Authors: Nadia Aidan

My Spartan Hellion (40 page)

Metal twisted against metal as he turned the knobs, followed by the faint thud of his bare feet as he entered the tub.

Water pelted his skin and the porcelain basin. She heard every sound wafting from the bathroom.

She entered moments later, hovering just beyond the doorway.

Trimmed in gold, the glass of the shower door sparkled in the muted light as steam rose up, filling the room. It fogged the glass, obscuring her view of him, but not completely.

Her breasts grew heavy within the confines of her dress, her nipples tight as she followed him with her gaze. His movements were efficient and precise as he ran the cloth across his skin, cleansing the scents of the past from his body.

Her heart pumped violently, wildly—as fast as a runaway train, spiralling out of control.

Adonis.

His name was only ever spoken in the deep recesses of her mind. He’d stripped her of her virginity and ushered her into womanhood. The act had been tender, when it could have been violent. His motivations had been less noble, just as they were shrouded in mystery.

And so much of this man was a mystery. His past, his life before her…since her. Why she’d been the one he’d chosen to ruin. There were others far more beautiful—why her? Why her, when she’d loved him—so fully and so deeply that she would have eagerly given him her body, her very soul? He needn’t have taken it only to so cruelly discard her.

She hated him for what he’d done and hated him more for concealing the truth.

He was mistaken about the main reason for her presence here tonight. She was here to kill him—that had not changed. But, before she did, she wanted the truth. She wanted to know
why
.

Selena had only wanted him to give her the truth before she took his life. She’d never expected that he’d offer her the gift of revenge.

But she would take it…all of it.

The absence of sound was what drew her attention back to him, just as he slid the door open and stepped from the tub.

He pulled a towel from one of the marble hanging rails and began to dry himself. The soft material of the cloth wiped away the spray of droplets and—for the briefest of moments, buried deep in a forbidden place inside her—she imagined she stood in place of that towel, licking every bead of water and sweat from his naked flesh.

She shivered—partially from desire, the rest from shame.

“You still want me,” he said—his statement a declaration, not a question. His face revealed neither arrogance nor pleasure at the notion. If anything, his eyes were tinged with sadness.

“I do,” she admitted. He would soon die—there was no need to conceal the truth, even if it shamed her.

“Did you think of me all those years inside the convent?”

“Every day,” she whispered. “And every night.”

His eyes probed her. “Tell me. When you thought of me, what did you imagine?”

He seemed almost desperate to hear what she would say, and she stepped closer, the moisture-laden air clinging to her skin. “I imagined I killed you a thousand times.” His eyes darkened. “I imagined I fucked you a thousand more.” His amber gaze was almost as dark as her own rosewood eyes.

“Why?”

“Why what?” She cocked her head slightly. “Why did I think of you? Why did I imagine killing you, fucking you—?”

“The last one. Why did you think of fucking me? Why would you ever imagine me touching you? After everything I did to you? After all the pain I caused you…”

“Because you stirred me.” Her stare sharpened on his face. “You’re the only man who has ever hurt me. You’re the only man who has ever brought me pleasure—”

“Because you’ve never found another—”

“Because I’ve never wanted to.”

He studied her for a long while before he spoke again. “To still desire my touch would make you a masochist, Selena.”

Sadness and amusement reverberated in his deep voice, and, for the first time in a long time, she felt the hint of a smile. He could be right. To desire the touch of the man who’d destroyed her life was masochistic, indeed. But, then, what did that make him? A man who begged for his death, begged her to avenge herself upon his body.

“I imagine we are both masochistic,” she said finally.

He draped the towel over the shower wall and brushed past her to enter the bedroom. “You will find everything you need inside the closet,” he called from behind her.

She glanced at him briefly, before turning her attention to the doors of his closet, which were carved from cherry oak. She crossed the room towards it. Flinging the double doors open, a gasp unwittingly tumbled from her lips at what she found inside.

She whipped around to meet his impassive stare.

“You know my profession.” He shrugged. “Besides, I knew you were coming.”

His voice was soft and seductive even though she knew he did not intend to seduce. He simply could not help it. Everything about Adonis was designed to engender pleasure.

She did not realise he’d closed the distance between them until she was forced to tilt her head back, dragging in the clean, flowery scent of him.

She stilled. He smelled of honey and vanilla.

She
smelled of honey and vanilla.

“Do you often use feminine soap to bathe yourself?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is it coincidence that we bathe in the same fragrance?”

“No.”

He reached out then with blinding speed, but not so fast that she did not guess his intent and drew away before he could grasp her chin or cup her cheek.

His arm fell soundlessly back to his naked side.

“Every day I think of you, Selena. And every night.” He turned so that she could see the ravaged scars that marred his back.

“And when you think of me, what do you imagine?” she asked, though she did not know why. She was certain she didn’t want to know, but her curiosity overrode logic.

He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “I imagine making love to you. Truly making love to you as I did not before. I imagine myself having been with you these past sixteen years, protecting you, healing you, easing you of the pain I caused you.”

He turned this time, his gaze slamming into her from over his shoulder and she swore he stole her breath with that single look.

“It is not a coincidence that we bathe in the same soap. I know everything about you, Selena. I have made it my entire life’s purpose to know of yours. Your wants, your needs, your deepest fears—I know them all.”

“Why?”

Molten fire swirled in the depths of his golden eyes, blazing hot and intense. “How long has it been since you’ve been with a man?”

She started to demand to know what that had to do with anything, especially when she’d already told him, but the look in his eyes forced her to say it again. “Sixteen years.”

He broke their connection and looked away. When he spoke, she almost didn’t hear him, his voice was so low, the emotion in it so raw.

“Sixteen years, Selena. Sixteen years, to this day.” He glanced at the clock hanging over his bed. “And seven hours. That is how long it has been for me since I’ve been with a woman—since I’ve been with
you.
”

She shook her head, though she knew he couldn’t see it with his gaze averted. “Why?” she demanded.

“The same reason as you.”

No
. She refused to accept the truth of his words and what they meant, as tears scorched her eyes.

“You broke my heart.” She bit back a sob, clinging to everything she believed about him.

He was cruel.

He was heartless.

What he’d just revealed said otherwise.

“I know.” He hung his head. “And, when I broke yours, I broke mine. Then, I wanted no other woman but you. And I’ve wanted no other woman since.”

Her anger flared, somewhere between despair and desire…somewhere between hope and need.

Damn him.

Damn him.

This changed nothing.

This changed everything.

She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t have the words to voice the discordant emotions bombarding her.

She didn’t need to.

Before she could part her lips, the double oak doors to the suite splintered open, the ravaged wood crashing against the walls.

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About the Author

Nadia Aidan lives, works and writes on the West Coast in the United States. Under her real name, Nadia holds a PhD in Political Science and Public Policy and by day she works as an Assistant Professor.

She writes across all genres, from historical, to fantasy/sci-fi to contemporary. In addition to writing erotic romances Nadia enjoys reading other authors, playing flag football, studying muaythai, working out, listening to music, scuba diving, and target shooting.

Her other interests include collecting Top Cow comics, especially Witchblade and Tomb Raider. She loves professional football and soccer. Her favourite teams are the Washington Redskins and Manchester United, respectively.

Nadia loves watching, reading about, and writing about strong, assertive heroines which is why she is an enduring fan of Fight Girls, Xena, Buffy, American Gladiators—New and Old, and La Femme Nikita!

Email:
[email protected]

Nadia Aidan loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.total-e-bound.com

Also by Nadia Aidan

On a Dare

On a Whim

Even the Devil Needs Love

Downing Brothers: Sleeping with the Enemy’s Daughter

Downing Brothers: A Rebound Affair

Downing Brothers: Riding Red

Revenge Never Dies: Masochist

Heroes and Harlots: Every Desire

Heroes and Harlots: A Madam into a Mistress