He lowered his head, brushing his cheek against hers, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and the salty warmth of her skin. She’d been running not long ago-sweating. He’d have to get the details of that shopping mission. Later.
Amaranthe cleared her throat. “I, uhm… Tonight? When you come to… stand guard?”
“Yes?” he murmured, his lips against her skin now, touching, tasting their way down her neck.
He ought to pull away, to let her finish her question, especially if it was going where he wished it would go, but the pleasure of letting his hands roam, brushing along soft, taut flesh that shivered in response to his touch, and the taste of that skin beneath his lips, his tongue… He enjoyed the feel of her quick breaths whispering past his ear, stirring his hair. More, it pleased him that he affected her so. When her arms slipped around his back and the remaining space between them disappeared…
“You should,” Amaranthe said-gulped, “do it… from my blankets.”
“Like last night?” He lifted his head, intending to accept her offer with a kiss, but he paused at her earlobe, giving it a nibble.
She gasped, and her arms tightened about him. This close, she’d have no trouble discerning his own interest in… standing guard.
“Not exactly,” she breathed, pressing her hips into him.
He responded with an unintentional growl, capturing her against the edge of the desk, locking her to him. His lips found hers, a different taste, a different texture, even more arousing. Why wait until night? With her invitation on his mind, he’d be distracted during the trip to Fort Urgot. Besides, he was tired of suppressing himself, over and over…
Footsteps sounded on the stairs below the office. He didn’t care. If anyone opened the door to interrupt them, he’d-
Amaranthe broke the kiss, her gaze darting toward the window. “Yara, I told her to come back after lunch.”
“Unfortunate,” Sicarius said, mostly because he was thinking of hurling a knife at the door if Yara came in. Not to kill… but a blade quivering in the jamb inches from her ear would convince her to leave them alone.
Amaranthe squirmed out of his grip, though, rushing to straighten her clothes like a thirteen-year-old girl in danger of being caught necking by parents who’d arrived home. “I know,” she said as the footsteps reached the landing. “You should have told me you wanted to deliver more than news. I’d have told her to wait until after dinner.” Her cheeks were flushed and she sounded as though she’d just finished a hard run. She flashed a grin at him. “Or maybe breakfast?”
Breakfast indeed, he thought, his eyes arrested by her lips. If the door hadn’t opened, Sicarius would have pulled her back, and slag Yara or anyone else who wandered upstairs. He had a lot of knives he could throw to ensure privacy.
“Are you two done?” Yara asked from the threshold.
Absolutely not, Sicarius thought.
Amaranthe cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Books and Akstyr are coming,” Yara said. “Maldynado was explaining his costume choices. You may find some resistance.”
“Ah. Yes, he did mention something about a robe and… tassels, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know, but they better not be for me.”
Yara came in and more footfalls sounded outside. Amaranthe upended the shopping bags onto the desk. Sicarius found a corner, lamenting this swift return to business, though it didn’t surprise him. Before Amaranthe, he never would have considered engaging in carnal activities, or even permitting himself such distracting thoughts, during the course of a mission. Somewhere along the way, though, this had become more than just a mission. It was… life, he supposed. A way of existing that was more interesting than simply accepting orders and obeying them.
Amaranthe held up a shiny silver chain with a medallion formed by a pair of slitted eyes. “Uhm. Who’s costume is this a part of?”
“In Kendor, the gia gia lizard features in many legends,” Sicarius said, “always wise and often all-knowing. Those eyes are its typical representation. They’re popular in jewelry worn amongst those with status. Or who wish to appear to have status.”
“I think he just said that’s yours,” Yara said.
“Unfortunately, that’s the message I got too.” Amaranthe pulled out a matching silver chain, or perhaps a woman might wear it as a belt. It, too, featured the eye motif. “Hm.”
Yara plucked a small emerald green piece of material from the pile of clothing. “Did he truly buy these? What a rock head.”
Amaranthe grabbed the garment, strings twitching in the air, and stuffed it in a bag. She glanced at Sicarius, cheeks flushing anew. Undergarments, he guessed, and decided he didn’t care for the idea of Maldynado picking such things out for her. Though his mind did snag for a moment, imagining a modeling show.
Books and Akstyr strolled in, each with a fat tome held under one arm, and Sicarius was glad the undergarment had been hidden. An uneven gait and the clack of a swordstick announced Deret Mancrest’s approach. The office was growing too crowded for his taste.
After Mancrest entered, Sicarius slid toward the door. The warrior-caste man sidestepped, putting his back against the wall, as if he worried Sicarius had been attempting to get behind him. Sicarius ignored him. The movement by the door had drawn Amaranthe’s eyes, but she looked at Sicarius, not Mancrest. She lifted her eyebrows and mouthed, “Tonight?”
He held her gaze for a long moment and nodded once before stepping outside.
Chapter 9
There weren’t many troops patrolling the streets in the upscale neighborhood that housed the Mildawn Business School for Women. A good thing, since it wasn’t as late an hour as it should be for sneaking into a locked building. Wanting to a meet a lover for a midnight tryst probably wasn’t a valid reason for a rebel leader to rush her breaking-and-entering plans, so Amaranthe decided it was the need to acquire information with enough time to study it that motivated the evening infiltration. Anyway, it was dark and late enough that the students and faculty should be gone for the day.
“Let me know if anyone comes.” She slipped out her lock-pick set.
“Of course,” Yara said, a hint of indignation in the tone. Yes, she hadn’t needed to be told. She already had her back to the wall beside the kitchen door, and was watching the alley.
“You didn’t answer my question on the trolley,” Amaranthe said after a few minutes of prodding in the lock. Down on one knee, the cold from the concrete stoop seeping through her trouser leg, she figured this would take a while. The school could afford high quality locks.
“That’s because we had to jump off between stops to flee enforcers who were squinting suspiciously at you,” Yara said.
“We didn’t flee anyone. We were simply disembarking preemptively to ensure the enforcers didn’t have time to confirm those suspicions.”
“Disembarking preemptively. I see.”
Amaranthe supposed Yara would be offended if she pointed out that she, with her brusque, sometimes humorless manner, reminded one of Sicarius at times.
“Yes,” Yara said, finally answering the question, “things are going well with Maldynado.”
She started pacing the alley, checking the streets on either end. Meanwhile, Amaranthe finished with the lock. She pulled matches and lantern out of her pack, and stepped into the kitchen. By the time Yara joined her, shutting the door at their backs, the light from the flame played over polished wood cabinets, countertops, and flooring.
“Are there likely to be squatters?” Yara asked.
“At Mildawn School for Women? I should think not.” Amaranthe issued her best haughty sniff. “But we’ll keep an eye out regardless. It’s early enough that a night janitor might be around.”