“What did she look like?”
She gave a lift of her shoulder. “Beautiful, with red hair and green eyes.”
His eyes narrowed, a chill spreading through his body. “What was she doing?”
“She was sitting on a gold throne, and there was another woman there, an old woman who was lying on a red carpet.” She grimaced at the memory. “Her mouth was bleeding.”
“Was she dead?”
“I don’t think so.”
His hands ran an absent path up her back. “Something made you scream, Anna. What was it?”
She shuddered, fear flashing through her eyes. “The woman sitting on the throne…she seemed to be staring straight at me…and then…”
“And then?”
“And then she said she was going to rip out my heart. I believed her.”
She trembled, and pressing his hand to the back of her head, Cezar tucked her close to his body. There could be no doubt the woman in her dreams had been Morgana le Fay. And that the woman was determined to see Anna dead.
Never.
The word branded onto Cezar’s heart. He would kill anything, anyone who dared to harm Anna.
“No one’s going to be ripping out your heart, querida,” he rasped, his voice raw. “That much I can promise you.”
She gave a choked laugh at his arrogant pledge, but thankfully made no move to try to pull away.
“You’re so certain you can protect me?”
“Yes.” His lips brushed her forehead. “But beyond that, you’re a dangerous woman in your own right. I still have the aching ribs to prove it.”
She tilted back her head to meet his smoldering gaze, the fear fading from her eyes. “A dangerous woman, eh?”
“Absolutely.”
“I like that.”
He deliberately brushed his arousal against her hip. “Me too.”
“I can tell,” she said dryly.
“What can I say? Dangerous women are hot.”
“You think every woman is hot.” She frowned as he gave a sharp, humorless laugh at her ridiculous words. “What’s so funny?”
One hundred and ninety-five years without a woman. Without the least stirring of desire. And now that he had at long last recovered his mojo, it only worked for a female who was determined to keep him celibate.
Yeah, he was quite the ladies’ man.
“Dios,” he breathed. “If you only knew.”
“Knew what?”
He gave a shake of his head. “Tell me of your life, querida,” he instead prompted. “You said that you’ve lived quietly, but you must have done something to keep yourself occupied.”
She studied his face, surrounded by the heavy fall of his black hair. “Are you really interested or are you just trying to distract me so you can stay in my bed?”