by Princess
He swallowed hard. “Serafina, I have not been honest with you.”
“Shh,” she whispered, placing her fingertip over his lips. “I know, I know.”
“I can’t run anymore. I’m so sick of pretending—”
“Shh,” she breathed. “You don’t have to explain. You’re with me now.”
He stared at her.
Lifting her hand, very gently she traced the crescent-shaped scar on his mouth with her fingertip. He flinched but did not pull away, watching her face, unsure if he felt redemption or despair.
Without warning, she curled upward and kissed the curved scar softly, lingeringly.
He slid his arms beneath her and held her to him, tangling his fingers in her curly hair. She whispered his name, kissed his cheek and neck. She caressed his arms, carefully avoiding his hurt shoulder.
Striving for sanity, he closed his eyes, but the smell of her skin was too tempting. He lost the battle, dipped his head, and pressed a kiss to her throat.
He heard her whispered groan. She lay back on the forest floor and tilted her head back, offering herself. He stroked her hair as he covered her throat in kisses.
He did not know how long they went on like that, holding and touching, exchanging soft kisses like two innocent children, rapt with discovery. Certainly it was not the way he conducted his usual seductions.
This was nothing like that. His soul was on fire. With her, he was as raw and heated and uncertain as the virgin in his arms.
Dusk deepened in the woods. Their movements released the earthy scents of the dried leaves and the soft, velvety moss that was their bed. Night birds sang lonely melodies of love.
He became intensely aware of her hands sliding over his body, exploring his back, his sides, his hips. Somehow she had untied his cravat without his noticing. She caressed his neck, hooking her finger through the silver chain bearing the medal she had given him. Kissing the crook of her neck, he felt her hips lift beneath him in fiery instinct.
Lust slammed through his body. He gave her left leg a nudging caress with his right knee. She yielded, opening her thighs, allowing him to lie between her legs. He was rock-hard, certain that one touch of her hand could make him explode.
His pulse was wild, and he could feel her heartbeat pounding in her body. She ran her fingers through his hair. He dragged his eyes open and looked at her, panting slightly.
She was breathless, her lips slightly parted. Her violet eyes were glazed with wonder as she discovered her desire, feverish with need that mirrored his own. She tilted her head back, staring at him hotly, as if he were already sheathed deeply inside her.
He slid his fingers through her hair, cradling her head in his hand. He wet his lips, swallowed hard, hesitating, afraid of he knew not what.
So afraid.
“Serafina,” he said in a trembling whisper.
“Yes. Darius, yes.” She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her.
The future, the world beyond the forest dissolved along with his resistance. Years of resistance, futile from the start. He belonged to this girl, body and soul, and he knew it.
With relief so exquisite he could have wept, he smoothly lowered his head and kissed her lips.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She kissed him back ardently, her whole soul in it. She could barely believe it was happening. She was kissing Darius Santiago—her idol, her demon, her knight.
He cupped her face as he kissed her lips softly again and again, dizzying her. He tasted of mint and warmth and male. He was so gentle, each kiss a soft caress of his warm, sculpted mouth on hers. She could feel his rushing pulse under her palm as she stroked his neck. She gloried in the weight and strength of his muscled body atop her. Sifting her fingers through his silky black hair, she returned his kisses eagerly.
He began kissing her more insistently, stroking the corner of her lips with the pad of his thumb. He seemed to grow impatient.
She tried to pull back. “I don’t know what you want—”
“Open your mouth,” he murmured, his low voice roughened by desire.
“What, are you sure?” she began, but when she parted her lips to speak, he filled her mouth with a kiss a thousand times beyond her dreams.
Astonished, she sank back helplessly in his arms. He clenched her hair in his hands and stroked her tongue deeply, richly with his own, hungrily. It was a kiss that merged them, a wild, mystical, and mutually claiming kiss that tasted of eternity.
She could feel the impact of the boundary they had crossed, resounding out into the universe, altering everything.
When she tilted her head and began kissing him back in this soul-deep way, tentatively at first, he gave a soft, heady groan.
“Oh, God, I adore you,” he whispered.
She stopped, absorbing his words with amazement. She captured his angular face between her hands and searched his eyes. “Do you mean that?”
He returned her gaze without facade or pretense.
“I would die for you,” he said.
She stared at him, pained with sweetest anguish, then pulled him gently toward her and intensified the kiss. For a long moment, they were completely caught up in kissing, then she felt his hand inch lower, toward the neckline of her dress, as if he burned to touch her breasts but did not dare. His fingertips skimmed horizontally along her modest neckline. She thought of all the times she had caught him staring and smiled to herself against his mouth, covering his hand with her own.
“Is this what you want?” she murmured, moving his hand lower, molding it over her breast.
He drew in his breath, partly a moan. She closed her eyes and lay back again in drifting pleasure as his warm hands caressed and explored her, gently kneading her flesh. She opened her eyes heavily when she felt the small tug at the buttons on the front of her dress. He gave her a challenging look from under his glossy forelock, as if daring her to stop him. She smiled sightly, watching him. “Mmm.” She shivered when he slid his hands inside her bodice, gently pulling it down.
He moved back and stared at her breasts, then lifted his stare to hers. He seemed too moved to speak.
The knowledge that she pleased him sent a pang of joy down through the core of her body.
Slowly, he knelt over her, kissing her forehead tenderly while he grazed his fingertips lightly down the valley between her breasts. He caressed her midriff, then brushed her nipples lightly with his knuckles, watching her face for her reaction, glancing down at their instant plumping. He leaned down and brushed his face against her breasts.
“Oh, Serafina.” He shuddered with longing against her. “You are so soft.”
He cupped her breasts in both hands, burying his face between them. He turned his face to kiss the inner curve of one, then the other. She felt her nipples swell and harden beneath the gentle kneading of his hands until they ached with fullness. His eyes closed, he rooted against her softness. Heart racing, she leaned, arching her back slightly, offering herself instinctively. He opened his mouth and accepted her taut, swollen nipple for a first, tentative suck.
She gasped and her eyes shot open wide at the hot, wet tug of his mouth. She stared at the black branches far overhead with the indigo sky beyond them. She had never felt such pleasure.
Spurred on by her response, he wrapped his hand around her breast and suckled upon her, his mouth hot and wild. Her eyes drifted closed again. She moaned softly, holding him.
Hungrily, he moved to the other breast, sucking hard.
Suddenly he paused, as though surprised.
She barely had time to wonder why when he groaned aloud and gripped her breast harder, sucking her nipple with fierce, uncontrollable passion. He was inflamed, his hands all over her, stroking her legs, between her legs. He moved up over her and took her mouth with deep, forceful kisses. She was overwhelmed by his passion.
“I tasted you. I tasted your milk,” he whispered fiercely. She did not know if that was possible, but she had no time to wonder, fo
r without warning, he swooped down over her and claimed her mouth.
Driving her lips apart with his kiss, he forced the lingering sweetness of her body’s milk from his tongue onto hers. She cried out with surprise when he pinned her wrists to the forest floor and stared brashly into her eyes.
“You are mine,” he ground out. “You know you are.”
She stared up at him in silence, barely daring to breathe.
He was panting, his onyx eyes flashing like heat lightning. She did not know what he intended, she only knew he was far stronger than she. His hard chest against her, she could feel his rushing pulse.
“You know you are mine,” he whispered again. “Say it.”
Was he asking for permission to deflower her? she thought in alarm. She meant to ease him back to reason with a tactful reminder that she was soon to marry another man—a man who would probably kill her if she came to her wedding night not a virgin—but when she opened her mouth, only one word slipped out. “Yes.”
He stared at her.
She was not sure what she had just done. She could not read him, wasn’t sure if her admission had satisfied him.
He touched her face, stroked her hair, then suddenly bent down and scooped her into a fierce hug. “Angel. I frightened you.”
“No, Darius,” she told him bravely.
He held her for a long moment. “We should go. They’re looking for us.”
Neither of them made any move to get up.
“I shouldn’t have let this happen,” he said.
She gazed at him. “It’s too late now.”
“I am afraid you will regret it.” He avoided her eyes. “You know it can’t last.”
She touched his cheek, turning his face to meet her stare. “I’ll never regret it, Darius. Will you?”
He looked at her for a moment, then slowly shook his head.“No. It’s just that I can’t promise you anything beyond our time here.” He covered her hand with his own. “If you get close to me now, it will hurt when it’s time for us to go.”
She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “Any amount of time with you is worth the pain to me,” she murmured.
“My fearless Princesa. You continually amaze me,” he said with a soft, sad chuckle as his arms tightened around her.
She looked at him thoughtfully.
“Did you really get rid of my chaperons?”
“Oh, yes, indeed,”
“How?” She braced herself on his chest and gazed down at him. Her hair swung down like a silken veil around him.
“Told Belfort it was too dangerous to send any more staff right now.”
“You lied to my father?” she exclaimed. “You?”
He knit his brow. “I would hardly say I lied. A carriage could easily be followed.”
She laughed in delight. “You lied to Papa so that we could be together!”
“So what if I did?” he retorted.
“Nothing. I always knew you liked me best. Now you have fought the dragons for me.” At his scowl, she gave him a fond squeeze. “You know how I hate having some old dragon-lady looking over my shoulder every second.”
‘I know. I would, too.”
“I owe you one for this, Santiago.”
“Really?” he drawled. His jet-black hair tousled, his mouth beestung with kissing, he eyed her breasts.
Her eyes widened. “Darius, really.” Quickly, she scrambled off him with a heated blush and began buttoning her dress.
Chuckling at her alarm, he pinched her cheek and swept to his feet. As she hurriedly righted her clothes, he turned back to her and offered his hand. She grasped it and jumped up with a smile of undisguised adoration.
They left the woods hand in hand, walking in silence.
Darius captured Jihad in the field while Serafina gathered up her botany tome and her basket of plants. She put her brown kid ankle boots back on without fastening them. Darius insisted that they both could ride the horse, so she soon found herself seated sidesaddle across his lap while he rode astride.
She balanced her basket on her lap as she leaned securely against Darius, savoring the steadying feel of his arm around her waist. Her head resting on his chest, she stared up at him while he guided the horse homeward through the thickening dark.
The horse carried them back through the fields at a stately walk. By the time the lights of the yellow villa came in sight, the gray-pearl dusk had turned into a clear, starry night. When they rode back into the compound, one of the men spotted their movement in the darkness.
“There’s the colonel!”
Half a dozen soldiers came running toward them.
“Colonel!”
“Have you found her?”
“It’s all right,” Darius called as they came presently under the sphere of light from the nearest wrought-iron lantern. “I have found the princess, as you can see.”
Serafina blushed, looking about her, as eyebrows were raised when the soldiers saw the royal protectee seated in their colonel’s lap.
Darius carried on in his curt, businesslike way as if there were nothing one jot unusual about it. “You,” he said sternly to a young private, “go tell the kitchens Her Highness will dine in half an hour.” He gave a few more miscellaneous commands, then ordered the others back to their posts.
She observed his impact on his men with one part admiration, one part amusement. His style of giving orders was certainly different from her father’s. The king’s orders were notoriously sketchy and swift, for he expected or at least hoped that the men around him would use their own brains. Darius was not so optimistic. He expected his orders to be carried out meticulously, unquestioningly, the same manner in which they were given by him.
When the men had scattered to their duties, Darius clucked to Jihad and the horse walked on.
“They will gossip,” she murmured tautly.
“My men are loyal.” He flinched a little to speak the word, then said nothing more, brooding. She knew he was thinking of her father.
She thought of Anatole and did not feel the slightest twinge of guilt. However, it would not do for rumors to get back to the Russian diplomats. “What if they spread tales when we return to Belfort?”
“Who says we are ever going back?” he murmured. “Maybe I’ll kidnap you myself.”
“Would you, please?” she asked wistfully.
He laughed softly, sadly, then shifted both reins into one hand and caressed her shoulder, pulling her closer as they neared the stable. “There, there, little pet. Never worry about my men.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I am sure. Let nothing frighten you.” Fondly he nuzzled her hair. “If there is any unpleasantness, I shall attend to it. Trust me. Hungry?”
“You are changing the subject.”
He gave her a devastating smile as he reined in before the wide, open stable doors. “I’ll see you at dinner, angel. Wear something pretty for me. Preferably low-cut, if you please.”
“You are impossible,” she whispered, smiling in spite of herself.
His dark eyes danced. “I pride myself on it.”
Half an hour later, she sat gazing across the dinner table at Darius, thinking with a contented sigh that he was the handsomest man on the earth, and the bravest, and the cleverest, and the best.
Fresh-scrubbed and dashing in his officer’s uniform, he was seduction incarnate. The shiny gold buttons on his smartly cut scarlet coat were undone, revealing the white satin waistcoat beneath. His white cravat was immaculate as always. He wore black broadcloth breeches, gleaming black boots, and his silver dress sword.
Dim candlelight from the chandelier sculpted his high cheekbones in shadow and kissed his sun-bronzed skin with a soft glow. His lips looked soft and plump, and the dramatic angles of his face had softened, for his mood was sensual and relaxed.
She savored his presence, making sure he ate plenty, and thanking all the pagan gods like the ones sporting in the lush Baroque fresco on the ceiling above h
er that she had no chaperon.
Sipping her wine, she glanced up again uneasily at the marvelous painting overhead, which depicted the lovers Mars and Venus caught in the golden net fashioned by the jealous husband Vulcan.
She opted not to point it out to Darius. He hadn’t noticed it, staring only at her face and at the plunging neckline of the lilac silk she had worn sheerly to indulge him.
“I adore you, Santiago,” she declared, resting her cheek dreamily in her hand.
He looked up, finished chewing, took a drink of red wine, and crooked a finger at her, wiping his mouth with his linen napkin.
She straightened up in her seat. “What is this—you are summoning me like the sultan?” she exclaimed indignantly.
“I only want to give you a treat, Princesa.” He plucked a strawberry from the centerpiece, dipped it in his wine, then held it out to her with a flash of wickedness in his dark eyes. “Don’t you want it? Come and get it,” he said softly.
“Ooh, a treat for me?” Laughing, she rose from her seat and leaned toward him across the table, reaching for it.
“No, no, you have to come and take it if you want it,” he chided with a devilish smile, coaxing her toward him until she climbed up onto the table and, laughing all the while, crawled slowly toward him on hands and knees across the table, sliding laden silver platters out of the way to clear her path.
“Here comes my dessert,” he taunted.
She giggled. “My, what a large appetite you have!”
“A little closer,” he murmured, holding the strawberry tantalizingly just out of reach of her mouth. She tried to get it and he pulled it away.
“Scoundrel, I want it,” she pouted.
“Come and get it. Hurry. It’s dripping,” he whispered, eyeing the drop of wine that had collected at the strawberry’s tip. “Catch it, Serafina.”
She did. She caught the drop of wine on her tongue, licking the underside of the ripe, red strawberry slowly while he held it for her.