Free The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) by Jamie McLachlan Page B

performed between slave and master. Of course, there was Devin, one of my fellow male concubines. But even though I had wanted something to happen, our encounters never progressed beyond kissing. So I’m unexpectedly anxious over the prospect of falling into a sexual relationship with Icarus Hayes. Would it be so wrong to enjoy this man’s company, even if it’s for a short period of time? If I were any other woman of high society, I would be discouraged from such behaviour. But I have no prospect of marriage or even love.
    Icarus approaches and hands me a glass. “Some wine to settle the nerves.”
    I gratefully accept and take a sip, eying him over the rim of the crystal. He watches me carefully, ever so patient. It’s something I’m not accustomed to, and I half expected him to march me up to his room immediately. But since the moment we arrived at his house, he has been courteous and respectful. In most of my encounters, the men had hastily rushed past my pleasure in search of their own. Yet Icarus seems content to take his time, politely removing my coat and offering me a beverage. Perhaps he intends to have me highly intoxicated.
    “Now, what would be the fun in that, Moira?”
    “What?”
    He chuckles softly. “You just mumbled it was my intent to get you drunk.”
    “I did?”
    He nods. “I assure you it is not my intent. I’d much rather have you coherent. You just seemed nervous.” He gives me a small smile and for once it’s genuine. “We will go only as far as you allow it.”
    He then gestures to the sofa. “Shall we?”
    I sit down, a little more at ease, and he sits beside me. I’m suddenly feeling ridiculous for being nervous, so I immediately relax, shifting my body to face him. His dark, golden locks curl slightly and trail past his jaw, reminding me of the angels depicted in the paintings back at Mr. Harrison’s house. Other than that, I would never venture to extend the comparison. The rich ochre shade of his eyes is warm and inviting, not at all unsettling like the luminous green of the detective’s, but there’s a glint of mischief in their depths.
    His profile is appealing and undoubtedly attracts his share of women. I can just imagine how many maidens and concubines alike those skilful hands have touched. His eyes narrow as we continue to silently examine one another, but he doesn’t look away. Most people would, yet he unabashedly stares right back at me, leisurely exploring my face just as I am studying his.
    The corners of his lips curve into a faint smirk. “Do you look at everyone like that? It’s quite hypnotic, if not a little unsettling.”
    I blink, because it’s exactly how I feel about Keenan’s stare. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”
    “Ah, yes, the constant appetite of an empath.” He takes a sip of his wine and gestures for me to continue. “What is it you wish to know?”
    I curve a brow in a challenge. “Everything.”
    He laughs heartily and sets our glasses on the table. Grabbing hold of my hand, he opens his mind to me. The landscape is like most people’s minds, the layout constantly shifting as a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts, and memories swirl around me. Some flicker and then disappear, while others press against me. The most prominent emotion is desire; it caresses me—insistent, yet patient.
    “Can we ever really know everything about someone?” He weaves a constant circle against my palm with his thumb, while his other hand trails up the length of my arm. “But you’re more than welcome to try.”
    A pleasant shiver creeps up my arm in the wake of his touch, and I struggle to organize my thoughts. “Why aren’t you married?”
    “Most women I encounter bore me,” he answers truthfully, planting a tantalizing trail of kisses along my neck.
    I close my eyes and lean into his touch. “That’s harsh.”
    His breath tickles me as he gives a short laugh in response. “Yes, well, it is what it is.” His tongue flicks against my