"When was that?" she asked at once.
Domitian sighed and thought back. "I guess it started when I was about a hundred and eighty or so. I began to eat less and less frequently, and five years later at the celebration of Ptolemy XII's accession was the last time I actually enjoyed food."
"And the last time you had sex," she said.
Domitian nodded. "The two appetites often dwindle away together."
"Why?" she asked at once.
Domitian shrugged helplessly. "It happens to all immortals eventually. I actually held on to my appetites longer than some of my kind. I think because I traveled around and tried various and exotic foods."
"And various and exotic women?" she suggested sourly.
"Si," he said unapologetically, and then added, "All of whom are long dead and turned to dust so no longer worth your jealousy."
"I'm not jealous!" Sarita protested at once, but wasn't sure she was telling the truth. She'd certainly felt the pinch of something as she'd brought up his exotic women. Damn, I am jealous, she realized and took another drink from her bottle.
Lowering it, she squinted at him and asked, "So what else did you do besides urinating and gladiorating?"
"Urinatores," Domitian corrected on a laugh, and then added, "I do not think gladiorating is a word."
"Eh . . ." Sarita waved that away with unconcern. "So, what else did you do?" she demanded.
Domitian shrugged. "Once I lost my appetites, I bounced between farming, traveling as a trade merchant, and opening and running pubs or hostels, with the occasional mercenary work thrown in to keep practiced in defense."
"What kind of mercenary work?"
"I was a dragoon for a while," he said after thinking for a moment.
"What? You guys suck blood and blow fire?"
"Dragoon, not dragon," he said on a laugh. "A dragoon is a musketeer on horseback."
"Ooooh," Sarita breathed, impressed. "Musketeers are cool. I bet you were hot with long hair and those froufrou hats."
"Froufrou hats?" he asked, sounding affronted.
"Well, you know, with the wide brim and the feathers all poking out of it," she said, waving her hands around her head to show him what she meant. "Most guys wouldn't be able to carry it off, but I bet you did. Just like I bet you carried off that Egyptian skirt thing nicely too."
When Domitian merely stared at her with a bemused expression, Sarita asked, "Were you ever a pirate? I could see you as a pirate. All tight black pants and billowy shirt and long sword."
Domitian nodded slowly. "Si. As it happens I did do a brief stint as a pirate."
"No!" Sarita breathed with amazement. "Oh, you were naughty!"
"In my defense it was only for a year or so to aid my sister, Alexandrina. She was short a couple men on her ship, so I put in with her for a while to help out."
"Your sister was a pirate captain?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Well, technically, Drina was a privateer," Domitian admitted.
"Ah, pirating with permission," Sarita said, nodding wisely, and then asked, "Any other jobs that were exciting? Were you ever a knight?"
"I was knighted three or four times," he admitted, and then explained, "In a different country each time."
"What else?" she asked.
Domitian shook his head apologetically. "I am afraid there is nothing else of much note I have done. Other than that, I farmed, and--Oh, I almost forgot, I was a Bow Street Runner for a while. They were--"
"I know what Bow Street Runners were," Sarita interrupted on a laugh. "I'm a police officer, and those guys--well, I had a teacher who considered them London's first professional police force." She smiled. "So that means, you were a sop too at one time."
"I think you mean cop," Domitian said with amusement. "Yes, I guess I was or was as good as, and I think you are tipsy."
"Me? Never," she assured him. "I don't drink."
"Which would explain why you might be tipsy now," he said dryly, taking the half full bottle from her lap and pushing the sheet aside briefly to set the bottle on the bedside table again.
"I'm sure I don't know why you'd think that," Sarita said, sitting up straight on the bed and trying for a serious face, which just made her want to giggle.
"I think that--" Domitian let the sheet fall into place as he turned back to face her again "--because you are laughing and smiling and completely relaxed. I suspect those are three things you do not often allow yourself to do."
"Oh, so now you're saying I'm a stick in the mud too," she accused teasingly.
"Never," he said solemnly. "But I am saying that you have a beautiful smile and if a glass or two of wine makes you relax enough to share it with me, then I think I shall serve you wine at every meal."
Sarita swallowed, her smile wavering. Sobriety dropping around her like a cape, she said, "I don't want to eat any more meals here, Domitian."
After a hesitation, he leaned forward and cupped the back of her head to draw her close so that he could whisper, "Just two or three more meals here, mi Corazon. I plan to get us both off this island tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow?" she asked with surprise. Drawing back slightly, she peered at his face as he nodded. "How?"
The word was barely a whisper, but he heard and drew her back to say, "I am going to swim for the mainland."
Her eyes widened with shock. "You're going to leave me here alone?"
"Hush," Domitian whispered and placed his forehead on hers. "No, mi tresoro, I would never do that. I will take you with me . . . on my back."
Sarita gaped at him briefly, and then opened her mouth to tell him just how crazy an idea that was. But Domitian trapped the words before they could even be formed by simply kissing her.
Startled, Sarita raised her hands to push him away, determined to tell him his plan was completely insane. But by the time her fingers reached his shoulders the thought was lost and she found herself clinging to him as she kissed him back.
Domitian's arms closed around her at once, his hands spreading on her back and pulling her tightly to his chest, molding her upper body to his. Sarita groaned into his mouth and shifted to her knees to move closer. The action put her at the same height as he was sitting, she noted and then was distracted when his hands slid under the sheer black nightgown and skimmed up her legs.
When one hand cupped her bottom and the other slid up to brush teasingly between her legs, Sarita gasped and broke the kiss.
"You have been driving me mad with this all night, mi Corazon," Domitian growled, releasing her bottom to tug at the sheer cloth of her nightgown. "Take it off for me. I would lick and suckle your breasts."
Sarita groaned as the hand between her legs teased her again, and then quickly caught at the material of the nightie and tugged it up and off. It wasn't even over her head before Domitian closed his mouth on one excited nipple and began to draw as his fingers stopped teasing and slid smoothly along the warm, damp flesh between her legs.
"Oh!" Sarita gasped, tossing the nightgown aside. Clutching at his shoulders, she panted, "I thought you . . . said . . . no sexo."
Letting her nipple slip loose he raised his head to meet her gaze and agreed, "No sexo. But I will make love to you."
Sarita's eyes widened, but she went willingly when he eased her back to lie on the bed.
Ten
Sarita woke up abruptly and with the certain knowledge that she had to get up at once and visit the bathroom. Too much wine was her personal assessment of the situation. The good news was at least her head didn't hurt, she thought and glanced around to see that Domitian was unconscious on the bed next to her.
Smiling, she started to sit up, but paused as she realized that his arm was across her waist. Sarita carefully lifted his hand up and to the side so she could sit up. The man didn't even stir as she crawled to the top of the mattress to tug the sheet aside and get out of bed. Letting it drop back into place, she hurried into the adjoining bathroom.
She snatched up a bath towel on he
r way in, tossed it over the shower's glass panel and then reached in to work the taps. Leaving them on to allow the water to warm, she then slid into the water closet to handle more pressing issues.
Moments later, feeling much relieved, Sarita left the water closet to check the temperature of the shower. The water was perfect and she stepped under it with a little sigh that died in her throat as she tipped her head back and spotted the camera lens.
Mouth tightening, Sarita lowered her head and pretty much raced through her shower after that. She then turned off the water and quickly wrapped the towel around herself sarong-style as she got out. Moving to the counter she ran a brush through her damp hair and brushed her teeth as she debated whether to go back to sleep or not. Sarita wasn't tired anymore, but if they really were going to try to leave the island that night, she should probably sleep as much as possible today.
Grimacing, she met her gaze in the mirror and shook her head slightly. There was just no way they were going to be able to swim to the mainland. First, they had no idea what direction the mainland was. Secondly, there were sharks and other predators out there in the ocean, and she didn't fancy playing Jonah in the belly of a whale. And then there was the distance. She hadn't seen even a hint of land in any direction as they'd walked around the island. They could be ten miles from the mainland or a hundred. Neither of them had any idea.
No. Sarita just couldn't see swimming for the mainland. But maybe they could build a raft or something. Turning off the taps, she dried her hands and then leaned against the counter to think. They might not be able to leave tonight if they went by raft, but at least there was a better chance of surviving.
How long would it take to build a raft? She pondered that now. Cut down some trees, tie them together using sheets maybe. Make some kind of shelter to keep Domitian out of the sun, and make some paddles or something so they didn't end up getting pulled out to sea by currents.
That thought was alarming enough that Sarita pushed away from the counter and moved back into the bedroom. She glanced toward the bed, but all there was to see was the sheet wall Domitian had created. Leaving him to sleep, she slipped into the walk-in closet and grabbed another swimsuit to put on under her towel. Once she was as decently dressed as she was able in this place, Sarita headed for the office with its shelves of books.
When she didn't know something, Sarita researched it. At home she would have been checking the internet, Googling "how to make a sturdy raft" and "how to navigate unknown waters by the stars" and "what you should take if you expect to be stranded on the ocean." Unfortunately, there was no internet here. Hopefully the office had something useful on one of its many bookshelves.
It didn't take Sarita long to see that the books in the office wouldn't be much help. There were a couple of shelves of novels, but the rest were old scientific journals on genomes and DNA splicing and whatnot. If she'd wanted to create one of the poor creatures in the jars in the basement, she probably would have been all set, Sarita thought grimly. But there wasn't a single book that looked like it could tell her how to navigate by the stars or build a raft.
She was turning away with frustration when her gaze landed on one of the novels on the shelf, an old classic, Robinson Crusoe. Figuring it was better than nothing and might have at least one or two useful bits of information, Sarita grabbed it, cursing when the book next to it tumbled off the shelf and fell to the floor.
Muttering under her breath, she bent to pick it up, reading the title as she straightened. It was The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien, Sarita saw, and there was a bit of paper sticking out at the top. Curious, Sarita opened the book and stared at the folded pages inside. It looked like a letter. Carrying everything to the desk, she set the books down, settled on the chair and opened the letter.
Dear Margaret,
Sorry this letter is so long in coming, but life has been a bit chaotic of late. And I apologize but this will be a short letter because it's nearly bedtime and Ramsey will be home soon.
First the good news; Ramsey and I are expecting our first child! Oh, Maggie, I wish I could have told you this face-to-face. I know you'd be as happy for me as I am about it, and we'd be hopping up and down and squealing like schoolgirls.
I did try to convince Ramsey to bring me home for a visit so I could tell you this in person. Sadly, he says there is just no way we can make it back to England before the baby is born. As disappointed as I am, I know he's right. There is so much to do!
I mentioned in my last letter that we were living in a charming little house on its own island, but that we were looking for a larger home nearby. We found several nice houses, but none of them seemed to have everything Ramsey needed, so he determined to build a new house instead, and bought a nearby empty island.
The new island is five times bigger than the little one we're now living on and, as far as I can tell, Ramsey is having a house built that is also five times bigger. He's building labs too, which is good if it means he won't have to stay at the university so late working in the labs there.
Fortunately, the new island is only half an hour away in the little fishing boat Ramsey purchased to motor back and forth. Well, it is when he pilots it anyway. I'm afraid I don't go as fast as he does and it takes forty or forty-five minutes if I'm alone. I prefer it when Ramsey takes me, but he's so busy preparing his classes and overseeing his student's labs that most of the decisions about the new house have fallen to me. That means that more often than not I have to make the trip myself to meet up with the contractor on the bigger island.
The big island isn't visible from the little island except on the clearest of days and even then it's nothing more than a shadow on the horizon, easily missed if you didn't know it was there. You can't imagine how nervous I was about piloting the boat my first time alone. I was sure I would miss the island and end up out in the middle of the ocean and out of gas. But Ramsey was so sweet and encouraging about it. He was sure I could do it, and did everything possible to make it easier for me. He marked the boat's compass at a point just between the twenty and thirty degree points and said to keep the boat headed in that direction and I would reach the island fine. And he was right! I could and did do it, and was ever so proud of myself afterward. Mind you, I still prefer him at the helm, but needs must and in this case we need the house done and ready before the baby comes and if it were left to him that would never happen.
Speaking of that, Maggie, I don't mean to complain, and I know he has to work, but I just didn't realize how much time Ramsey's work would take up. Most of the time I'm left alone out here on this little island with no one but our maid, Mrs. Reyes, to talk to and I'm afraid she doesn't know much English. On top of that, she is only here during the day when I often am not. Ramsey pays a local fisherman to bring her out and take her back to the mainland every night and some days I see her only in passing as she arrives and I leave or vice versa. But the nights are lonely. Ramsey often doesn't return from the mainland until bedtime and then he's too exhausted to do more than grunt "goodnight." It makes me long for home. I miss you so. I miss all my family and friends and I miss England. This isn't nearly the exciting adventure I thought it would be when I agreed to marry him and move here. But I'm hoping everything will change once the house is done and the baby is here. Then he can work in his own lab and spend time with the baby and me. I'm sure things will improve then. In the meantime, I--
Sarita lowered the letter with a frown. It ended there, rather abruptly too, obviously midthought. She supposed Dressler had arrived home from the university then and Mrs. Dressler had probably shoved the unfinished letter in the book, intending to finish it later, but never getting back around to it.
Slipping the pages back into the book, Sarita closed it and tapped her fingers on the cover, her mind churning.
Domitian rolled over and reached for Sarita, but found only sheets. Frowning, he opened his eyes and peered around the cocooned bed. He was alone. Turning onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, only to find it
was himself he was looking at. The ceiling was mirrored.
Damn, he hadn't known that was there, Domitian thought and examined his reflection. His short hair was spiked in spots, probably from Sarita pulling on it last night, but other than that there was nothing much to see. The scratches and hickies he was quite sure she'd given him were gone now, the nanos having erased every trace of what had happened in that bed last night, three times.
Well, unless you counted the mess the bed itself was in, he supposed. The duvet was gone, probably lying somewhere on the floor next to the bed, and the upper sheet was bunched up at the bottom of the bed. As for the lower sheet, it had come off on both upper corners and curled in toward his head and shoulders. That was all there was to see. Now if Sarita was there, he would have had a perfect morning view. He could kiss her awake and then if he laid on his side next to her, he could watch her face in the mirror as he caressed her body and gave her pleasure.
That idea was rather appealing, Domitian decided, sitting up. He'd take a shower, brush his teeth, run downstairs for a quick blood top-up, and then find Sarita and lure her back to bed.
It was a solid plan, and worked right up to the point where it came to luring Sarita back to bed. Domitian showered, used the razor he found in the drawer to shave, and then brushed his teeth before heading downstairs to suck back some blood. He heard banging from the kitchen as he passed through the living room from the bedroom door to the office door, and wondered what Sarita was doing but didn't stop to check. After draining four bags, he went back up, though, and straight to the kitchen, his nose twitching. There was a heavy stench of something burning in the air, and his footsteps slowed warily as he passed through the dining room to the kitchen.
"There you are!" Sarita greeted him in a tone he would have said was a cross between "I'm super annoyed and trying not to show it" and "June Cleaver's got nothing on me" good cheer. In other words, it was super fake and tinged with the threat of violence. One glance around the chaos in the kitchen told him why. His Sarita was brilliant, beautiful, sexy, and he was sure she had many talents . . . but cooking obviously wasn't one of them, he decided as she announced, "I made us breakfast."