Part 24 (1/2)

”What for? This is important!”

”I can only do my best.”

”Come here.” She tugged him between her knees as she perched on the stone table and reached for a wide-tooth bone comb to disentangle his kinky hair. ”It's going to take the rest of the morning for all this hair to dry.”

”Compet.i.tion starts late this afternoon.” He closed his eyes and bent his head forward as she discarded the comb and ma.s.saged sandalwood-scented oil into his nape and shoulders. ”That feels good.”

”Smells good, too.”

”Are you saying I stink otherwise?”

She giggled and kissed his cheek. ”No. I...”

Several nearby slaves cast them nosy glances. Lock knew they were unaccustomed to open affection between slaves and mistresses. Most likely they even disapproved of it.

”What are you looking at?” Lock growled, causing them to turn away. Most of the slaves were similar in appearance to Theodore and Namir. A few were tall and well-muscled, but most of the larger, rougher ones either worked as laborers or were placed as gladiators. None present seemed willing to provoke a SothSea pirate.

”I hate this,” Sparrow whispered. ”I really do. I can't wait until we can live normally. Lie on the table so I can do the paint.”

She hopped to her feet as he lay on his back.

She picked up a pot of black paint, dipped in a fine, soft brush, and touched it to his belly. His stomach jerked against the first contact of cold paint on warm skin. The hard muscles tightened before he released a long breath and lay still.

To create the illusion of male perfection, he needed to disguise the scars left from the whip. His back would be covered by silk, but his bare chest and stomach were marked with several long scars. Sparrow accented the lines with black paint and added several more, creating images of th.o.r.n.y branches across Lock's abdomen and chest. He closed his eyes as she worked, his thoughts churning with flashes of the previous night's vision, the approaching compet.i.tion, and what would come after.

As much as he loved the sea, he knew he couldn't take Sparrow there. Not after the nightmare. It had been so real that he could see, smell, and feel every part of it-just like he had during the dream about being tortured in the village square. And there had been other dreams over the years, ones that meant little but nevertheless came true.

”All right. I'm finished.”

Lock opened his eyes and glanced down at his torso. Th.o.r.n.y branches scattered the lean muscles of his chest and abdomen.

”Good,” he said, tying his hair at his nape with a strip of leather. ”I'll finish getting ready, then we can go for a walk outside.”

”Anything to get out of here.” Sparrow glanced at the slaves, several of whom watched her and Lock from the corners of their eyes.

Lock filled a basin with water and stood in front of a tall mirror at the back of the chamber as he shaved. The wiry, brown and white hair fell away, revealing a smooth, oval jaw and several fine lines on the corners of his mouth. Completely exposed, his lower lip looked even fuller and softer.

When he finally turned to her, she stared at him, her eyes wide.

”Goodness.” She stepped forward and took his face in her hands, running a fingertip over his jaw line. ”You look almost like a boy.”

”Some boy.”

”You're not at all frightening anymore.”

”Anymore? I don't know if I'm being praised or insulted.”

She ran her knuckles across his smooth cheek. ”I think you're very handsome.”

”That's more like it.” He lifted her onto the table, stepped between her legs, and kissed her.

”Lock, they're watching us.”

”They have been since we arrived. Let's give them something to stare at.”

”Let's go for that walk you promised me.”

He reached for the silk, draped one length of it over his body and hung the second piece over his shoulder. He picked up the leather sheaths containing the two polished daggers he'd be dancing with and followed her out of the bath chamber, up the winding corridors to the main hall, and out to the courtyard where they'd wait until the compet.i.tion began.

Sparrow sat beside four other slave owners on a bench cus.h.i.+oned in red velvet. Beside them, on a raised platform, Daryn lounged on an onyx chair, her eyes fixed on the slave singing in the center of the marble chamber. To the Empress's left side, a group of men and women dressed in embroidered trousers and vests played music on drums, pipes, and stringed instruments, providing background for the entertaining slaves. Dozens of chandeliers filled with white candles lit the chamber. The floor had been emptied, leaving s.p.a.ce for the slaves who lined the walls, awaiting their turn to perform.

Sparrow stared across the room at Lock who sat close to the double doors at the end of the hall. Draped in blue and black silk from the top of his head to his feet covered with shoes of thin leather, even his face was hidden, leaving only his pale blue eyes exposed. Those eyes met Sparrow's and he winked. If she hadn't been so nervous, she would have smiled.

The singer struck a particularly high note, and Sparrow's attention jerked back to him. He's good, she thought. So had the acrobat been talented, and the man who performed a sword exhibition. She'd never seen Lock dance and prayed he was as skilled as Shea-Ann said. He had some tough compet.i.tion-men who spent years in the harem living only to perfect their talents and please the Empress. Lock was a pirate, his time dedicated to running a s.h.i.+p and fighting. He might have learned some skills from the SothSea wh.o.r.es, but would it be enough to entice the Empress into granting his freedom?

The singer finished and bowed deeply to the Empress who offered him a nod of approval. He cleared the floor and took his place along the wall. A tall, slender blond wearing sheer black pantaloons knelt in the center of the floor. Sparrow noted he was extremely well-proportioned, and the Empress as well as the mistresses and several other slaves watched him with approving eyes. His hair hung like silk down his back, and his face was almost feminine in its beauty. The music began, and the slave moved his arms and hips in a sensual motion before swirling gracefully to his feet and dancing around the chamber.

d.a.m.n it, Sparrow thought as she watched the slave, fascinated by his performance. She glanced at the Empress and noted the smile on her face as her eyes caressed the handsome slave's form while he spun and stretched, his long, slender limbs moving like plants flowing in crystalline water.

Lock can't compete with that. He's gorgeous but has too many rough edges. Everyone likes this slave's grace...

The dancer ended his performance in a lunge, his arms stretched above his head, his hands positioned like eagle's wings. A light mist of perspiration covered smooth, hairless flesh over hard muscle. The Empress applauded and everyone joined in. She motioned for the slave to continue.

Sparrow noticed that a few times, when she particularly enjoyed a slave, she asked him for a second performance.

The blond smiled graciously and danced again while Sparrow cast her gaze to Lock. He watched the dancer with interest, but his pale eyes revealed no emotion. Sparrow wondered if he knew how slight his chance of winning over the blond.

When the dancer finished, he melted against the wall with the others, and Lock-the last compet.i.tor-walked to the center of the floor, his silk robes brus.h.i.+ng the ground. He stood motionless, and as the music began, his arms outstretched, his hands open, palms up. His shoulders and arms moved slowly, sensually, an invitation for l.u.s.t. His blue eyes shone like jewels against the silk, and he turned, his robes sweeping across the floor, flowing on the air as he spun, his hands disappearing in a swirl of blue and black. The music's pace increased, and as he spun, his arms pointed straight overhead, silver blades glistening in the candlelight. He lowered his arms, blades flas.h.i.+ng, and tossed them high, catching them and twirling again. One of the silk robes fell to his feet, slashed by the blade, the movement itself imperceptible to the eye. With his long arms now exposed, the thick muscles rippled visibly as he spun the blades. One dagger drew circles overhead with the other flickering to his waist, causing several more yards of silk to float to the ground, baring his legs. The loincloth fit his lean waist and bulging c.o.c.k like a second skin, and the strips of black leather parted with each of his stances, revealing the hard, curved muscles of his thighs and calves. When he spun, his bare b.u.t.tocks was completely exposed, each cheek a tight, round globe of smooth flesh.

Sparrow swallowed, her mouth dry. She realized her hands were trembling and could scarcely believe watching a body she knew so intimately could make her heart pound. The blond dancer had been good, but his performance was nothing compared to this!

Lock's dance was graceful and rough at the same time. His every movement promised dangerous, delicious s.e.x, the fulfillment of every animalistic dream. He turned the daggers inward, blades hidden against his wrists, and lifted the edges of the last piece of silk concealing his face, back, and shoulders. As his long legs swallowed the s.p.a.ce between the center of the floor and the throne, the silk billowed behind him like a demonic cloud. He dropped to his knees, his legs spread wide, his leather-covered c.o.c.k dangling between the gaps of black leather. He arched his back, the top of his head nearly touching the floor as his blue eyes slipped shut and the daggers flickered towards his temples, slicing away the last of the silk, revealing his smooth-shaven face with its chiseled cheekbones, beautiful nose, and sensual mouth. He wore a black vest, cut to expose his front and conceal his back. His back still arched sensually, revealing the taut muscles of his abdomen and the breadth of his muscled chest, his hands touched the floor behind his head, his fingers grasping the pool of blue silk.

Sparrow wanted to look at the Empress and the others in the room to see if they were as enthralled as she in what was surely the best performance of the day, but she couldn't tear her eyes from Lock.

He straightened his back in a fluid motion and stood, his hips thrust forward in a suggestive manner that made Sparrow's pulse pound. His brown and white hair hung wildly down his back and over his shoulders as he continued dancing, his hips gyrating, his daggers slicing air. As the speed of the music increased, his motions followed until he was a blur of silver blades, two-toned hair, and glistening flesh.

The music stopped suddenly, and he dropped to the ground at the Empress's feet, his knees tucked beneath him, his torso bowed with his arms stretched overhead, his face to the floor in a completely submissive position. Spirals of his long hair clung to the sweat-beaded muscles of his arms and shoulders. The damp silk vest hugged his broad back and lean waist.

Sparrow realized the room had fallen into complete silence, and she glanced around, noting all eyes were fixed on Lock. Beside Sparrow, one of the mistresses fanned herself with her hand while the others stared, mouths slightly open. The slaves' faces were frozen as they sensed their own defeat.

The Empress drew a deep breath and ordered, ”Look up.”

Lock slowly raised himself, but remained kneeling, eyes cast respectfully to the base of Daryn's throne.

Oh, he's smart, Sparrow thought to herself. He knows enough to suck on her toes and not get too c.o.c.ky.