***
I awoke to the feel of a fingertip brushing my lips, something sweet and sticky coating them. Tasting warm, rich honey, I licked my lips and let out a soft, content hum.
My eyelids fluttered open, and there he was—Roman, propped up on his elbow, the glow of the sunset casting a soft, golden hue across his bare chest, the hard muscles of his torso catching the light just right. Between us sat a plate overflowing with meats, fresh fruit, a loaf of crusty bread, cheeses, and a small jar of honey.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmured, his voice like a warm caress. His lips curved into that devastating smile that always made my pulse quicken. “Beatrice brought us food.”
I stretched lazily, still heavy with sleep and satisfaction, arching my back. “What time is it? How long did we sleep?”
“All day.” He gestured toward the window, where thick curtains the same color as the rich velvet bedding concealed the world outside. “There’s a stunning sunset just beyond those.”
He settled back against the pillows, propping the platter in his lap, and popped a grape between his lips, chewing slowly. His tongue darted out to catch a drop of juice, and I couldn’t help but stare.
“I’m famished,” he said, his gaze flicking to mine, filled with that familiar, smoldering heat. “You?”
“Not quite awake yet,” I murmured, my voice still husky from sleep. I shifted closer, draping my leg over his, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine.
Roman tore a piece of succulent chicken from the bone and held it to my lips. “Try this. It’s delicious.”
I opened my mouth, and he slid it inside, his thumb brushing my bottom lip as he pulled away. My stomach growled, and I let out a soft moan. “Mmm. So delicious. It tastes like it was seasoned with bacon.”
His eyes darkened slightly at the sound of my moan. “I think it was,”he said, tearing off a drumstick and biting into it, juices glistening on his lips.
I ripped a piece of bread from a fresh-baked loaf, the crust warm and flaky against my fingers. “Oh, my God,” I said through a mouthful, my voice muffled by pleasure. “So good.”
Roman chuckled, giving me a playful side-eye, his gaze lingering on my mouth, on the way my lips parted as I chewed. “Speaking of bacon,” he murmured, watching me too closely, too hungrily, “I loved your twenty-first-century bacon. And coffee. God, the coffee was divine.”
I licked a drop of honey from my finger, savoring it on my tongue, knowing exactly what it did to him when I did. “Coffee and bacon,” I echoed, tearing off a piece of tender breast meat and sinking my teeth into it. “I was fond of them, too. What else did you like to eat?”
Roman licked the flavors from his fingers, his tongue flicking over the pad of his thumb in a way that made my stomach tighten with something other than hunger.
“Let’s see,” he mused, reaching for a piece of cheese smeared with honey and handing it to me. “Waffles.” He nodded as if coming to a profound realization. “Waffles and maple syrup. That was delicious.”
I took the cheese between my teeth, my lips brushing against his knuckles as I plucked it from his grasp, feeling the slight flex of his fingers against my mouth before I bit into it. The tangy cheese and sweet honey melted on my tongue, and I let out a satisfied hum, savoring the contrast of flavors.
As I chewed, my fingers traced the inked pattern on his forearm, following the precise lines of the dagger etched into his skin.
“I love this tattoo.” My voice was soft, admiring, as my fingertips brushed over the ridges of muscle beneath it. “Where did you get it?”
“Lee took me to a tattoo shop in Fremont.” Roman leaned over, reached for a deep amber liquid carafe, and poured some down his throat. I watched his Adam’s apple bob, mesmerized by how his thick neck flexed, the veins standing out beneath his bronzed skin. “A man named Sebastian the Great did the honors.”
He handed the carafe to me.
“What’s this?” I tilted it to my lips, taking a welcome sip, the warm, honeyed burn sliding down my throat.
“It’s mead.” Roman took the bottle back, his fingers brushing mine, the lingering heat sending a quiet pulse through me. “Wine is ghastly in this period. I was spoiled by the wine in your time.”
I devoured the sight of him, the way his throat worked as he drank, the strong, elegant curve of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell as he exhaled, his muscles flexing with every movement.
Roman was a delight to behold, and he damn well knew it.
I took another sip of the heady drink, then handed it back to him, rolling onto my side to retrace the dagger tattoo.
“I do worry about this, Roman.”
His gaze dropped to where my fingers ghosted over the dark ink.
“Worry? Why?” He rested the half-empty carafe on the floor beside the bed, turning to me fully, his blue eyes dark with curiosity.
