My unattainable desires cannot override my judgement, my destiny, my dedication to Mother.
Determination bolsters me as I finish washing and rise from the tub. Water runs in rivulets down my body, cooling my skin.
I step out of the tub as the bedroom door swings open. A gasp escapes me as I pivot to face the intruder.
Gabriel!
His blue eyes widen. Instinctively, I throw my arms across my body, shielding myself from his view. Still, for a beat, his gaze took me in—every sopping, cold inch of me.
“I didn’t know you had returned,” I gasp out and shiver.
Lines deepen across Gabriel’s brow as he pins his stare beyond my shoulders. “Why did you allow Praxis to leave?”
An instant frown pulls at my mouth. “I had no choice.”
“You had every choice. You should have kept him from leaving.”
“Are you blind?” I stand a little straighter and deepen my frown. “I am petite, and he’s huge.”
Gabriel exhales and shoves his fingers through his hair. “I gave you one task, and you couldn’t even do it.”
I wrap a drying cloth around my body, move to the armoire, and talk over my shoulder. “You gave me an impossible task.”
“It wasn’t impossible. You simply didn’t do it.”
As I rummage around in the armoire for a nightdress, the drying cloth slips. I yank it back and continue searching. When it slips again, I allow it to drop to the floor.
“Hades, Sol. Put on clothes.”
“You’re welcome to look away.” I turn with a nightdress in hand. “Or stare. Whichever you prefer.”
“Hades!” A muscle ticks in his jaw as he turns his back to me.
“Disappointing choice.” I yank the nightdress over my head and tug it down my body. “Are you certain you’re not broken?”
Ice molds over his eyes as he turns back to face me. “If you’re asking me if I have ever bedded women, the answer is yes.”
A sliver of jealousy finds a home deep within my chest. As much as I will that sliver away, it finds kindling. Another woman—well, probably more than one—enjoyed Gabriel’s touch. And yet, he doesn’t want me. Doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t want to make me his proper wife.
I sit on the edge of the mattress and observe him still standing by the door. “Do you have a lover? Is that why you don’t touch me?”
“No,” he snaps out, as if he takes offense to my suggestion.
“You can admit it.” I take my normal side of the bed. “I don’t care.”
Liar.
“I don’t require a lover.” He moves to the washing stand, strips off his surcoat, and washes his hands with clean water from the basin.
Impossible.I never met a man who didn’t require relief.
I take him in. The way firelight glistens over his firm body—all those taut plains, ridges, and lines marked from summers of battle.
He looks virile, like the kind of man that needs a nightly romp between the bedcovers.
I pull my blanket to my chin. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t need to.” He widens his stance and folds his arms. “I made a vow of celibacy.”
