Descent (Black Heart Romance)

I move past the columns that resemble stalks of papyrus and enter the porch of the temple. It’s within walls, but not closed in like the next room, so I don’t entirely feel like I’m alone with him. Still, I feel the room shrink as he walks up behind me, then moves forward and examines the wall beside me.

Unease crawls up my spine, raising the hairs on the back of my neck, but I glance outside the temple at the table set up in front of the outer building, at the server clearing our dishes and the guard standing nearby.

We’re not alone.

I tell myself that, but it doesn’t make me relax. He’s standing too close.

Carvings cover the interior wall. Calvin runs his hand right over one, causing me to suck in a scandalized gasp and glance outside again. The guard is still out there, but he isn’t watching us at all.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” I tell him.

Side-eyeing me, his lips tug up in faint amusement. “And I would never do anything I’m not allowed to do,” he says, his voice gently mocking.

I roll my eyes. “That’s not—This is different. This is a priceless piece of history on display at a museum. The structure has been through enough, it doesn’t need your skin oils degrading it even more. Not to mention, this was a church. It wouldn’t kill you to be a little respectful—”

I stop when he slowly raises his palm, then places it against the Egyptian carving on the wall just to get a rise out of me.

I narrow my eyes at him, but decide not to reward him with further attention. I shift my focus back to the wall and all the carvings, trying to focus on the artwork and not the needlessly challenging man beside me.

I feel easier when he lowers his hand and starts gazing without touching, but I try not to let him realize that.

“Temples in Ancient Egypt weren’t like our modern day churches,” he finally says without looking away from the wall. “They weren’t places of communal worship. They weren’t for the people at all. They were houses for the gods. The priests were here to care for them, not to offer spiritual guidance to the public.”

I glance over at him, but he doesn’t wait for me to speak before going on.

“Only the priests and the pharaoh were allowed to worship here, and only after undergoing rigorous purification rituals. They had to shave their whole bodies bare.”

As he says that last part, his gaze rakes over me as if my dress just turned transparent and he can see all the places I’m bare. Heat creeps up my neck and spreads to my cheeks. I look away from him and resist the impulse to cover myself. There’s nothing here to cover up with anyway, but logically I know he can’t really see beneath the fabric of my gown.

Touching the wall again briefly, then moving past me and moving nearer to the next wall, he goes on. “This one was a cult temple mainly dedicated to the goddess Isis of Philae. She married her brother and they had a son named Horus.”

My eyebrows rise as I look over the images on this wall, then shift my focus to the ones on the ceiling. “Sexy.”

Calvin smirks at my dry tone. “Isn’t it?”

“The Lannisters seem to like it.”

Stepping away from his history lesson, he asks, “Are you a fan?”

I stop tilting my head back to look at the ceiling and glance at him. “Of Cersei Lannister? No, definitely not.”

His lips curve up. “I meant the show, but obviously you’ve at least dabbled.”

“Watched the whole damned thing—finale episodes twice to prepare for each new season.”

He nods. “Didn’t find her interesting, huh?”

“Interesting maybe, but too evil for my tastes. Plus she created Joffrey, and some things just can’t be forgiven.”

He smirks. “A valid point.”

“Really?” I ask with feigned surprise. “A spoiled ass with a penchant for callously disregarding the dignity of others—I’d think he’s your favorite.”

“Ouch. Having a low opinion of me is one thing, but comparing me to Joffrey Baratheon is a bit much.”

I glance back at him as he gets a little too close. “I don’t think so. He believes everyone is his to torment. Judging by our interactions, I’d say you share his flawed—” The breath is sucked out of my lungs, the rhythm from my heart, as he grabs my waist and pulls me back against him.

The thread of conversation slipped from my fingers the moment he touched me, so I’m surprised when he leans in and murmurs intimately, “Ah, that’s where you’ve misunderstood me. I don’t believe everyone is mine to torment. Only you.”

I can scarcely draw a breath, but I don’t want him to know how much he has thrown me. “Oh, so I’m special. Am I supposed to feel flattered?”