A hint of color came to his cheeks. “You hardly need a knife to be dangerous, but you are downright terrifying with one.” He swallowed. “Tell me what it is you believe I want.”
She moistened her lips. Even that small movement drew his eye. “Me. That’s what you want, what you’ve wanted for several years. Am I mistaken?”
He swallowed again, as if his mouth kept going dry. “You are not.”
A flare of triumph lit within her, but she kept it subdued. She hadn’t won yet. “So, on those grounds, I believe we can come to an arrangement. You want me. I want you to stop targeting my business. Need I elaborate further?” She kept her voice mellow, with just a hint of sensual promise.
His mouth opened, his breath coming faster. “Are you really suggesting…what I think you’re suggesting?”
She nodded.
“Say it. So there’s no…confusion.”
Lucretia stepped closer to him, until just the fabric of their clothing brushed. “I will give you carnal access to my body, in exchange for a truce. If you want to expand to Neapolis or Genua or Olympus itself, I won’t stop you. Just leave me in peace in Ostia while you do it.”
He drew in a ragged breath. “Carnal access…indefinitely?”
She chuckled. “No.” She considered for a moment, calculating how much sexual access to her body was worth. “A week.”
“A month,” he countered swiftly. Despite his flustered state, he was ever the negotiator.
“Two weeks. Do we have a deal?” She pressed her body against his.
A groan rumbled in his chest. His hands skimmed down her body, coming to grasp her hips. Despite the mercenary nature of her proposal, heat sparked where he touched her. He frustrated her to no end, but shelikedhis hands on her.
“Lucretia,” he whispered. “I want you, yes, but I don’t want you like this.”
She turned around, pushing her bottom into his hips. “Like this, then?”
His fingers tightened on her hips, gripping her so hard it was almost painful. “Dis, woman. You’re going to kill me.”
“Tell me this isn’t worth a truce.” She could feel him hard against her, and the sensation sent a shiver through her. She’d forgotten the unique delight of feeling a man’s arousal, thick and insistent, pressed into her, and the pleasure of it came flooding back.
“Lucretia,” he rasped. “I want you freely, or not at all.” Despite his words, he didn’t relinquish his grip on her hips.
“If you’ve ever lain with a slave or a courtesan, you have no grounds for such nobility.”
“Well, I haven’t.”
She half-turned, as far as she could without breaking his hold on her. “Then who have you lain with?”
He somehow managed to meet her gaze evenly, despite the lust swirling in his storm-gray eyes. “No one.”
Surprise made her go rigid, and he released her. “What do you mean, no one?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy,” she spluttered. “So you’ve never…with anyone?”
“No.”
“That’s impossible.”
A half-smile quirked his mouth. “I assure you, it’s not.”
“Your father never…never took you to become a man?” It was common, almost universal for a father or older brother to take an adolescent to visit a courtesan when they reached a certain age, to initiate them into the ways of the flesh.
“I don’t think bedding a prostitute is what makes one a man. Besides, my father died when I was nine,” he reminded her.“And my stepfather cared more about making sure I knew how to ride a horse. As opposed to any other kind of riding.”
