The Rebel King

be. consisting of two tiers of magnificent arches.

'It's Roman, of course-not as impressive as the Pont du Gard,' Nikolas said with a modest shrug as he led the way down to the water's edge. 'But also not as well-known, and therefore-' he smiled in a way that made her heart quicken '-less apt to be overrun with tourists.'

'It looks as if it enjoys its share of visitors, though.' Rhia said, glancing around at the hard-packed pathways and areas worn bare of grass by picnickers. Or lovers?

'Kayakers and fishermen, mostly.' He nodded toward a small group of the former farther up the river beyond the bridge's arches, their brightly colored kayaks looking, from that distance, like petals of gaudy tropical flowers strewn on the waters. He glanced at Rhia and his smile tilted. 'And lovers, of course.'

'And which of those were you?' She asked it lightly, her heart tappity-tapping behind her ribs as she followed Nikolas across boulders and through thickets of trees and shrubs, following a pathway only he could see.

'What's that?' He paused to look back at her. 'Oh-you mean, when I've come here before? All of the above, I suppose, over the years. Though more of the first two than the third, I'm afraid,' he added wryly.

'Oh, come now.'

'Sad, but true. I was a studious lad, you see. No time for the lassies.' He held out his hand to help her down the last treacherous steps, and his grin, as he looked up at her, seemed to belie that claim. It might have been only because she knew from his dossier that the words were in fact true that Rhia was able to find the regret in his cool gray eyes.

Thinking of that Nikolas, the quiet, studious, lonely schoolboy Nikolas, she put her hand in his. The warmth of it seemed to spread all through her body. She felt his hand tighten around hers as she slipped on a gravelly patch and for a second pulled hard against the strength in his taut muscles. Then, as she regained her footing, instead of releasing her he drew her to him in a motion as fluid and easy as a dance movement between longtime partners.

For Rhia, time seemed to stand still in that moment before he kissed her. All her perceptions seemed heightened…honed. She heard music all around her, in the trickle and chatter of the water and in the songs of birds calling to each other in the trees, in the whisper of leaves falling and the hum of insects, and even in the bass growl of a vehicle of some sort passing on a nearby road. She saw sunlight sparkling on wet rocks and the edges of leaves turning gold and a spider's web hanging between two trees, catching the light and shining like spun silk. She felt the warm breeze on her bare arms and legs, her cheeks and hair like a gentle caress…and it all felt to her like summer saying good-bye. The beauty of that moment seemed unbearably sweet to her. achingly sweet, as though she knew it would never come again, not in just this way. and she knew she would leave a piece of herself behind in this moment forever.

She felt the kiss before he kissed her, as if all the nerves and cells in her body were springing eagerly to meet him. And she knew then that she'd been wanting this, needing this, and that it had been inevitable from the moment he'd lunged for her across a Paris balcony and she'd stood unmoving and let him take her down when she could so easily have eluded him.

When his lips met hers she lifted a wondering hand and touched his face, and the textures-his textures-on her fingertips…the softness of skin contrasted with the roughness of emerging beard, the delicate play of muscles over the granite hardness of jawbone…the incredible intimacy of that… made it intensely real.

And at the same time it seemed an impossible forbidden miracle, and the pain of that contradiction made her lips tremble and tears etch the backs of her eyes.

She felt his hand on her back, firm between her shoulder-blades, and another on the nape of her neck, fingers spread wide to burrow through her sweat-damp hair as he brought his mouth to hers, took her lips with a tenderness that made her ache. It was a giving, not a taking kiss, and she held herself still, breath suspended, and let it fill her with all the sweetness and goodness and light and joy she could possibly hold, until she quivered with the surfeit of those things, utterly overwhelmed.

He withdrew from her slowly, still holding her. and she let her head lie in the cradle of his hand as she gazed up at him. seeing him through a haze of light, like fog lit by sunshine. He seemed impossibly beautiful to her then. His hard features had blurred edges and his keen eyes a soft sheen of confusion, and the lock of hair curving down across his forehead made him look like a gentle saint.

His forehead creased suddenly with a frown, and he said in a voice gravelly with awe. 'My God, Rhee. I can't believe how desperately I want to make love to you. It's quite extraordinary. Unprecedented, really.'

Thus did Nikolas, feeling himself teetering on the edge of a vast unknown, manage once again to pull himself back just in time.

There was a suspenseful moment, though, before she began to laugh, to his profound relief-and laughed until tears glistened in her eyes like tiny jewels. At least, he hoped they were laughter's tears…

'Unprecedented?' she sputtered, wiping her eyes. 'That's as bad as Serendipity/'

'Yes, I suppose it is.' He caught a lifting breath and turned her neatly into the curve of one arm while every muscle and nerve in his body cramped in disappointed protest, then picked up the cooler and hiked it under the other arm. 'I don't do my best work on an empty stomach. I'm afraid.' He let his glance skim over her hair, the glossy strands so close to his cheek he could smell its elusive but familiar fragrance, and added lightly. 'The sentiment's dead-on, though.' And quickly, before she could respond, took his arm from her shoulders and caught up her hand instead. 'Come-let me show you my private rock.'

'If that's a variation on 'Come see my etchings.' I'd say you get honorable mention for originality, at least.' Rhia muttered drily.

He chuckled, and after a moment began to sing lustily the line of a song that had been taunting him for the past twenty-four hours or so. ''Come let's be lovers…''

'Simon and Garfunkel,' he said when she looked at him curiously. 'Come, come-you should know them, they're American. Very popular in the sixties-your mum's era, probably.'

She was watching her feet, but he caught the wry tilt to her smile anyway. 'During the sixties I think my 'mum' was more into John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderly.'

'Ah,' he said, 'of course. Jazz saxophonists, both of them, right?'

'Right.' He felt her head turn and her sharp green gaze touch his face. 'Is there anything that wide-ranging education of yours didn't cover?'

'I doubt it,' he said, striving for lightness but somehow unable to keep an edge of bitterness out of his voice.

What had it all been for, he wondered, that education of his? Had he been lied to and groomed all his life for…this? To become the one thing he despised above all others? A king?

What a joke that would be, he thought, if it were true.

They ate sitting on a flat rock that jutted out over the water, in the dappled, constantly moving shade of the giant weeping willows nearby. The meal Nik had prepared for them was simple-crusty bread drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with garlic and herbs, topped with a delicious mixture of ripe tomatoes, olives, eggplant, anchovies and capers; a variety of goat cheeses, and wine-rose, of course.

He cut a slice of the bread and showed her the proper way to anoint it with olive oil and toppings, then offered it to her with a reticence that bordered on shyness and seemed to her almost unbearably sweet. This was a new side of Nikolas Donovan, one the Lazlo Group's extensive dossier had evidently overlooked, and she didn't know what to do with the feelings it roused in her. Tender, nurturing feelings, alien to her nature. Or so she had always believed.

Was that why, instead of taking the piece of bread from him. she opened her mouth and let him feed her the first succulent bite, knowing what a seductive and dangerous thing it was? Or was she simply caught in the golden web of that magical afternoon, and unable-or unwilling-to claw her way out?

So she laughed self-consciously when bits of the vegetable topping escaped and fell onto her shirtfront. and the seasoned oil oozed onto her lips and down her chin. And when Nik flicked away the crumbs, she let herself wallow shamelessly in the pleasure of that casual touch. When his finger deftly caught the riverlet of oil. before she even thought about it, she licked it from his fingers.

His touch was like some sort of magic wand that turned her skin to shimmering fire in an instant. Something