Gaelen Foley - Ascension 02

by Princess

  Eyes closed, she nestled her face against his hair, loving him, suffused with a tender sense of protectiveness toward him. She closed her eyes in bliss.

  Mine, she thought. Arms around him, she drifted off to sleep.

  He awoke in the pearl-gray light of dawn and knew that overnight his whole world had changed. The scent of her skin filled his nostrils, the softness of her body pillowed his head. She was still sleeping, one slender arm still draped around his neck.

  Darius lifted his heavy head from her chest and gazed down at her, utterly lost in her. He stared at her bare skin, pearlescent in the half-light, her elegant white shoulders. Her robe lay in a pool of blue satin on the floor beside the bed, for he had found it had been impossible to sleep the whole night through without touching her again, waking her with kisses and caresses, catching her cries of climax on his tongue.

  Her sooty curls fanned out on the pillow in luxuriant disarray. Her plump, berry lips were slightly parted, her breathing steady and slow. The warm, white sheets that smelled of sex were tangled around her hips like the garb of a classical goddess.

  Closing his eyes, he savored the memory of her surrender, then pressed a gentle kiss to her skin and rested his head on her midriff. It was the most peaceful moment of his life.

  In far-off regions of the house, he could hear the servants at work. He could smell breakfast cooking, could hear his men changing shifts below as the weary night guard shuffled into the barracks and the day men took their places. His impulse was to rise and follow his usual regimen: wash up, get dressed, check in with his squadron, exercise his horse, practice until breakfast, eat, and oversee the day. But last night he had made a decision to explore another kind of life . . . while he still had time.

  Hope, he mused, was a dangerous thing. Even now it was whispering to him that if he could shoot Napoleon and escape from Milan, he would be incontestably worthy of Serafina then.

  He’d be a hero to the world. All Europe would hail him. He could look Lazar in the eye and ask him for his daughter’s hand.

  Hope would have him ignore the fact that the chances of survival were nil.

  Heedless of the impossibility of it all, his heart soared with the dreams which for years he had been pretending did not exist. He owned an excellent property overlooking the sea on the outskirts of the city of Belfort. He’d build her a house there on the crest of the hill, a villa of casual elegance just to suit her, with red-tiled roofs, breezy, arcaded walks, fountains, enormous gardens, a domed menagerie for her animals. He’d buy her dresses and let her give parties, even if it meant seeing all those artificial people he despised, just so he could watch her shine. And if he ever felt ready to share her, he’d give her a child. . . .

  Agonized, he lifted his head again and gazed down at her, this soft, fragile, yet feisty, maddeningly willful, irresistibly charming, and generous, most necessary creature.

  How had he lived without her this long?

  Wistfully, his gaze followed the intricate coils of one sable curl, twining over her shoulder and down across her slowly rising and falling chest, spiraling soft black silk on her white-blossom skin. She had the longest lashes he had ever seen. Tiny, very light blue veins graced her eyelids, and her delicate skin was as soft and white as the petals of a camellia.

  Her beauty depressed him under the circumstances.

  Morosely, he rolled onto his side next to her, planted his elbow on the pillow, and watched her sleep in an unbearable mix of adoration and despair, but then his heart lifted when he caught the flicker of a smile on her lips as she slept.

  Little imp, what was she dreaming? he wondered in soft delight.

  The smile faded, only to burst out a moment later with a sudden giggle that woke her.

  When she realized she had waked herself with laughing, Serafina laughed harder, and when her violet eyes opened, she didn’t seem to find it the slightest bit strange that she should awake to find the king’s top assassin gazing, lovelorn, down at her.

  “You must tell me,” he drawled.

  Her just-waking voice was pebbly, scratchier than ever. “I was having the funniest dream! It was about you! Wait—first kiss me!” She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on the lips, stretching her slim, supple body slightly against him. Then she hugged him warmly. “Mm, Darius, you feel so good to me.”

  He scooped her into his embrace and rolled onto his back, pulling her atop him. Her wanton ringlets swung down around him in sable cascades. He loved the way her light weight felt atop him, her lush breasts pressed to his chest, her thighs straddling his hips. He ran both hands from her shoulders down the curve of her back to her bare backside, cupping both soft, firm cheeks in his hands.

  “You were saying?” he asked politely as his rod roared to fiery life, rock-hard and ready.

  “Feeling frisky again, Colonel?” she purred, her violet eyes laughing at him.

  He reined in his want by an act of will, folding his arms under his head. “I want to know what you were dreaming about me that was so frightfully funny.”

  With a cheerful grin, she pushed herself up to kneel astride his waist. She yawned and stretched wide, fully natural with her nakedness before him. He watched the lift of her breasts and the slimness of her flat waist, just as she no doubt intended him to.

  She threw her hair back over her shoulders to give him an unfettered view of her exquisite self, then coiled her mane into a long, silky black rope, and held it piled on top of her head. A few stray ringlets fell free, softly framing the delicate sculpture of her face.

  “I was dreaming about the time you were first assigned to the Household Guard, protecting me and my brother. Remember those days, Darius? You must have been, what, about eighteen?”

  He winced. “You’re making me feel old, child.”

  “You are old.”

  He scowled. She laughed and leaned down to kiss him. “Ohh, I’m just teasing you.” He hoped so, for at thirty-four, he was fourteen years her senior.

  “How scared I was of you,” she blithely continued. “So stiff and serious! So dignified!”

  “Well, naturally. I was outraged that a mighty warrior like myself should be assigned for a royal nursemaid,” he said.

  She laughed. “I was dreaming of the first day you showed up at the nursery. I was never so scared in my life!”

  “Of me?”

  “Ugh!” she exclaimed, fluffing out her hair so that it spilled around her upper body again. “Those fiery black eyes—that scowl! You marched in when I was in the middle of a temper tantrum.”

  “I remember. You’d flung yourself onto the floor. Whenever your nurse tried to lead you away, you’d make your entire body go limp—”

  “Like a noodle,” she chimed in.

  “So that if anyone wanted to move you, you had to be dragged.”

  “Nobody dared drag me,” she archly pointed out. “What a spoiled little monster I was.”

  “Not spoiled,” he said softly. “Just headstrong. And unhappy. Besides, whatever it was you were protesting, you had smacked your head on the floor when you threw yourself down. That’s why you were crying.”

  “Everyone was cajoling me, ‘Oh, please, Principessa, what do you want? Name your price, anything, just stop screaming!’ I’m thinking, I want my Mama, but she’s got more important things to do, like saving the world. I want my Papa, but he’s always busy. If I want to see either of them, it has to be at the appointed time and I must be on my best behavior. I hate my nurses. There’s nobody nice in the whole world!”

  Darius shook his head, watching her with a half-smile.

  “I’m kicking and thrashing down on the hard floor. My baby brother—whom I despise—is caterwauling somewhere nearby. Ten frazzled adults are pleading with me, and then I see these shiny black boots with silver spurs. Up and up I crane my neck, feeling icy doom upon me.”

  He laughed. Her eyes sparkled, starred with black lashes.

  “Do you recall what you said to me
, O fierce one?”

  “That I would box your ears?”

  She shook her head. “Worse. You called me a baby and told me I was making a fool of myself. I hated your guts,” she declared, then smiled. “For about ten minutes. You got rid of my governesses with one of your scowls. ‘Back off!’ you said, with your voice like a whip. I said to myself, ‘Well, at least he has a brain.’ You made me do everything I didn’t want to do, such as eating my food rather than painting the nursery walls with it, but do you know what? Whenever you were around, I always felt calmer. Strange,” she purred with a suddenly mischievous look.

  She leaned down and slipped her arms around his neck. “For when I’m with you now, calm is the last thing I feel. No . . .” She caressed his bare chest. “I must confess to a most feverish state of excitement.” She gave him another soft kiss full on the lips.

  His hands molded the curve of her lower back, and his temporarily slackened arousal responded at once. He was solid in seconds, his blood hot for her. He caressed her thighs astride his hips, wondering if she was game for more love play or if he ought to give the girl a decent break. She made a soft sound of pleasure at his caresses.

  Entranced by her innocence, he slipped a hand around her nape and kissed her, wondering how much longer he could go on like this. The need to lay her down and bury himself inside of her was almost more than he could bear.

  She ended the kiss with another happy little sigh and laid her head on his chest, stroking his biceps. He kissed the top of her head and moved his arms around her, linking his fingers over her silky-smooth back.

  “How about your childhood, Darius?” she asked at length. “What was that like?”

  His long, leisurely caress froze midway down her back. His whole body tensed. She couldn’t have found a better way to quash his amorous mood.

  She pushed up from his chest and looked at him with calm, penetrating intelligence, as though she had long since deduced it had been horrible.

  Horrible.

  When he found his voice, it came out a trifle hoarsely. “Let’s not spoil the day.” He forced a false, painful grimace of a smile.

  She blinked slowly, her eyes still sleepy, and searched his face with a troubled look of compassion. She nodded and gave his cheek a soothing caress with her knuckles. “It’s all right, Darius. It’s all right.”

  Her gaze fell to the scar on his lips and he thought in sudden panic, No. Don’t ask me.

  She drew breath to speak. He didn’t give her the chance.

  “So, what do you want to do today?” he asked smoothly. With a playful growl, he spilled her off him and swept to his feet, his knees shaking slightly as he jumped out of bed and began dressing.

  When two or three minutes passed and she still had not answered, he turned around. His forced smile died to find her looking at him. Still in bed, she lay on her side, her head braced on one hand. He cast about for anything to say.

  “What would it take to make you trust me?” she asked softly.

  He stared at her, heart pounding. At last he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

  She nodded, searching his eyes with a gentle gaze. “Good enough.” She sat up and held out her arms to him. “Come here. Let me check your stitches before you put on your shirt.”

  He finished buttoning his trousers and walked back to her, sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulder to her. She examined her work. He was tense the whole time, barely hearing her as she told him the stitches looked good and that he was healing nicely.

  Sitting behind him, she startled him when she embraced him and snuggled against his cheek. He tensed, bracing himself for a fight, knowing with every atom of his being that any second now she was going to demand again that he spill his guts.

  She was just thinking over the words to ease into it. He knew it. He had been through it a hundred times. How did you get this scar? Every damned woman he met wanted to vivisect him.

  “Darius,” she murmured.

  “Yes?” he said tautly, an armory of defenses at his fingertips. Damn it, I trusted you.

  “Let’s fly kites.”

  “What?” He turned around and stared at her.

  “You remember those Chinese kites you gave me one year for Christmas? I still have them!” she said brightly. “I brought them.” She kissed his cheek. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  She went on chattering happily, but he was no longer listening, staring suspiciously at her. Something very strange was going on.

  A short while later, they were traipsing out into fields crowded with butterflies and wildflowers under the wide, blue sky.

  Darius wasn’t sure exactly what he had gotten himself into.

  The yellow ribbons on Serafina’s wide-brimmed straw bonnet billowed out behind her, getting in his face, tickling, teasing him as he followed her. He hefted their picnic basket in his right hand, a folded blanket under his left arm, with a strange feeling in his brain that he had stepped into a dream-world.

  On a secluded hilltop acres away from the main compound, yet within the confines of the villa’s wall, they came to a large, glittering pond in the middle of a green pasture.

  “Oh, Darius, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed.

  “I found it looking for you yesterday.” Squinting against the sun, he scanned the area for any possible threat, then reminded himself it was broad daylight and he had twenty men posted on the walls. Relax, for God’s sake, he told himself, then he gave Serafina a lazy grin. “Let’s go.”

  They crossed the field.

  The grasses were up to their knees, and wildflowers abounded, little stars of yellow, white, and purple. Insects chirped, and here and there grasshoppers arced across their path. They found a shady spot under a huge elm tree. Darius spread out the blanket, snapping it open with soldierly efficiency. They left the picnic basket behind and went to fly the kites.

  The kites were beautiful to see against the azure sky, the swirl of colors from their festooned tails plunging and soaring.

  He forgot about everything, for more beautiful still was Serafina’s delight. He indulged her when she clapped her hands for him to make the kite race along the surface of the water like an eagle scanning for fish. Of course, he grew cocky at the game, trying to make it zoom nearer and nearer the water until he finally sank the kite in the pond.

  Serafina laughed her head off as he stared at his broken toy in dismay. The kite floated, parti-colored, on the water’s surface like a drowned jester.

  He pulled the string and it moved sluggishly toward the reedy shore.

  She pointed, laughing to the point of tears. “Go get it, Santiago.”

  He growled without menace and rolled up his sleeves. He kicked off his boots and rolled his black trousers up to his shins. She was still giggling as he squared his shoulders and marched, resolute, to the pond.

  Serafina helped him carry the kite out of the water, and while Darius went about laying it out on the grass to dry, she returned to their blanket in the shade and unpacked their picnic, her bare feet tucked under her. It was simple fare much the same as what they’d had last night, sliced meats and cheeses, grapes, a marvelous loaf of bread, and wine, but somehow she felt she had never dined so richly.

  In a few minutes, Darius joined her, barefoot in the grass, black waistcoat hanging unbuttoned over his loose white shirt.

  “Hello, handsome,” she said with a coquettish smile.

  He gave her a rueful look. She watched him kneel down on the blanket. He reached into the leather satchel he’d brought and produced his battered copy of his favorite book, Don Quixote.

  He offered her the book. “Read to me. Any page. Doesn’t matter.”

  She took the book from him, shifted off her knees, and sat on the blanket. He lay back propped on his elbows and looked around as though he couldn’t decide how to arrange himself comfortably. She smiled at him when he caught her eye. She patted her lap in invitation.

  He arched a brow. “Tempting.”
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br />   “The best seat in the house.”

  He came toward her on hands and knees and lay down on his back, resting his head on her lap, his long legs sprawled out over the blanket, one knee bent. Settling against her, he let out a tremendous sigh of contentment. “You’re comfortable.”

  She smiled to herself and opened the book.

  He ate the cheese and grapes while she drank wine and read aloud to him, combing her hand through his damp hair, sifting his forelock through her fingers, absently unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt to caress his chest and play with the medal of the Virgin.

  All the while, he twirled one of her tresses around and around his finger, his face nestled against her body. When the slight tug on her hair stopped, she glanced down and found him dozing, eyes closed.

  She lowered the book and stared down at him, feeling her whole chest compress with emotion at the beauty of him, trusting her so sweetly, he—the spy, the assassin—who trusted no one. On this magical afternoon, she felt as though she had captured a unicorn. Yes, she thought fancifully, a unicorn stallion with great liquid brown eyes.

  The thought that she must soon let him go free again was enough to make her want to cry. She shoved the thoughts violently away. The future did not exist here. There was only him, and now.

  Plucking a blade of grass, she tickled his sun-bronzed cheek with it.

  “There’s an ant on you,” she whispered.

  “Mm, no,” he mumbled, eyes closed. “It’s just you being a nuisance.”

  She smiled and threw the grass away, then set the book down, dog-eared. She began stroking his chest and flat belly through his shirt, staring earnestly at his face as she fought with her uncertainties.

  His eyes swept open. “What’s the matter, butterfly?”

  “Oh, Darius.” Cradling his head in both arms, she leaned down and reverently kissed his brow. She stayed like that for several minutes, holding him, eyes closed. “You are so sweet. I want—I want to keep you all to myself.”