The war between pain and pleasure, between panic and desire, tried to rip me in half. My blood came alive at the feeling of his lips against mine, racing and boiling, aching like it wanted to reach out and touch its likeness in Caesarion’s veins. His lips were soft but demanding, devouring mine in a way that made the earth spin under my feet. The magnetism between us raised the hair over every inch of my skin.
But as he loosened his grip to slide his arms around my back, tugging me closer, the sudden, sharp stab of agony through my brain ripped a whimper from my throat. The pain cleared my mind. Indignation at being manhandled strengthened my stupid swoony muscles and I planted my palms on Caesarion’s chest and shoved.
He stumbled back, dusky eyes open and really seeing me for the first time. They filled with a wild confusion that looked as intense and debilitating as mine.
“What’s wrong?” he inquired in Greek.
His voice flowed like honey, thick and sweet with an unexpected undertone of kindness. I swallowed hard and pressed a hand to my chest, begging my heart to return to a healthy pace. The storm of lust and fear and guilt and wonder refused to be calmed, and the uncertainty on Caesarion’s face shuffled toward concern.
“What’s wrong?” he tried again, in Egyptian this time, then again in Aramaic when he received no response.
Tears flooded my eyes. The situation had spiraled so far out of control. I bit my lip, wanting to answer, knowing I shouldn’t. Trying to decide what further harm talking could possibly do. Wondering whether I wanted to be paired with the kind of man who would have sex with a woman he’d never laid eyes on, the kind of man who assumed my body could be used for his pleasure.
Traveling alone had felt like such a small infraction to me—just another observation, something I did at least twice a month, except without an overseer along. I’d wanted to see his face, maybe meet his gaze and see what it felt like, but the pull underneath my skin was too powerful. It scared me, that with one single touch he could make me forget everything else in the universe—both of ours—in an instant.
I couldn’t lie to myself that this talking, touching, and kissing wasn’t a big deal.
The softness in his eyes, the concern in his voice, the way he watched me with interest, all insisted I stay. No matter how pissed I was at being attacked, I couldn’t deny—or ever forget—the way kissing him had blown me to bits.
Rules had already been broken, and pervy asshole or not, I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted to know Caesarion. My emotions and desires surged so far past reason that they drowned out the small part of my mind whispering to run.
“I’m not a concubine.” Out of the million feelings running hot, close to the surface, my irritation popped out first. Stars, Kaia.
“Then what are you doing here?”
I moved past him, taking care not to touch, and sank down onto the bench he’d abandoned moments ago. His attitude rose hot anger into my throat, and I wanted to let him have it. Ask him who in Tuat he thought he was, making assumptions about my willingness to kiss him, but the bio-tat reminded me quite sternly that the answer was simple—he was allowed whatever he wished.
I had wanted to know Caesarion, but did I want to know Pharaoh?
The coolness of the bench relieved some of the heat in my skin, and the scent of wet stone wound into my nose. A breeze ruffled the leaves, sprinkling the water in the fountain with sparkles of sunlight. It helped me calm down.
The brain stem tat reminded me that Pharaoh apologized to no one. Not to mention I had interrupted him in semi-private gardens without being invited, so his assumption about my intention had not been outlandish. Still. I hadn’t given this three-thousand-year culture clash enough thought.
Caesarion eased onto the other end of the bench, leaving a good eighteen inches of space between us. Goose bumps appeared along my arm, every inch of me swamped with the awareness of his nearness. How could Sarah possibly have missed the fact that Oz was her True for the first seven years we were at the Academy if they felt anything like this? It feels as though I’ll never have to wonder where Caesarion is again.
“Are you angry with me?”
I pushed my physical reaction to him aside as best as I could, flabbergasted by the incredulous tone in which he’d asked the question. “No. A little embarrassed and offended, maybe, but not angry.”
“Women are not usually offended when I accept their offerings.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
His dark eyebrows knitted together, giving him an expression that would have been as at home on a small child caught with a hand in an unapproved bag of treats. “I do not wish to upset or embarrass you. It’s not often that I am interrupted by accident.”
It wasn’t an apology, but given his upbringing and station, it was probably the best I would get. My wariness eased, defenses slipping. He seemed vexed but not angry, and more importantly, disinclined to lunge at me again. I’d give him an ancient clueless pass, because he’d been born into privilege and also because, like it or not, he was my True.
Now that I’d thwarted his attempt to use pleasure to dull the pain of his grief, Caesarion appeared lost again, the way he had at first glance. I wasn’t going to have sex with him. In truth, I wasn’t even sure I liked him, but it didn’t lessen my desire to find another way to ease his grief.
“I’ll be fine. You didn’t know.” It killed me a little to let him off the hook, but only minutes remained before I had to return. It seemed a waste to spend them fuming over a misunderstanding.
Relief loosened his posture as he turned to face me. “I have never seen you before this morning.”
“I’m sure you meet too many women to recall them all.”
“Now that I look closely, though, I am sure I would remember you. You never answered my question about your business in the garden.”
He slid a stubborn gaze my direction, giving me a ghost of a halting smile. Our eyes locked. Warmth pooled my middle and spread until my cheeks and neck felt swollen. Words stuck between my heart and my tongue. The rest of the garden, this world, my world, faded away. I don’t know how long we sat that way before I cleared my throat, desperate to hear him speak again before time ran out.