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“Lady?”
“Soldier.” Her voice was soft.
“You come alone?”
She nodded, a hesitant smile gracing her lips.
He smiled in return, unable to refuse his instant response.
Though questions swirled in his mind, none found their way from his lips. She was here.
Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shifted on her feet. She was uncertain – was the news so grave then? Had she crept away to ask for his help? He swallowed against the tightening of his throat.
She took a deep breath and spoke quickly, her voice quavering, “I am released from Athena’s temple.”
Ariston froze, his chest leaden as he waited for the rest of it. His gaze traveled over her, taking in her peplos and chlamys, the garb of a woman – no longer a priestess.
Did she wear the robes of a wife now? If she was in fact Poseidon’s wife, or was to become his bride, he should celebrate her honor. And keep his searing agony hidden from her brilliant eyes.
He spoke the name, forcing it from him though it pained him to do so. “Poseidon?”
Her eyes were as fathomless as the sea as she shook her head. Her voice trembled as she whispered hoarsely, “I’m free.”
His brow furrowed. “Free? To marry Poseidon?”
“No. Athena has given me my freedom.” She watched him closely.
Free?
He wavered, pulling air into his lungs with great gasping breaths. At
hena had given her freedom? His relief was a physical thing.
And she’d come to him.
The roaring thrum of his blood filled his ears, unbalancing him as he absorbed this turn of events. Joy followed swiftly, buoying his love and spirit beyond measure. He did not catch himself but kneeled before her.
She had come to him.
He reached for her with wavering hands, tentatively clasping her skirts. Comforted by the feel of her within his reach, he drew in a deep breath. She was here. His hands fisted and grasped the fabric, pulling her gently against him. His arms twined about her knees and he burrowed his face against her stomach.
He closed his eyes to everything but her lush feel, the smell of her, firmly – finally – in his arms.
###
Medusa’s chest tightened. Indeed, it was hard to breathe.
She had not expected his reaction. She could not have imagined her own.
She had thought of nothing but coming to him.
Seeing him trembling on his knees, reaching for her – drawing her to him without pretense or reservation – unlocked something inside of her.
She felt his hands tighten in her skirts, felt his hands draw her close. And she wanted more.
She was spellbound in his hold, enraptured by the feel of his arms about her knees. His hard chest was flush against her, the strong beat of his heart thumped rhythmically against her thighs. His head pressed beneath her bosom, fitting against her. Fitting perfectly, she thought.
His ragged breath caressed her skin through the soft linen of her peplos. His breath, a hot whisper, brushed across her stomach and the curve of her breasts – stealing the remaining air from her lungs with its intimacy.
