Page 43 of Poisoned Empire

“Is there something wrong?”

“Hmm? No, nothing. So I was thinking we should really get the rumour mill going. I tore your clothes, and you look like you just finished a race. I think you should definitely rip my clothes off.”

“Uh…”

The sight of her in that illicit little shift, toying with the hem as she’d mocked him, crept unbidden into his mind. Perhaps he would hold off on ruling against the thinness of the material. For now.

“You’re right, too dramatic. Perhaps just a sleeve?” She smiled, crawling over to him.

Heat crept up his cheeks. He cleared his throat before doing as she’d asked.

“Best muss my hair as well, Your Royal Highness,” Selene suggested, using the chance to crawl closer.

“Right,” he replied, swallowing tightly. Why did she make him so nervous? Something predatory in her gaze heated his blood. Ensnared by her amethyst eyes, he could smell her delicate floral perfume, feel her breath against his skin. Belisarius reached out and began pulling pins from her hair, letting the silky brown strands free. A mistake. She looked like she belonged in bed.

“The paint on my lips,” she breathed, her nose almost touching his.

“What about it?” His eyes unerringly found her lips. Soft. They looked soft.

“It should be on you.”

He bit back his instant agreement. Breaths mingling, he had several wicked thoughts as to where she should mark him. He fought to keep his cool.

“I’m sure it’s not necessary.” His voice was huskier than he’d meant.

“Don’t be silly. What kind of tryst doesn’t include a few kisses?” She flicked her eyes to his and licked her lips.

Rational thought fled.

“I… uh…”

“Exactly.”

She ducked her head and began a slow trail of kisses up his chest, one hand resting on his hip, the other braced behind him. The view from his vantage had him envisioning her lips trailing lower. Her hand moved up along with her lips, her little nails scoring his pectoral, lightly grazing his nipple. Everywhere she trailed her nails, lips and tongue followed. Why was he resisting the strange pull she had on him?

When her lips met his jaw, he threw in the towel, turned his head and kissed her soundly. He thrust his fingers into her hair, holding her. She deepened the kiss, brazenly stroking his tongue with her own. Soft lips, hot little tongue, cruel, grasping hands—he was undone. Inflamed, he matched her fervour, blood pooling in his groin. Visions of hauling her close, skin pressed to skin, were thwarted when she pulled away.

“I-I think that should do it.”

“Not nearly,” he growled, reaching out for her.

She ducked out of his hold and stood, shaking out her dress and refusing to meet his eyes. Gods, but he wanted more. He ached to flip her on her back, retake control, make her ache in turn. She looked like she wanted it too, her cheeks flushed, gaze hungrily skating back over his body. Needy. He had to close this bewildering distance.

“See you, uh, tomorrow.” She waved awkwardly, all but sprinting for the door. She was gone before he could even reply.

When he calmed down enough to realise what he’d just been about to do, he groaned. He really had lost his sanity.

“Fuck.”

The room was decorated with intimacy in mind. The lighting was dimmer, unenchanted candles providing the illumination. Rose petals were strewn across the marble floor, a few artfully arranged on the small table in the middle of the room. A sideboard with dishes kept warm with lidded trays occupied one wall. Calming, pastoral tapestries decorated the others. It was altogether more than Iliana had expected.

“What would you have done if I’d said no?” she asked. She was more than a little taken aback. This was the most sweetly, and most impressively, anyone had ever tried to woo her.

Marduk shrugged.

“Given the food to the knights in training. Made sure the candles were blown out.”

“Are you trying to court me, Strategos?”

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