Cynara closed her eyes and tried to remember to breathe. But she didn’t want this to be a repeat of the previous time. Her desire had reached the point of pain, and she was in no doubt that Ronan’s was equally pressing. Arching up, she shrugged the tunic from her shoulders. Ronan tugged her trousers down around her hips, and she finished the job. Her undergarments were discarded even more swiftly.
Then she resumed her position, her thighs to either side of his, hands braced on his chest. She eased down, taking him into herself, making the exquisite moment last to the very brink of torment. Ronan remained still. Only when she released her breath and began to move did he take up her rhythm.
Cynara hadn’t expected this joining to be as profound as the one on Dharma, or as complicated. But the knowledge that her mind was safe, that Ronan would never breach her trust, set her free to take and give pleasure without fear. She rode him hard. He was tireless. No mental communication was required to tell them both when the time had come to let go.
She allowed her bones to melt and folded her body over Ronan’s. He licked the perspiration from her neck and rolled to his side, keeping her within the crook of his arm. They lay thus long into the night, unspeaking, wanning each other with heated flesh and intertwined limbs.
Cynara fell asleep with her head on Ronan’s shoulder. Even in dreams she felt his arms enfolding her, protecting, claiming as if this were only the first of a thousand nights to come.
She woke at dawn, disturbed by the unfamiliar chatter of birds in the trees outside the window.
The apartment seemed bleak and alien in the morning light, and not even the gentle shadows could soften the harsh reality of the clock on the bed table. She rolled over carefully, trying not to disturb the sheets tangled around her legs.
Ronan lay with one hand sprawled across his chest and the other on the pillow above his head. Some said that the true human soul was revealed only in sleep. If that were so, she didn’t know how she could bear to leave him.
He seemed asleep; his breathing was slow and steady, the muscles of his face relaxed. But he was not. She knew it, and he must know she was aware of his deception. Yet he kept up the pretense, making it easier on both of them.
No words.
She crawled out of bed and pulled on her suit. It smelted of Ronan. She held her tunic to her face and breathed him in, imprinting the scent in memory.
Ronan hadn’t moved when she left the apartment. Gardeners were already at work among the shrubs and walkways, raking and pruning. Once she entered the more public corridors, she passed palace staff who nodded to her with formal and impersonal recognition. At the innermost security post, the guard called ahead to assure that she could pass through the remainder without stopping.
It seemed strange that she could walk so quickly when her heart felt twice its normal weight. But she had work to do; today the Pegasus would return to the Nine Worlds with a cargo of essential goods in its hold. A few days to Dharma, the inevitable confrontation with the Council—eased by Jesper’s and Miklos’s influence—and another cargo of fissibles back to the Concordat.
Then she would know the truth.
If anything in the universe can bridge the gulf between opposing forces, it is love. She prayed that Miklos was right. If not, then the universe had played a very cruel joke. And it would be a very long time before she laughed again.
* * *
Chapter 18
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Ronan spent the hours after Cynara’s departure settling his mind and sealing his heart from all emotion, chanting the Eightfold Way and preparing for the worst the Concordat might cast at him.
Concentration was more difficult than he had ever found it, even in the early days of his training. Cynara’s scent clung to his body and everything he touched in the soft and over-large rooms assigned to him. Though not a word had passed between them during the night, though he hadn’t so much as skimmed her thoughts, she had left an indelible mark that no discipline could eliminate.