Two hours later, Jorlan joined her. “I have finished my task,” he said, his pride in his accomplishment evident.
Only halfway done herself, she removed her mask and focused on him. Someone save me. Her knees went weak. He’d removed his shirt, sweat glistening on his ripped bronzed chest. Multiple scratches marred his arms and abdomen while actual gashes covered his hands. Those sharp-edged rocks had not been kind to him. Dirt streaked his brow. He looked like a primitive mythological god, strong and confident and oh, so tempting.
Soon, she would have all that strength above her…or behind her…as he surged deep, deep inside her feminine core.
Her mouth watered.
“What would you have me do next?” he asked.
“Why don’t you cut up the bigger pieces of linoleum and stuff them in the trash bag over there?” she suggested, suddenly nervous. “As you work, we can…talk.” Maybe she’d mention the sex thing, maybe she wouldn’t.
He canted his head to the side, watching her for a protracted moment. Then he said, “I will do exactly as you have suggested.”
His tone…so satisfied, as if he’d read her mind.
Wait. Could he? Panic sparked. “Can you read my mind?”
He frowned. “I wish, but no.” Arching a brow, satisfaction deepening, he said, “However, your enlarged pupils give you away.”
Stupid pupils!
As he stacked the linoleum and sat before the pile to cut, she said, “Tell me about your family. And your past. Tell me everything!”
For a moment, he stared at the wall just above her shoulder, perhaps seeing through the obstacle, through the passage of time and galaxies to his “other” life.
“My father, Gui en Sarr, was once the great lord of Imperia.”
“What’s a Great Lord?”
“The equivalent of a king.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. Your father was a king?” Well. No wonder Jorlan expected his every command to be instantly obeyed. He was freaking royalty.
“Aye, but the throne will never be mine.”
“Because it belongs to your older brother?”
“Nay. Where I am from, the eldest son does not always inherit his father’s title. Anyone, from any family, any land, may be selected.”
Her brow puckered with confusion. “Does the father choose who will inherit before he dies? What if the father died suddenly, before he’d chosen?”
“A great lord isn’t chosen by a human at all, but by the Kyi en Tra Crystal,” he explained. “Upon the death of a great lord, the crystal summons specific males. Usually a hundred or so. The males who heed the summons journey to the palace to touch the ancient stone, for whoever causes the crystal to burn bright with crimson becomes the one true king until his death.”
She could just imagine the impatient hopefuls standing in line, waiting for their turn with the stone. “So you didn’t give the crystal color?”
He chuckled. “Do not look so sad for me, katya. My uncle, Challann, took the throne upon my father’s death. He is a good and just man. The people adore him, as did—do—I. I often wonder if he still lives.”
A pang lanced through her chest. He’d been without his family for so long. Too long. “You would have made a spectacular king, I know it.”
A negligent shrug lifted his shoulders. “The people would not agree with you. A great lord must wield control in all ways, yet I have always struggled with my magic.”
Using the scraper on a strip of dried glue, she said, “The magic thing bothers you.”
“Aye. I inadvertently blow things up, and I don’t know why. No one knows why.” He shrugged again. “In Imperia, I may not be a great lord, but I am a man of consequence, a warrior of great ability and strength. Here I am only a man who must rely on a woman to see to my needs.”
Ahh. The circumstances must eat away at his pride.
Stretching out her long legs, Katie kneaded the muscles in her lower back then leaned against the wall. Cool tile seeped through the thin material of her shirt. “What was your favorite thing to do in Imperia? Besides bedding all the subservient wenches, that is.”
“Training with my army.”
Yeah, that would have been Katie’s favorite thing, too. Not the training, but watching the training. Hello, beefcake.
“If you return and there’s an awful king in power, could you challenge him for the crown,” she asked, “even without the crystal’s approval?”
“I could kill him, aye, but I could not take the throne. No one would serve me.” How sad he looked.
He wanted to be king; she’d bet her last dollar on it. “Have you ever thought about, oh, I don’t know, staying here in Texas and starting your own royal family here?” She asked the question with zero inflection in her voice, while she pretended to toy with a power tool. Meanwhile, her heart raced.
“I haven’t…until today.”
* * *
HOPE SHIMMERED IN Katie’s gaze, warming Jorlan. She wanted him to stay! Oh, she hadn’t admitted it aloud or anything like that, but that was okay. The desire shone in her eyes.
He had stepped inside this chamber, certain he would face another rejection, another disappointment. Instead, they’d continued sharing details about their lives, a bond solidifying between them. A tentative bond they’d created with their kiss.
“Tell me about your brother,” she said, veering toward a safer topic.
He let her do it—for now. “Percen is the most powerful sorcerer in Imperia, which is why he leads the Druinn.” Percen… His image flashed in Jorlan’s mind. They were the same height, possessed the same black hair and blue eyes. That was where their similarities ended.
A wealth of facial scars caused Percen’s left eye to droop lower than the right. His nose was bent at an odd angle, his body broken and twisted. Injuries he’d received as a child, when he’d saved Jorlan from a fire in the stables. They’d decided to ride in the middle of the night, had snuck out of the palace. Jorlan accidentally knocked over a torch and within minutes, the flames had spread into an inferno.
Jorlan had rushed around, doing everything in his power to save the animals. A wood beam engulfed in flames had fallen on him, pinning him in place. Percen had used every drop of his magic to free and heal Jorlan and passed out. Jorlan managed to drag him to safety, and tried using his magic to heal his brother.
He caused permanent damage instead.
Guilt and shame rose like a tide inside him. He’d loved the boy, and he’d ruined his life.
Next had come their father’s death, then their mother’s move.
He told the story to Katie, taking comfort in her reactions. Soft puffs of air. Watering eyes. Sniffles. A hand pressed over her head.
“You were a child, and probably frantic,” she said, “yet it’s obvious you still blame yourself for something you did in the heat of a moment.”
“I do blame myself. As I should. Because even then, I knew better. I should have fetched our mother, or another sorcerer.”
“If Percen’s magic had caused permanent damage in you, would you have forgiven him?”
“Of course,” he offered without hesitation.
“So why can’t you forgive yourself?”