Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(30)

There was a chair beside the table she’d found the wine on, and Kat sat while she sipped.

Okay, well, today hadn’t really gone so terribly. Besides the whole she-and-Jacky-dying part, that is. Plus, that was just temporary. Hera was definitely going to owe them, and soon. It almost didn’t seem fair. Achilles was doing her work for her. It was obvious that he was sick of fighting and pissed at Agamemnon, which Kat could totally understand. So the little tiff about Briseis was the proverbial straw on the camel’s back. All that was left for Kat to do was just encourage him in the direction he was already going. She could actually relax and pretend like this was an unexpected vacation. She looked down at her new body, stuck her leg out, letting the drapey, togalike robe fall to the side to reveal the young, tight, well-formed limb.

“So does what happens in the ancient world stay in the ancient world?” she said absently, peeking inside her outfit to check out her perky young boobs.

Kat wondered where Jacky was and what she was up to. “Probably nursemaiding that blond cutie.” And she should take a lesson from Jacky. She should learn to loosen up and have a good time—make the best of this situation. “In other words, if I want to shtup Achilles, I shtup him. Hell, it’d be good for both of us. I’m always telling my clients to be sexually empowered. Okay. Shrink, heal thyself.” Kat refilled the wine goblet and left the tent, walking purposefully toward the shore.

It wasn’t hard to find Achilles. The moon was high and full in the sky. Reflecting off the calm sea it was like a giant nightlight. Plus, Achilles was a big guy who was making no attempt to hide. He was sitting on a rock facing the water. He’d taken off the breastplate of his armor, as well as the metal things that covered his shins and he was wearing a loose thin tunic that opened at the chest and left his arms and legs bare. Kat thought he looked like a Greek statue sitting there, illuminated by the night and bathed in ancient mysticism.

“It is dangerous to walk alone at night.” He spoke without looking at her.

“I’m not alone—I’m with you.”

Achilles turned his head and looked at her. “Is there something you require, Princess?” The question was cordial, but his tone was remote, almost cold.

“Yes, company,” Kat said honestly, and was pleased by the surprise she saw in his eyes. “It’s my first night here. It’s not what I’m used to and I’m a little homesick,” she said honestly.

“You must hate me for stealing you away from your family—your kingdom.”

“You didn’t steal me; Athena did.”

“And do you hate the goddess?”

“No.” Kat shook her head. “She was just doing what she felt like she had to do. Plus, you’re not so bad.”

He made a sound that seemed part laugh, part snort. “You are so odd, Polyxena of Troy. Are all the princesses of your city like you?”

“Absolutely not,” she said with complete certainty.

Then he did laugh—really laugh, and Kat thought what a great sound his laughter made echoing musically with the lapping of the surf.

“Got any more wine in that floppy thing?” she asked, moving closer to him and holding out her empty goblet. He filled it up and the two of them sipped wine and gazed out at the sea. The silence between them was companionable, and Kat thought how weird it was that a man who supposedly scared the crap out of women could be so easy to be around. Which reminded her…

“That was a good thing you did today in Agamemnon’s tent,” she told him.

He glanced at her and raised his brows. “So says a Princess of Troy. Of course you would believe my being absent from the battle against your people a good thing.” He said it as a simple statement without sounding angry or resentful.

“I suppose you’re right, but I wasn’t thinking about that just now. I was thinking that I wouldn’t want to fight for a man like Agamemnon, either.”

“It probably wasn’t wise for you to insult him,” Achilles said.

“Why not? It’s not like he and I weren’t enemies already.” Achilles turned on his seat so that he could look directly into her face. “And what about you and I? Are we not enemies, too?”

Kat’s mouth went dry. He was looking piercingly into her eyes and she could feel desire for him start to burn deep within her. She opened her mouth to remind him that she was his war-prize bride—his property, but she couldn’t make herself say that bullshit. She didn’t care if she was in a strange body playing the part of a princess in an ancient world; Kat was still Kat. Even the goddesses agreed that it was the soul that carried the essence of a person, and not the body. There was no way she could consider herself someone’s property, and no damn way she would act like it, either. Kat held his gaze and said, “Right now you and I are a man and a woman who are alone under a full moon by the shore of a beautiful sea, and that’s all we are.”

Slowly Achilles lifted his hand and touched her cheek with just the tips of his fingers. Kat could feel their roughness against her soft skin. She could also feel that he was trembling.

“I wish that were true,” he said.

“It is true,” Kat said. “At this moment in time—this instant—that is all we are.”

“And you don’t fear me.”

He didn’t frame the words as a question, but Kat answered him anyway. “And I don’t fear you.” She stepped close to him so that she stood between his legs. Slowly, deliberately, she slid her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. Achilles didn’t move. Kat thought he was barely breathing. Sitting on the rock he was still tall enough that she had to go up on her toes to reach his mouth. She kissed him softly, questioningly, mixing her breath with his and learning the taste and texture of him. He was salty like the sea beside them and he tasted of sweet wine. His lips were soft, but everything else about him was unbelievably hard. His shoulders under her hands were like iron, and the hands that he had automatically placed on her waist were rough and callused from decades of swordfights. The difference in textures—his hardness and her softness—was exquisitely erotic and she leaned into him, craving more of that difference.