Unfaded Glory. Sara Arden

slept for the remainder of the day, and dusk had fallen. The city lights of Barcelona lit up the landscape like thousands of twinkling stars, and he thought of their conversation about starlight and stories to soothe children.

      That’s what she’d give him if he let her—a story to soothe everything that ached in him. But he deserved to suffer, deserved his pain.

      He scrubbed his hand over his face, sat down and dipped his feet into the Jacuzzi tub that was on the balcony. The hot water gurgled around his ankles and over his toes, giving him another sensation to concentrate on besides the buzzing in his head.

      The princess sat down next to him and dipped her feet in, as well. He didn’t want to look at her, talk to her, but his eyes were drawn to her dainty ankles.

      They were a gateway drug, because from there, he appraised her slim legs up to where the T-shirt brushed the tops of her thighs. Her nutmeg skin looked warm and smooth, so perfect. He remembered what it was like, running his hands all over her. The soft cries from her full lips.

      Fucking and killing—all he was good for.

      “Did you have a nightmare?” she asked.

      “Don’t want to talk about it.”

      He thought she’d pick at the scab, but she didn’t. “I didn’t even know this was out here. I’ve always wanted to try a Jacuzzi tub.”

      He arched a brow. “Seriously? You’re a princess. You didn’t have six or seven of these?”

      She laughed, the sound light. “No, my brother thought they were immodest and invited sin.”

      “They do.” Yes, they most certainly did, he thought, as his eyes raked over her.

      “You seem to be doing fine. I’m sitting here with my legs exposed all harlotlike, and yet you’re controlling yourself,” she teased.

      “It wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge.” He kept his tone light.

      “Oh, really? What do you define as ‘much’?” She slid one leg deeper into the water, watching him as she did so.

      Now she taunted him, dared him.

      He liked it.

      “You’re just about there.” He gave her a half grin.

      She slid all the way into the water, heedless of her T-shirt and panties, and moved to stand between his legs. Damara braced her hands on his thighs and leaned in close to his mouth. “Am I there yet?”

      He laughed, not because he thought she was funny but because she delighted him.

      In that moment, with his hands on her hips and her mouth only a breath away from his, she wasn’t a princess and he wasn’t a fuckup extraordinaire. They were just Byron and Damara.

      “Do you wanna be?”

      “Most definitely.”

      “Aren’t you sore?”

      “Sure, but I can be sore later, too. You and I won’t get later.” She brushed her lips against his carefully. “I don’t get to explore any of the new places I’ve been, the things I’ve seen. But I can explore you.”

      It was official. She was killing him.

      And it was a glorious death. He’d drown in her, be lost in her, anything she wanted from him so long as she kept touching him. He forgot everything when he wrapped himself in her.

      Damara ran her hands up his thighs and hooked her thumbs around the belt loops in his fatigues.

      “You don’t need these.”

      He obliged her and let her peel them off him. Then he sank down into the Jacuzzi tub and pulled her into his lap so she was astride him.

      The wet T-shirt was even sexier than if she was naked. Her dark skin was a contrast beneath the white of the shirt and her nipples were hard dusky peaks that begged for his attention.

      Byron loved the way she felt against him in the water, soft, wet and slick. She braced her palms on his shoulders and bit her lip as she rolled her hips experimentally against him.

      The moonlight was a slash of light that knifed through the darkness and fell like a fey ribbon on her hair. Just like it would on the open dark sea. He wanted to bury himself in it, and her. It would be so easy to push her panties aside and drive home deep into her heat.

      Byron liked teasing them both a bit, too, dragging it out, making the sensation last. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, and he’d never been with a woman like Damara Petrakis.

      He let her grind on him, work her hips and cleft against him and crank herself higher. Byron liked the way her lips parted and her intake of breath, the way the soft material of the tee clung to her. He liked everything about this.

      “Tell me what you like. Tell me how to make this good for you,” she whispered against his ear.

      He thought of every deviant thing he’d imagined doing to her, every fantasy he’d had in the past twenty-four hours, and none of them compared with what was happening to him right now.

      “It’s already good for me. Like you said, you don’t get to tour the cities we’ve been to, but you can tour me.”

      Her hands slid over his shoulders, his biceps, her fingers pausing to explore the muscle there. Testing his bulk, his strength. Damara scored her nails lightly down his chest, and his eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. So she did it again.

      Down his pecs, his abdominals and down lower still until she wrapped her hand around him.

      “What about this? Do you like it?” She moved her hand slowly.

      He curled his fingers around hers and applied more pressure, just a bit more speed. “Like this.”

      “I like how powerful your body is. How strong.”

      Her words were as intoxicating as her touch.

      His hips moved up to meet her caress and when he would have told her to stop, to slow down, she kissed him.

      “It makes me feel powerful to do this to you,” she said against his mouth before kissing him again.

      Her kisses were sweet and had been almost chaste at first, but she learned quickly—tasting him, darting her tongue against the edge of his lip, making the same motions with her tongue against his in time to the strokes of her hand.

      She was almost too good to be true.

      Any minute he’d wake up and find it had all been a dream and he’d be spilling into his hand thinking about a woman who wasn’t real.

      Wave after wave of pleasure rolled over him in great swells until he was swept out to a sea of bliss.

      She was still kissing him even though her hand had stilled and he found he didn’t want to stop. When he did, he’d have to fall back to earth, be slammed back into a reality where he knew being with her was wrong.

      Damara felt so good in his arms—so right. The thought kept playing over in his head, as if that would make it all okay.

      It didn’t.

      He finally broke the kiss. “There’s a car coming for us in a few hours. We should be ready.”

      “Okay.” She seemed so fragile now, so breakable.

      Her lips were swollen and raw from his kisses and it made him want to kiss her more. Byron had to find the line again and remember that he couldn’t cross it.

      Yes, in just a few hours, he’d hand her over to another operative and she’d go stateside. He’d go back to his house and manufactured life in Marsala. Even though he’d never see her again, he’d think about tonight and the princess for a long time.

      “What should I put on?”

      She