When her head moved forward, she felt it, the quick tightening of her hair as it tangled up around his fingers. It wasn’t really apparent whether or not he’d fisted up a handful of it, or he’d been holding it tightly the entire time, but it kept her right where she was. He was strong, even with such a simple grip she felt suddenly powerless. It was a feeling she’d never felt in this way before, it thrilled her as much as it terrified her.
He leaned in close even as her fingers reached for the sides of the tub, his grip dragging her head back a little before she felt his words tickle at her ear, “You’ve a little minx in you don’t you? I saw ‘er in your eyes there. Don’t you go drawin’ attention though… that’d put a chamber pot right there in your devious little plan.”
“Yours too I’d think… no job, no payment?”
“Oh, there are plenty of people out there whining about somebody or other needin’ to be dead fast. I don’t need all your gold… I just want it, lucky for you.”
“Why are you here?” It was finally sinking in that he was there and that the servants had all left and there was no one else in the room they were in. For once she had no idea what his motivation was, when every other man she’d ever met had been counted as predictable. It made her nervous…
“Had to prove myself to m’lady, didn’t I? You give off the impression you think everyone’s incapable of everything. Sound about right?”
She felt incredulous at hearing his response. Out of everything she’d expected to hear, that hadn’t been one of them. Her eyes widened up, and her fingers curled a little against the sides of the tub as she mulled over his words. No man had ever proven himself to her, had even cared to attempt such a thing. Had even cared what she thought or admired or desired. How had he even known what she wanted, what she was thinking? She hadn’t said it aloud. She’d kept her opinions about his boisterous claims to herself mostly. Everyone else was oblivious to her snide remarks and sarcastic inflections, a bit of fake enthusiasm and innocence and they suspected nothing.
“Why?” The single word that escaped her held all manner of questioning in it.
“Why, what?” He responded, even as he loosened his hold in her hair and moved a little more into her view, tousled hair, dark eyes and all. “Why do you give off that impression, or why did I have to prove myself? One might be a bit more… offensive… to answer than the other.” A grin flashed across his face.
“Why do you care what I think?”
How it could possibly be offensive, she didn’t know, couldn’t fathom. She was so flustered it was refreshing. She had absolutely no idea how to respond to him, couldn’t even think of what to say or how to act to give off the right impression and save face. She’d never felt so confused by a man in all her life.
“Can’t stand to have a pretty woman thinking I can’t do what I say, and there are many things I can do you wouldn’t believe. If I’m lucky, I’ll have to prove some more of them?” There was that gleam in his eyes, the one that said he knew things that’d make her squirm.
God help her she wanted to know what they were, she wanted to encourage him, even if that wasn’t the wisest thing to do. He was dangerous, the fact that he was even there should have had her fainting in the bathwater like some delicate flower, or struggling to cover herself, but she wasn’t. She was conversing with him casually as though she was used to such random happenstances. Her cover was blown apart, he saw who she really was, and every response she’d given him had been genuine and fresh. She found herself turning more to stare at him, and the invitation in her eyes was not fake. It was not employed to trick him, it was desperate, a wide-eyed sort of potent need that she’d be distraught if he ignored.
It would upset her, the missed opportunity.
“You will kill him for me?”
It was a question, it was a statement, and it was a demand all at once. A fervent sort of imploring plea. She was putting her hope in him, believing in him, even not knowing him. She had intended to manipulate him so that he’d carry the deed out for her without even realizing how much it would mean to her. But now? Now she wanted him to know, she didn’t mind if her soul was bared and he saw her desire for what it was. Saw the ugly intensity of her hatred and how determined she was to escape her situation. The question could have been worded differently, as it was the ‘will’ in it held an unspoken question. It held a ‘can you’ that expressed her fear. Her doubt in his abilities, the strength of his motivation for even doing what he’d promised to do.
His eyes narrowed a little, though they met her stare evenly. Surprisingly so. He didn’t seem shocked at her question, that she was capable of wanting someone dead. “I’d be willing to bet you could do it perfectly well yourself… but I do plan on killin’ the poor bastard for you.”
It was what she’d wanted to hear, but not at the same time. It still didn’t answer the question of why. His belief that she could do it herself had her shaking her head, it was beyond her capability to do something so monstrous. She was so out of her league already. Every day further into this insane plot she was pushing past what she’d thought she couldn’t do.
“I cannot…”
It translated to ‘will not’ but the semantics didn’t really matter because she needed him either way. Needed him to do what she couldn’t do, if she could have done it herself, she would have. She knew that now, her conscious would have been fine with it. She felt no guilt, only fear of being caught.
“You could, if you put your mind to it. You went to the trouble of roping the poor man’s brother into your plot… I bet you could do it. Wouldn’t that be a sight? I find the idea of you wielding a deadly dagger ravishing.”
It would be ravishing, forbidden and ravishing. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye even if her thoughts fell apart before the act could be taken due to her inexperience in such matters. “I would make a mistake.”
“Why do you say that? You say so as if killin’ a man is a difficult task.” His eyebrows rose, “all you do is stick ‘em with the pointed end? Avoid stickin’ yourself. Other swords are better suited for that task.”
She had never stabbed anything but the food on her plate, and it was readily apparent she didn’t really seem thrilled by that idea. Not that she couldn’t do it, just that it was such an inelegant and grotesque action to take when one usually wore dresses and was typically only concerned with proprietary status. “Such a chore, are you making excuses for why you do not want to do the job? This hardly builds confidence in you? If I wanted to stab my husband like some animal, I wouldn’t have searched you out in the first place. Is that how you kill every one of your marks? In such a simple-minded manner? I thought you were intelligent enough to come up with something craftier, something requiring some skill? I do not merely want him dead, I want to be free.”
Her fingers clutched at the sides of the tub, “Free of this castle, free of my constraints as his wife, free of suspicion… not fettered by the inept bumbling of a simpleton?!” He was grinning at her… why was he grinning at her like that?
“There’s the little minx… so much rage all kept up in that dainty little body. I wouldn’t tell you how I plan on killing your husband, it’d take away from your reaction, and we wouldn’t want that. I’m a simple man, m’lady… but I do know my way about killin’. You’ve nothin’ to worry your soft little heart over, save the venom for a better target.” His fingers sifted free of her hair and dropped to play in her bath water, though his gaze didn’t drop below her chin.
Her fingers trembled lightly, he was toying with her emotions and tangling her up with them. She didn’t know what to say, how to even out the turmoil she felt. “Boasts…” the whisper escaped her fervently, “All men do is boast… I’ll kill this this day, I’ll do this the other… I’m the best, no, the most skilled. All that ever comes out of a man’s mouth is boasting… and I have never been impressed. No, not by one… not a single one! I do not want to hear your promises, I want to see your actions. Spare your
breath, your words enrage me. Doubtless, you would say the same as all the rest… do you claim to be the most skilled? In bed? In fighting, in everything?”
Xavier’s lips pursed slightly as he seemed to seriously consider what she had said, “mathematics…” He said after a moment, “I’m fairly awful at mathematics, but then there’s really no use for them in my field. But I am the best I know at what I do, I killed the ones’at threatened my business. Could kill you too…” His hand disappeared from the side of the tub to retrieve his wicked sharp looking dagger, the metallic gleam of it dancing as it spun and somehow ended up biting into the curve of her throat just a little. “If I really wanted, caged birds are the easiest to kill, caged birds that don’t know how to use their claws are even easier. If all men do is boast, all women do is cower… even with all the power they wield.”
Even as her heart pounded, the wound on her throat stung slightly from the chill of the air that kissed against the dampness clinging to her still from the water. The solid feel of the knife at her throat something she’d never experienced in her entire life. Much like the tavern rising up in the midst of the storm with its scantily clad women and beckoning lights. It was just as foreign, and again she was out of her league. But she did not collapse at the threat, even if her mind was frozen, her emotions were not. She could not put on a polite face for him, could not employ trickery or flattery, nor did she want to.
Instead, she found herself acting instinctively, if he thought her capable of killing then she was more than capable of self-defense. It wasn’t as though she dared call another in to save her. Her feet kicked, and her hands splashed, water jumping up over her shoulder to hit him in the face even as her shoulder dropped a little and her body slid up against the side of the tub. A palm struck against his face with a sharp crack, wet skin making the sound of it louder than it needed to be. Then she was shoving at him, fair batting the blade away before she pushed up to her feet and lunged at him. If she killed him, then she would know she was capable of doing the deed herself. If a caged bird like herself that didn’t know how to use its claws could take him out, then obviously he was unfit to attempt to take the king's life on her behalf.
But even as she crashed into him, pinning him down to the cold stone floor, he was laughing. His hands up above his head, wet, ruddy hair in his glittering eyes. Laughing. At her. “My, I seem to’ve found myself in a predicament. A beautiful, naked woman is pinning me to the floor.” There was that devilish, crooked grin of his that had made her heart tremble the first time she’d seen it. “Mayhaps she’ll be merciful… better yet, mayhaps she won’t. Tell me, little bird, are you this vigorous in bed? Is that where your claws come out?”
She was in no mood to be merciful whatsoever, he had angered her. His laughter only compounded that, and she ignored his words even as her wet body settled against him, soaking his clothes, she was stretching over him and reaching for the discarded weapon. She would show him what happened when he taunted her. Two could play this game. As her arm stretched to take hold of the knife, his own arms were suddenly around her body. Her weight thrown off as she was rolled over and found herself suddenly on her back, looking up at him with wide blue eyes full of shock and anger.
“I like this position better…” He hadn’t once stopped grinning, even as he pinned her hands up above her head. “You never did introduce yourself, rude don’t you think? For such a high-born lady? Emeline is such a pretty name, though… doesn’t everyone know it?” Leaning closer his mouth touched against hers and she could feel the grin on his lips, feel the warmth of them. It called to something inside her that boiled right alongside her anger. He wasn’t hesitant about what he wanted at all, confidence was exuded from every breath and unlike Jeffrey and Harold when his body came to rest against hers… it fit. Every curve she had was answered by the firm muscle she could feel underneath his clothes. Even more so now that she was underneath him, it had her breathless, distracted.
“It is?” The question was flustered, off guard and it lacked her usual wit. She felt so simple, like some virgin girl that had just been tumbled into the hay with a local farm boy. The way he called her name pretty took precedence over everything. It was so difficult pulling the compliments out of his insults and vice versus. He was so damnably confusing.
“Aye, just like you are. Though you’re arguably a lot more’n pretty all naked and wet like you are…” One of his hands skimmed down her arm, continuing on down the side of her body to let his fingers fan out against her hip. “Do either of your fat noblemen treat you right? Goddess that you are?” The way his fingers curled into her flesh a little as he asked the question made it seem almost as though he was addressing it directly, as well as addressing her… even if his eyes still hadn’t left hers.
“No different than any other man would treat a wife he did not choose for love. But both would enjoy showing me off like some prize trinket… if that is what you mean? A docile keepsake until the shimmer of newness passes into aged cracks.”
She had quite forgotten the blade he’d nicked her with, her fingers had curled, her wrists caught up loosely in his fingers... and instead of frightened or upset she was soaking up the way his breath played against her skin and his body heat warmed her up. The way she shifted had his weight settling more fully against her, a leg moving between hers so that the roughness of his pants dragged against her enticingly. Her voice was raw with emotion even if the words she said were simple, a simplified statement of how things were. There was so much unsaid, so much that she could have said in answer to his question.
“And to think, so many young girls just dying to be where you are now. Not you, though I’d guess? Too much adventure in your spirit to be locked up… even if there are pretty jewels involved.” Those dark green eyes of his gleamed, catching the light from candles and refracting it back at her. Releasing her wrists from his grip, he planted that hand on the ground beside her head and let his other hand wander across her smooth stomach. “I knew a tavern girl once, looked a bit like you… they had her name herself after you, and it cost two gold coins to fuck her. Doubtless that wished she was you, what with all the unseemly, rude types that frequented the place. I always wondered if your attitude would be as similar to hers as your face is, but I think you’re far stronger. Why are you here, caged up where nobody can see it?”
She stared back at him entranced, despite his uncouth words and her shock at his story the very idea another would want to be in her place had her fair shivering. The slight trembles catching at tense muscles and making her breath slightly uneven. She did not want to be here, even knowing others were jealous of her, she would rather know a hundred men, have a hundred more use her body than let Harold be the only man to touch her. She’d gotten the barest taste of freedom, of the fact that it didn’t have to be unsatisfying every time. Maybe if she were in that other woman’s position… maybe he would have been one of the ones who’d paid the two gold just to enjoy her body.
More than an answer that they both knew she found that burning in her mind, she had to know. “Did you pay the two gold?” Did you want me? Even before I knew you existed? Did you think of me like that? Desire me? The way she asked the question was hushed, the look on her face the complete opposite from offended or mortified. Instead, her blue eyes were alight with her fascination, for how both of their worlds had collided. She felt hope, she hoped he had, she wanted him to. She wanted him now, wanted to listen to every story he could tell her and marvel at it. At how different it was from the superficial trivialities of her everyday life.
“Of course I did, I wanted to fuck her about as much as I want to fuck you. Enough to pay a couple gold pieces... And then a third just for her to keep. I’m a generous man when I get paid.” His fingers had ventured up to her breast, teasing against the soft skin and playing against the gentled peak of a nipple. “Ironically, though, if I fuck you… and then you pay me to kill your husband… it’s almost like you’re paying me to fuck you.”
<
br /> She caught up her breath, “I have no choice… unlike her. No man would dare pay two gold to fuck me. I have to pay you to be here… to give me what I want. Else no one would care, would take the risk that comes with stealing a queen away from a king. I refuse to wait for something that would not ever happen… instead, I will make it happen. A man’s greed is larger than his courage or his heart.”
“I’m not here because you’re paying me, in a roundabout way I am yes, but I’m here because I wanted to see you without all those baggy clothes on. Without the hood and the hushed tones. I’m right where I want to be… and it’s not greed that called me here. It was you.”
“Prove it, pay me two gold. Three even… for your generous heart.” Her eyes were alight, that coy sort of fire intensifying the crystalline blue of them. They avidly searched his face, her breath baited up to see what he would say to that. What he would choose to do.
“I pay after I take what I want, more like to get my money’s worth if every coin hangs in the balance. You want me to fuck you, just say it… or are you afraid of rejection?”
No man had rejected her, not a single one. Certainly not her husband and not Jeffrey. She had never set her sights on any others. So why was she afraid of him rejecting her? Her heart pounded, it made her giddy, made her faint with desire for him. Her hands were free yet they rested where he’d pinned them, just the memory of it weighing her body down like chains. Unrequited passion, it burned through her body, heated up her blood and after a moment’s hesitation she reached for him. Her fingers touching against his face, against the scruff of his almost beard. She’d wanted to touch him from the moment she’d met him, but the constraints of her situation, of who she was and who he was should have kept them apart.
Had kept them apart at the time.
She let her fingers trace his cheekbones, marveling at the structure of his face, the compact flawlessness of his rugged features. It was so incredible, wanting to touch. She had not ever touched any man the way she touched him. In every one of her sexual escapades, she’d been the one touched, not the one exploring. Every contact had been initiated by someone else. Yet there she was, caught up in admiration, the feeling so intrusive it weighed her heart down and put the slightest fragility into her touches. Her fingers went into his hair, and unlike Harold’s it was cool and thick, and it curled through her fingertips delightfully.
The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance Page 94