Chapter 43
Forty-Three
Ivy
Igape at Stavros, everything narrowing down to the three words ringing in my ears. Did he… did he really say what I thought I heard?
In my startled silence, his expression shifts, his mouth tensing. He moves as if to push himself right off me, but I snap out of my daze in time to catch the front of his shirt.
I still don’t know how to answer him, but my arms move of their own accord. They loop across his shoulders, hugging him closer to me instead.
Stavros bows his head so our foreheads rest together. I hear him swallow.
He manages to find the droll tone that’s both amused and annoyed me over our weeks together. “I shocked the words right out of you. That’s some kind of accomplishment.”
My laugh comes out choked. I tilt my head to seek out his lips.
Somehow sinking into a kiss feels easier than saying anything back just yet. My emotions are still roiling inside me, plenty of previous shock mixing with amazement and affection.
Can I really doubt his admission when he’s opened up to me about so much else? He put all his regrets and weaknesses on display just to reassure me.
Well, Julita says softly. That’s not where I was expecting this conversation to end up, but I’m glad I got to see it. He’s right in everything he said about you, Ivy. And I think I’ve played voyeur long enough.
Her presence dwindles in the back of my skull. Stavros’s heat still encompasses me, his body dwarfing mine though no longer trapping it.
He loves me.
I can’t quite wrap my head around the idea, though every time I remember his voice saying those words, another giddy flutter passes through my chest. I never thought…
Well, I never thought I’d hear him say most of the things he has tonight.
My heart aches with all the things I’m not saying. But it’s not as if I could return the same exact sentiment yet.
Less than an hour ago, I considered it possible he’d end up dragging me to the executioner someday. A person needs a little time to catch their balance when the ground they thought they were standing on tips over.
I’ve wanted him… for much longer than I’ve liked. I think I started falling for him that night after the catastrophe of a ball when he admitted how much he’d come to appreciate my dedication—and revealed a sliver of the anguish he’s fully bared this evening.
Every movement of his lips against mine is delectable. Every inch of my body tingles with the awareness of his massive frame braced over me.
Even as I think that, Stavros eases back. He pulls himself upright, drawing me with him so we’re sitting facing each other.
Not exactly apart, though. My knee rests against his thigh. His hand lingers against my jaw.
His mouth quirks into a slanted smile. “I suppose the shock can’t be that bad. You didn’t run away screaming in horror.”
I meet his blue-and-brown gaze, letting my hand settle on his other arm just below the jut of his prosthetic. “It’s still sinking in. I’m sorry I can’t— My feelings were already jumbled up from everything we talked about before—”
“It’s all right.” Stavros strokes his thumb across my cheek. “I haven’t made it easy on you. And I wouldn’t want you to lie to me. It feels like some kind of miracle that you’re even willing to kiss me.”
More heat collects low in my belly. I’d like to do a lot more than kiss him—that much I’m sure of.
The knowledge steadies me. We’ve covered some of that territory before. Hooking up isn’t quite as fraught as declarations of devotion.
Maybe there’s an easy way I can put us back on level ground and defuse the tension of the moment.
I scoot a little backward and wave my hand at Stavros carelessly. “I think we can do better than that. But first, strip.”
His expression turns incredulous. “What?”
I give another flippant gesture, indicating the whole muscular expanse of him I’ve never really gotten to admire before. “Strip. I want to have a look at what I’m working with.”
His eyes flash with the eager light that’s drawn me to this man from the first moment I saw it flare in his gaze. A sly grin crosses his face. “Turn-around’s fair play, hmm?”
So he’s recognized the call-back to our first sparring session, back when he thought I was nothing more than a thieving street rat.
I shrug, offering my most innocent smile. “At least I have the pure motivation of simply wanting to appreciate the view, no ego involved.”
Stavros guffaws. “Pure?” But to my delight, he stands up, reaching for his shirt.
I do drink in the view as he deftly undoes the buttons with his one hand. I suppose having sacrificed the other to Sabrelle when he turned twelve, he must have gotten a lot of practice at doing all kinds of things one-handed. None of his prosthetics would be much help with more delicate maneuvers.
The triangle of bare chest shows wider with each opened button. Then he reaches the bottom and shrugs the shirt right off, leaving the full muscular expanse of his torso bared, along with the harness that keeps his prosthetic in place against the stump of his wrist.
I lean back on my hands while I study him. He might not ride off into battle anymore, but he’s kept up a warrior’s physique. Every inch of his chest, abdomen, and arms is sculpted into taut ridges of muscle.
Here and there, marks either paler or ruddier cut across his light brown skin. I’m familiar enough with certain sorts of wounds to tell a few are scars left by blades and at least one was a burn, but others must be from weapons I don’t often encounter.
Or not weapons at all. It was a magical strike that damaged his vision.
In the midst of it all, the curving lines of Sabrelle’s brand stand out at the base of his sternum. The dedication he took for a life he’s been almost entirely shut out of.
I hope Sabrelle hasn’t abandoned him for his injury. He served her well while he could.
I’m occupied enough with ogling that it takes me a minute to notice that Stavros has stopped undressing. He’s watching me take him in with a gaze as avid as mine.
I arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re finished yet. You had me down to my underclothes.”
“That I did. Well, if the lady wishes it…”
He tugs off his boots without hesitation. I think a hint of a flush creeps up his neck as he loosens the ties on his trousers.
I’ve no doubt that Stavros has entertained plenty of women beyond the one he once thought he’d marry, but I’d guess most of them didn’t ask him to put on a show for their amusement.
He’ll be used to them seducing him with strategically revealed skin and flirty glances.
I don’t see any need to be coy after everything that’s passed between us. When he drops his trousers, I let my gaze rove over every bulge and shadow of his chiseled legs from thighs to calves—and back up again, to one particularly impressive bulge tenting his drawers.
Stavros kicks his trousers to the side, his gaze smoldering into me. “Do I meet your satisfaction, Lady Thief?”
I wasn’t always sure I liked that nickname. Hearing it now in his old sardonic lilt, the cockiness returned to his voice with warmth twined through it, lifts my spirits with another flutter of my pulse.
I smirk back at him. “I suppose you’ll do.”
With a rustle of my skirt, I stand and saunter toward him. Stavros holds perfectly still other than the rise and fall of his breath.
I set my hand on one pectoral and skim my fingertips down to his waist. The slight hitch of his chest eggs me on.
The top of my head barely reaches his shoulder. But that simply means that I’m the perfect height to press a kiss to one of those scars mottling his torso.
At the brush of my lips against his heated skin, a rumble of amusement that’s a little ragged as well emanates from the former general’s lungs. He cups my shoulder, gliding his thumb along the curving neckline of my dress.
Everywhere I shift my gaze, there’s another nick or lingering line that I couldn’t make out from afar. My lungs constrict at the sight of them.
I really don’t have any concept of just how much this man endured during his years on the front lines of Silana’s ongoing military squabbles. Has he skirted death even more times than I have?
With a sudden sense of urgency, I set my hand over the roughened skin of his dedication brand and kiss another of the scars. And another. And another.
“What are you doing?” Stavros asks, with a rasp in his voice he can’t quite master.
I move my lips to the next scar, letting them graze his mottled skin as I speak. “Thanking Sabrelle for ensuring that none of these wounds brought you to your end.”
A choked sound escapes him, and then he’s tugging my chin up while he lowers his head. His mouth crashes into mine.
I’ve been kissed before by all three of the other men Julita brought together. Benedikt’s kiss was merely a quick thrill, doused by his blasé attitude afterward. But Alek’s can electrify me, and Casimir knows how to make me melt.
Stavros’s kiss sets me on fire.
Even as the flames of desire dance beneath my skin, threatening to burn me up, I can’t help leaning into him. Can’t help wanting to absorb every bit of the scorching need we kindle between us.
This is the only kind of bonfire I want to worship at.
When he tugs at the laces of my gown to loosen it, I don’t have a single protest left in me. I let the garment fall and wriggle out of my underskirt as well between kiss after addicting kiss.
I have to let go of him so he can pull off my chemise. He gazes down at me, now as bared as he is, with the familiar twitch of his head that makes me abruptly self-conscious.
I won’t look anything like the pampered noblewomen he must be used to. No amount of living among them will disguise the effects of my childhood deprivations or the scars I’ve taken in different sorts of battles.
But Stavros traces his fingers down my sternum with a reverent expression. They graze the false godlen brand and continue to my belly button.