Jaded by Anya Bast Page A

trouble in her mind.
    Smiling, she walked toward him, still hugging her chest against the late autumn chill. “You really should hire a few people to come and do this work for you.”
    He set the kindling down in the metal basket near the hearth, then stood and brushed off his hands. “But then I would have no excuse to visit your room.”
    “You don’t need an excuse, Byron, and think of the good work you’d be providing people who need it. And now, after the revolution, people do need it.”
    He opened his mouth, and then closed it. “I can’t argue with that logic.”
    She smiled sweetly. “I never imagined you could.”
    His expression went soft and he motioned to her. “Come here.”
    She went to him and let him envelope her in his strong arms. Closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of him, she buried her nose near his throat. Longing sang through her, an emotion that placed itself somewhere on the scale between wistfulness and hopefulness. It made tears touch her eyes and something in her chest give a little squeeze. Her arms came around him and she held on like she would never let go.
    She wanted him in her bed for the night, but her urge had little to do with sexual fulfillment and a lot to do with wanting him near her in the closest way possible. The feel of his bare skin. The scent of him. The comfort of his arms. The tenor of his voice in her ears.
    If she couldn’t have him in her life forever, she could take tonight.
    The quality and intensity of her emotions made her pull her arms away and back up a few steps. She couldn’t raise her eyes to his, afraid he might see the naked need she felt for him reflected there. This was becoming unmanageable. Frightening. Her desire for him made her feel out of control.
    “Lilya? Are you all right?”
    Suddenly she felt like she was suffocating. “I’m fine. I think I need a little air, though. A walk maybe.”
    “Let me come with you.”
    “No.” She paused, drawing a breath. “I mean, I think I need to be alone.” Before he could say anything else, she hurried out the door.
    When she’d agreed to come here, she’d known she had feelings for Byron, but she hadn’t known they’d run this deep. Lilya had always believed, and had told Evangeline and Anatol as much, that a courtesan couldn’t be a courtesan if she were in love. Had coming here changed everything as she’d feared it had at the transport station? Would she ever be able to go back to her old life at the Temple of Dreams and have sex with men she didn’t love?
    Because she was seriously beginning to fear that what she felt for Byron was, indeed, that. Love .
    Scary, chaotic, reckless love that made a woman blind and vulnerable to a man.
    She was practically running by the time she got to the front door, her steps echoing into the foyer. She heard Alek call her name, but she ignored him, closing the door behind her and making her way to the late autumn–dead garden and the stone bench she’d found that morning. Sinking down onto it, she tipped her face to the sky. Away from the city there was less pollution to cloud the skies, and the moon and stars seemed to shine more brightly here.
    Someone sat down beside her and she sighed, not wanting company. She looked over and saw Alek’s profile in the evening light. He held her pelisse on his lap. Immediately she shivered, realizing she’d forgotten it and hadn’t even felt the cold of the evening in the tangle of her emotions.
    He eased it around her shoulders and she snuggled into it gratefully. “Thank you.”
    “I saw you rush out of the house.” He flipped up the collar of his coat against the chill in the air and then stuck his hands in his pockets. “Figured you might want your pelisse. There’s a kiss of winter in tonight’s air. Snow will fall soon.”
    “I just needed to be alone for a while.”
    “Do you want me to leave?”
    She let out a slow breath. “No.” Maybe it was better if she wasn’t alone with her thoughts.