Wings of Fire (Guardians of Ascension #3)(50)
Author: Caris Roane

He extended his hand as well to the doorway, an Old World gesture. She led the way. Coffee sounded good. Her mind still fluttered like a flock of birds. She had wanted to continue the training, but nothing could be done until Marcus and Havily had settled their differences.

Downloading the battle memories had been fantastic. Even now, as she walked through the sitting room, she matched the roll of Antony’s walk if not the length of his stride. She knew what it was to move, to run, to fly in his skin; which muscles flexed and how they reshaped every movement when he thrust or sliced with his sword.

Taking a lesson in swordplay afterward had been like talking in shorthand. She simply knew how to wield the long thirty-inch blade.

Another lesson in daggers would be next. She couldn’t wait.

Antony made coffee with a French press, which of course Jean-Pierre had given him years ago. The warriors seemed to speak in shorthand as well. She sat at the island and sipped her coffee from a heavy white mug, the kind that reminded her of old-fashioned diners.

The men also held mugs and stood facing each other between the island and the refrigerator. She sat on a stool opposite, her elbows propped up on the dark soapstone. She squirmed on the stool. She was feeling muscles she was pretty unfamiliar with, small ones on the insides of her thighs, muscles low on either side of her back. Her calves and triceps burned. Her mind may have known how to do battle, but the rarely used muscles were starting to fire up—and not in a good way.

“Why is Marcus so distressed about teaching Havily?” Parisa asked.

Antony slid his glance to her. “It’s hard to explain. I didn’t want to at first, either. In fact, I have to say that my first instinct, a crippling one, was to lock you up in my bedroom and never let you out.”

Parisa knew what he meant, but other images flashed through her mind and brought warmth to her cheeks.

He frowned slightly then his nostrils flared. His eyes widened. She shifted her gaze quickly to the light brown coffee in her mug. She liked cream, lots of cream in her coffee. Her cheeks were now flaming. She took a hurried sip and came up choking.

“Are you all right, cherie?” Jean-Pierre asked.

Choking was an excellent excuse for her red face. She coughed happily and bobbed her head several times. “Fine. I’m fine.”

But when a cloud of sage suddenly swept over her, she didn’t dare look at Antony. Instead she swiveled completely on the stool so that her back was to the men. She coughed a few more times then tried to take deep breaths.

She glanced down at her br**sts. Her bra and T-shirt were too thin. Her ni**les were drawn into stiff peaks. There were so many ways that this experience, this breh-hedden, had become something of a torture.

She slipped off the stool and meandered toward the door. Maybe she could walk it off. Maybe if she moved around, she’d stop feeling so much.

“Parisa,” Antony called to her, a question in his voice.

“Mmm?” she responded, sliding the mug up to her lips and taking a sip. Her forearms in that position covered her ni**les. If this was the way it was going to be, she was so getting a different wardrobe. The size of her br**sts had always been something of a struggle. It wasn’t like either of the men in this room would fail to notice her arousal.

Oh, God. She was about to die of embarrassment.

“Do you think you’re ready to voyeur Fiona? Jean-Pierre has suggested, rightly so, that we should think about moving fast on this.”

“I agree. Yes, let’s do it.” With her mind turned to more important things, she lowered her arms and walked toward them. Two pairs of eyes dropped to her chest and she gave a little squeak. Ooooh, shit.

Jean-Pierre turned politely away but Antony’s lips parted and he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her br**sts.

“Well, let me see,” she said, drawing her cup once more toward her lips. “Where would be the best place to do this? Also, I’d like to touch your mind and see if you can see the vision as well. Endelle can.”

But Antony leaned in her direction as though he could move through the island. I’d like to touch something else, he sent.

Antony, she chided. Jean-Pierre is right here.

He’s looking out the window.

Stop it with the sage. Her lips trembled.

Let me see you again and I will.

She was shocked and yet he was serious. She lowered her arms, and his lids fell to half-mast. He drew his mug to his lips and sucked a stream of coffee into his mouth with a hiss that made her thighs tremble. She knew, she knew, that if Jean-Pierre hadn’t been in the same room, Antony would be all over her.

She had slept in his bed all night.

She had awakened to his big warrior body spooning her.

She had turned into him and stroked what was already hard and ready between them. The lovemaking had been brisk. She’d risen to her orgasm within a handful of minutes. Her body was like dry kindling to his lit match.

She knew one thing—she wasn’t wearing a snug T-shirt around him anymore. In fact … “Will you both excuse me for a minute? I’ll be right back.”

She met Antony’s surprised gaze but shook her head at him. She didn’t want him following. She set her mug on the counter then hurried into the adjoining parlor, breathing a sigh of relief: Neither man could see her from this point on. She needed a different shirt and she needed it now. She also needed some distance from the sage-machine in the kitchen.

She passed into the foyer and realized she couldn’t hear Marcus and Havily arguing. Good. Maybe Havily would join her in Antony’s lessons. Marcus would have to return to work, but maybe Jean-Pierre could spar with her.

She passed into the formal living room and glanced out the front windows, but couldn’t see them from that vantage.

She moved down the long central hall, aiming for Antony’s bedroom, but when she reached the hub of the guest room suites, opposite the library, she heard Havily moan, a distant sound from behind the closed door of their bedroom. She should have kept going but for some reason she stopped in her tracks. The voyeur in her raised its ugly head and she took several steps in the direction of what used to be her guest room on the right and what was still Marcus and Havily’s room on the left.

Rhythmic thumping met her ears and she put her fingers to her lips. She shouldn’t be doing this, but she was caught by the sounds of their lovemaking. The squabble was over. She wondered if Marcus felt a need to stake his claim all over again.

Probably.

When the moans turned to cries, when she could hear Havily calling out Marcus’s name, she woke up to the improper nature of what she was doing. She retraced her steps to the central hall then ran the rest of the distance to Antony’s bedroom.