Cassandra closed the distance between them, then took hold of his glass and slowly sipped some of the contents, her icy blue eyes never leaving his own. “What is this thing between you and that woman? Is she your new lover?” She did her best to sound nonchalant, but Max knew better. There were no sentimental feelings involved, but were it up to Cassandra, no other woman would have Max. She was just that kind of woman. Possessive even of the things that were no longer hers.
For a moment, he considered lying, telling her that Sabine was his mistress, but that would only serve to anger Cassandra. There was no need to add fuel to that fire. “No. She hired me to assist her with a certain matter.”
“Oh, I see.” She set the glass down, then proceeded to deftly unbutton his shirt. “You are a man for hire now, are you?”
“Cassandra,” he protested.
“Relax. No one has to know.” She leaned in and pressed wet kisses on his chest. “Remember how it was between us, Max? How passionate and hot we were together?”
It was difficult to forget. Not the passion, per se, but Cassandra in general. She was no shy violet, hiding in the shadows, hoping a man would notice her. No, she demanded attention, and she got it. Plenty of it. He remembered mostly how she’d flirted with other men, shamelessly, then insisted they meant nothing to her. He’d been young and foolish, but he’d never make that mistake again.
“One more night together. To reminisce about how it used to be,” she said.
He grabbed her wrists to still her hands before they unfastened his trousers.
Her eyes flashed, and a wicked grin spread. “You want to play a little rough tonight?”
“No,” he said flatly.
“I don’t understand,” she said. She pressed her body against him, and her plush curves melded against his frame. He didn’t want to respond, but he’d have dared a man of the cloth not to have a reaction to her bold invitation. Still, it mattered not if his body stirred at her touch; he did not desire her.
“Cassandra, have you so easily forgotten our past?” Still, he held her wrists firmly. “I told you never again.”
She gave him her best pout, her perfectly painted lips pursed outward. She looked up at him through her lashes. “You still haven’t forgiven me for one tiny indiscretion?”
He chuckled. “I suspect he was not the only one, simply the man I caught you with,” he said. “And it has nothing to do with forgiveness.”
She shrugged casually, but there was never anything casual about Cassandra. She did not like being told no. “Perhaps. I am a woman with a voracious appetite for pleasures of the flesh,” she said tartly. “I cannot help it if one man is not enough to satisfy me.”
“Classic Cassandra.” Max smiled. “If you do not get your way, it is better to insult the other party rather than graciously accept defeat.”
One delicate eyebrow arched. “Defeat? How am I defeated? I do not need you, Max. I have men all over London waiting for an invitation to my bed. I only thought you might want to remember what it was like to be with a real woman. Not that waif you’re with now. Rather plain-looking, don’t you agree?” She inspected her nails, but Max could see a rise of color up her pale throat. Cassandra was angry.
“Actually, I find Sabine rather beautiful, exotic even,” Max said. He could have said those words simply to further annoy Cassandra, but he’d meant every word. To him, there was no greater beauty than Sabine. And Cassandra could see it, too. Everyone could. Sabine was ethereal. The Mona Lisa come to life, with her olive complexion and a face that could have been carved by the gods themselves.
“Age has done nothing to hone your taste in women, Max,” Cassandra said bitterly. “You could have had me tonight.” She looked at him meaningfully, allowing her eyes to travel the length of his body. “Your carriage will be ready first thing in the morning. Before breakfast,” she added.
“Thank you, Cassandra.”
Sabine stood still as Cassandra stepped out of Max’s room, flowing red lingerie her only covering. The woman gave Sabine a wicked smile, then wiped the corners of her mouth.
“He’s all yours,” she purred as she walked past.
Sabine turned to go, but Max must have heard the brief exchange, because he opened the door. “Wait,” he said. “That was not what it looked like.”
Sabine stiffened. She turned to watch Cassandra turn the corner at the end of the hall. “It matters not to me who you have relations with. I’ve made no claim on you, nor do I want one.” She knew her tone was rude, but she did nothing to soften it. A line from Shakespeare’sHamletfloated through her mind:“The lady doth protest too much.”
He sighed, and for a brief moment weariness settled in his eyes, but then it was gone. “Did you need something?” he asked.
“I wanted to further discuss the dagger.”
“I expected you would. Come in,” he said.
She tried not to notice how his shirt was completely opened to reveal that chest of his. She’d seen it before, but still the taut muscles left her mouth dry and her mind blank. Once they were closed in his room, she said nothing.
She turned and found herself looking straight at the large four-poster bed. It was still made, not even a pillow out of place. There were no pieces of clothing dropped on the floor as if forgotten in the rush of passion. Perhaps he’d been telling her the truth. Sabine had certainly seen enough to know that Cassandra was a woman used to getting what she wanted. It seemed of late, the woman wanted Max. Well, Sabine would certainly not stand in the way.
“Sabine,” he said, his breath hot on her neck as he stood too close behind her. “I didn’t touch her.”