15 Chapter (1)

He ended up in front of Rohan’s door later that night.

Glancing around self-consciously, Jamil lifted his hand and knocked, trying not to think about what the servants would think if they saw him here.

Finally, the door was yanked open, and Rohan glared at him, bare-chested and annoyed, rubbing his hooded eyes with the backs of his hands, clearly just awoken.

Jamil licked his dry lips, trying to keep his eyes on the rebel’s face and ignore his state of undress, but it was frustratingly, embarrassingly difficult. Rohan di’Lehr exuded raw maleness in a way that waspletely foreign to Jamil, who was used to well-mannered, impably dressed and proper aristocrats. Seeing those chiseled muscles and strange tattoos all over that brown skin was—jarring. Vulgar.pletely inappropriate. Jamil was embarrassed that he even noticed that—that he kept noticing it.

“What are you doing here?”

Jamil drew himself to his full height, hating how off-balance and powerless he felt. It was silly. He was the Crown Prince. This man was his employee, his subject, an outlaw he could have arrested at a moment’s notice.

“Your Highness,” Jamil said.

Rohan let out a laugh that made something warm curl in the pit of Jamil’s stomach.

“Seriously?” Rohan said. “Are you really insisting on proper address when you’re in my room at one in the morning?”

“I’m not in your room yet.”

Rohan raised his eyebrows and stepped aside to let him in. “Pleasee on in, then. Your Highness.”

He didn’t have to make the honorific sound like a mocking.

Jamil strode inside the room. Ignoring the unmade bed, he turned around just as Rohan closed the door and leaned against it like a big cat.

Watching him with those inscrutable, creepily intense dark eyes, Rohan murmured, “Since no one has tried to arrest me, I presume you haven’t told anyone about me.”

Jamil rubbed the back of his neck. “No,” he said, trying to keep his gaze on Rohan’s face without actually meeting his eyes. Even brief eye contact made the strange pull between them more intense, something inside him needing. He knew it was just their naturalpatibility, something he couldn’t help, but it still felt so wrong to need such things from a man who wasn’t his husband.

It wasn’t that Jamil was prudish. He had been a married man. He had been married for eight years and had very much enjoyed intimacy with his husband. But he’d never just looked at a man and wanted him inside, now. It was obscene. Although Rohan had claimed that this…patibility didn’t cause physical attraction, Jamil found it hard to separate the need to be one from a very physical act that he normally associated with it.

Heavens, it was so degrading. It made him feel dirty. Mehmer had been gone for just five months. Biologicalpatibility or not, he wasn’t supposed to want another man’s touch, be it mental or physical.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jamil hesitated before pulling out a holochip from his pocket. “This is all we have on Mehmer’s death. It isn’t much. His aircraft was disintegrated, so obviously there wouldn’t be—there wouldn’t be much.” He averted his gaze. “Apparently there’s no actual proof that the rebels were the ones who did it. It’s all conjecture. The only piece of evidence we have is a pro-rebellion leaflet found in the area. That’s all.”

He felt rather than heard Rohan step closer. He took the holochip from Jamil.

Their fingers brushed.

Jamil shivered, his mind emptying of all thoughts. His gaze snapped up to Rohan’s face, meeting those black eyes. The intensity of them was terrifying. He felt like he was drowning in them, unable to see anything but black.

Their hands grabbed each other, squeezing tightly, so damn tightly it was nearly painful. Someone whimpered, and it took Jamil a moment to realize it was him.

“Fucking hell,” Rohan growled, yanking him forward. Strong, bare arms wrapped around Jamil in a deathly grip, bringing him flush against that bare chest. Jamil’s eyes slipped shut. He made another small sound, his senses going on overload. He couldn’t think. There were no thoughts. He could just soak up this closeness, needing this like he needed air, his mind blissfully empty. He was distantly aware of strong fingers traveling up his spine, to his face, until they pressed just below his ear, where Jamil’s telepathic core pulsed under the skin, calling to him, craving. He wanted—he wanted—

Rohan’s mouth latched onto that spot, teeth biting the sensitive skin. Jamil moaned, shivering. Rohan sucked for a long, blissful moment before suddenly wrenching himself away.

They stared at each other, breathing hard, Rohan’s eyes glazed and so very dark. “I’m not into men,” Rohan said tersely, something like angry bewilderment flickering across his face.

Jamil glared at him, offended by what he was implying. I assure you I’m not interested in you, either. “And yet, I’m not the one who just gave me a hickey.”

Rohan’s lips thinned. “It was an impulse I couldn’t control. You should leave.”

Jamil lifted his chin. “I will—when you stop crushing my hand and release me.”

Rohan shot their joined hands a sour, frustrated look. Slowly, very slowly, his tanned hand released Jamil’s. The moment it did, Jamil bit back an unhappy whine. He felt the loss so acutely that it bordered on painful.

Rohan grimaced. He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment, his jaw clenched. When he opened his eyes again, there was a semblance of control in them. “All right. Ignoring the issue is clearly not working.”

Jamil almost laughed. That was quite an understatement. “What do you propose?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the shaking of his fingers.

Rohan smiled humorlessly. “You aren’t going to like it, Highness.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“I propose we just do it and get it over with.”

Jamil’s heart started beating so fast it made him a little dizzy. “It?” he managed, unable to believe Rohan was really suggesting what he thought he was suggesting.

Black eyes met his. “A merge. We clearly won’t be able to get anything done until we get this out of our systems.”

Jamil’s stomach squirmed. What Rohan was proposing was outrageous—not to mention illegal. A telepathic merge was the deepest form of mental contact between two individuals, outlawed on all pls of the Union because of how deeply invasive and dangerous it was. It was also incredibly intimate, usually practiced only by couples who trusted each other implicitly.

The mere suggestion of allowing a near stranger—a rebel—deep into his mind should have horrified and infuriated him. It should have. It wasn’t supposed to make him eager. It wasn’t supposed to make him feel as though he was a starved man offered a feast.

“Are you insane?” he managed, putting on his best offended face.

A muscle worked in Rohan’s lean jaw. “Look, Your Highness. We clearly can’t continue like this. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of feeling like I have no higher brain function the moment you walk into the room. We have stuff to discuss. Actual, important stuff I’m here for. I can’t keep getting sidetracked by this… stupid, inconvenient urge to fuck your brains out—literally.”

Jamil was pretty sure he’d never blushed so much in his life until he’d met Rohan di’Lehr.

“I agree that this issue is highly inconvenient,” Jamil said, with as much dignity as he could muster. “But what you’re suggesting is… unthinkable. Perhaps it’s different on Tai’Lehr, but here on Calluvia, telepathic merges are considered more intimate than… sexual intercourse.”

Rohan’s mouth twitched. “I think it’s the first time I’ve heard someone say ‘sexual intercourse.’” When Jamil glared at him, he dropped his smile, amusement fading from his eyes. “The opinion on telepathic merges isn’t all that different on Tai’Lehr. People generally do it only with people they trust—the risk of damaging your partner is actually greater, because we’re stronger telepaths than you Calluvians.”

“Then why are you suggesting this?”

“You know why,” Rohan said quietly, meeting Jamil’s gaze and holding it, the air between them thickening with the now-familiar longing for closeness.

Jamil’s stomach clenched.

“This is too damn strong for us to ignore,” Rohan said, taking a step closer. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really not fine with giving you hickeys, Your Highness.”

“I’m certainly not fine with it, either,” Jamil said, his face warm. “But I loved my husband very much and the thought of that kind of intimacy with another man is revolting to me.”

“Your husband is dead,” Rohan said flatly. “He doesn’t care.”

Jamil glowered at him.

Rohan seemed unmoved. “It’s only going to get worse, Your Highness.” His lips twisted as he dropped his gaze to Jamil’s neck. “It’s pretty damn bad already if I’m giving you hickeys. I’m not attracted to men. This is messing with our heads.”

Jamil moistened his lips with his tongue. “And you really think a merge would help?”

Rohan nodded. “It should. In the past, when I had a pretty good Fit with someone, the pull became easier to ignore after a merge.” Something flickered in his dark eyes. He grimaced. “Granted, it has never been this bad, but it should still work.”

Jamil hesitated. He couldn’t deny that it was tempting to finally get rid of this terrible, inappropriate yearning under his skin. But…

As if sensing his doubts, Rohan spoke again. “I know a merge is highly intimate, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. I’ll try to make it as quick and impersonal as I can.”

A strangled laugh left Jamil’s throat. “Can a telepathic merge even be impersonal?”

“We’ll have to try and find out,” Rohan said, shrugging a little. His voice dropped to a hoarse murmur. “Let me? Let me inside you? Just once.”

Heat pulled in the pit of Jamil’s stomach. Ignoring the voice at the back of his mind screaming that he was making a mistake, Jamil nodded dazedly.

Rohan’s nostrils flared.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Rohan’s large hand cradled Jamil’s head, his thumb pressing against