What in the holy hell had she been thinking? Kat tried not to hesitate too long while she frantically decided how best to take off her clothes without seeming too enticing, and yet also not seeming like she was scared shitless and bolting for the concealing water.
Concealing water? Kat squinted down at the clear little pool. Where were algae and a good dose of clouding pollution when you needed them? Get if over with, Katrina, she ordered herself. She pulled off the light green silk outer robe that had replaced the new blue one the gross sea things had ruined. Her underrobes were soft layers of eggshell silk. Kat let them fall around her feet. She hadn’t really thought about the fact that neither panties nor a bra had come with any of her outfits—until then. Just remind yourself that you’re glad he’s looking at this tight young little body, versus your pushing forty-year-old, needing to lose fifteen pounds and take your flabby butt to the gym body.
Kat tried for regal looking as, naked, she stepped into the pool, bracing herself for what she expected to be freezing cold water. But at the first touch of the tepid pool she felt a shiver of delight and, with a happy sigh, submerged herself. Only then did she look up at Achilles. “Hey! It’s not cold.”
He had done as she’d instructed and was sitting, in a semirelaxed manner, on the blanket, leaning against one of the marble pillars. He had an uncorked wineskin in his lap. She thought he looked a little tense, but other than that completely himself.
“It’s too shallow to be cold, at least this time of the year. The sun warms it and the willows shade it, keeping the water a perfect temperature.” As he spoke she noticed he kept his eyes on hers, not allowing his gaze to travel down to her body, which the water did little to conceal. “When I first discovered this shrine I thought the pool must have been why it was built and then dedicated to Venus.” Achilles smiled a little sheepishly. “Seems a perfect place for a goddess to bathe.”
Kat grinned. “Why, Achilles, I do believe you are a closet romantic.”
He snorted. “I am no type of romantic.”
“Ha! You left a flower on my pillow. I would call that evidence exhibit number one of romanticism.”
He took a long drink of wine and then said, “How do you know I left it?”
“Oh, that’s right. It must have been Aetnia—or maybe Briseis. Both of them just love hanging out in your tent.”
He snorted again and tried, unsuccessfully, to cover his laughter.
“Exhibit number two is that picnic basket full of goodies for me.”
“This basket?” He pawed around inside it and pulled out a piece of cheese wrapped in flatbread. He took a big bite and around his full mouth said, “This basket is for me, not you.”
“Sure it is,” she said, scrubbing the bottom of her foot with a handful of sand. “Romantic evidence exhibit three is that blanket.”
“And why is that romantic?”
“Because you don’t want me to get my delicate skin dirty.” She lifted her other foot, the bottom of which was still dirty, and waggled her toes at him.
His laughter was free and easy. She thought it was the most wonderful sound she had ever heard. “The blanket is for me, too.”
“Oh, yeah. Because I know how obsessed you are with comfort and relaxation.”
He exaggerated a long stretch, causing it to be her turn to laugh.
“Hey, speaking of comfort, I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I like the tapestries in your tent. Are they of a particular place or just random scenery?”
“They’re all of Phthia. It gives me a sense of home to be surrounded by them.”
“Phthia must be very beautiful,” she said, scrubbing her hair and wishing she had her favorite shampoo and conditioner.
Achilles’ faint smile was wistful. “It is, indeed. Someday I would like to take you there.”
“I’d like that, too.” She paused and then decided she might as well ask him. “Achilles, why don’t you just take your Myrmidons and leave now? You’ve withdrawn from the fighting. You’ve broken with Agamemnon. Why stay?”
“I’ve thought of it. If it were just me, or even just you and me, I would. But my men are Greeks. Phthia is a part of Greece. It would go hard on them and their families should they return before the war is over.” He shook his head. “No, we stay until the end—whether we fight or not.”
“What are you going to do if the Greeks lose?”
“Go home.”
“And if they win?”
His lips twitched. “Go home.”
“So it doesn’t really matter to you who wins or loses?”
“It does matter. I don’t want Greeks to die. But Agamemnon and Menelaus are responsible for that. I am only responsible for the deaths of my own men. Hopefully I will not lose one more Myrmidon.” He paused before continuing. “I should not have come to Troy. I only did so because I believed my fate could not be changed, and because Odysseus asked it of me.”
“And now you believe your fate can be changed.” She didn’t phrase it like a question but he nodded.
“Now I believe many things I didn’t just days ago.”
Kat smiled at him and then dunked her head completely under the water. When she surfaced, shaking water from her hair and sputtering, Achilles was looking relaxed and content.
She studied him carefully for a moment, and then decided it was time for her to get out of the water, and time for their relationship to move forward another step.
“Achilles, do you still desire me?”
He blinked, obviously surprised by her question. “Yes. Of course.”
“But there you are, relaxed and chatting with me. And here I am, naked.”
His brows went up. “That is true.”
“And, unless I’m wildly mistaken, there is no berserker possession going on—or even imminent.”
“That is not something easy to be mistaken about. No, there is no berserker here.”
“Or even close?”
“Not close, either.”
“So you think I can get out of this pool and come up there with you?”
Kat saw him swallow hard. “Naked?” he asked.
She smiled. “Actually I was planning on asking you for the blanket until I dry.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” He looked embarrassed, which Kat thought was a huge improvement over him looking stony faced and emotionless or scarlet eyed and completely crazy.
When he made no further move, she said, “Could you bring me the blanket?”
She’d rarely seen him awkward. Even at rest he had a warrior’s feral grace, but when he jumped up and gathered the blanket he definitely gave off a bull in the china shop vibe and Kat had to bite the side of her cheek to keep from laughing.
She stood up and walked out of the water. His gaze never left her eyes, even when he opened the blanket for her and she stepped, naked and dripping, into his arms. Kat felt a tremor go through his body as his arms closed around her. Kat stepped back and smiled at him as if he saw her naked every day. The struggle on his face was obvious. There were no signs of the berserker, but Achilles was no longer relaxed, and she understood if his relaxation level continued to decline and his stress level to rise, she was, quite literally, flirting with danger.