Chapter 9

MARCUS clicked on the END CALL button, and Dante’s visage dissolved into the background of the flat-screen monitor. Jupiter’s Stone. How was he supposed to explain to Atia that he’d agreed to let their daughter remain in the heart of Praetorian territory? The woman was going to rip his heart out when she learned he’d not ordered Cleo to come back to the States.

The fact that Cleo was unwilling to leave Rome showed how much of a rift existed between mother and daughter. Worse, she’d convinced Ignacio Firmani to give her the Angotti assignment. If he’d known that ahead of time, he would have tried to stop her. Tried being the operative word. Cleo got just as much of her stubbornness from him as she did from Atia.

But even if he’d known ahead of time, it was doubtful he would have been able to convince her to do nothing, short of ordering her not to assassinate Angotti. And that would only have put more distance between them, something he was trying to avoid. As much as he might want to use his authority to keep her safe, he was certain his efforts in that direction would only alienate her. That he didn’t want. He’d missed too many years with her as it was.

He wanted to get to know his daughter. Although how in Juno’s name he could do that if she remained in Rome, he didn’t know. It didn’t please him that Firmani had allowed her to go after Angotti. The decision made him question the man’s judgment. Atia put great faith in her Celeris, but there was something about him Marcus didn’t trust, even if Firmani had been guarding Atia for years. Marcus snorted softly.

He was jealous. Clear and simple. He was jealous of Firmani. The man was in love with Atia, even if she didn’t realize it. Marcus shoved the chair away from his desk and glanced at the mantel clock over the fireplace. Almost six fifteen. Atia might already be in the research lab.

The woman still liked to rise at the crack of dawn, while he preferred a more reasonable hour. He rose from his chair and crossed the bedroom floor to where a small fire blazed in the fireplace. White Cloud had all the modern conveniences, but he’d always preferred to sleep and wake to a wood fire. Probably a habit left over from his past life as the ancient Roman soldier Tevy.

He pressed the heels of his palms against the mantelpiece and stared down at the fire. Images from the distant past danced in the flames. One of these visions was of the Milvian Bridge and the fireballs raining down from the sky to kill his friends and many of his men. Octavian was to blame for that day of carnage. Even in his present incarnation as the Nicostratus, Patriarch of the Collegium, the man hadn’t changed in almost two thousand years. Whether he was Octavian or Nicostratus, he was still a murderous bastardo.

Marcus violently pushed himself away from the mantel with a dark sound of fury. Whatever it took, he would see the man dead. As Octavian, the man had betrayed his brothers in the Guard. But as Nicostratus, the bastardo had done something much worse. The man had taken an innocent boy and turned him into a monster. Marcus closed his eyes as the pain of that terrible moment in the Pantheon washed over him again.

Marcus had killed Gabriel—his own son.

The memory sliced into him as viciously as Gabriel’s sword had pierced his side. Marcus parted his robe and bent his head to see the spot on his thigh where his son’s weapon had nicked a major artery. There was still a small scar. He’d not allowed anyone to touch him after Phaedra’s healing ritual. He would have died if not for her. And now she lay unconscious in the Sicari medical facility in Genova. She’d given everything to save Lysander. It was the same type of sacrifice he would willingly make for Atia.

With a grimace, he moved quickly back to the desk and opened up the webcam software to contact the Genova hospital. It took several minutes for the doctor to reach the computer, and when a woman finally appeared in front of the camera, Marcus knew from the doctor’s expression that Phaedra’s condition hadn’t changed.

After a brief update, he ended the conversation and sat staring at the blank monitor screen for several moments. Surely, Vesta wouldn’t be so cruel as to keep Lysander and Phaedra apart a second time. Shouts of panic and anger in the corridor abruptly interrupted his train of thought, and he immediately called for his clothes with the mere whisper of a thought.

In less than sixty seconds he was completely dressed. As he strode toward the door of his suite, he summoned his sword, and the weapon flew through the air into his hand almost at the same moment he flung his door wide open. The sound of chaos was louder in the hall. A young boy raced by, and Marcus reached out with his thoughts to drag the youngster to a halt. Terror filled the boy’s face as he cried out in fear.

“It’s all right, boy, I’m not going to hurt you,” Marcus said in a calm, quiet voice as he slid his sword into the sheath hanging at his side. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“It’s one of the researchers, il mio signore. They’ve been murdered.”

Murder. The boy had to be mistaken. Sicari resolved their differences in open combat before members of the Order. Murder was virtually unheard of among the Sicari. Atia’s face flashed before his eyes, and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach.

“Have you seen the Prima Consul, boy?”

“No, il mio signore.”

Fear churning in his stomach, he released his mental grip on the boy then raced down the hall toward the research lab. Juno help him if something had happened to her. Deus, he’d not been this frightened since the day the Praetorians had taken Gabriel. The closer he got to the lab, the more crowded the hall became.

Desperate to find Atia, he commanded people to stand aside. Some people moved the minute he ordered them to do so, while he had to shove others out of his way. Just outside the research lab, a short, rotund man with a balding head stood arguing with a fighter he recognized from Lysander’s temporary guild in Rome.

He frowned as he tried to remember the fighter’s name. Pasquale. That was his name. Luciano Pasquale. He didn’t know the other man. The minute the fighter looked up, Marcus caught his attention.

“The Prima Consul, is she—”

“She’s fine, il mio signore,” Pasquale said with a reassuring nod of his head. “She’s in the lab with the Celeris.”

Relief crashed through him before irritation took its place. Firmani again. Of course he’d be with Atia. It was the man’s job. He clenched his jaw. The sooner he put the Celeris out of work the better. But the only way that was going to happen was if he convinced Atia they were meant to be together.

As he pushed past the man Pasquale had been arguing with, pudgy fingers bit into his arm. He stiffened at the touch and turned his head to direct a cold look at the short, stocky man delaying him. The man immediately jerked his hand away but wilted only slightly under Marcus’s glare.

“Who in Juno’s name are you? If Pasquale won’t let me in the lab, what makes you think you can go in?” the man snapped in anger.

Suddenly, Marcus was sorry he’d given orders that no one was to divulge who he really was. Although Pasquale had been in Rome, the fighter didn’t know anything more about Marcus than anyone else here at White Cloud. Only a select few knew he was a Sicari Lord. To everyone else on the estate he was a Legatus from the Rome guild who was an expert authority on the Tyet of Isis.

The expert part was true, but the rest was merely to keep the Order from exploding with more tension than there already was in the organization. The revelation that Lysander was half-Praetorian with the skills of a Sicari Lord had created enough of a stir in the Order already. The only thing that made people’s eyebrows raise when they met him was his last name. He knew they were wondering about the connection between him and Atia, but no one had dared mention the obvious.

“Marcus Vorenus. Who are you?”

“Cato, member of the Sicari Council.” The man’s gaze narrowed as he looked at Marcus. “Where do I know you from?”

“You don’t,” he said in an icy voice before he brushed past the two men and entered the lab.

The lab’s temperature was intentionally cool in order to preserve the delicate documents stored in the room. White Cloud’s library of research books was extensive, and its lab was one of the best in the States. Atia sat bowed over in a chair, while the body of a man lay sprawled on the floor behind her. Bent over Atia, the Celeris was rubbing her back in a comforting manner.

The sight sent fury streaking through Marcus. Firmani might be Atia’s bodyguard, but the man was taking liberties Marcus didn’t like. Food, milk, and a tray lay on the floor where someone had dropped them, and he stepped around the mess. As he moved forward, Atia’s head jerked up. The moment her gaze met his, she was on her feet and running toward him.

It was a moment of intense jubilation and relief. He was the one she needed and wanted, not Firmani.

He pulled her into a tight embrace as she buried her face in his shoulder. Over her head, he met the gaze of the Celeris. The devastation on the man’s face made Marcus feel sorry for him. It was obvious he loved Atia, and Marcus understood what losing her would feel like.

The pain on Firmani’s face quickly vanished, and Marcus didn’t have to read the man’s mind to know the bodyguard hated him. Burrowed deep into his chest, Atia was trembling hard, and he was certain it wasn’t from the chilly temperature. It was most likely shock.

“It’s all right, mea kara. I’m here now,” he murmured as he stroked her hair. Despite the whitish silver color, it was as silky as the day they first met. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her answer was muffled in his shirt.

“Tell me what happened.”

Although her tremors had eased somewhat, she remained pressed against his chest, and he waited patiently. When she didn’t respond to his command, an uneasy sensation slid through him. It wasn’t like her to act so frightened.

Even when the Praetorians had taken Gabriel, she’d exhibited a steely strength in her determination to find their son. If the death of their son had stripped her of that fortitude, Nicostratus had one more crime to pay for. After a long moment, she lifted her head, and the expression of fear on her face made his gut tighten.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to the lab to study the document we found in the Tyet of Isis. When I arrived, the lights were out. Sandro always comes to the lab early, and I sensed something was wrong.” She shuddered and closed her eyes for a brief moment. “I almost called for help then, but I told myself Sandro had simply taken the morning off. When I turned on the lights, that’s when I saw him.”

“Did you see anyone? Hear anything?” The thought that the murderer might have been anywhere near her made his gut twist viciously with fear.

“No. At first I thought Sandro had just collapsed, but then I saw the blood on the floor.” She blanched at the statement, and he knew she was reliving that moment. “I knew there was only one reason why someone would kill him, so I immediately checked the lockbox to make sure the Tyet of Isis document wasn’t missing. It was still where I’d left it yesterday.”

“What about Pasquale? Where did he come from?”

“Luciano was on duty in the security control room. It was the Vigilavi girl who always brings Sandro breakfast who sounded the alarm. I didn’t know she’d come into the room until she dropped the tray and screamed.” Atia pulled away from him and pressed her fingertips into her temple. It seemed natural for Marcus to automatically reach out with his thoughts to caress the spot. Her hand fell downward until it came to rest on his arm. “Before I could stop her, the girl panicked and went screaming for help. Pasquale arrived a couple of minutes later. That’s when I went to Sandro and . . .”

As her voice trailed off into nothing, she breathed in a deep, shuddering breath. It was a sound that made his heart ache for the harrowing emotions he sensed in her. It wasn’t just that she was in shock or upset at the death of a man he knew had been her friend. There was something else underlying the fragile control she was clinging to by a thread.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said quietly.

“It’s . . . I can’t tell you . . . I have to show you.”

She pulled away from him then led him toward Sandro’s body. The moment he saw the researcher, he went rigid at the sight of a familiar backward C over a diagonal line carved into the man’s cheek. The incomplete Chi-Rho mark Gabriel had used on all his murder victims was one he’d never expected to see again.

“Fotte,” he rasped.

For a brief second he wondered if perhaps he’d dreamt killing his own son as he stared down at the mark. He knew better. He and Atia had quietly held a Rogalis for Gabriel at Palazzo al Mare the day after the battle in the Pantheon. This was someone else’s work. Someone who either didn’t know Gabriel was dead or was sending a message. Either way, Sandro’s death told him that Nicostratus’s reach was far greater than he’d feared.

“I don’t understand . . . The murderer didn’t even try to take the document.” Atia’s voice wavered as she looked up at him.

“You, or something else, startled the intruder. The Praetorians know that document might shift the balance of power if we decipher it,” he said grimly as he looked around the lab. “Is there another way out of here?”

“Yes, through the dark lab.” She shook her head. “But there wasn’t anyone here when I arrived. I’m sure of it.”

“Can you think of any other reason why someone would want to kill the man?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “He was well liked by everyone.”

“Then we can only assume that whoever killed Sandro was working for the Praetorians, which means we have a traitor among us.” His dark words made Atia draw in a sharp breath.

“That’s not possible.”

“Then how else do you explain the man’s death, carissima?”

“I can’t,” Atia said in a whisper.

He watched her as she struggled with the knowledge that there was a viper in her house and they didn’t know where. She rubbed at her temple again, and he longed to help ease her pain, but instinct said she’d only resent his touch at the moment. He looked down at the dead man again.

“Who else has seen the mutilation?”

“Just Ignacio, Pasquale, myself, and now you,” Atia replied.

“The Vigilavi?” His abrupt question made her shake her head.

“She didn’t get any farther than where she dropped Sandro’s breakfast tray.” Atia’s gaze shifted toward the mess on the floor just inside the research lab’s doorway. Marcus looked at Atia’s bodyguard.

“We need to have the man prepared for the Rogalis with as few people seeing his body as possible. Murder is one thing, but this mark will create widespread panic,” he said grimly. “We have no choice but to trust Pasquale, since he’s already seen the body. Do you have one or two men you can rely on to keep their mouths shut?”

“Yes.” Firmani nodded abruptly then looked at Atia. “Benedict? Fabrizio’s only been with us a little more than a year.”

“Yes, Benedict is completely loyal to me.” Atia nodded her head as she looked at Marcus. Color had returned to her face, and she looked far more composed now. With his thoughts, he lightly brushed his fingers across her cheek. She frowned slightly but didn’t say anything as he turned back to Firmani.

“You need to move the man’s body quickly. In the meantime, Atia will address the residents and call a special meeting of the Council.” Marcus turned his head as Atia uttered a small gasp.

“A special meeting . . . ? But I don’t—”

“You don’t have much choice,” he growled. “There’s a belligerent little worm outside who I’ve no doubt will cause trouble otherwise.”

“Cato.” Atia and her Celeris said the name simultaneously and with equal disgust.

“That’s the one,” he said in a sharp tone as he remembered the Council member’s self-importance. If the man had had any idea who he was talking to, Marcus was certain the obnoxious toad’s attitude would have been completely different.

“Marcus is right, Ignacio. I need to meet with the Council and reassure the rest of the estate’s residents. If you’ll see to Sandro and his Rogalis, I’ll deal with Cato.” Her voice was strong and commanding as she turned toward Marcus. “Do you think we should find a safer storage place for the document?”

It was a good question, and he frowned. If the document were less fragile, he would have been inclined to say yes, but the research lab had been designed to protect ancient artifacts. It was still the best place to keep the document. He shook his head.

“This is the safest option available to us. Once Firmani has seen to the body, I’ll work on making improvements to the security system in the room.”

“His name was Sandro,” she bit out in a tight voice. He flinched as he realized his pragmatism had made him seem uncaring. Marcus bowed slightly toward her.

“Forgive me, mea kara. I meant no disrespect to Sandro.” His jaw tightened as she nodded sharply at him before turning back to her Celeris.

“Ignacio, take care with him.”

Her voice softened as she glanced down at the dead man then turned and left the room. As she walked away, his senses picked up on Firmani’s malicious satisfaction. Slowly, he turned his head toward the man. The small smile on the Celeris’s face disappeared as Marcus eyed him with a cold calculation.

“You heard the Prima Consul. See to the man’s body.” His command made Firmani stiffen, but the Celeris nodded sharply then pulled a cell phone from his pants pocket and tapped on the screen. Marcus didn’t bother waiting to ensure the man followed Atia’s instructions. He was certain Firmani would do as he was told, and not just because the Prima Consul had ordered him to.

Firmani was too much in love with Atia to refuse her. What if she cared for the Celeris, too? The thought made Marcus’s entire body grow rigid with jealous tension. Little more than two weeks ago when he’d found Atia at La Terrazza del Ninfeo in Rome, she’d defended Firmani. She’d pleaded for the man’s life. Had that been because she was in love with her Celeris?

She’d mentioned breaking their blood bond that morning before Firmani had even showed up. His gut knotted at the possibility. No. He couldn’t believe that. Just a few minutes ago, when Marcus entered the lab, he’d been the one she’d run to, not Firmani. He was the one she’d clung to. It had been his arms Atia had sought solace in, not those of her Celeris.

A grim smile twisted his lips as he crossed the room toward the locked cabinet that held the Tyet of Isis document. He would win her back. He wouldn’t fail in that task. He’d spent too many years dreaming about her and how he would regain her love after Dante became the new Sicari Lord. He would not lose her now.

For the moment, he would do as she asked, just as Firmani would. He had no doubt the Celeris would do what he could to steal Atia from him, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. His thoughts were still on Atia as he examined the high-tech security lock on the steel lockbox that held the parchment he knew the Praetorians wanted desperately. As he looked around the room, he began to itemize the extra precautions that could be taken to protect the valuable document.

Several hours later, all of Marcus’s ideas were close to completion as the Vigilavi security expert on staff directed the placement of the last security camera that would give the control room a continuous view of the research lab. Sometime in the next week, new steel doors would be installed that could be locked remotely to prevent anyone trying to steal the Tyet of Isis document from escaping.

Satisfied the artifact was far more secure than it had been before the murder, he left the lab and headed to Atia’s suite. Pasquale had returned to the lab a short time ago and informed him that the Prima Consul had spent more than three hours fielding questions from the Council, or more specifically, Cato.

That the Council member had named Marcus as a possible suspect didn’t surprise him. He was a new arrival and not above suspicion. And while the worm’s audacious suggestion that Atia might also be the murderer wasn’t surprising, it infuriated him. Pasquale’s report had simply made him hunger for the chance to reduce the Council member to a quivering mass of fear.

It would be a mistake to do anything, though. Atia wouldn’t tolerate any interference in her affairs, even if it was to her benefit. As he came to a halt in front of Atia’s rooms, he started to knock then changed his mind. She was his wife, and he had every right to enter. The door opened quietly, and as he entered the main living area, it was as if he’d stepped back in time.

The room was almost a replica of the living room they’d had at Rennes-le-Château when they were first blood bonded. He moved deeper into the space, absently using his ability to close the door behind him.

Pictures on an end table caught his eye, and one of the framed photographs floated up off the table into his hand. It was a picture of him and Gabriel, taken shortly before the kidnapping. His throat swelled shut as grief welled up inside him. If only he’d taken Atia and Gabriel with him to the Absconditus that week.

“What are you doing here, Marcus?” Atia’s voice was like a cool breeze on the back of his neck.

Her tone said his presence had caught her by surprise and she wasn’t happy about it. He slowly turned to face her. Her rumpled clothing and tousled hair made him think she’d just gotten up from a nap. She looked as though the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders. But it was the bleak sadness in her gray eyes that tugged at him.

The force of her grief hammered away at his mind, the intensity of it as sharp as a finely honed blade. It made him want to pull her into his arms for the second time today.

“I came to check on you,” he said quietly. “Pasquale said the Council meeting was rather contentious this afternoon.”

“Perhaps a little more than usual, but nothing I couldn’t handle.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Cato is a bastardo. He enjoys making things difficult.”

“When was the last time you ate?” His question made her frown.

“I don’t remember,” she said with a slight shrug. “Last night, I suppose.”

“Christus,” he muttered. “You never did know how to take care of yourself.”

Without asking her permission, he strode down a short hallway to the small kitchen that was in every one of the larger suites on the estate. If he was going to succeed in winning her back, he needed to woo her. He’d start with a little wine and some home cooking. She’d always enjoyed the meals he used to fix for them.

The refrigerator wasn’t bare, but the contents left a lot to be desired. He pulled out a brick of Fontina cheese, along with fresh salad ingredients. As he searched the cabinet for some pasta, Atia came into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing you something to eat.” He pulled a box of fettuccine from the cabinet and placed it on the counter next to the stove.

“That’s not necessary. I can easily order something from the main kitchen.”

“And pass up the opportunity to mock my cooking?” His attempt at brevity was rewarded with a slight smile from her.

“I never made fun of your cooking,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Yes, you did.” He quickly filled a pot with water and set it on the burner to boil.

“No, what I poked fun at was your singing.”

“Singing and cooking are part of being Sicari,” he grumbled.

“Yes, but only when you can actually sing,” she said with a laugh.

Her laughter was a beautiful sound, and he grinned at her while unwrapping the block of Fontina cheese. With a knife he’d found in one of the drawers, he started to shave pieces off the solid white block. As the slivers of cheese piled up on the cutting board, he began to hum “La Donna è Mobile.”

“If you insist on singing, I’m going to have a drink.”

“So now I’m driving you to drink?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“No, your singing is.”

“I was humming.” He eyed her with amusement at the way she shook her head.

“The problem is you never just hum,” she said in a wry voice as she pulled a bottle of Galluccio wine from the rack sitting at one end of the counter.

She neatly pulled the cork from the bottle with a corkscrew as Marcus continued to shave the cheese. The water had started to boil, and she moved around him to drop the fettuccine into the hot water.

His body grew tight at her close proximity, and his cock was hard in an instant. What little concentration he had remaining vanished as the soft scent of her perfume feathered its way into his nose when she accidentally bumped into him. A second later, the knife slipped and nicked his finger.

“Fotte.”

“Deus, Marcus, I’m so sorry,” she gasped in dismay.

Moving quickly, she grabbed a nearby towel and ran it under cold water before she returned to his side. Gently, she took his hand in hers and dabbed at the cut. All thought of the annoying injury to his finger fled him as he drank in the sweet essence of her. Jupiter’s Stone. He’d always remembered her scent, but the memory had never been this sharp and enticing. This was like being drunk on a heady wine. Even after all these years, she had the ability to make him ready to rut like a bull. He bit down on the inside of his cheek as he dragged in a ragged breath.

“It’s a scrape. Just leave it be, Atia,” he growled as he pulled his hand away from her. She glared up at him and grasped his hand more firmly.

“Let me look at it. You might need a healer.”

“It’s a small cut. I don’t need a healer.” He needed her. Every part of him was on fire, and if she wouldn’t let him put some distance between them, he wasn’t going to be held responsible for what happened.

“Damn it, Marcus. Why do you have to be so hardheaded?” she snapped and pulled his hand back toward her.

“And why don’t you ever listen?”

His voice was tight with need as he swept the counter clean with one simple thought then lifted her up onto the flat surface with another mental command. The lovely curve of her mouth formed a small O as she gasped with astonishment.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he rasped and leaned into her. “I’m showing my wife that I find her as beautiful and sexy today as I did the first time we met.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said as her fingers splayed across his chest. “We’re too old to be acting like teenagers.”

“Old?” he growled. “Does this feel like an old man?”

His hands moved her legs apart and jerked her forward until she was pressed into his hard erection. Her eyes widened with surprise, and he was certain there was a hint of desire flashing there as well.

“Marcus, please.” She sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled her closer so she was snug against his cock.

“I’m more than ready to please you, carissima.” His suggestive comment made her blush, and she shook her head with a hint of shocked surprise.

“We aren’t young anymore, Marcus. And here on the counter . . . it’s . . . it’s hedonistic and unlike you.” The scandalized note in her voice faded into obvious confusion. He liked seeing her off balance, but he didn’t like her implied observation that he was incapable of doing something spontaneous.

“I’m fifty-six, Atia. I’d hardly call that ready for the funeral pyre,” he growled. “As for unconventional, what are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything. It’s just—”

“Then forget you’re the Prima Consul and let me pleasure you, because right now, all I can think about is sliding in and out of you until we’re both satisfied.”

She gasped softly, the pink color in her cheeks darkening. He stared at her for a long moment, expecting her to say something, but she appeared too disconcerted. Christus, she was beautiful. When they’d first met, she’d been lovely, but then the sharply defined curves of her face had reflected an innocence they’d both lost over the years. Now, there was a soft roundness to her visage that hadn’t been there more than thirty years ago.

It only heightened her beauty, making him wish he’d not missed all those years that had changed her. Changed him. He reached out with one finger to lightly trace the line of her throat down to the vee of her blouse. The way her breathing quickened made him smile. If there was one thing that hadn’t changed between them, it was the sex.

They’d always been good together in bed, and if he could use that to make her see how much he loved her, had always loved her, then he would. He’d do anything to get her back. Her throat bobbed nervously beneath his finger. His gaze met hers, and this time he could plainly see the desire in her eyes.

The instant he mentally reached out to undo the top button of her shirt she inhaled a sharp breath. The sound made his body tighten with excitement. His gaze never left her face as he slowly used his ability to undo one button after another all the way down the front of her blouse. As her shirt flared open, he stared at the sculpted bra holding her breasts.

He’d always loved her breasts. He ached to remove the barrier between his mouth and the stiff nipple he could see through the material covering her. No, not yet. That could wait. He needed to let her know it wasn’t just her body he wanted. He wanted much more than that.

Slowly, he leaned forward and breathed in her perfume. It was different than what he remembered in their youth. This scent was more subtle. Richer. Mature. He recognized it as the fragrance of a woman, not the girl he’d blood bonded with. Mixed in with the soft scent was something else. Desire. The slight hint of musk that said she wanted him.

He swallowed hard. She might want him, but did she still love him? He pushed the thought aside. He refused to believe she had ever stopped. Love had never been the problem. It had been Gabriel’s kidnapping and the way she’d retreated from him afterward that had broken them apart. The hunt for their son and his duties as the reigning Sicari Lord had only widened the gap between them. He trailed his fingers down to the valley between her breasts, his breathing almost as erratic as hers.

“I’ve missed you, mea kara. For years, night after night, I’ve dreamed of lying beside you. Holding you. Loving you,” he said softly. “And every morning I’d awake alone.”

Cupping her cheek with his hand, he rubbed his thumb over her mouth. A breathless sigh brushed past her lips as her gray eyes darkened.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered. It was a small concession, but at the moment, he’d take whatever she would give him. His hands slipped inside her open shirt to caress the smooth skin of her waist as he leaned forward and brushed his mouth across hers.

As if a dam had broken inside her, she suddenly cradled his face in her hands and kissed him with an intensity that was enough to drive him mad. The taste of her reminded him of the peaches she loved to eat. Her lips parted beneath his, and his tongue swept into the inner warmth of her mouth to taste the sweet fire of her. A shudder shook him as her tongue danced with his.

Jupiter’s Stone. He’d forgotten the power her kiss had always held over him. A mindless craving for her made him blindly pull her deeper into his chest. The result was her wiggling against him in a way that made his blood burn through his veins.

Heat streaked over his skin and found its way to his groin, where his erection hardened to a painful ache. Christus, he wasn’t going to be able to take this slowly like he’d intended. The woman had always pushed him over the edge, and now wasn’t any different. Another shudder wracked his body as her hand rubbed over his cock through his trousers.

At the touch, he lost his self-control. His hands left her waist to skim the waistband of her slacks. With blinding speed, he lifted her up off the counter and her pants slipped past her bare feet to hit the floor. She murmured a slight protest, but he easily silenced her as he returned her to a sitting position and sought the white-hot silk of her mouth.

Her response was passionate and intense. It aroused him to a frenzied state as her fingers freed his erection from his pants. Pleasure exploded through him as she gripped him then slid her thumb over the tip of him, smearing the first drops of his cum over his skin. He growled with need as he craved something more around his cock than her hand.

Roughly, he ripped her panties at the sides. The fragile material easily gave way beneath his strength, and his mouth swallowed her small cry of pleasure as he slipped two fingers inside her. Hot cream coated his fingers, and he almost spilled his seed at how tight she was. Christus, the minute he embedded himself inside her, he might not be able to keep from coming right then and there.

He lifted his head to stare down at her, and triumph surged through him at the desire on her face. She murmured a protest and thrust her hips forward in a silent demand for him to continue stroking her. He had no doubt she wanted him, but he wanted to hear her say it. He wanted to know that even after all these years, she still cared for him.

“Tell me what I want to hear, carissima,” he rasped. A small mewl of need broke past her lips, and she shook her head.

“Marcus, please,” she begged as he retreated from her slightly, her hands clutching at his shirt.

“Tell me you love me, Atia. Say it.” He met her gaze, and the second he saw her hesitate, a vise wrapped painfully around his chest. Sweet mother of Juno. What if he was wrong about her? Worse, what would he do if she no longer loved him?