She looked wrecked. As wrecked as he felt most days. Telling himself it wasn’t the same, he moved into the closet and stared at the shirts hanging from the rack.
But he didn’t see them. Suddenly, all he could see was the way she’d looked pinned against the bookshelf in his library last night. The way her breasts had lifted with her shallow breaths. The way her leg had trembled against his when he’d moved in close. The way her lips had parted and she’d lifted her mouth to taste him, an offering he’d been too afraid to accept.
His blood warmed all over again, and arousal flickered through his belly then rushed into his groin. It was wrong, so very wrong considering how vulnerable she was at the moment, but he wanted her. Wanted her spread naked before him. Wanted her writhing in pleasure. Wanted to feel her close around him as he slid into her from behind. She was a nymph built for sex, and he was a virile warrior who’d been locked away for far too long. It was basic biology that he should want her this much. But a little voice in the back of his head whispered now—right now—part of that wanting had very little to do with sex and everything to do with the fact wanting, craving, taking could make both of their pain and memories disappear. If only for a little while.
Skata. He blinked several times when he realized he was trying to justify it all to himself. Aside from the fact he hadn’t been the least bit civil to her since she’d arrived, he’d just told her the truth about her village. She was in the next room falling apart because of him. There was no way in this world or the next that she’d ever want him again. And that was assuming she’d even been interested in the first place.
Disgusted with himself, he chose a long-sleeved henley he knew would be way too big for her and hide her trim little body from view, then headed for the bedroom. After she was dry and dressed, he’d shuffle her off to her own room and forget this night ever happened. And tell himself it was a good thing he’d come to his senses before it was too late.
Plan in place, Ari stepped back into his bedroom, then stilled. The wet shirt and sweats she’d been wearing lay in a heap on the hardwood floor. Blood pounded in his ears as his gaze skipped to the right, where she sat cross-legged on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace, the blanket wrapped tightly around her, her faraway gaze staring into the flames.
Naked. She’s naked beneath that blanket.
Blood rushed into his cock, making him hard in an instant. But he fought back the arousal and told himself to hold it together a few more minutes as he walked toward her.
He held the shirt out. “I found you something dry to wear.”
“Does it ever go away?” She didn’t turn to him. Didn’t reach for the garment. Didn’t even look up. Just continued to stare into the flickering flames. “I thought it did. I thought I was past it. But knowing all of this...it’s sharper than before.”
She was talking about pain. The pain of loss, the pain of heartbreak. The pain of betrayal. He knew all three intimately.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Focused only on keeping his emotions trapped behind the wall he’d erected to stay semi-sane. But the hitch in her voice hit him hard, right in the center of his chest.
Unable to walk away like he knew he should, he laid the shirt over the arm of a side chair and sank to the floor next to her. “It gets easier.”
“Silas told me it’s been fifty years. It’s not easier for you.”
Ari rested his elbows on his updrawn knees and stared into the fire, irritated Silas had told her about his past, thankful at the same time because it meant he didn’t have to talk about it now. He thought about those fifty years as he watched a flame dance over the log and wished he had sage advice for her, but knew he really didn’t. “If you’re lucky, you learn to live with it. And you don’t let it define you.”
“But yours defines you.”
“My situation is different.”
Daphne continued to stare into the flames. “What was her name?”
Ironically, it was no longer pain that consumed Ari when he thought of his soul mate. It was emptiness. Emptiness for a life he’d never have again. “Penelopei.”
Daphne was silent several seconds. Then softly, she said, “‘Duty crumbles to ashes in the fires of love.’ My father said that once. He wasn’t a nymph. Just a human. Caught between two worlds. He left his job, his responsibilities, everything for my mother.” She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that kind of love. Not like them. Not like you.”
Ari held back a huff. “I don’t know much about love either. Penelopei sure as heck didn’t love me.”