Romjha carried Taj into her room and laid her on the bed, joining her there. The candles had died down, but
the chamber was still scented with the fragrance of the rich oils she'd heated.
"It smells good in here." Leaning over her, he nuzzled her neck. She hunched her shoulders and shivered, smiling. "You smell good, too," he said. "You always do."
"I make more than weapons in that lab," she admitted. "Scented oils, infusions, lotions, soaps."
"You'll have to show me."
"I might do more than that," she murmured.
He bent his head and kissed her thoroughly. His shirt was undone. Its fabric fell open, exposing his chest
and stomach. She wound her arms around his bare torso. He smelled good, too. Musky and male. Like sweat and sex . . . and her.
When they finally moved apart, she traced the line of his jaw with her finger. "I'm not with Aleq anymore."
"I know," he said.
She pushed up on her elbows. "You do? That's good, I mean. I wouldn't think you'd be here otherwise- and neither would I-but" -flustered, she narrowed her eyes-"how do you know?"
"Aleq told me."
Oh, boy. She let her head fall back. "Let me guess: You revealed your planned mission, and he feltcompelled to brief you on the hazards of the duty."The ends of Romjha's mouth twitched. "You underestimate me. I simply made some inquiries under the guise of a concerned superior officer wanting to be involved in the lives of his men. We spoke this morning, when we were washing up after our return. Not surprisingly, you came up during the course of the conversation."
She groaned. "And he spilled his guts."
"No, Taj, the facts only. They were all I required." Holding her chin between his thumb and index finger, he forced her to focus on his face. "I learned that what I wanted, I could have."
His tone was half-teasing. But it was the half-serious part that troubled her. It was becoming very clear
that whatever Romjha set his mind to do, he did.
He pushed to his knees and stared at her. The bed creaked under his weight. Shadows slashed across his handsome face as, crouched on all fours, he leaned forward.
He slid her shirt higher, exposing her upper body. Cool air washed over her skin. His hands smoothed up
and over her ribcage to cup her breasts. Thick, callused fingers. Clever hands. She closed her eyes, relished
the sensations, gasping softly when slick, wet heat replaced his touch.
His mouth closed over a nipple, and he suckled her gently, teasing her with deft flicks of his tongue, unleashing a fresh rush of desire. All on its own, her body arched against him. How was it possible? She was ready for him, all over again, and she was still recovering from the first time!
His hair fell forward, soft and loose, to tickle her face. She moaned, bunching her fingers in the strands.
"Romjha?"
He lifted his head. "Hmm?"
"How long do we have?"
"Tomorrow evening is the planned departure. After sunset." His tone was careful. He shrugged off his shirt, bunching the fabric and tossing it to the floor.
"That means we'll only have this night, then," she said miserably.
"No. We'll have more, Taj. Much more." Romjha slipped her shirt up and off; over her head. It landed somewhere behind her with a soft sound. "A lifetime of nights."
He spoke with the same quiet conviction that had so angered her at dinner, conjuring the same familiar heat now.
As if they indeed had all the time in the world, he settled on his side next to her on the bed. With his head propped by one hand, he nudged her legs apart with the other, obviously ready to devote his full attention to pleasuring her.
She groaned-from her intensifying exasperation, or from desire, or both.
His fingers trailed down her belly. The muscles there contracted; he noticed, smiling wickedly with his eyes as that dangerous hand moved lower.
The reckless bastard was leaving, heading off to be slaughtered. She didn't want languorous love play, like they had all the time in the world, like they had a future; she wanted hard, hot, mind-numbing sex. She wanted to feel the full power of Romjha's body plunging into hers, stamping out her darkest thoughts, blinding her to reality.
She grabbed his wrist. Under her fingers, his pulse beat hard and determined. "There is no future for us," she said. "Do you understand? Just tonight. Play by those rules, or don't play at all." She lifted his hand to her breast, dropping it there. "Come on, time's wasting. Let's get on with it."
His eyes flashed with something almost frightening, and his free hand swept behind her head. Dragging her off the pillow, he seized her mouth in a breathless, punishing kiss, angling his firm mouth so that her lips were forced open by the pressure.
Taj gripped his biceps, trying to hold back the tidal wave that was her response to him. Within seconds, she knew this kiss had none of the warm passion of their wild encounter against the wall; it reflected only the coldness with which she'd made her demand. Then, just as suddenly, he let her go and she fell back onto the pillow.
He leaned over her, regarding her with that focused, knowing look of his. There had been no triumph in the act for him, she knew. And for her, no satisfaction in bringing him to it. "Is this what you really want, Taj?"
She touched the back of her hand to her throbbing lips. Then she shook her head. The sound of his belt hitting the floor startled her.
Just as efficiently, he plucked off her slippers and discarded them, one after the other. It occurred to her that he'd been steadily divesting them of their clothing the entire time they talked.
He loomed over her, his broad shoulders blocking the light. "I am going to make love to you. Now. Slowly. Thoroughly. I'm going to take my time. If you truly, honestly, do not want me to do what I have just proposed, tell me to leave, and I will."
His challenging golden gaze locked with hers.
Great Mother. Taj's throat tightened as sudden awareness flooded her of the fleeting nature of life, of this one night.
She drew Romjha down to her. "Yes. Make love to me," she whispered, "as if we had forever."
His expression changed to one of exquisite tenderness. His deep voice was a purr against her ear, and he began to caress her with his hands and mouth. "We will have forever. You don't believe me, but you will see. For now, take my gift to you, my beautiful woman. Take this gift of pleasure. ..."
The remaining hours until dawn blurred together in a haze of carnal bliss. As he'd promised, Romjha saw to her gratification with a focused, impassioned, almost religious reverence, alternating exquisite strokes with tender but relentless teasing. Taj wasn't inexperienced, but never had she realized there were so many sensations her body could feel.
He seemed to know just when and how to back off to leave her teetering breathlessly at the edge of climax. When at last he entered her, she couldn't prevent her sudden intake of breath or the moan that followed. But even then, buried deep inside her, swollen with his own arousal, he demonstrated his complete understanding of her body by holding himself entirely still.
She protested the exquisite torture with a soft cry, her hips writhing. "I won't break," she gasped. "Please."
Listen to me, she thought. He has me begging.
But Romjha shook his head, his voice strained by his own need for completion. "Not yet. Squeeze me. Use your inner muscles."
She attempted what he asked, and his breath hitched.
"Yes . . . that's it. Hold on now. Hold back." His eyes glinted wickedly. "I will make you glad you did."
Only when he appeared confident that she'd regained control did he lift her thighs, hooking her legs over his thick shoulders. His penetration was so deep that she cried out from the indescribable pleasure of it. Then, with swaying hips and expert, searching hands, he made slow and delicious love to her.
He lowered his mouth to her ear. Arousal had thickened his voice, making it deeper, sexier. "Your body I worship," he said on a half groan.
If that's what he called what he was doing to her, she had no argument. In her entire life, she'd never felt anything as good. Dazed, she clung to him, pushing into his thrusts.
"Taj," he said tightly. "Inajh d'anah."
Inajh d'anah. It was ancient Siennan for "Heart of my heart, flesh of my flesh." It was far too optimistic an endearment, considering his impending departure, but how many times had she dreamed he'd say such tender words to her? How many nights had she dreamed he'd someday hold her close and whisper sweetly in her ear? Now those wishes came back to haunt her.
Before anger interfered, she untangled her legs behind his back, pushed on his shoulders, and rolled him over. Balancing herself with hands flat on his stomach, she pressed her pelvis down, taking him inside her, as deep as he could go. Her inner muscles clamped down around him.
He made a deep growl in his throat, arching his brawny, scarred body upward, his fingers sinking into the flesh of her thighs, grinding her against him.
The memory of the loved ones she had lost, the heartaches she'd endured, the vulnerability, the helplessness those memories brought with them; those and her impending loss of Romjha lent a poignant, painful eloquence to their lovemaking. She'd almost reached her peak, both emotional and physical, when a choked sob escaped her.
Romjha rolled them both over and reared upward to a sitting position. Momentum kept her with him, and him deep inside her. Her thighs trembled, and she convulsed around his deep penetration. Their lips came together in a hot and desperate kiss.
He groaned into her mouth, and she understood. Melded to his body, squeezing him intimately as he'd taught her, their roles could be reversed. With a heady rush of desire she realized that she could just as easily set the pace of pleasure.
Now she was the one who gave, and she did so, joyfully.
The tension in their bodies built, the pleasure climbed, and at last, in one fleeting, blindingly perfect moment, lust and love and hope converged, and fear faded from Taj's consciousness.
Toward dawn, she woke Romjha from a drowse. "I want to show you a secret place," she whispered. "We can bathe there."
Her breasts bounced as she took his hand and pulled him out of bed. She'd never been shy in her nakedness, but with Romjha's eyes on her, she felt breathless.
Behind a thick tapestry was a narrow tunnel. It was so dank and dark within that she knew Romjha couldn't see her crawling in front of him until they reached the fissure that contained the spring.
The sound of splattering water echoed from the small chamber. The air inside was thick, laden with mist and the residual scents she'd used there.
Silent, she lit the wick she'd brought and touched it one by one to the candles she kept arranged, high and low, on glistening rocks all around them.
Candlelight danced in Romjha's golden eyes. The reflection of water danced across his high cheekbones and long, straight nose. He appeared almost boyish in his delight. "You have kept your secrets, haven't you?"
"No one else knows, save perhaps Elder Patra. Not even Aleq," she added, quieter. "This secret has been passed down, bombmaker to bombmaker."
Romjha walked to where the water pooled before it rushed away to the depths of Sienna. He knelt by the shallow basin, sluicing the water through his hand. Magnificent he was-a beautiful, vital male in the prime of life.
He was so passionate, generous. Alive. As a man. As a lover. She couldn't bear the thought of him ending up like her father, yet another sacrifice in a war with no end. Something needed to be done to end the warlords' reign of terror, yes-but, blast it, why did Romjha feel so compelled to sacrifice himself to the cause?
Yet wasn't it his innate sense of honor and duty that she most admired? The unselfishness that pushed him to want to see a return to a stable government and peace for all the galaxy? Most men wouldn't contemplate goals on such a grand scale. They would settle, most ordinary men. Romjha B'kah was anything but.
The admiration and respect she'd always had for him filled her again. He reminded her of a knight-protector, a benevolent Nash, a hero of the realm from the days of old. Or was he to be a hero of the years yet to come?
The oddest of sensations rushed up her spine, making the tiny blond hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He is meant for something more, a purpose greater than this life he now leads. The voice came from inside her, and yet it wasn't hers.
She regarded Romjha with a new and horrified awe.
Suddenly water hit her in the face. "No frowning," Romjha ordered.
Grinning, he scooped more water into his dripping hand and splashed her. It trickled down her body, over her breasts and stomach.
His playfulness was contagious. He was right. No sense ruining what time they had left together.
On impulse, she took a pot of lotion off a nearby rock. "Don't start what you don't want to finish."
"Since when haven't I finished what I started?"
She joined him in a curtain of sparkling mist. "Let me reword that: Start anything you like, but wait until I am finished with you first."
He watched as if fascinated while she rubbed the cream between her hands to warm it. Then she knelt behind him and worked the scented lotion into his back. The muscles there bunched and then smoothed under the pressure of her fingers. He leaned into her ministrations and let out a deep, rumbling sigh.
She touched him everywhere before their time in the spring came to an end: the scars and healed-over wounds marring his wonderful body, as well as the parts of him that remained unharmed.
Private satisfaction curved her mouth. If he could give her the gift of pleasure, make a religion of worshiping her body, then she could surely do the same for him.