Page 34 of Prometheus' Priestess

“I’m staying in rooms above this place if you’d be more comfortable there?” he asked her, his lips practically pressed against the shell of her ear so she could hear him. Amara nodded in agreement with a smile that said she was eager to get out of the crowded pub and so they wentupstairs.

The rooms, to Amara’s shock, were huge. It appeared he had rented out the whole top floor. There was an informal living area upon entry, with a wardrobe just to the left, painted a ghastly mint green, with a little chalkboard sign hanging off the brass doorknob that had ‘welcome’ scrawled on it in a poor attempt at calligraphy. In the opposite corner, a mini bar was set up, just like the bar downstairs. Why there would be a bar when you could just go downstairs Amara had no idea. Moving through into the bedroom, she saw the carpet was a deep brown, the walls and bedsheets cream. Reaching out a hand, she touched the sheets to find them satin smooth. Opposite the bed was a wooden desk, above it a flat-screen TV. Then, as she moved around the room, she saw the door to the bathroom that had marble flooring and a deep free-standing bath.

“Well, it’s better than where I stay.”

“Make yourself athome.”

Amara looked around but the only decent place to sit was the bed. Given how the dynamic had changed between them earlier, she felt uncomfortable sprawling out on it. She didn’t want to come across as desperate, so she perched on the edge ofit.

“Would you like a drink? There’s a couple of mini bottles of champagne in here. We could toast to your newjob?”

“Minibars are way too expensive. We can just go down a little later when it’s calmeddown.”

“Price isn’t an issue, Amara. But if you don’t feel comfortable drinking …”

“I’ve always felt comfortable enough around you to drink,” she huffed. Perhaps it was because he didn’t drink lager as Ralph had. Perhaps it was because he seemed content with just one drink. Perhaps it was because he carried himself differently. Amara couldn’t pinpoint it. She just knew she didn’t feel uncomfortable when she was with him in the same way she had withhim,even before the alcohol had been afactor.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Prometheus said gently, breaking Amara out of her reverie as he handed her a glass of champagne. They toasted to her new job and Prometheus took a seat on the opposite corner of the bed to her, one leg sprawled out, with his foot resting on the floor, the other hooked into a seatedposition.

“What doyoudo for a job?” Amara asked, realising in that moment how little she knew about his day-to-day life.

He paused for a moment. “I’m a craftsman by trade. Metal work, things like that. But I got out of the business a long time ago. Now I occasionallyconsult.”

That explains his big, strong arms and where all the money comes from, Amara thought.

“How old areyou?”

“Older thanyou.”

Amara scowled and tried another tactic. “Any family? Are you from around here? Have you always been? You don’t have an accent …” Suddenly she was thirsty to know every facet of this fascinating man.

“Why the sudden Spanish inquisition?” he asked, though he had a crooked half smile as he asked her.

“Just ... curious,” she shrugged. How was she supposed to tell him that she felt shy about practically jumping the bones of a man she knew nothing about? If she knew more about him, then it would make anything that did happen between them better than the last time she’d been in a similar position, she reasoned to herself. She risked a glance at him and was rewarded with blazing eye contact that scorched her to the soul, the electricity, the pull towards him almost magnetic. Amara blinked and glanced back down at her glass. She wondered if he’d felt it too. In an effort to settle the squirming uncomfortableness inside her, she took three large gulps of champagne until half the glass was empty.

“Never mind, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t pry,” she admonished herself.

“No, it’s ok. It’s just a long story, that’sall.”

“I likestories.”

“I know.” He paused for a moment, appearing to consider his options. “You may as well settle in then,” he said, gesturing to the headboard. The pair of them stretched out on top of the covers before he began to regale her with tales from his home in Greece as if it wasn’t the ancient civilization he’d always known it to be. She in turn told him all about the wild-child trips she’d had around the streets of Paris growing up.

As night fell, she asked him a question he’d never have predicted.

“Can I stay here the night?”

“Are you sure?” he asked gently. Amara nodded.

“I’ll set up the pull-out.”

Standing, he moved to the end of the bed. What had appeared to be a wooden chest for clothes actually had a camp bed stored in it.

“Oh you don’t have to do that …”

He paused and looked at her, staring into eyes of shattering green that stripped him to his soul.

“Amara,” he said, a gentle warning in his tone.

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