Page 52 of Taming the Eagle

Once again, she kept her gaze upon her task. All the same, it suddenly felt oppressively warm in the triclinium. She was starting to sweat.

Loading her arms up with dishes, she was about to turn when Aquila addressed her. “You are to join me in the tablinum later, Fenella … once you’ve finished work for the day.”

If the order was a ploy to get her to look at him, it worked.

Fenella’s chin lifted, and his gaze snared hers. Her breath hitched at the impact. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the melting sensation in the cradle of her hips.

Gods, her body responded to him as it had when he’d kissed her.

However, recalling how he’d recoiled from her, how he’d thrown her out of the tablinum that eve, she frowned. Surely, he didn’t want to be alone with her again?

“Why?” Her voice was higher than she wished, yet she couldn’t help it. It felt as if he were the hunter, and she his quarry.

The full moon couldn’t come soon enough. She needed to flee far from this man.

She didn’t want to join him in the tablinum. She wanted to finish her chores for the day and retire to her sleeping pallet.

Nonetheless, Aquila’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s time we talked,” he replied.

Fenella sat upon the couch, as stiff as a poker. The seat was comfortable—carved out of wood with a curved back and soft cushions—yet she couldn’t relax.

Not with the Eagle in the same room.

The general was facing away from her, pouring them cups of wine. She watched him, taking in his broad shoulders and long back; the black tunic he wore clung to his strong body.

Pursing her lips, Fenella looked down at where her hands were clasped upon her lap.

She was far too aware of the bastard. That kiss had unleashed something between them, something she couldn’t seem to control.

Raising her gaze once more, she found Aquila before her, calix outstretched.

She took it, careful not to let their fingers touch.

Moving back, he lowered himself onto the couch opposite. This was his lounging space, where he often chatted with Marcus in the evenings. Small tables flanked the couches, and a soft sheepskin covered the cold tiles between them. The doors to the tablinium were closed as it was a chill, windy night outdoors.

“You look unhappy this eve, Fenella,” Aquila observed after a pause. “Why?”

Inhaling slowly, she eyed him. “You know the reason.”

His gaze grew intense. “No, I don’t … tell me.”

Silence fell between them, and Fenella raised the calix to her lips, taking a sip. The wine warmed her belly, emboldening her. “I don’t understand you,” she growled finally. “At all.”

His head inclined. “We can remedy that … ask me anything you wish.”

Fenella’s grip tightened upon the stem of her calix. Gods, he was vexing.

“I feel toyed with,” she bit out, ignoring his request. “We seem to be playing a game of cat and mouse, you and I, and I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Really? Then why persist?”

His gaze seared hers. “Do you not know?”

Fenella drew in a deep breath. The Mother give her patience, she hated it when he answered her with a question. “From the moment we met, you’ve had an obsession with me,” she ground out, even as her pulse quickened. “You seem intent on bending me to your will … yet at the same time, you want it to be my choice. What kind of man thinks this way?”

“One who has found his other half,” he replied softly.