“Si,” he said unapologetically, and then added, “All of whom are long dead and turned to dust so no longer worth your jealousy.”
“I’m not jealous!” Sarita protested at once, but wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. She’d certainly felt the pinch of something as she’d brought up his exotic women. Damn, I am jealous, she realized and took another drink from her bottle.
Lowering it, she squinted at him and asked, “So what else did you do besides urinating and gladiorating?”
“Urinatores,” Domitian corrected on a laugh, and then added, “I do not think gladiorating is a word.”
“Eh . . .” Sarita waved that away with unconcern. “So, what else did you do?” she demanded.
Domitian shrugged. “Once I lost my appetites, I bounced between farming, traveling as a trade merchant, and opening and running pubs or hostels, with the occasional mercenary work thrown in to keep practiced in defense.”
“What kind of mercenary work?”
“I was a dragoon for a while,” he said after thinking for a moment.
“What? You guys suck blood and blow fire?”
“Dragoon, not dragon,” he said on a laugh. “A dragoon is a musketeer on horseback.”
“Ooooh,” Sarita breathed, impressed. “Musketeers are cool. I bet you were hot with long hair and those froufrou hats.”
“Froufrou hats?” he asked, sounding affronted.
“Well, you know, with the wide brim and the feathers all poking out of it,” she said, waving her hands around her head to show him what she meant. “Most guys wouldn’t be able to carry it off, but I bet you did. Just like I bet you carried off that Egyptian skirt thing nicely too.”
When Domitian merely stared at her with a bemused expression, Sarita asked, “Were you ever a pirate? I could see you as a pirate. All tight black pants and billowy shirt and long sword.”
Domitian nodded slowly. “Si. As it happens I did do a brief stint as a pirate.”
“No!” Sarita breathed with amazement. “Oh, you were naughty!”
“In my defense it was only for a year or so to aid my sister, Alexandrina. She was short a couple men on her ship, so I put in with her for a while to help out.”
“Your sister was a pirate captain?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Well, technically, Drina was a privateer,” Domitian admitted.
“Ah, pirating with permission,” Sarita said, nodding wisely, and then asked, “Any other jobs that were exciting? Were you ever a knight?”
“I was knighted three or four times,” he admitted, and then explained, “In a different country each time.”
“What else?” she asked.
Domitian shook his head apologetically. “I am afraid there is nothing else of much note I have done. Other than that, I farmed, and—Oh, I almost forgot, I was a Bow Street Runner for a while. They were—”
“I know what Bow Street Runners were,” Sarita interrupted on a laugh. “I’m a police officer, and those guys—well, I had a teacher who considered them London’s first professional police force.” She smiled. “So that means, you were a sop too at one time.”
“I think you mean cop,” Domitian said with amusement. “Yes, I guess I was or was as good as, and I think you are tipsy.”
“Me? Never,” she assured him. “I don’t drink.”
“Which would explain why you might be tipsy now,” he said dryly, taking the half full bottle from her lap and pushing the sheet aside briefly to set the bottle on the bedside table again.
“I’m sure I don’t know why you’d think that,” Sarita said, sitting up straight on the bed and trying for a serious face, which just made her want to giggle.
“I think that—” Domitian let the sheet fall into place as he turned back to face her again “—because you are laughing and smiling and completely relaxed. I suspect those are three things you do not often allow yourself to do.”
“Oh, so now you’re saying I’m a stick in the mud too,” she accused teasingly.
“Never,” he said solemnly. “But I am saying that you have a beautiful smile and if a glass or two of wine makes you relax enough to share it with me, then I think I shall serve you wine at every meal.”
Sarita swallowed, her smile wavering. Sobriety dropping around her like a cape, she said, “I don’t want to eat any more meals here, Domitian.”
After a hesitation, he leaned forward and cupped the back of her head to draw her close so that he could whisper, “Just two or three more meals here, mi Corazon. I plan to get us both off this island tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” she asked with surprise. Drawing back slightly, she peered at his face as he nodded. “How?”
The word was barely a whisper, but he heard and drew her back to say, “I am going to swim for the mainland.”
Her eyes widened with shock. “You’re going to leave me here alone?”
“Hush,” Domitian whispered and placed his forehead on hers. “No, mi tresoro, I would never do that. I will take you with me . . . on my back.”
Sarita gaped at him briefly, and then opened her mouth to tell him just how crazy an idea that was. But Domitian trapped the words before they could even be formed by simply kissing her.
Startled, Sarita raised her hands to push him away, determined to tell him his plan was completely insane. But by the time her fingers reached his shoulders the thought was lost and she found herself clinging to him as she kissed him back.
Domitian’s arms closed around her at once, his hands spreading on her back and pulling her tightly to his chest, molding her upper body to his. Sarita groaned into his mouth and shifted to her knees to move closer. The action put her at the same height as he was sitting, she noted and then was distracted when his hands slid under the sheer black nightgown and skimmed up her legs.
When one hand cupped her bottom and the other slid up to brush teasingly between her legs, Sarita gasped and broke the kiss.
“You have been driving me mad with this all night, mi Corazon,” Domitian growled, releasing her bottom to tug at the sheer cloth of her nightgown. “Take it off for me. I would lick and suckle your breasts.”
Sarita groaned as the hand between her legs teased her again, and then quickly caught at the material of the nightie and tugged it up and off. It wasn’t even over her head before Domitian closed his mouth on one excited nipple and began to draw as his fingers stopped teasing and slid smoothly along the warm, damp flesh between her legs.
“Oh!” Sarita gasped, tossing the nightgown aside. Clutching at his shoulders, she panted, “I thought you . . . said . . . no sexo.”
Letting her nipple slip loose he raised his head to meet her gaze and agreed, “No sexo. But I will make love to you.”
Sarita’s eyes widened, but she went willingly when he eased her back to lie on the bed.
Ten
Sarita woke up abruptly and with the certain knowledge that she had to get up at once and visit the bathroom. Too much wine was her personal assessment of the situation. The good news was at least her head didn’t hurt, she thought and glanced around to see that Domitian was unconscious on the bed next to her.
Smiling, she started to sit up, but paused as she realized that his arm was across her waist. Sarita carefully lifted his hand up and to the side so she could sit up. The man didn’t even stir as she crawled to the top of the mattress to tug the sheet aside and get out of bed. Letting it drop back into place, she hurried into the adjoining bathroom.
She snatched up a bath towel on her way in, tossed it over the shower’s glass panel and then reached in to work the taps. Leaving them on to allow the water to warm, she then slid into the water closet to handle more pressing issues.
Moments later, feeling much relieved, Sarita left the water closet to check the temperature of the shower. The water was perfect and she stepped under it with a little sigh that died in her throat as she tipped her head back and spotted the camera lens.
Mouth tightening, Sarita lowered her head and pretty much raced through her shower after that. She then turned off the water and quickly wrapped the towel around herself sarong-style as she got out. Moving to the counter she ran a brush through her damp hair and brushed her teeth as she debated whether to go back to sleep or not. Sarita wasn’t tired anymore, but if they really were going to try to leave the island that night, she should probably sleep as much as possible today.