Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13)(64)

“Have you fed?” A booming question from down in the courtyard.

Hand slamming to her heart, she glanced over the edge of the balcony to see a shirtless Titus standing there with his hands on his hips, his head tilted back to look up at her. He appeared suspiciously well-rested, and if the grin on his face was anything to go by, his good humor was restored. She didn’t know why she found that so attractive.

“Shari! I’m waiting!”

“And I’m in a position to drop something on your head!”

Throwing back his head, he laughed. His next words were in her mind, his voice resonant and beautiful. I’m going to eat. Will you join me, or will you throw knives with your tongue?

As she watched, he flew up and to the right of her own balcony. He was beautiful in motion and she flushed when he landed and almost caught her staring. “Sharine?”

“I’m coming.”

Since his rooms were right next to hers and he’d left his door open, she walked in without knocking. She didn’t know what she’d expected of his private quarters, but this entrance section was warm in its embrace, decorated with a huge earthen-colored rug and equally large and comfortable seating.

Nothing had sharp edges except for the weapons he’d mounted on the walls. All were unique, from different times and places. He also had art on those walls, leaning toward paintings that spoke of the vibrant heart of this land. She was drawn to one in particular—ink on textile done in the same tones of earth and sunset that dominated this part of his quarters.

“The art appreciation can wait.” Titus stood in the wide doorway to the balcony, his arms crossed and his lips curved. “Come, Shari, the food will get cold.”

A single glance and she was in danger of a hot flush. Standing there like that, with the light from the courtyard backlighting his body and his skin aglow with health beneath the sleeveless dark brown tunic he’d thrown on, he was the embodiment of fantasies she’d had as a young girl—when she’d still believed in the foolishness of passionate attraction and lived for the thrill of a rapidly beating heart.

In front of her, his expression turned intimate . . . welcoming, and she knew he wouldn’t reject her should she decide to cross the room and rise up on her toes to touch her mouth to his, her hands flush against the muscled ridges of his chest.

Even as her blood turned to honey, she knew it wasn’t just physical, what had taken root between them. The days they’d spent together on the journey to the settlement and back, the hours they’d spent speaking to one another, it had altered their relationship on a fundamental level.

“There’s always time for art appreciation,” she said, but walked toward him—she had to always stay conscious of her propensity to hide inside art. Art was safe. Art didn’t demand. Art didn’t look at you in a way that made embers smolder in your stomach. And art didn’t hurt you in the way people hurt you. “But I am hungry.”

Titus angled his body so she could pass, and though the doorway was wide and he made no attempt to hinder her, she felt buffeted by the wall of strength and heat that was his body. Spine stiff, she took care that her wings didn’t brush him as she walked out.

If she had to be attracted to a man, why did it have to be someone so big and brash and beautiful? It wasn’t any longer about comparing him to Aegaeon. The two might have surface similarities, but she wasn’t foolish—she’d seen the heart of Titus now and that heart was bigger than Aegaeon’s would ever be.

No, it was because of Titus, who he was—this man would leave a mark on her life if she let him in, and Sharine already had far too many scars within. She had to decide if it was worth chancing another for a fleeting slice of pleasure.

I’ve never made promises of forever. Any woman who comes into my arms understands that I offer only pleasure and affection.

Sharine didn’t want forever, wasn’t sure she’d ever again be in a place where she could trust enough to offer her heart. On the flip side, however, she also wasn’t sure she was built for quick dalliances.

How do you know? asked the part of her that had been getting more and more mouthy of late. It’s not as if you’ve ever tried it. Take a risk, dance with Titus. You’re tough enough now to pick up the pieces—if there are any pieces to pick up in the first place.

You’re not who you once were, Sharine. Take the risk.





32


When Titus pulled out her chair for her, she was startled to see a scowl mar his smile. Had he picked up on her discomfort and uncertainty? She’d hope she was a better guest than that—but Titus, she was learning, had more sensitivity than the majority of the world realized; never would she forget his internal struggle as he readied himself to wipe the villagers’ minds.

“I see we are to starve.” The table was piled with dishes upon dishes, all of them steaming and aromatic, but that wasn’t why she made the comment—she found she didn’t like it when Titus went quiet, and as he seemed unable to resist responding to sarcasm or dry words on her part, she’d use it to break his mood.

“I told you, I’m hungry—and I have a cook who signed on to feed an archangel’s court but is now managing troop meals. The man can’t help himself,” he grumbled and picked up a dish. “Try this. You’ll like it.”

Wondering if his mood resulted from hunger, she took a spoonful. When he stared at the tiny amount on her plate, she rolled her eyes. “I want to taste all the dishes and I won’t be able to do that if I stuff myself on the first one.”