Page 42 of The Taste of Light
Anne's chest constricted, and she hugged the book. "I promise to take care of it."
Chapter 19
Pedrosatbehindhisdesk in the library. Moored at the Costa Nova Marina, the boat swayed like a child's cradle. Two hours had passed since Cris had left with Dante to find the bodyguard, but he had no reason to doubt their success. The yacht's first mate was a seasoned soldier. In fact, his prudence weighted Cris’s recklessness, and unless Gabriel's horse had sprouted wings, the head of the king's guard lagged at least a day behind.
If luck were on their side, the bodyguard would be useful, and this farce would end. The sooner Pedro sent Anne away, the better.
He shoved all thoughts of the girl into the recess of his mind and concentrated on the week-old newspaper. Why did Ulrich want to kill the king? Had the bullfighter foregone his base in Mozambique, or were his interests still linked to slave trading? The pairing of a king's bodyguard with an enslaver did not raise his brows. Political allegiances were as tradable as commodities, if less valuable.
The gray mongrel waddled inside, stubby paws printing the thick rose carpet. Nonchalantly, it crossed the room and lodgedclose to Pedro’s boots.
Her crown of champagne hair appeared first. Pedro reclined in the chair, pulse speeding up as she waltzed into his library, her simple floral dress resembling a spring meadow. Light from the sky dome painted her pale skin in iridescent colors.
She held a tray, her gaze colliding with his. "I've got you tea... but I don't mean to intrude. If you are busy, I can—"
"You keep saying that." A smile crept to his lips.
After pouring tea for them both, she settled on the chair facing his desk, shifting a few times like a kitten preparing a pillow for a nap. Daintily, she sipped, and a pearl of tea nestled on the crest of her bottom lip, only to be swept away by an elusive tongue. She circled the porcelain’s rim slowly, unbearably slowly, with the tip of her finger. As if conjured by an enchantress, a vivid image assaulted him. Anne tracing circles over his skin, starting at his neck, teasing his chest, and lowering still.
Pedro pushed the cup away. The few times he’d allowed women to touch him had been the same. Cold, too personal. He cleared his throat and pointed to the mutt, drowsing with its head atop Pedro's toes. “You misplaced thepetitcorporal. Again.”
“Corporal?”
“He shirks duty to sleep, and he is always chasing a skirt.”
“Do you hear that, James? Your honor is being besmirched.” Laughing, she crouched so close her scent invaded his space.
When she picked up the tiny beast, her shoulder brushed against his trousers, and Pedro could not stifle a groan.
She frowned, one arm holding the dog, the other at her waist like a scolding teacup. "The wound still pains you. Shouldn't you be in bed?"
Pedro glowered. If he vented his desires, he would indeed be back in bed, but not alone. The vow to keep his hands from her had slashed him in two. One side chose to protect her innocence. The other wanted to consume it. Unfortunately for her, the ravenous side hadn't seen a ration in a month, and mutiny was rampant.
She brushed the newspaper creases. "Have you found something new? I wish I could help more. Usually, I'm the one doing things."
As long as she stood out of his way, Pedro was content. He grunted and caught his timepiece. Half-past two.
"You are fretting about your brother, are you not?"
"Women fret. Cris is a battle-hardened soldier. I would dishonor him if I didn't trust him to succeed."
She perched back on her chair, the dog snoring on her lap. "Would you like to play a game? To pass away the time while you are not worrying?" Her lips twitched. "I'm a decent chess player."
She reached for the chessboard, eagerly setting the pieces in place.
The game reminded him of his inability to maneuver his own fate. Pedro took the white queen from her hand and dropped it. "I'd rather not."
Her shoulders deflated a notch, but then she perked up again. "Backgammon? Charades?"
Pedro stared deep into her eyes and, keeping her gaze captive, opened the top drawer of his desk. He chose two ivory cubes and rolled them twice in his leather-clad hands. With a practiced toss, he placed them in front of her.
She gulped. "Dice?"
"You said you wanted to play." He extended his hand to take them back.
"Dice, then. But I must warn you. I'm not familiar with the rules."
Of course, she wasn’t. No respectable lady played hazard. "The game has two players, the caster and the bank. The caster chooses a number between five and nine."
