Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,203

since my declaration on the battlefield, when I’d finally admitted I loved him. Everyone always needed us for something, and it was hard to find even a moment when we could be alone.

And doing so in the future wasn’t likely to be any easier, and not just because of Mircea. But because the whole reason I was having so much trouble bridging the gap between supernatural communities was that the Pythias were supposed to be neutral, only we hadn’t been. Not for a long time.

The Circle guarded the Pythias, but their presence involved more than that. They also influenced them, and everybody knew it. How could you go to a Pythia expecting a fair ruling on some argument if the group you were arguing with was standing right there at her side, glowering at you? It had been a problem for centuries, but things had started to get really hinky under Agnes.

She and Jonas had tried to keep their affair secret; as far as I knew, he’d never admitted it to anyone until after she had died, and to damned few then. But it had nonetheless been known by the leaders of the supernatural world. And any credibility she’d had went out the window with it.

I knew that, and yet I’d fallen for a war mage, too.

And the damned man didn’t get it. Times like this, far away from prying eyes, far into the past where no one knew us and no one cared . . . might be our best chance to be together. Yet here he was, patting me dry and putting me down in crisp, cold sheets before toweling off himself. As if preparing to get dressed and go to whatever room they’d assigned him.

Which is what happened every night!

But not this one.

Pritkin turned back to me, probably to kiss me good night, and I used one of his own tricks to tumble him into bed instead.

The green eyes narrowed. “We’ve had this conversation—”

“We haven’t had any conversation! You talked; I listened. That’s not a conversation.”

“And you want to have one now?”

No, I want to bang your brains out, I thought, but didn’t say, because the dense man’s hands had come up to my hips to steady me, distracting me. But that was all they were doing. I was naked, still warm and moist from the bath, and sitting on top of evidence that he wasn’t nearly as disinterested as he appeared. Yet what was he doing?

Offering a conversation.

Fine.

Two could play it that way.

“All right,” I said, and grabbed the discarded towel. “So, talk.”

“We need to have a discussion about a number of things, including what just happened in here. But that can wait until—what are you doing?” he demanded as I began patting down his pecs, which were still quite damp. He hadn’t done a very good job of toweling off.

“I don’t want my bed wet,” I said innocently.

“Then let me get out of it.”

“I thought you wanted to talk?”

“No.” A hand gripped my wrist, because I’d started patting farther down. Only it was less like patting and more like stroking. “You wanted to talk. I want to sleep.”

“You don’t want to sleep,” I said, and wiggled farther down, so I could pat at other things.

“Cassie—”

“We never get this chance!” I told him, suddenly furious. “Jonas has you running all over the world, almost getting killed before you even get over almost being killed the last time! This is not the way to have a relationship!”

“Is that what we’re having?” he asked, suddenly intense.

“We are now,” I told him, and grabbed evidence of that, which was right in front of my face.

Pritkin stared at me down the length of his body as I ran a thumb over the top of him. And watched the reaction from that one small gesture ripple through his whole frame. Oh, yes, he wants this, I thought, no matter what he says.

He wanted it badly.

And then I licked him.

Only, no, not licked. Stroked with my tongue, slowly, sensually, delighting in the half groan, half curse I pulled out of him. And then, before he could argue—and he was definitely about to argue—I fogged his brain by taking the whole slick, delicious head in my mouth, rolling my tongue all around it, and starting to suck. Hard.

I guess he hadn’t expected that, because it tore another sound out of him, and this one was definitely a curse.

I ignored him and gripped the long, thick shaft, starting to massage it while teasing the