed from the
sun, scarred from battle, his muscles firm and molded like the finest
sculpture.

She had never imagined a man’s body could be so beautiful.
She ached to reach out and touch, to trace her fingers over his taut flesh and
feel his masculine strength. Unlike with Scipio, the thought of exploring
Gawain’s body caused exhilarating whirlpools between her thighs and an
exquisite sensation of damp heat trembled through her core.

Until she had met Gawain she’d never imagined wanting to see
another man naked. Now, she could not wait. Riveted, she watched him unlace his
braccae
, her heart hammering high in her breast making it difficult to
draw breath. With apparent disregard for the lust simmering between them, he
slowly tugged them down his powerful legs.

Merciful
Juno
. Antonia stared, mesmerized, as
Gawain straightened and his breathtaking organ filled her vision. Thick and
proud, his length caused another rush of heat careering through her blood,
pooling low and bathing her sheath. She struggled to remain standing, to keep
her hands to herself, not to gasp out loud with foolish awe.

But she couldn’t drag her fascinated gaze away.

He cupped his testicles and the sight of his hand on his
body sent molten waves of pure desire from her nipples to her womb.
And
still he had not touched her.
Unfamiliar tugs of need tightened her cleft
and this time she couldn’t help but press her thighs together. The pressure
only increased the sensation of fullness that surged through her swollen folds.

If he didn’t take her soon she feared she would collapse
onto the floor.

“Do you like what you see?” There was a hint of amusement in
his husky voice. She could not trust herself to speak so merely nodded.
How
much longer did he intend to make her wait?
“Do you enjoy watching your
lovers caress their cocks?” His hand slid up and grasped his root. Her fingers
clenched around the curl she held and her mouth dried to an impossible degree.

Did he truly expect her to answer him? How could she answer
him, when Scipio was the only man she had ever known? And he had never bothered
with such exquisite foreplay. When he wanted her, he had taken her. She had
been married almost a week before she had even got a good look at his monstrous
tool of torture.

“Does this arouse you, Antonia?” He took a step toward her
and she tried, desperately, to meet his gaze. And failed. She had never
examined Scipio’s loathed instrument. She’d closed her eyes, imagined herself
back in Gallia. But Gawain—goddess, his shaft was a thing of untold
fascination.

Gawain moved to her side and with his free hand grasped her
hair and lifted it over her shoulder, leaving her back bare for his pleasure.
With drugged reluctance, Antonia met his burning gaze and her pulses thudded at
the raw lust he made no effort to conceal.

He would take her now. Even though they had done none of the
things her former friends had gossiped about, it didn’t matter. Because she was
more aroused than she had ever been in her life before, and for the first time
she ached to be penetrated and possessed.

“Your eyes bewitch.” He sounded as drugged as she felt, as
if the words escaped without his knowledge. “You’ll find me no easy conquest,
Antonia.”

She had no idea what he meant. She did not care what he
meant. Because his large hands curved over her shoulders and her eyes drifted
shut as ripples of pleasure cascaded over her naked flesh.

He intended to take her from behind. Would he bend her over
one of the benches or push her to her knees? She didn’t care. So long as he did
it quickly, before she revealed how much she wanted this and begged.

His thumbs began to massage her tense shoulders and her eyes
sprung open in shock. His grip on her was firm, but now his fingers mirrored
his thumbs and an involuntary groan of pleasure escaped.

“Relax, my lady.” His smoky whisper brushed her ear as he
leaned into her, and for a brief, glorious moment his broad chest grazed her
back and branded her skin. “I have no intention of rutting with you like a wild
beast from the forest. Not until you’re ready for me.”

Ready for him? How much readier could she
be
?

His hands worshipped her biceps and although she had been massaged
times without number in her life before, never had it felt like this. But then,
never before had the masseur been a virile foreign warrior.

Another strangled groan escaped and she pressed her lips
together but it made no difference. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. Hard
to remain still and upright while Gawain’s magic fingers turned her limbs to
water.

“You torture me.” The words sounded hoarse. She flexed her
fingers in a futile effort to force her concentration away from the delirium
Gawain’s confident touch evoked.

“Good.” His hands slid down her arms and involuntary tremors
skittered across her flesh. Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined her
forearms could be so sensitive to a man’s seductive caress. “I intend to
torture you until you writhe at my feet for mercy.”

She laughed, the breathless sound shocking her and she only
just stopped herself from slapping her hand across her mouth. Sex wasn’t
supposed to be funny. Was it?

“I see you doubt my prowess in this matter.” There was no
mistaking the hint of laughter in his voice and Antonia risked glancing over
her shoulder. His dark gaze enslaved and his fingers threaded through hers,
pressing her palms against her taut thighs. “By the time we have finished, my
lady, you will doubt me no longer.”