Dance of Desire (24 page)

Before Rexana could ponder what she had seen, the sheets pulled back. The bed ropes sagged. She tipped toward Fane. She squeaked, ramming her palm into the mattress to prevent her from rolling against him. Flat on her belly, she raised her lashes, pushed up on her forearm and struggled for balance.

"You disobey me. You do not close your eyes."

He lay on his side, the sheets pulled up to his waist, his head supported by one hand. Partly hidden by a snarl of hair, his eyes glittered with promise. Intent. Desire.

"I wish to see what you are about, milord," she said.

He chuckled. Without the slightest attempt at subtlety, his gaze moved to her shift, and her breasts crushed into the mattress. "Ah, Rexana. You are brave, yet I still hear fear in your voice. You will not be so frightened of me on the morrow."

A tremor raked through her, from her neck to the tip of her toes. "Bold words, milord."

His eyebrow arched. "You do not believe I can have you?" His free hand skimmed across the sheets. Closed over her taut, splayed fingers. His palm's callused warmth shot invisible sparks up her arm and fired the wanton heat in her blood.

"I believe you will try." She tried to pull away, but his hold tightened.

"I will try, and I will succeed." His smile turned blatantly sensual. "I will have you. Body, heart and soul."

Her limbs trembled. She began to scoot backward in the bed, but he held her firm. His fingers slid under her wrist. Tightened. Pulled her with gentle firmness toward him. Her shift drew taut over her chest. The skin across her throat and breasts tingled as though he had touched her there.

"Come here, wife. I hunger to taste you."

Excitement buzzed through her like a big, unpredictable bee.

His gaze darkened. Smoldered.

He stared at her lips, then bent his head toward her.

"Fane —" she whispered, an instant before his mouth touched hers. Warm, sure, his lips branded her with his taste, words, and intentions.

He nipped her bottom lip. Sucked it between his lips. She jerked back, but he pursued. Teased. As though she had no say over her traitorous body, her mouth opened like a budding flower worshipping the sun. His tongue glided between her lips. She groaned with the pleasure. With the hunger that flamed deep within her. How could she fight him, when he made her feel like this? How could she resist when, very soon, he would ask her to lie back and yield?

As she drew in a helpless, shuddered breath, he ended the kiss. Drew away. Smiled.

He caught her hands in his. He shook, as though with urgent need, yet he placed a tender kiss on the back of her fingers. "Good night, Rexana."

"Good . . . night?"

He nodded. Set her hand upon the mattress. Patted her fingers, as though he regretted ending their encounter but had no choice in the matter.

He lay back on his pillow, folded his hands upon the sheets, and closed his eyes.

Rexana shook the bewilderment from her kiss- fogged mind. She stared at his handsome face, then the firm slash of his lips which had plied her with temptation. "You do not wish to couple, milord?" Fie! Her body burned like a May Day bonfire.

His right eye flicked open. "You are disappointed? I thought —"

"Nay,
I. . ."

He yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. "I am more weary than I realized. 'Twas an eventful day. Do not worry yourself. I have no wish to take you, after all."

Yawning again, he turned onto his side. Faced away from her. He exhaled a long breath and lay still.

Rexana frowned. She stared at Fane's scarred back, and his hair tangled on the pillowcase. Confusion, desire and disappointment swirled inside her with the force of a spring gale. He did not want her. He had rejected her. He had preserved her virginity. She should be delighted, not yearning for him to change his addled mind.

She wriggled back to her side of the bed. The ropes squeaked and groaned. Her shift had somehow knotted itself around her knees so, with a scowl, she sat up, swept aside the sheets, and straightened the garment, eliciting more squeaks and groans. Fane did not stir.

Curling on her side, she watched firelight dance on his hair. Admired the swell of his muscled shoulder, limned by golden light. Dreamed of his wondrous kisses.

Thank the saints, he did not know how she hungered.

Smothering a curse, Fane listened to Rexana's fidgeting. He counted each of the bed's creaks and groans. Wondered, with perverse curiosity, what noises it would make when he thrust into her slick, willing warmth.

God's teeth, his entire body ached for release.

Fane gritted his teeth. Fought the urge to roll over and kiss her until she gasped, moaned, then begged him to take her. He fisted his hands into the sheets. Fought the longing to touch and taste her satiny skin. He squeezed his eyes tight. Fought to ignore the sensual dance his mind invented between her and him.

Valiantly, he leashed his thoughts to concentrate on the fire's bright flames and soothing hiss. What he endured was no different than what he had suffered in
Gazir's
dungeon. A different kind of physical torture, aye, but one he would survive. This torment was necessary if he wished to have Rexana body, heart and soul, and to win her love.

He exhaled against the pillow. If only his loins understood that if he took her virginity this night, he might lose her forever. He would not allow resentment to build an emotional barrier between them, or for her to claim that he had forced her against her wishes.

She must be handled with care, dignity and honor. With all the courtesies she expected of a civilized English nobleman.

Only one little detail remained. A matter he must settle in the morn, to protect his own manly honor.

He watched the fire for a long time. His breathing slowed. Deepened. The lust in his blood dimmed, but it would never disappear. Not when Rexana lay in his bed. Not when he pictured her lips pursed in slumber and the rise and fall of her breasts.

Dragging up another dose of willpower, he sighed.

He prayed morning came soon.

Someone nudged
Rexana's
shoulder
. She grumbled, tried to snuggle deeper into the warm cocoon of bedding, and savor the remnants of a dream. The vision resurfaced. Her, dancing naked in a verdant meadow that smelled of violets, while in the nearby shadows, a man watched.

"Wake up, love."

Fane's voice shattered her reverie. As her eyes flew open, memories of the previous night flooded back to her. His incredible kisses. His refusal. The craving that had taunted her until her eyelids became so heavy, she could no longer deny sleep. She bolted upright. Remembered, at the last instant, to drag the sheets with her and clutch them to her bosom.

He stood beside her, his mouth a taut line. He had dressed. A hunter green tunic hugged his torso and fell to his thighs. A belt defined his waist, and his legs were encased in snug black hose tucked into leather boots. She cleared an appreciative purr from her throat. Dismissed the renewed tingle of wanting. She had no wish to couple with him.

Not the slightest. Not one.

Not when her brother was a prisoner in the dungeon, and his life depended upon her.

Not when she intended to stay virgin, so when Rudd was free, she could annul her marriage.

Rexana shoved the inconvenient hunger to the back of her mind, along with stinging regret. Saving Rudd was far more important than dangerous delusions of pleasure between her and Fane. She must not let desire interfere with what must be done.

Raising her lashes, she looked at Fane. Shadows darkened under his eyes. He looked as though he had slept as little as she. A tiny, foolish thrill comforted her. Mayhap he had not been as unaffected by the kiss as he wanted her to believe?

"Have you looked your fill, wife? If so, I ask that you get out of bed."

Her cheeks stung. She thought to remind him how long
he
seemed to spend looking at her breasts, but a sudden yawn curtailed the words. " '
Tis
dawn already?" she asked.

" '
Tis
before daybreak. The servants have not yet begun their duties."

She swallowed an exasperated grumble. A draft chilled her back and she pulled the bedding tighter around her. "Why must we rise so early? Is this some strange eastern custom?"

"I want the sheets."

Her sleepy mind refused to enlighten her. "Sheets?"

He dragged his hand over his chin. Scowled as though he would rather not have to explain himself. "Little fig, if you do not rise this instant —"

She sighed. "You need the bedding that urgently, milord?"

"Aye." As though barely restraining his impatience, he shifted his stance. Set one hand on the bedside table. Metal glinted close to his fingers. A dagger. An exotic looking knife with a jeweled sheath and handle. The hair at her nape prickled. She did not doubt he knew how to use such a weapon.

Why had he brought it? Her muzzy mind leapt with possibilities. Had she annoyed him somehow? Would he threaten her with the dagger if she did not obey? Her breath quickened to nervous pants. She looked from the knife, to him. "What. . . Oh, my . . . Would you —"

"Love?"

She tore back the bedding. Scrambled off the mattress. As her feet hit the cold floorboards, she gasped.