WHO WILL TAKE THIS MAN?

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  “I had it made in Italy. As I enjoy the healing and relaxation properties of a soak in warm water, and do not care to fold myself up like a paper fan, I required something considerably larger than a hip bath. I’m certain you’ll enjoy it.”

  Holding his hand for balance, she climbed upon the small wooden stool, stepped over the edge of the tub, then lowered herself into the heated water.

  He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Close your eyes and relax. I shall return in a moment.”

  “Where are you going?”

  His gaze slid down her body. “To fetch my strigil.”

  Admiring his broad back, she watched him walk toward a door she assumed led to his dressing room, and recalled their conversation in the warehouse about the strigil... how it was used by ancient Greeks and Romans for scraping moisture off their skin after bathing. And the wealth of sensual images that conversation had inspired. Of him, and her, naked in the bath—never daring to hope that such fantasies could become reality. Was it only an hour ago she’d told herself that he wasn’t hers to touch? Hers to kiss? Yet now he was all that, and so much more. He was hers to love. And marry. And care for. And bathe with...

  The curls of steam rising from the water had nothing to do with the heat coursing through her. The door he’d disappeared through opened, and he walked toward her, wearing a dark blue silk robe, the sash loosely knotted about his waist. She noted his bare feet, and her heart sped up at the realization that the robe was all he wore. In one hand he carried a folded towel, in the other hand he carried a strigil, identical to the one she’d cataloged at the warehouse, except this one was made of highly polished brass and looked considerably newer.

  After setting down the towel and strigil next to the towel whoever had prepared the bath had already left, he crouched down alongside the tub. Dipping his hand into the water, he trailed his fingers along her thigh. “How does the water feel?”

  “Nice. Warm.” Summoning her courage, she added, “Lonely.”

  Heat flickered in his eyes, and without a word, he rose, untied the sash securing his robe, then shrugged the garment from his body. Her gaze wandered slowly downward, from his shoulders and chest, following that captivating silky line of hair down his abdomen to his...

  Oh, my.

  Lower, that silky ribbon spread to cradle his fully erect manhood. Fascination and trepidation collided in her, and her gaze flew up to meet his. His ardor was obvious, but judging by the banked fire in his eyes, it was also clear that he was holding himself in tight control.

  He stepped to the edge of the tub. “Move forward a bit,” he said softly.

  Entranced, she did as he bade her, watching over her shoulder as he stepped over the edge, then lowered himself to sit behind her.

  The water rose, coming within inches of sloshing over onto the carpet. He slipped his long legs on either side of her, then, grasping her shoulders, eased her backward until her entire back reclined against his chest, warm water lapping at her shoulders. He fitted his arms beneath hers, wrapping them lightly around her waist.

  Sensations bombarded her from every direction. The incredible feel of his naked body surrounding hers, their skin slippery and sleek from the water. The gentle tickle of his chest hair against her shoulders. His heartbeat thumping against her back. His arousal nestled snugly against the base of her spine. Her temple resting against his smoothly shaven cheek. The sight of his strong, golden brown arms and legs enveloping her, her skin so pale in comparison. One of his large hands cupping the underside of her breast beneath the water, her nipple erect, as if begging for his touch. She drew in a deep breath and her eyes slid closed as his unique scent rose on the steam, surrounding her in a heated, sensual cocoon from which she never wished to emerge.

  Yet just when she thought it impossible to be steeped in further sensations, his hands began to move beneath the water. Her eyelids fluttered open and she watched his hands glide slowly upward, over her breasts. His palms skimmed over her taut nipples, but he did not linger, instead continuing his upward journey to her shoulders, where his fingers lightly massaged. A low moan of pleasure purred in her throat.

  After his hands wrought their limb-weakening magic upon her shoulders for several moments, he whispered against her cheek, “Raise your arms and wrap them around my neck.”

  Languid from his ministrations, she did as he bade, linking her upraised hands together at his nape. With his lips bestowing lingering kisses along her temple, his hands slowly smoothed down the undersides of her arms, slipped under the water to continue over her breasts. Each of his fingers teased over her nipples, quickening her breath. Before she could recover, he continued downward, over her rib cage and abdomen, then along her inner thighs. When he reached her knees, he reversed direction and slowly stroked his way back up her body to her elbows.

  “Do you like that?” His question tickled by her ear.

  “Yes.” Her response came out in a long sigh of pleasure.

  He repeated the long, drugging stroke, kindling an inferno in her that quickly threatened to consume her from the inside out. With each passing of his hands over her body, she experienced an insistent, heavy pull between her thighs. Moans she could not suppress accompanied her every exhale. How was it possible that his touch both soothed and aroused her unbearably at the same time?

  Each time his fingers brushed over her nipples, she lifted her breasts, craving more of his touch. When his palms meandered along her thighs, she spread her legs wider, increasingly desperate for him to put out this relentless fire he’d ignited. Turning her head, she pressed her lips against his throat, squirming against him when he lingered over her breasts and teased her aching nipples between his fingers.

  Philip sucked in a sharp breath as she moved against him, the curve of her buttocks rubbing against his erection. He gritted his teeth against the pleasure, fighting to remain in control, but the feel of her all but vibrating beneath his hands, the sight of her taut nipples seeking his touch, her straining to splay her legs wider, offering him the sensual wonders hidden by the triangle of dark curls at the apex of her thighs, the erotic scent of feminine arousal rising from her skin, her increasingly uninhibited response, all conspired to rob him of his command over himself.

  “Philip...”

  His name, whispered against his neck in a smoky, need-filled moan, stripped him of another layer of restraint. Shifting slightly to have better access to her lips, his mouth came down on hers in a hot, demanding, open-mouthed kiss. While one hand continued to play over her breasts, his other hand wandered downward, his fingers cruising over her belly and those entrancing curls, then slid lower, between her thighs, to glide over her sleek, swollen flesh. She gasped against his mouth, and he deepened their kiss, his tongue rubbing against hers in a blatant imitation of the act his body desperately ached to share with her.

  He slowly caressed her folds, then eased a finger inside her. A long groan vibrated in her throat. Unlocking her hands at the back of his neck, she ran her palms down his thighs. She broke off their kiss, and whispered against his throat, “Touch you... want to touch you.”

  Slipping his finger from her velvety heat, he grasped her waist and helped her turn over. Rising to her knees between his spread legs, she settled her backside on her heels. A groan escaped him at the sight of her, azure eyes glittering, dark hair mussed, the lower part wet and clinging to her shoulders, color high, lips swollen and reddened from their kisses, full breasts topped with coral-tipped, aroused nipples, water streaming down her body. Before he could regain the wits just looking at her had robbed, she said, “Put your hands behind your head.”

  Their eyes met, and his heart thudded at her unmistakable meaning. She meant to stroke him just as he’d stroked her. Lifting his arms, he locked his fingers at his nape. And prayed for strength.

  Starting at his elbows, she slowly dragged her hands down his arms and over his chest, igniting a trail of flame under his skin. Watching her touching him, her eyes bright with avid
curiosity, wonder, and desire, he knew he’d never seen a more arousing sight. Her hands skimmed over his hips, then down his thighs to his knees, where she changed direction and started her upward stroke.

  “Do you like that, Philip?”

  “God, yes.”

  By gritting his teeth and clenching his fingers until they turned numb, he endured another slow pass of her hands along his body. On her third downward journey, her fingertips brushed over the head of his erection. He sucked in a sharp breath, then groaned.

  Clearly encouraged by his response, she touched him again, this time trailing her fingers down the length of his rigid flesh. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, engulfed in raw sensations as her hands caressed and stroked him. When she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and gently squeezed him, a growl of need ripped from him, and he could no longer deny the demands of his body. He needed her, wanted her. Now.

  Lifting his head, he reached for her, commanding in a raw voice, “Straddle me.”

  Without hesitation, she rested her hands on his shoulders, then shifted her legs to the outside of his thighs. Grasping her hips, he settled her over the tip of his erection and gently urged her downward until her maidenhead impeded their progress. Their gazes locked, he simultaneously surged up and pressed her down, and buried himself deep within her silky heat.

  Her eyes widened and his heart clenched. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head slowly, and he forced himself to remain perfectly still, to give her a chance to become accustomed to the feel of him, while he absorbed the exquisite sensation of her tight, velvety heat wrapped around him. Nearly a minute passed before she experimentally moved against him, dragging a groan from him.

  Releasing her hips, he skimmed his hands up to her breasts, determined to allow her to set the pace. Watching every nuance of her wonder-filled arousal, he filled his hands with her breasts, while she slowly rocked against him. The effort to hold off his rapidly approaching orgasm beaded sweat on his forehead. Her tempo increased, and the last shreds of his control evaporated, leaving him lost, mindless with need. Gripping her hips, he thrust upward, hard and fast. Her eyes slid closed, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. The instant he felt her tighten around him, he let himself go, his own release pounding through him.

  When his tremors finally subsided, he opened his eyes. Her eyes were still closed, and her head hung limply forward, as if too heavy for her neck to bear. Heart still thudding against his ribs, he said the one word he could manage.

  “Meredith.”

  She slowly lifted her head. Her eyelids fluttered open, and their gazes locked. A long, silent look passed between them. He wanted to say something, but damn it, words were beyond him. And even if they weren’t, what words could possibly describe what they’d just shared?

  “I had no idea...” she finally said quietly. “Thank you. For showing me how beautiful that act can be.”

  The area around his heart went hollow, then filled with such love for her, he ached with it. “Then I must thank you as well, because I never knew it could be that beautiful.”

  She said nothing for several heartbeats, then a smile pulled up one corner of her lips, and a hint of mischief flickered in her eyes. “Do you think it’s possible that it could get even more beautiful?”

  Smiling, he fisted his hand in her hair and dragged her mouth down to his. “A very intriguing hypothesis, one which I believe requires immediate experimentation,” he said, punctuating each word with a nipping kiss. “But as the water is growing cool, I suggest we remand to the comfort of my bed to conduct our research.”

  They shared one final lush kiss, after which he helped her to rise. Then he stood and helped her step over the edge of the tub, onto the wooden stool, and down to the carpet. Following her out, he snatched up the strigil. He skimmed the instrument down each of her arms and legs, removing the water from her skin, then wrapped her in a thick towel, warmed from its spot near the fire. He was about to apply the strigil to his own arm when she asked, “May I?”

  He set the instrument in her outstretched hand, then enjoyed her gentle ministrations. When she finished, he shrugged into his robe, then led her to stand in front of the fire, where he used the other warmed towel to dry her hair. When he finished, he stood in front of her, sifting his fingers through the long, dark, still slightly damp strands. She smiled up at him, a smile so filled with love and happiness, she dazzled him. “Would you mind terribly if I told you again that I love you?” she asked.

  He frowned and pretended to give the question great thought. “Well, I suppose if you feel that you must...”

  “Oh, I must.” Rising up on her toes, she looped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Philip.”

  Pulling her tighter against him, he said, “I love you, too.”

  Something flickered in her eyes, prompting him to ask, “What is it?”

  “I was just thinking, do you think perhaps we might have... made a baby?”

  The question stilled him. An image of her, large with their child, flashed in his mind. “I don’t know. But I do know the thought of you bearing our child...” His voice trailed off and he lowered his head to touch his forehead to hers. “The mere thought leaves me speechless with joy.”

  She leaned back in the circle of his arms, her eyes dancing. “I can picture our son now. Strong and intelligent, with your kind eyes behind his spectacles, and your thick, dark hair.”

  “And I can picture our daughter now,” he countered with a grin, “with your vivid coloring, determination, and generous spirit.” Taking her hand, he led her toward the bed. “What sort of wedding would you like? Something grand in St. Paul’s?”

  “Actually, I’d prefer something simple. Perhaps here, in your home.”

  “Then that is precisely what we shall have. I will arrange for a special license as soon as—”

  His words cut off as she stumbled. Her hand slipped from his, and before he could catch her, she fell forward, landing on her knees, and breaking her fall with her palms. He dropped to his knees beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, helping her to sit back on her heels.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Y-yes. I must have tripped on something.”

  He glanced around, but no stray objects littered the floor, nor were there any bumps in the carpet. He was about to ask her if she felt able to stand when she groaned and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed by her sudden pallor.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a sharp breath. “My head. It hurts. Severely.”

  He stared at her, a kernel of uneasiness knotting his stomach. A fall... then a headache... The words from the Stone of Tears reverberated through his mind.

  For true love’s very breath

  Is destined for death.

  Grace will fall, a stumble she’ll take,

  Then suffer the pain of hell’s headache.

  If ye have the gift of wedded bliss,

  She will die before you kiss.

  Or two days after the vows are said,

  Your bride, so cursed, shall be found dead.

  Once your intended has been lo

  Nothing can save her from

  Bloody hell, what were the missing words to the curse? Could it be ‘Once your intended has been loved?’ His uneasiness turned into dawning, stunned horror. She’d fallen. And now was suffering a terrible headache. By proposing to Meredith, telling her he loved her, then making love to her, had he brought the wrath of the curse upon her? If not, then the fall and the headache immediately following were odd coincidences—and by God, he didn’t believe in coincidence. Especially when his gut tightened in this foreboding way.

  She groaned again and everything inside him froze. No, this was no odd coincidence. Stark fear iced his veins at the horrible realization that he’d done exactly that— brought the wrath of the curse upon her—and had thereby sealed her fate.

  Unless he found a
way to break the curse—

  She would die in two days.

  Nineteen

  Philip knelt beside Meredith, who pressed her hands against her forehead and moaned. He struggled to draw a breath and silence the agonized Noooooo! ricocheting through his brain. Her falling, the headache, the curse... this could not be happening. Not when they’d just found each other. Not when their future, only seconds ago, had bloomed so bright upon the horizon.

  Bludgeoning back the talons of fear clawing at him, he hoisted her into his arms and carried her to his bed, where he yanked back the burgundy counterpane, then settled her gently upon the mattress. Her complexion was waxy pale, her features bunched into a pain-filled grimace.

  “I’ve never had a headache such as this,” she whispered. “It feels as if the inside of my head is on fire and about to explode.”

  Suffer the pain of hell’s headache. Philip tucked the covers around her, then sat next to her for a moment, holding her hand, and praying to every heavenly force he’d ever heard of to intervene. To save her. To help him find the missing piece of stone. Please, please, don’t take her away from me.

  Leaning over, he brushed his lips against her brow. “I’m going to leave you for a moment to prepare a draught that will relieve the pain.”

  He crossed to his wardrobe and pulled out a worn leather satchel. Digging through the contents, he extracted a small bottle of one of Bakari’s mysterious cures. Philip didn’t know exactly what was in the bottle, but he knew from experience that it was effective in relieving headaches. He quickly added several drops to a tumbler of fresh water, then returned to her.

  “Drink this,” he said, helping her to sit up. After she swallowed the contents, he settled her back on the pillow.

  She opened her eyes, and a wobbly half smile pulled up one corner of her lips. “I’m sorry, Philip. I didn’t mean to cast such a pall on our research.”