by Sher Dillard
Swallowing a deep drink, he asked, “How much longer?”
“Oh, I could have stopped a while ago, but I thought more was better. Don’t you? Emily says that a lady is always judged by her hands.”
He looked at this young woman and smiled to himself. A few days ago, she was a hair’s breadth from being stabbed and raped in a back alley. Today, her greatest fear is what another woman would think about her hands.
Taking a seat by the fire, he draped a leg over an arm rail and studied her. Something was different. He squinted for a moment. Yes, her eyes. They had done something to her eyebrows. They looked bigger, more innocent.
She was beautiful. Even more beautiful, if that was possible. His heart lurched with need.
“So, tell, me what did you do today?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm, casual.
Laila smiled. “Emily is so smart. She taught me how to stand, how to walk. How to curtsy and how to shake hands. She knows everything. Did you know that the King’s first minister’s wife is having an affair with the second minister’s assistant?”
Flint laughed. “And, that is important to know. Why?”
Laila looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. How could someone be so stupid, she seemed to say?
“Because, if things like that happen in the high reaches of government, then that means they’re no different than the people of Fifth Point. They want the same things, money and power, so that they can get what they really want, sex. More power, more sex. This world isn’t really different.”
Flint laughed out loud as he nodded in agreement. “Things are the same the world over. People are people after all. Interested in one thing only.”
They looked into each other’s eyes, the talk of sex hanging between them like a silent cliff edge. Not to be approached, less they fall off together.
“Where are you from, Flint?” Laila asked with a curious frown, as she looked down at her hands resting in their bowls. “Emily said that you moved here only last year. Where from?”
“So you spent the day talking about me?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
The young woman blushed and looked away, then looked back and dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Just a little. I need to know about you if you are going to introduce me to the court. And, no changing the subject. Where are you from? Your accent is different.”
“I don’t have an accent,” Flint said, giving her a haughty look as he took another drink.
“Yes, you do. Slight, but it is there. You still didn’t answer the question.”
Flint sighed and looked off into the distance. “The mountains,” he answered. “Deep in the mountains.”
“Ah, the land of dragons,” she said with a smile. “That explains so much.”
His heart jumped. “What do you know of dragons?” he asked, as he sat forward. Her answer was important. More than she would ever know.
Laila shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing much. Just that you remind me of a dragon. Big, powerful, commanding.”
“So, you think I am a monster?”
“No, no,” she said, as she shook her head. “Believe me. I’ve been around monsters. You’re not one of them. You may be arrogant, and insufferable at times. But, you’re not a monster.”
Flint laughed. “And, what about you. Have you always lived in the Fifth Point part of town? Why do they call it Fifth Point, anyway? I’ve always wondered.”
Laila sheepishly nodded her. “Yes, always. The name of the city is Quaster. Right? It means four pointed star. Our part of town was too embarrassing to be included. Therefore, Fifth Point.
Flint nodded his head, he understood the whole not being wanted feeling. He still remembered the shot of pain and loss when he learned of his exile. That sense of not belonging, not being needed.
Taking another drink, he studied the young woman. There was something about her. Something more than the beauty and the pure sexuality she exuded. There was an inner strength. A sense of being her own woman. Not beholden to anyone. He admired that about her. Of course, he also admired those delicious curves of hers. What man wouldn’t?
“So, family?” Laila asked, pulling him from his internal rambling.
“Mother, two brothers, a sister,” he answered. Where was she going with all of this? He didn’t like talking about his history. He didn’t like people knowing things about him. He had too many secrets to keep everything straight.
Laila smiled weakly, he wondered if she was regretting not having siblings. Or, was she sad about having lost her parents?
“So, you never married?” she asked.
That was where this was going, he realized.
“No,” he answered simply. She looked up at him, waiting for more, but he remained quiet. The tension between them growing.
At last, she blinked and looked away.
“What? You were never in love?” she asked teasingly.
He laughed, “Once. Leslie Wringer. I was ten, she was twelve. She kissed me in the apple orchard. I thought I had gone to heaven. I would have died for that girl.”
Laila smiled as she drew the picture in her mind. “And?” she asked. “What happened?”
Flint shrugged his shoulders. “She grew tits. The older boys found her interesting, and she forgot about me in the blink of an eye.”
Laila laughed and shook her head. “Believe me, Flint. I doubt she ever forgot about you. It is hard to imagine any woman forgetting about you.”
Flint smiled, “You didn’t know Leslie Wringer. The girl was as cute as a three-day-old kitten, and as spoiled as a month old fig.”
“That was the only time?” Laila asked. “You never fell in love again?”
Flint shrugged his shoulders once more. “There was one other time. But, it turned out to be indigestion. A bad bit of beef.”
Laila rolled her eyes. “You are impossible.”
He sobered for a moment, the smile dropping from his lips. “Laila, there is something you need to understand. Men like me, we don’t fall in love easily. And, when we do, it is for life. It consumes every part of our soul. It becomes the reason for living. So, no, I haven’t fallen in love. I pray to God, I never do.”
She froze in place as she stared at him, her eyes searching his, as if unable to believe what she had just heard.
“You don’t want to fall in love?” she asked, unable to believe what she had just heard.
“No, not really. Why would I? I’ve got everything I need, wealth, freedom to do what I want, when I want.”
“But, what about …”
“What, sex?” he asked. “That hasn’t really been a problem,” he said with a cocky smile.
“No,” she blurted out. “Not sex, believe me, I am perfectly aware of how easy you obtain what you want. I spent the day with Lady Emily, remember. The stories she told me about you were shocking.”
Flint shook his head. “Why is it perfectly acceptable for women to talk about men and their adventures in bed? But, considered bad form for men to tell about their conquests.”
“Maybe because you view them as conquests and not partners,” Laila said with a frown.
Flint just smiled. He liked this woman more and more each day. She was quick on her feet and could hold her own in any discussion. She would make a good princess.
The thought disturbed him, he realized. The idea that she would soon be another man’s, sent a strong bolt of pain to his insides. Ignore it, he told himself. The coin, always remember the coin.
“And what of you, Princess? Have you ever been in love?”
“Ha!” Laila blurted out before she could stop herself.
“What?” Flint asked. “No secret liaison. No stolen kisses in the starlight. No expressions of undying adoration.”
Suddenly, all the color dropped from her face, revealing a white, sad expression. “No,” she said sadly as she shook her head. “Nothing like that. Things like that don’t happen in Fifth Point. Not to girls like me.”
“What
do you mean girls like you?” he asked. “You’re beautiful, intelligent, brave, and pretty good with a dagger. What isn’t there to fall in love with?”
She looked at him for a long minute, stared into his eyes with a burning need to know. Did he really mean that? she seemed to be saying.
Sighing, he put both feet on the floor and leaned forward.
“Understand something, Laila. You are one of the most desirable women I have ever known. And believe me, that is saying a lot. You will wrap this prince around your little finger, and he will fall madly in love with you.”
She blushed and looked down at her hands, obviously embarrassed at his praise. He smiled inside. He liked making her blush. He liked making her feel special.
Looking up at him again, she haltingly said, “Really, you think I am desirable?”
Uh, Oh. He’d really stepped into it this time. Standing up, he grabbed the fire iron and poked at the fire for a second.
“What I think isn’t important.” He said. “What you know, is important. A princess is always sure of herself. Always in command. You need to know that you are special. It is the only way to ensure that everyone else thinks you are special.
He looked at her for a moment. Looked into her eyes. He needed her to believe this. He needed her to accept that she was special. And heaven knew, there wasn’t a more beautiful woman in the Twelve Kingdoms.
Laila returned his look for a long moment. At last, she broke eye contact and removed her hands from the white goop.
“Thank you, Flint,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. She rose from behind the desk. “I will take these back to Mrs. Peabody. I am sure it has been enough time for the day.”
Their meeting was coming to an end, he realized. A sadness settled over him. Would it always be like this, formal, chaste? Neither of them able to allow their inner desires out. Neither able to do what they so desperately wanted to do.
Flint sighed as he poured himself another drink and watched Laila leave the room. She stopped at the door and looked back at him for a moment, throwing him a quick, sad smile.
His heart ached.
Chapter Seven
Laila punched her pillow for the thirty-third time. She couldn’t get comfortable. Two weeks she had prepared for this, and tomorrow was the big day. She would meet the Prince at tomorrow’s party.
Every waking moment had been in preparation for this. The constant badgering and correcting by Emily. The silent observation by Flint, his eyebrows rising only slightly every time she made a mistake.
Tomorrow. They would succeed, and she would catch a prince. Or, they would be discovered and thrown into the mines of Clakerly.
She shuddered at the thought.
What of Flint? she wondered. What did he think of all this? Yes, he would get his blessed coin. But, what did he really think? She had absolutely no idea what the man thought. He was a puzzle wrapped in a black cloth. Unknowable.
Over the last several days, as the party grew closer, the man had become quiet, almost reclusive. At times, actually a bit of a beast. Snapping at people. He’d even snapped at Emily when she’d pointed out that he could do a better job of setting an example.
He’d bitten her head off and then stomped out of the room.
What did it mean? Why was he so upset? This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To provide her this service so he could get his damn coin back, and then be rid of her. That was all she was to him after all. A way to get what he wanted.
The thought saddened her. The man said she was desirable. She could still remember the warm glow that had flown through her body when he said the words. But, he hadn’t said that he found her desirable. Not really. Never done one thing to show her that he himself desired her.
Laila turned over again as she fought to find a comfortable spot. But, she knew sleep would elude her this night. Tomorrow was too important a day.
Flint was probably sleeping the slumber of a baby. Carefree.
They wouldn’t throw him into the mines if she was discovered. They wouldn’t behead him at dawn. Not him. No, he’d simply claim that she had fooled him as well.
She turned onto her back and studied the ceiling. This was ridiculous. Throwing the blankets to the side, she swung her feet over the edge of the big bed and found her slippers. Drawing his silk robe around her, she decided to go downstairs and get some warm milk. Maybe that could make her sleep.
As she made her way downstairs, she pulled his robe close. She was wearing his shirt, as well. This might be her last opportunity to do so. Flint had told her if there were to be a wedding, it would be fast. The prince was returning to his home within a few days. She might very well be whisked away at tomorrow’s party.
To never see him again, the thoughts tore at her guts like a ravenous cat.
As she stepped off the last stair, a subtle noise drew her attention. Someone was in Flint’s study. A soft light peaked from beneath the door. Who could be in there at this hour, she wondered.
Tapping softly, she opened the study door and peaked inside.
Flint stopped pacing and turned to look at her. He was dressed in a simple white shirt, open at the neck. And, tight pants that left little to the imagination.
She took a deep breath, holding it for a second. Their eyes locked, and she felt herself being pulled into the room.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.
She could only shake her head. “I thought to get some warm milk,” she finally said.
“Come, over by the fire,” he commanded. “Have a drink. Believe me, it will work six times better than warm milk.”
He poured her a healthy amount of amber liquid into a glass tumbler. It smelled of peat moss and smoke, she thought as she took a sip.
The liquor burned and made her choke. She coughed and had to fight the tears in her eyes.
He laughed. “Like wine, it’s an acquired taste.”
“Why would anyone want to get used to drinking that?” she said as she handed him back the glass.
He laughed again. “You don’t drink it for the taste, not really. You drink it because of what it can make you forget.”
She could feel the warmth from the whiskey spreading out from her stomach. “What do you want to forget, Flint?” she asked seriously. She desperately wanted to know more about this man. She wanted to know everything. She wanted so much more.
“No, not tonight,” he said. “We are not going to get into that tonight.”
It may have been the whiskey. But, she found herself saying what she truly wanted to say.
“Then, what are we going to do tonight?”
He halted for a moment as he stared down into her eyes. She could feel the energy flowing between them. That power that drew her to him. She could feel his eyes traveling over her body. Could feel the power in his size and strength.
She wanted this man. Wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. Just one night, she thought. Once in her life. She wanted to be with a man she could admire and love.
Yes, that was right, she might be able to love Flint. Who wouldn’t? The arrogant bastard was near perfect. Big, handsome, smart, rich, with a smile that could melt angle wings.
She took a deep breath and continued to stare up at him.
“What do you want?” he asked her. A simple question but she knew it hid a thousand meanings.
“I want to be held by a man I can respect. I want to be wanted by a man I want.”
He smiled gently and stepped closer to her. “Careful, Laila, you might very well get your wish.”
The way he said her name made her knees wobble. As if it were pure gold. As if she were a one of a kind treasure.
He smelled of leather and pine trees. Of warm whiskey and cold mountain tops. Her heart broke. She could resist no longer. That silly smirk and those devilish eyes pulled at her. This man was what she needed. For now, at least, he was all she needed.
She leaned into him. He leaned down to her. Their lips met
. And, the world changed.
“Laila,” he moaned, as his arms wrapped around her. His hand shifted to the back of her neck, holding her in place as he tenderly devoured her lips.
His tongue gently probed, and she instinctively opened for him. This man was turning her insides into jelly. Turning her into a simpering mess of need.
She moaned into his mouth as she wrapped her arms around those massive shoulders of his and pulled herself closer. She could not get enough. More, she needed more, she demanded everything.
The man was pure hard muscle. She could feel his powerful heart beating in his chest. It made her think of some massive beast. Some wild thing from the dark forest that wanted to devour her.
She smiled to herself. Oh, how she wanted to be taken by this man.
Her body tingled as his hand roamed to her rear and began to kneed and caress. Her heart raced, and she had to fight to catch her breath.
“Oh Flint,” she said, as she felt his hardness pressing against her tummy. The feeling sent a pure bolt of joy through her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. He desired her. A man like this. A man such as Flint wanted her, the girl from Fifth Point.
He stopped kissing her for a moment and looked down into her eyes. He seemed to be asking her a question.
All she could do was stare back and nod. Yes, please.
He smiled, then bent and swiftly scooped her up into her arms.
“Flint,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
“I am taking you to my lair,” he rumbled.
“I can walk,” she said.
“And, I can carry you. Since I am bigger, we will do it my way.”
She buried her head into his chest and held on. Oh, how she had dreamed of this. Oh, how she had prayed that this man would want her. But, it was so much more than she had thought it would be.
This feeling of power that flowed between them. This feeling of rightness with the world.
But, what if she wasn’t any good. What if he found her lacking? A dozen bad thoughts threatened to take over. No, she told herself. She would not allow the negative thoughts. Not tonight. Tonight she was going to enjoy. Tonight she was going to experience and remember. It might very well be her last happy moment on this earth, she was not going to waste it on silly worries and regrets.