A Midsummer Night's Romp (17 page)

“Correct. But if the villa is caught off guard and you don't have time to get people and valuables out, then what?” He waited, obviously expecting Cressy and me to provide a reasonable answer.

“Well . . .” I looked at Cressy. Her forehead was wrinkled in thought. “I guess if the attackers were marching down the Roman road to my front door, I'd run out the back with my arms stuffed full of everything I could carry.”

“No, you wouldn't,” Cressy said slowly. “You're the lady of the manor, aren't you? That's like the captain of a ship. You'd stay with it, and send the others away.”

“Right. I like that. Less cowardly.” I lifted my chin. I had enough cowardice in my real life to burden this fantasy life with it. “I'd hide the jewelry and gold plates, get the vulnerable people to a safe place, and organize the boiling-oil line to defend my home.”

“Exactly. But what if you aren't sure you're going to survive the attack? What if you want to leave clues as to where you hid your valuables, so survivors can find them should you fall?”

“I'd get my brave personal guard, Cressy, to write up a
bunch of stone clues telling people who could read Latin where the valuables were, only I'd put it in riddle form because . . . er . . . so the Britons wouldn't get them?”

“Possibly. Remember, the riddles found so far would have been well-known to the Romans.”

“Right.” I turned to Cressy and waggled my fingers at her. “Write me up a few stones with some riddles telling whoever survives the attack that our stuff is hidden away safely.”

Cressy pretended to write, pausing to ask, “Why am I putting a mouse on all of them?”

I looked at Gunner.

He winked at me before he answered Cressy. “Think of it as your signature. That way everyone will know that the stones are connected.”

“Oh, that's good.” She scribbled a mouse shape in the air, finishing with a final grand sweep of her arm. “My stones are completed! I shall scatter them hither and yon so that people will find them and dig up the jewelry we buried out behind the cesspit.”

“I wouldn't think such a location would be a likely hiding spot.” A little line appeared between Gunner's brows. “Sadly, with no help at hand, the attackers would likely have easily overcome the villa's defenses made up of your male family members, and any male servants and slaves, and set fire to everything.”

I shivered again, and rubbed my arms. “And Cressy and me and the rest of my household?”

His eyes were grave. “Unfortunately, you were taken to the temple and sacrificed.”

“And people said the Romans were brutal.” Cressy scrunched up her shoulders. “Killing people who couldn't fight back is despicable.”

“The Romans were just as brutal,” Gunner told her. “What they did to the native Britons would give you
nightmares, or at least it did me when I learned about it at school, so I won't go into it, but if you remember anything, remember that brutality isn't limited by nationality.”

Cressy made a face.

For the first time since the subject had been broached, a little tingle of excitement rippled down my arms. “So those mouse stones
could
actually point to some treasure. How do we know the survivors didn't dig it up after the attack?”

“It's not likely that any Romans survived,” Gunner said gently. “Think of the walls.”

“Burned,” I said. “And a lot of the pottery as well. The mosaic wasn't burned, though.”

“No, but that was most likely to have been in a bathhouse in a pool, so it was somewhat protected.”

I looked at him with a smidgen of disbelief. “You realize what you're saying, right? The idea of a real treasure is just . . . unbelievable.”

“It's certainly not highly probable, but not impossible.” Gunner rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, my father used to curse the fact that so many plows were ruined in the fields to the south that he had to use them as pasture, instead. That makes me think that the walls of the villas ran from north to south, which is the orientation of the road that Daria found.”

“So the two villas were definitely connected?” I asked.

“They could well be. Possibly siblings built near each other, for instance.”

“And put a temple between them so it would give them both good luck,” I said, picturing it in my mind.

“It doesn't sound like it did them much good,” Cressy pointed out, and I had to agree with her.

“It would be interesting to find out if the other villa was burned, too. Or do you think—” I gasped as a sudden thought hit me.

“Hmm?” Gunner was still looking thoughtful. I smacked him on the hand with a spoon.

“If I've got a horde of advancing barbarians on my doorstep, and I'm trying to hide the good silver, where's the first place that I'd put it?”

His brows rose slightly. “That, I believe, is the point of all these ruminations—”

“No,” I interrupted. “Think. If people are coming to attack me at my house, I'm going to have my trusty handmaiden—”

“Personal bodyguard,” Cressy corrected me.

“—trusty bodyguard, who looks like a lovely handmaiden in order to fool people into thinking she's a wuss, take my valuables, and run quick like a bunny to my brother's villa that's just down the road.”

“But why wouldn't you run there yourself so that you'd be safe?” Cressy asked.

“Because,” I said, smiling at my own cleverness. “The people who lived in both villas would gather together at our house, because there's safety in numbers, and it's better to defend one house with a full contingent of men than try to split them between two. So if the valuables were hidden in the second villa, say, buried in the cellar or whatever Romans had, then even if they burned down Villa Number Two, our stash would still be safe from marauders.”

“With the mouse stones telling people who come to the first villa to look at the second?” Cressida asked. “But what about the stone that was found next to the castle? That's in the second villa, isn't it?”

“Yes,” I said thoughtfully, then gave a little half shrug. “Perhaps that stone was intended to tell the seeker that they'd found the right place. Or it's a final clue as to exactly where in that villa the treasure was placed.”

Cressy beamed at me. “Nice going, Lorina. I'd totes fight to the death for that sort of a lady overlord.”

“Thank you,” I said modestly.

“And that,” Gunner said with a smile of his own, one that seemed to suddenly strip all the air out of the room, “is why I think we should open up more trenches here.”

“But we have no idea where to look. For all we know, the treasure, assuming there is one, could be deep under the castle, and we can't get there.”

“Can't we?” The corners of his lips twitched. I had a horrible time trying to drag my eyes from his mouth. Damn, the man had nice lips. Not too full, but with nice curves that were just meant for nibbling. I was just dwelling on that thought when those lips curved, his eyes lighting.

“I'm willing to bet your brother would have a problem with you taking down his family home in order to see if anything's beneath it.”

“Ah, but if I told you that at least half the cellar has a dirt floor, then would you be giving me that jaded look, or would you leap to your feet and shout with enthusiasm, ‘Gunner Ainslie, you are the smartest man I know, and I would be happy to dig with you in the cellar in order to find the treasure before that bastard Thompson'? Following which you might want to kiss me, although if the look you're now giving me is accurate, I suspect that would be off the table.”

I couldn't help but laugh at his statement, closing my lips on the protest that I'd take anything so wonderful out of the realm of possibilities. “It's an interesting idea, to be sure, but I repeat my objection that we wouldn't know where to dig. Wouldn't it be smarter to see if we can find all of the stones so that we could figure it out rather than relying solely on speculation?”

“My liege lady speaks wisely,” Cressy told her father. “And since you're just the captain of the guard, you have to do what we say.”

“Oh, it's like that, is it?” Gunner asked.

“Yup.” Cressy nodded.

He thought for a moment. “I rather like the idea of being the captain. Very well, I have considered your objection, and have two of my own to mention. The first is that we have no idea how many clue stones there were, and it's unrealistic to dig up every square foot of the grounds in order to find any more.”

“Damn,” I said, mulling that over. “He's got a point, trusty guard.”

“I hate it when he's right.”

“What's the second objection?” I asked Gunner, wondering if the lady of the villa secretly fancied the captain of her guard, and if so, whether she ever had to have breakfast with him when she knew he was clad only in tiny little silk shorts and a repulsive sweater.

“Even if we had all the stones, and we could decipher the riddles properly—and honestly, I don't think that would be too difficult—then we wouldn't know what the answers pointed to. The landscape has changed quite a bit in the last two thousand years, and even if there has been a building on this location for most of that time, any pointers to a specific room, or even a tree or a rock, would be useless.”

“Hell,” I said at the same time Cressy said, “Balls! There goes all the excitement. Now we're back to just being slaughtered in the grove. I hope I took down at least a couple of those troglodyte dudes before they hacked us to bits and pieces.”

“Trinovantes,” Gunner said absently. He gave me a questioning look. “I thought if you and Cressy would like, we could make a little foray into the cellar, just to take a look at what we could find.”

“Not me,” Cressy said. “I get claustrophobic down there. Besides, Madame is counting on me. Ack! The
time!” She leaped to her feet. “Are you taking me to the stables, or is Gran?”

“I believe your grandmother offered to take you there today, since she wanted to do some shopping in town. You know where I keep the car keys? You can take them down to her with her tea.”

“Gran never has breakfast,” Cressy told me, grabbing a thermos that Gunner had evidently already prepared. “She says a cup of tea is all she needs. Laters!”

“Have fun,” Gunner said, calling after her, “and mind you do what the riding master says, and don't get overly enthusiastic with the children.”

Cressy waved and dashed out of the room, leaving me feeling once again like I'd been passed over by some sort of a benign whirlwind.

One that left me alone with the most tempting man I'd ever met . . . who stood poised to destroy everything I'd worked for.

I
couldn't help but smile when Cressy whirlwinded her way out of the room, shaking my head a little. “I don't think that even in my top form I had as much energy as she does.”

“She's certainly a force to behold, isn't she?” Gunner said with no little pride. “The shotgun-bearing years aside, I can't wait for her to make her mark on the world.”

“I'm sure the world will never be the same.” I looked away from him, irrationally sad at the sight of that wonderful flesh covered up. I began to think up a plan whereby he had to get out of the chair, and allow me to ogle his behind and legs. “Do you think it would be worthwhile to dig around randomly in the cellar? I mean, we would have no clue where we were down there in relationship to the rest of the Roman structure.”

“It's as much a gamble as anything else, really. The trench next to the north wall of the castle shows there's
a building in the immediate area, so it's likely under the castle.” Much to my delight, he collected the empty plates and, rising, clunked his way over to the sink. “My feeling is that we won't know until we look.”

“True, but it still seems very unlikely we'll find anything.” I tapped a spoon against my chin, idly watching the way his butt cheeks flexed as he rinsed dishes and loaded them into a dishwasher. Good manners dictated that I should have offered to help so that he could get off his foot, but there was no way in hell I was going to miss this show. “And what will Roger say about it? He's liable to go ballistic.”

“That's why I want to take a look down there first. You know how excited he gets over the sketchiest of ideas.”

“I'm fine with taking a peek at the cellar, but I'd like to point out that you have your foot in a cast, Cressy doesn't want to help, and I don't know the proper way to open a trench so that I don't destroy stuff.”

“I told you before that I'd be happy to teach you whatever you wanted to know.” Gunner grinned as he dried his hands.

I raised my eyebrows at him, but before I could say anything in response, he said more seriously, “That's a good point, actually. I'd like the satisfaction of opening up any trenches we put in the cellars ourselves, but I'm afraid my dig work is limited. Unless we could persuade one of the diggers to covertly do a little work for us, I'm afraid we are going to be very limited in digging possibilities.”

“Daria!” I said, pointing the spoon at him. He
tsk
ed, and held out a hand for it. I got to my feet and slowly walked it over to him, my mind turning over this new idea. “I bet she'd open a trench for us. She's fairly furious about Roger's plan to drop everything and focus on
what she considers nonexistent treasure. She said she was thinking of going home, so I bet she'd be interested in helping us instead. As long as we made it clear that we wanted to do real archaeology, and not just find the treasure for publicity reasons.”

Gunner made an odd face, tried to reach behind himself, and, with a disgusted word, pulled the sweater over his head. “This damned thing is too itchy to stand.”

My entire body gave a cheer of happiness. My breasts in particular were pleased about the state of affairs. I suspected that fact was all too obvious to Gunner, because as he turned from the dishwasher to take the spoon from my outstretched hand, he suddenly froze, too.

“Oh,” I said, unable to think of a single thing to say that didn't involve the words
want
,
chest
, and
lick
. “Uh . . .”

“You're dilating again,” he said, but his voice was breathless and not at all its usual state of smooth.

I glanced quickly at his eyes. “So are you.”

“And my nipples are—” He gestured toward his chest.

“Yes,” I said, my gaze now focused on his two little brown nipples, which resided pertly in the soft bed of his chest hair. “They're really cute. Do you . . . uh . . . like people touching your nipples?”

“I'd like you to,” he said, his nostrils flaring in a manner that I would have found silly in anyone else, but on him seemed as sexy as all get-out.

At that point, my brain seemed to shut down. That's all I can say in explanation for what happened, because one minute I was standing there admiring his nostrils, and the next I had both hands on his bare chest, and was letting my fingers go wild.

“Lorina,” he said in a strangled voice.

“Oooh,” I breathed, my fingers tingling as they stroked his chest. “I like your nipples a lot. And your
muscles. And your chest hair is really soft. Do you mind if I do this?” I bent to twirl my tongue around one of his nipples.

He moaned, and gave a little shiver. “Not at all. Feel free to do that whenever the mood strikes you.”

“Well, I should probably do the other one. I wouldn't want it to get an inferiority complex,” I murmured into his chest as I blew my breath in a trail over to the other nipple. I gave it a friendly lick as well, seriously considering the wisdom of asking him if he'd lie down so I could frolic on his chest more easily.

“Would you mind . . .” His voice cracked. He cleared it, and tried again. His hands were at breast height, his fingers making an all-too-obvious gesture. “Would you mind if I had a go at yours?”

“My breasts would be pleased to meet your hands,” I said primly, but only because my mind was, at that moment, occupied with the fact that my fingers were sliding down the slippery hair trail toward his belly button. Dear lord, I'd never been as aroused as I was at that moment, and for a second or two, I marveled that I could have such an overwhelming desire for any man, but with Gunner, it all seemed so right.

His hands were warm on my breasts, making me pause so I could arch my back and moan, his mouth close to mine, but not close enough. I de-arched a bit, and allowed my nose to bump his. At that moment, I wanted to kiss him more than anything in the world.

“You have very agreeable breasts,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine as he spoke.

“I like your mouth,” I answered, downright babbling at that point.

His lips teased mine. “Such compliments should be paid back in kind.”

I gave up trying to will him into kissing me, and
grabbed his hair with both hands, pulling his mouth exactly where I wanted it.

He tasted sweet like the jam that he'd put on his toast, and hot and wonderfully masculine. I reveled in the way his tongue tasted on my lips, teasing the edges of them, making them part on short little gasps of sheer pleasure. And when he pulled me tightly against his body, his hands cupping my behind while his tongue did a wicked dance around mine, I just gave up thinking altogether and became one giant ball of feeling.

That lasted until I realized that I wasn't able to breathe, and slowly, reluctantly dragged my mouth from his.

I stared at him, panting.

He stared back, his breath decidedly ragged. It took a good minute before he recovered enough to speak. “That was a hell of a kiss.”

“It was,” I agreed, more than a little bemused. “Better than normal. You are quite good at kissing.”

“I don't want to take all of the credit,” he said modestly. “You put in your fair share of the work. Would it be rude of me to point out that you have a shirt on, and I don't?”

He bent over my cleavage, his thumbs rubbing gently back and forth across my nipples, making me want to do a little dance of anticipation.

My breath hitched in my throat. “That doesn't seem fair, me having a shirt when you have none.”

“No, it doesn't. I'd like to take yours off of your tantalizing self.”

I didn't even think about it, or the fact that I was standing in Gunner's kitchen, my hands on his chest, my tongue demanding that I taste him again, and my breasts yelling all sorts of things about needing Gunner's mouth on them. “Fine with me. Would you mind if I touched you in other places than your chest?”

His eyes crossed for a few seconds before he shook his head, and said, “You have carte blanche to touch me wherever you like.”

“But you just shook your head.”

He nodded. “No, I didn't. My head lies. Just keep doing what you're doing, only without your shirt. Could you move your arm this way?”

“No. I'm using it.”

“Just for a few seconds, then I'll return it so you can continue to drive me insane by stroking my chest.”

I obliged, then slid my hands around his sides, and down to his silk-covered behind. Cool air made me shiver as he peeled off my shirt, his hands immediately on my breasts, his mouth caressing the tops of them in a way that just about made my knees buckle. “I have a bra on,” I said helpfully.

“I noticed. Might I remove that, too?”

“Gunner,” I said sternly, or as sternly as a person could while she stood in a man's castle, her hands full of his ass. “You've got your hands on my boobs, and your tongue down my cleavage. At this point if I'm not yelling for the police, you can probably take it for granted that you have my consent to remove my bra.”

“I like to make sure,” he said, pulling his head out of my breasts for a moment. “Some women have limits.”

I squeezed his cheeks. “I don't seem to be one of them. Also, too much talking, and not enough mouth on breast.”

“You must be one of those women who likes to dominate men. Would you think less of me if I told you that I'm not particularly turned on by that?”

My fingers lovingly traced his thick gluteus muscles. I thought for a moment, then slid my hands inside his shorts. It seemed to me that his naked skin was even softer than the silk shorts, if such a thing were possible. “And you are one of those guys who likes to talk a lot
during sexy times, aren't you? Luckily, I don't mind that. And I'm not trying to dominate you; I'm simply letting you know what I want. Strong women do that.”

The grin he flashed at me was lopsided, but one hundred percent adorable. “You can let me know exactly what you want, my fair little squab. Now, about this bra of yours that is so cruelly hiding your breasts from me—”

“I can't find the car keys on your dresser, Gun—holy hair balls with big juicy spit on it!” Cressy stood in the doorway, her mouth open, her eyes huge.

I gave a little shriek and, in the best nearly half-naked- woman manner, leaped behind Gunner.

Cressy screamed at my shriek, and slapped her hands over her eyes. “Oh my god. OH MY GOD! I didn't just see you with your hands down Gunner's shorts, did I? I did! Oh my god, I'm blighted for the rest of my life despite the fact that I like you, and I wouldn't mind if you hooked up with Gunner, because he's probably really lonely and could do with a nice woman to make him stop dating all those trashy women that my mom says he dates, but clearly doesn't love, because if he did, one of them would be here right now with
her
hands down his shorts, and not you, but you are here, and you were copping a grope, not to mention the fact that he had his hands on your boobs, and holy toasted cheese, how am I ever going to get
that
image out of my brain?”

I did a horrified little dance behind Gunner, sending one arm out to snatch up my shirt from where it had fallen, hastily putting it back on and buttoning it.

Gunner, on the other hand, didn't seem to be bothered in the least. He simply moved a chair to the side so that it stood between him and Cressy. “If the keys aren't in my room, then check the sitting room. And no, I'm not going to buy you a horse to cure you of the vision of Lorina embracing me.”

I pinched his butt.

“What?” he asked, looking around at me.

I made mean, but meaningful, eyes at him.

“Oh.” He turned back to Cressy. “That should be the vision of me embracing Lorina.”

I peered out around his shoulder. Cressy had stopped screaming and hiding her eyes, and was now glaring at her father, her hands on her hips, and her brow mutinous. “But I'm
traumatized
!”

“You are not.”

“I
could
be! You could have been
naked
! Lorina could have been naked! You guys could have been
doing it
!”

“But I'm not, she's not, and we weren't, so no horse. And I'm sure I needn't point out that what I do in the
privacy
of my own home—you'll note I stress the word—is no one's business but my own. And Lorina's.”

“Fine!” Cressy slapped her hands on her legs and stomped loudly out the door. “But when I'm so horrified about sex because I saw you guys hooking up in the kitchen that I can't stay married longer than six months at a time, I know who I'm going to blame!”

“If that's the sort of grammar they teach at your school, then you may have other issues to address,” he called after her.

I waited until she was gone before emerging from behind Gunner, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“You look delightful,” he told me. “Rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, but I have a suspicion you're going to rail at me for putting you in such a position. Should I apologize now, or wait for the railing to be over and do so then?”

“I'm not going to rail. At least, not at you. What the hell was I thinking?” I grabbed up my jacket, realized that it was Gunner's discarded sweater, and dropped it, hurrying over to where my jacket lay over the back of a chair. “I'm just—seriously, Gunner, at what point did my
brain flat-out stop and decide to throw what remains of my plan overboard just so I could kiss you, and lick your nipples, and stroke your chest, and smell you, and want to do all sorts of things to you with a small pastry brush and some lemon pudding?”

He looked thoughtful. “That sounds sticky. What plan?”

I stared at him in dismay. “I did it again. Or rather, my mouth did. I can't take it anywhere anymore.” I thought for a moment, then pointed at him, holding the jacket tight to my chest with one hand. “It's your fault!”