wcEND.rtf (8 page)

And she did! Her hands, fisted in a token protest, also opened up, and her palms flattened against the flesh of his chest
.

With the blood roaring in his ears, Hunter probed deeper and her velvety tongue met with his. The shock traversed down his body, hardening him swiftly. The primitive need to be inside her fueled a desperate need to turn the flicker of desire he glimpsed in her eyes into a full-blown fire of lust. He slid his hands down her back; his arms encircled her waist as he brought her body flush to his while his mouth devoured hers. Hunter warred against the need to rock his erection against her. That would be too much, too soon, he decided. He wished not to frighten his lady wife. She had already given him more in this kiss than she had since the day they were wedded.

But now that he had tasted her passion, he could not be satisfied with only one kiss. He wanted more, much more. His mouth slid down her neck, found the concave of her shoulders and tasted her to his heart's content. Her little murmurs of approval drove him insane. Never had Détra responded to his touch like this. The few crumbles of attention he received from her had always been stolen, demanded, delivered as if under siege. But now he could feel her desire, could smell it, taste it. Whatever the chalice had done to Détra, Hunter hoped it would never change her back again.

He slid one knee between her soft thighs while his mouth relentlessly tasted her, from shoulders to neck to mouth, back and forth again in a joyful ride. He dared to go further. He slid one hand up her side and cupped her breast. He rubbed his palm against her hardened nipples, and what had begun as a tender caress quickly escalated into a hungry, almost desperate touch.

With his free hand Hunter lifted her from the ground and she wrapped her legs around his hips. He stumbled to the nearest tree and secured her against the trunk while he pushed her skirts upward. As he sought to release himself from the confines of his breeches, he whispered against her mouth in utter ecstasy, "Détra, oh Détra."

It took Hunter a moment to realize his wife's body had stiffened, her lips ceased their wondrous caress, her hands pushed against him. "Stop, please, stop," she c
ri
ed.

Dazed, his breath coming in short gasps, his heart thumping uncontrollably, Hunter stared at her in utter confusion.

"Let me down, please," she begged, avoiding his gaze and trying to push her skirts down.

Understanding swiftly filled Hunter with the old shame of rejection. With his heart burning, he stepped back. He stood there, exposed, unable to hide the desire that throbbed at his loins and the shame that flamed his face, as she rearranged her clothing.

She had done it again. Had brought shame and humiliation to him. Only this time, she had gone too far. She had led him to believe she could care for him, want him. This deceit he could not forgive her.

"Why have you followed me into the orchard?" he asked, a bitter grin slicing his face. "Speak the truth, my lady wife. I cannot abide liars."

Détra visibly trembled. It would do her good to fear him. He was at the end of his rope, foolishly believing that a mere chalice could change the woman he wedded into the woman of his heart.

"I'm not your wife," she cried.

"What do you say?"

"I am not your wife," she repeated in a whisper as she lifted her gaze to him.

Was it regret he saw there? Hunter stepped toward her. He would know once and for all what manner of game Détra played.

"If not my wife, pray tell me, who are you?"

I’m a twenty-
fi
rst
-
century woman who made a thoughtless wish to be in your wife's place and now inhabits her body and lusts for her husband!

Isabel g
ri
tted her teeth to avoid shouting the words that choked her. As uncomfortable as she was with the pretense she must endure, she couldn't just blurt out the truth. To claim amnesia was risky enough in these medieval times; to proclaim body switching and time travel could be deadly. She wasn't about to have her sanity questioned and put her life at risk.

She would have to find a way to survive until she undid what her thoughtless wish had provoked. And though she didn't want Détra to suffer the consequences of her actions in this time, she'd have to think of herself also. Isabel on
l
y hoped Détra was coping well in the future. She didn't want to go back and find herself in a straitjacket locked up in a psychiatric ward
.

"Speak, Détra." Chest heaving with labored breathing, hands fisted beside his powerful body, posture as stiff as a tree trunk, Hunter demanded her reply.

Turning her face away from him, Isabel's gaze rested on the mud-covered hem of her dress. She fussed with it, gaining some time to think. If not the truth, what could she possibly tell Hunter? She'd spoken out of turn when she denied being his wife. Damn his hot kiss that clouded her judgment and made her momentarily forget the seriousness of her situation and blurt out the truth about her identity. Now she was left to explain the unexplainable.

"You denied being my wife," Hunter insisted. "Surely you have something to say about that."

Reluctantly Isabel lifted her gaze to Hunter, but uneasy under his stare, she shifted in place, flipping an unruly curl away from her face. She couldn't take back her word
s
—
t
hey were already ou
t
—
s
o her only choice would be to build on what she'd already said.

Yet no brilliant thought came rushing to mind. "I may have spoken too soon," she began, hating the unaccustomed position of having to explain herself. "Though, obviously
,
I could not say with any degree of certainty whether I am or am not your wif
e
—"

"Memories or nay," he interrupted, "the fact you are my wife remains unchanged."

'That fact alone cannot change the way I feel," she retorted. "You must realize how awkward it is for me to assume a life I remember nothing about with a husband who's a stranger to me."

"A stranger whose kisses you eagerly responded to," he immediately challenged. "Or do you deny that also?"

She had done that, hadn't she? She had responded to his kisses and then turned cold on him when he called her by his wife's name. Of course Hunter didn't know it wasn't his wife who had rejected his touch but an impostor.

Had Détra ever rejected her husband's amorous overtures before? Was a medieval woman even allowed such discretion? Weren't medieval women considered chattel to their husbands? A shudder ran down her spine and Isabel eyed Hunter cautiously. He was a powerfully built man, and a visibly angry one. Thankfully he also looked to be in control of his temper. For the moment, at least. How long would that control last when she continued to resist his advances? And resist him she must.
I
t'd be wrong for her to take advantage of the situation, despite her attraction to him. Hunter thought she was his lawful wife, for God's sake! Isabel knew better.

"My body reacted to you," she blurted out in an attempt to distance herself from her questionable actions. "It was just a natural response; I had no control over it." As soon as the words stumbled out of her mouth, Isabel realized her mistake.

For a moment Hunter looked perplexed, but then probably realizing she'd given him the perfect argument, he stepped closer, invading her space again,
f
illing the air with his scent, his heat. He cupped her face with his very large hands and a jolt of instant awareness struck Isabel.

"Surely," he whispered as his fingers burrowed beneath the curls of her hair and his thumbs caressed her cheek, drawing goose bumps down her neck, "that fact alone proves that even without memories your heart recognizes me as your lord husband."

Isabel pursed her lip
s
—
t
here was no argument against that. No woman in her right mind would forget Hunter's touch. With an emotion akin to regret, she peeled his hands from her face and stepped back, putting some very necessary distance between them.

"I am willing to accept that fact," she said, realizing she must concede that much. "However, I ask you to be patient and wait to resume certain ... aspects of our married life until I can recover my memory."

If she couldn't avoid playing the role of wife to Hunte
r
—
a
t least, until she found that damn chalice and reversed the travesty her misguided wish had cause
d
—
s
he would surely avoid sharing his bed. She would not add to her sins
.
No matter how attracted she was to the man.

His nostrils flared in obvious displeasure. "We have been wedded for two weeks and I am to accept a celibate life unless your memory returns?"

Hunter and Détra were still in their honeymoon! No wonder he was freaking out. No ma
n
—
u
nless a priest or a eunuc
h
—
w
ould consider an undetermined time of celibacy. Worse of all, Isabel was unable to reassure Hunter it would be on
l
y a temporary arrangement, that soon all would be back to normal.

The back of Isabel's neck and shoulders ached with tension. She rubbed them wearily. Hunter had every right to be angry and to demand an answer from her. After all, though he didn't know, it had been
her
thoughtless wish that caused this horrible entanglement.

For a moment, Isabel toyed with the thought of asking Hunter for the chalice
'
s whereabouts. But how would she explain she remembered it and nothing else? She could give no logical reason for wanting it. She wasn't even sure Hunter was aware of the chalice's magical powers. And if she revealed she was she would also have to reveal her secret. A secret so unbelievable no one, in this medieval time or any other, could possibly comprehend, let alone accept.

Isabel shook her head. No, she couldn't chance it. Her situation was precarious as it was. Maybe later, in a more appropriate time and place, she could spring her request on Hunter without having to give too many explanations.

Meanwhile, she would just keep on working to keep Hunter at bay while she searched for the chalice.

"I agree my request seems unfair," Isabel said. Hunter snorted. "All right, I know it is unfair. However, it is equally unfair of you to expect me to resume our life together as if nothing has happened." Forestalling his challenge and his approach she lifted a hand between them. "Please, hear me out. This is very difficult for me." Her voice shook with the effort to control her emotions and to think coherently. "I have
l
ost all cognizance of my own person. My request for some understanding and some time to remember, to situate myself, to accept and adjus
t
—
i
f necessary b
e
—
t
o this new life is not unreasonable."

A lengthy silence followed. Hunter stared at her as if he wanted to read her mind or touch her soul. Isabel understood she might be asking a little too much from a medieval man, but if Hunter cared for his wife the way it seemed he did, then he'd surely give her some breathing space.

"How
l
ong?” he finally asked.

Isabel let out a sigh of relief. "A month," she said promptly. Not that she had any intention of remaining in this body for that long. It was just a precaution in case things didn't go as smoothly as she hoped.

Hunter shook his head.

Obviously a month was out of the question. She wouldn't need that long to locate the chalice, anyway. How big could this castle be?