“Memnon? He has a name?”
I nod. I take a deep breath and meet her eyes. “I think he followed me back.”
Sybil looks aghast. “Followed you back? Why would he do that?”
My empress.
My queen.
I can all but hear his words and see the look in his eyes when he said them.
“Memnon seems to think I was the one who trapped him in the tomb, and now he’s after me.”
I’m coming for you.
Fuck. I really must not forget this.
CHAPTER 11
The sheet beneath my body is soft, and the room is full of a set of unusual yet oddly comforting smells—cedar and frankincense, smoke and brine.
Soft light flickers from over a dozen terra-cotta lamps set throughout the room, and out the open windows, I hear the calls of summer bugs punctuating the night.
I glance at the bed I’m lying on, the carved wood frame made of Lebanese cedar, though I can’t say precisely how I know that. Nor can I say how I know before I touch them that there are two golden fibulas—clasps—that hold my dress together at the shoulders. A couple of deft flicks, and the whole dress could fall away.
Movement on the far side of the room catches my eye.
A man steps into the open doorway, and I start at the sight of his face.
Memnon.
The fear I expect to feel is nowhere in sight. Instead, longing wells in me. I forgot how handsome he is, though, to be fair, handsome is too tame a word for his sharp, fearsome beauty. He wears only a pair of loose low-slung trousers, his tattooed upper body on full display.
Those luminous brown eyes are full of desire as he approaches me. He walks right up to the bed and cups my face, even as I wrap my arms around his torso, feeling the hard packed muscles of his back.
“Roxi.” He says the name with a deep, guttural roll, the lids of his eyes growing hooded as they take me in.
An instant later, he’s kissing me like he’s drowning and I’m air. I can’t help but kiss him back. I haven’t forgotten how well he kissed or how he did it with a possessiveness he shouldn’t feel.
I don’t mind it either. I know I should. But all I can think about is the fact this man probably fucks like he kisses, and I wouldn’t mind finding that out for certain.
I stare up at him, my heart beating fast. I can’t seem to breathe, and there’s a pain in my chest that I think is happiness, only I’ve never known happiness to hurt.
He searches my eyes. “My empress. My wife.” And then, as though he can’t help himself, he leans in and kisses me again, his lips rough and hungry. I’m swept out to sea by the glide of that mouth. I fall into the kiss, enjoying how he tastes like wine.
He drapes his body over mine, pinning me to the bed, and I gasp into his mouth, the action tugging at me.
I break off the kiss, my lips already feeling swollen, and I search Memnon’s eyes. “I’ve…missed you,” I breathe.
But no, that’s not what I meant to say. Is it?
He smiles, the action showing off one of his sharp canines.
Memnon leans in as though he’s about to kiss me again. Right when his lips are a hair’s breadth from mine, he says, “I don’t believe you.”
He shifts his weight on me, and all sorts of wanton desires well within me. I’m breathless with them, even though there’s confusion too.
Something isn’t right, but what?
I know I said the wrong thing, and he had the wrong response for it, yet he’s still on me, and my hands are still caressing his back, and his hips are lightly moving against mine.
He shifts again so his lips skim across my cheek and brush my ear. “But I have missed you. I have missed you so fucking much, little witch.”
He moves from my ear to press a kiss to my chin. There’s a devious gleam in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth curves up in another smile. He somehow makes sinister look sexy.
His hand moves to my waist. “Let me show you just how much,” he says, gathering the material of my dress with his fingers.
He pulls my skirt higher and higher, baring my legs. The entire time, he stares at me, his eyes daring me to stop him.
I don’t.
I’m too curious and full of yearning.
It’s only when my skirt is around my waist and Memnon’s hand falls to my inner thigh that I gasp.
“Has our time apart made you shy, my queen?”
His other hand falls against my other inner thigh, and he spreads them, almost obscenely. Only then does he tear his gaze from my face. His eyes seem to feast on my exposed flesh.
Heat floods my cheeks. “Memnon.”