Linda Barlow (35 page)

She lifted her chin, determined not to complain. "Not difficult, no. Just a little wearing."

His thumbs soothed her cheekbones; then his lips saluted the dark circles under her eyes. "You're exhausted, aren't you? We have to think of a way to get you safely home."

She smiled mischievously as she wriggled her hips against his. "We can't think very well in this position. Are you going to let me up?"

She knew what his answer would be. There was a slight pause, then his expression changed subtly: his mouth slackened, his eyes dilated to black. It was the face she'd seen in Merwynna's cottage, and so many times since then, in her dreams.

"No," he said, sliding his hips more firmly over hers. "I think not." Unable to stop himself, he lowered his face to hers and kissed her hard. Pleasure jolted through him, and from the way her body arched, he knew it was the same for her. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth with rhythmic ferocity. A tiny moan escaped her. He felt her tongue tentatively brush his, then, more boldly, imitate his own motions, sending bursts of hot desire along his nerves, and increasing the pressure in his groin until he thought he would lose all control.

God’s blood! It was this rush of emotion, this driving tide of sensuality, this irrational desire for a deeper-than-physical union that he didn't feel, couldn't feel, with other women. And yet it wasn't love. Love was unselfish and gentle, and this was neither of those. I am obsessed with you, he thought.

That was it. Obsession. Mutual obsession, if the look of dazed delight in her eyes was anything to go by.

He slid his hand between their bodies, encountering the padded thickness of her doublet. "You've bound your breasts, haven't you?" At that moment he felt he had every right to touch them, caress them, excite the peaks until they stood, hard, erect and achingly sensitive.

She nodded.

He drew back, torturing them both. "Sit up and unbind them for me."

Dreamily Alexandra obeyed. Holding his eyes, she unfastened her doublet and slipped out of it. She removed her shirt. Underneath, she had swathed her naked breasts in a length of cotton to keep them flat; her fingers trembled as she unwrapped the fabric. When it was done, she flushed at the heat of Roger's gaze upon her. But she was neither embarrassed nor ashamed. She loved the way he was looking at her.

One of his hands reached out to touch the opal pendant that was hanging from a thin silver chain around her neck. "This is the one I gave you, isn’t it?"

"Yes." She wore it nearly every day, hidden underneath her chemise. Her father had provided her with fine clothes and jewels for her appearances at court, but nothing was more precious to her than the gift Roger had brought her upon his return home last summer. "I love it."

"I’m glad. It’s perfect on you." Stroking inward from the place where the pendant lay upon her skin, he caressed her. His thumb rubbed back and forth over the peak of her breast, causing little darts of bliss to race along her nerves. In the pit of her stomach, her desire pooled and liquefied. He tugged gently on a nipple and she moaned.

"Very nice. Now, come closer, and kiss me, woman."

She pressed against him, feeling the rough texture of his brocade doublet against her naked breasts. "What about you? Surely you have no need of so many garments."

"All in good time. For the moment I'm enjoying having a stubborn wench like you so docile and compliant."

She drew back in mock anger, but he chuckled and held her fast. He lay on his back on the divan and pulled her atop him. "Straddle me. That's right; spread your lovely legs and kneel over me. And stop looking so rebellious. I'm your teacher; you're supposed to follow my directions."

"Not if you gloat about it."

"I promise not to gloat." He took both breasts in his hands and excited them so expertly that she threw back her head and unconsciously undulated her lower body against his thighs. "My lovely Alix. You're so sweet and responsive you drive me mad. Can you feel what you do to me?" He captured her hand and pressed it to the spot where his erection was leaping against the restrictive bindings of his clothes. She hesitated for an instant, then closed her fingers around him. He uttered a hoarse, tormented sound.

"Am I hurting you?" She sounded a little uncertain, and tried to take her hand away.

"God, no. You can't hurt a man like that, not unless you knee him or something. Don't stop."

After some exploration, her hand managed to find its way beneath his breeches, and she thrilled when she could touch him without impediment. He was firm and hard, but warm and velvety too. She continued to stroke him, watching his face: the high color in his cheeks, the hooded sensuality of his dark, dilated eyes. She could see his pleasure, and it awed her. He had taken her to the heights of ecstasy that night in Merwynna's cottage, but he hadn't allowed her to return the favor. Perhaps now, tonight, he would.

She experimented further, sliding her hand up and down his aroused length. "That's good." He covered her fingers with his own and showed her the motion that pleased him most, then felt his hips arching off the cushions as control began to elude him. God's blood, how he ached for her! He groaned again, cursing the awkward clothing they were both wearing. "That's easily remedied," she said, reaching for the fastenings of his doublet and the shirt beneath it. In seconds, with his help, she stripped him down to his loose, thigh-length breeches and was fumbling with the points of his hose.

He stopped her before she could remove all his garments, but it didn’t matter. She was delighted with everything that had been revealed so far. He was beautiful. There was an unconscious grace about his lean, long-limbed body, so strong and subtly muscled, his angular shoulders, his deep chest and taut belly. She was distracted from her more intimate explorations by her need to investigate his shoulders and his throat. "You feel so good to me," she told him as she gently rubbed his chest. Leaning over, she kissed the flesh over his collarbone, sighing with pleasure, reveling in her desire for this handsome, virile man.

He, too, sighed. "So do you, my lady." He pulled her down until their bare skin was touching from waist to throat. Her soft breasts seemed to nestle quite comfortably against the wall of his chest; her hips molded to his loins as if they belonged there. She was right for him, perfect. He wanted her so much.

The only impediments now to their union were their few lower garments, and that, as she had pointed out, was easily remedied. He rolled over, pressing her down beneath him and dragging at the fabric. "Let's get the rest of these things off. If we're going to do it, we might as well do it properly."

"Are
we going to do it?" She cast a glance down at her strangely clad thighs, wishing she were wearing one of her gorgeous court gowns and looking her best for him. She hadn't thought, somehow, that it would happen quite this way. She swallowed hard. She remembered the size of him throbbing beneath her fingers and felt a twinge of alarm. She wasn't afraid, she insisted to herself. It was just that she hadn't expected him to be quite so generously endowed.

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"No," she said quickly, banishing them.

"You ought to be. And I ought to send you away."

Determinedly she slid her hands down his back until they linked around his waist. "I don't want to stop. Truly, Roger. I love you. Don't send me away."

He stared down at her. Her face was naked with the love she had never attempted to deny. Wholehearted and trusting love, dedicated to him even though he had done nothing to deserve it, even though he had not solicited it and could not possibly accept or return it. He had seen that look before, in Celestine's eyes. She too had become entangled in the net which Roger himself always seemed to escape.

But if you
could
return it, a beguiling voice seemed to whisper, the net would dissolve and you could be happy for once in your life. He thrust the temptation away, reminding himself of all the things against it: her innocence, his vice; her gentleness, his cruelty; her religion, his flirtation with heresy; her mistress, her father, and a new complication, his own brother. It had occurred to him tonight as he'd watched them together that Alan might be falling in love with her. Although she and Alan had grown up together, a situation that often led to fraternal rather than romantic feelings, the lad’s recent initiation into manhood might have altered his perspective. They were certainly fond of one another. Two good-natured innocents united against a wicked world. Why not? If he really cared about her, he ought to encourage her to marry Alan.

Resign yourself, he ordered his unruly body, his protesting soul. The decision he had made with such difficulty that night in the witch's cottage must stand. She was not his for the taking. She would never be.

And so he rolled away from her, saying, "How's the husband-hunting going? Every time I see you at court, you're attended by one wealthy prospect or another. Even my old adversary Geoffrey de Montreau seems quite taken with you."

Alexandra was stunned. "How can you speak of them, when you and I—"

"—are wrong for each other," he cut in. He sat up, ignoring the angry protests his body was screaming. Jerkily he donned his discarded clothing. With forced nonchalance he pulled her to a sitting position, then helped her into the shirt and doublet she'd removed earlier. She sat passively, staring at him in disbelief as he carefully tucked her opal pendant deep under her shirt. "Nothing has changed. You’re far too sweet and virginal for me. I prefer my lovers experienced."

"Liar. You said you were obsessed with me."

He permitted himself a brittle laugh. "Never believe anything a man says when he's got his hands on you in the dark."

"How dare you do this to me again? And why do you lie to me so crudely, trying your best to hurt me? Are you made of ice? I don't understand you, Roger. Truly, I do not!"

He turned away, but not before she saw his sensual mouth set in an agonized expression and his eyes regretful, bitter, sad. "No, I am not made of ice. Stop sulking and consider yourself fortunate. If it were not for our long friendship, you would be lying under me even now, naked and writhing while I mastered you."

"So you say. I'm beginning to doubt it. Perhaps you're not 'one who will not,' after all. Perhaps you're 'one who cannot.'"

Roger ignored this slur. "Enough, Alix." His voice was weary and cold. He rose. "I must get back to my guests."

"Go without me, then. I'll just rest here until Alan's ready to leave. Or perhaps I'll poke around a bit in your cellars."

Roger turned on her so fast it made her jump. He seized her upper arms, jerked her to her feet, and shook her so hard her teeth chattered. "Do you know what's down there? Damn you, answer me."

"No! I heard the subject mentioned between you and Lacklin, that's all. I presume he meant you’re hiding something in your cellars besides the usual supply of wine. Contraband, I suppose."

"By Christ, I'm tempted to clap you in irons and keep you prisoner in those same cellars until you learn your lesson. 'Twould be no less than you deserve." He shook her again. "If you ever betray me, do you know what I'll do to you?"

"Hurt me?" she hazarded, fascinated by his sudden rage and her own spurt of fear.

He shook his head slowly. "Don't make jests, not about this. There is evil in me, dark things you've never seen. Tempt them at your peril."

"I've sworn I won't betray you, and I won't. What will it take to gain your trust? What will it take to stop your lies?" Furious, she insinuated her belly against his, provoking an immediate tangible response. "Virginal I may be, but not as innocent as I was last summer. With you as my teacher, I've learned the significance of this." She rocked her hips wantonly. "You desire me. Why do you persist in tormenting us both?"

"For your own sake, damn you. But noble-minded I'm not. If you push me any further, I will tear every last one of those preposterous garments from your body, and you will learn the full consequences of your recklessness."

Indeed, he was already moving to do it, his discipline blasted by her determination to give herself to him. One of his hands moved slowly, hotly, down over her waist, her hip, her thigh. He felt her shudder. She threw her head back, baring her throat to his lips. But before he could take the silent invitation, she whirled and jerked herself away. He groaned in frustration, and would have hauled her back into his arms, had she been anyone else but the woman she was.

"I think you love me a little, after all," she said in a barely audible voice. She straightened her boy’s clothing, pinned up her loosened hair, and secured her wig. "I don't understand your scruples, but I know you well enough not to tempt you to disregard them. You have enough to fret about without feeling guilty over me."

Then she was gone. By the time he got himself together enough to follow her, she had collected Alan and vanished from his house.

Chapter 19