Page 131 of Dagger in the Sea

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Taste,” she said, an eyebrow quirking, her tone silky.

Heat filled my chest. My siren offered a gift to tantalize. I took the delicate glass. An intense flowery fragrance filled my nostrils, and I took a sip. Sweet rose filled my mouth.

“Rose liqueur?”

“Yes. A great aunt of mine makes it herself and there is always a bottle here. I like to keep it cold in the refrigerator. Do you like it?” She sucked on a fingertip where the wine had left a drop behind as she’d poured.

“You want me to like it,” I said swirling the liqueur in my glass, mesmerized by its impossible color.

She took a sip of hers. “Hmmm. I do.”

I drank again. “It’s incredible.”

Her face broke into a huge grin.

We were drinking roses. Roses. “Very pure flavor,” I continued, still admiring its color. “Not that I’ve tasted a rose before. I like that it’s not syrupy.”

“I thought you might enjoy it. You’ve not tried anything like it before?”

“No,” I breathed.

No, I’ve never had rose liqueur before.

No, I’ve never been with a woman like you before.

No, I’ve never felt my heart knocking against my ribs the way it is right now, the way it does whenever I’m with you.

No, I’ve never ached this way before. Ached for something else. Like a piece of me, the hard metal part, had melted and the heat turned my blood to liquid fire and that fire had leapt over the high walls of my castle that I’d so proudly built, just like your Venetian conqueror.

I drained the glass and held it out to her and she poured me more, that pleased smile dancing on her lips. We drank, the taste slightly sweet and very elegant, its warmth seeping through me, mellowing my insides.

Mellowing everything.

“Would you prefer it with ice maybe?” she asked.

“What I’d prefer is you without clothes,” I whispered roughly.

She swallowed her drink, put down her empty glass, and slowly slid her dress off, her bare body offering itself to me to do with what I pleased. The blood pounded in my veins.

I kissed her soft, full lips gently and laid her down on the divan. Tilting my glass, I poured a thin stream of rose liqueur over her belly, and she let out a long hiss as we both watched it spill over her skin. I licked the sweet pink liquor from her navel up to the soft, firm swell of her tits, and her hips twisted under me. The rose was a heady perfume on her silky skin.

My tongue chased the liqueur and lavished her scar. A scar that still seemed fresh and irritated like the first time I’d noticed it. Her breath shorted, body tensing, gaze snagging on mine.

“Baby—” I planted a kiss on that wound that I was sure she continued to cut, keeping her guilt alive. “Oh, baby, let it heal. Leave it be and let it finally heal,” I whispered over her skin, my tongue licking over it one last time, and her eyes filled with water.

I surged over her and took her mouth. She let out a gasp, eyes widening.

“What is it?”

“Your shirt, it’s soiled.”

I followed her gaze. Pink stains soaked the white linen. A growl heaved from my throat and I kissed her roughly.

She undid one button after the other, tugging the shirt off me. The cool air prickled my heated skin. Her fingers pressed into the sensitive flesh of my abs, up my sides, searching, her touch searing.

“Sit up on your knees,” I breathed. “Face the sea.”

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