Janna didn’t look happy, but sat down slowly and told Klym about scheming nobles and deals with the Alliance.
WHEN SHE LEFT the gardens, she hurried to their rooms. Tor wasn’t there, but her new clothes were hanging from the horizontal posts of the four-poster bed.
She trailed her hand down the silky, flimsy pants and bit her lip. Did she dare?
Yes.
Yes, she did.
When in Vesta.
She would wear this flimsy, white, clingy, exotic thing to dinner. It was only exotic to her, after all. To everyone else it was normal.
Moving fast before she could change her mind, she untied her bodice and yanked the dress and chemise over her head.
She pulled the shirt over her head and tugged on the loose pants of pale gold and a clingy white top. On the floor sat a new pair of embroidered golden slippers with toes that curled up at the top and had bells. It was the most bizarre thing she’d ever worn. Agammo would have swallowed his tongue, and she couldn’t wait to see what Tor would do when he saw her.
Her skin warmed at the thought.
His eyes would go hot, and he’d smile, and push her into a private room or drag her back to bed, and maybe she’d reach her hand up his bare thighs, high under his togata and touch...
Refusing to give herself a moment to change her mind, or remember that she hated him, she left for dinner.
Every step in the loose clothes felt naughty and wild. No skirt to hold out of her way, no corset, no bodice making it hard to breathe.
He was there, in the great hall, surrounded by people.
When she entered the room, he turned, his eyes locking on hers. His lips curved, and she was certain she knew exactly what he was thinking.
The dimple was there. It was decidedly sexy this time, and even at a distance, his eyes went hot enough to make her belly clutch. He said something, too low for her to catch, to the men around him and crossed the cavernous space to where she stood.
His face was unreadable.
She’d expected… something, but he said nothing.
She held her hands out, gesturing at her pants, her nipples tightening when his gaze lingered on her breasts.
He still said nothing. He never did what she expected.
Hating herself for the weakness of caring, she sighed. “So?”
“You look good. You always look good.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
A smile curled across his cheek. “What did you expect me to do? Throw you over my shoulder and drag you off to bed?”
“Ssshhh.” She glanced around, and everyone was looking at them. She stepped closer, keeping her voice low. “Maybe. I thought you’d… I don’t know.”
His eyes crinkled.
She bit her lip. “I thought you might like seeing me dressed like a Vestige woman.”
The smile faded. “Would you want to see me dressed like an Argenti?”
She thought about it. Imagined him in the colorful formal jackets with epaulets, then eyed his hard thighs and broad, bare chest in the togata. “No.”
“Then why would you think I’d want to change you into something you aren’t?”
“I just thought…” She twisted her hands and looked down at the floor, searching for the right thing to say.
His hand settled on the back of her neck, his thumb tilting her face up to his. “If you’d rather wear Argenti-style dresses, we can have more made for you.”
“No. I just thought…” She stared up at his dark eyes. She’d thought he’d like the way her body looked in the clothes. She’d thought maybe he’d kiss her or call her abellina, or maybe a tiny part of her did wonder if he’d throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to bed. A part of her had been looking forward to it, and now she just felt silly. “Never mind.”
He studied her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Did you want me to carry you off to bed?”
A nervous laugh bubbled out. “No, I just… I thought you might have something to say.”
“I’ve got a lot to say.”
“Some assurance, maybe, that I don’t look absurd.”
“You want a compliment?”
She shook her loose hair over her shoulders. “Tutor Meilon used to say that a compliment is never remiss.”
He tugged her closer, leaned in so his lips touched her ear and the sensitive tips of her breasts rubbed against his chest. “Your tits look amazing.”
A frisson fluttered through her belly. Whenever she wanted hot, he gave her cold. When she wanted serious, he gave her jokes. When she wanted poetry, he gave her coarse. He kept her eternally off balance.
She put her hands on his stomach, in the center of the soft fabric of his togata, planning to push him away, and met a solid wall of warm muscles. She pushed, but somehow, he only ended up closer.
“I’d have been severely reprimanded if I showed up like this at the Institute.”
“It’s got nothing on that vest thing you wore on Araa-Ara.” His breath tickled over her ear.
“My bodice?”
He hummed. “Whatever. I wanted to fuck you the first time I saw you in it.”
“You hated me then.”
“I didn’t hate you. I just didn’t understand you.”
“And now?”
He pulled back, his eyes crinkly and warm. “I still don’t understand you, and I still want to fuck you. No matter what you’re wearing.”
She let out a shaky breath, looking around the long hall. People sat on sofas and chairs down the entire length, grouped in clusters, stood around pillars, many of them casting curious eyes their way. “That won’t happen.”
His hands moved down to grip her waist. Her feet left the ground. “What are you doing?”
“I decided to throw you over my shoulder after all. You annoyed me, which means it’s time for another orgasm.”
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, batting at his shoulders and kicking her feet, trying desperately to maintain some degree of dignity. “You’re causing a scene.”
There was a minor scuffle.
She lost.
And ended up bottom-up, head-down, over his shoulder, blood rushing to her face, and kicking.
Everyone
