Winter Warriors

by Denise A. Agnew

  His grin broadened and he picked up her hand and kissed it. “Spoken like a true cynic.”

  Chapter Four

  During the meal, Rhys insisted they speak of nothing but generalities, mundane trivia, and share no thoughts of any sort. It was a mental and physical break Jenna realized she needed, for by the end of the meal she felt calmer and more peaceful than she’d felt for a long, long time. To preserve the meditative state, she suggested they wander through the stores and concessions that resided in the rabbit warren corridors at the back of the hotel. Rhys wouldn’t broach any unsettling subjects in such public places.

  The stores all offered fabulously exclusive goods and services, and Jenna couldn’t have hit upon a neater distraction if she tried. The array of exorbitant gold-trimmed, leather-bound, fur-finished doodads bewildered her.

  She saw Rhys’ amused look as she put a gold-and-platinum card case back on its stand. “You’re laughing at me.”

  He shook his head a little. “The Banff Springs Hotel isn’t your usual style, is it?”

  “Hell, no, not at these prices.”

  “Then you’re here because…?”

  “Because I have a postcard of the hotel—you know that one where the hotel is sitting amongst the trees, surrounded by mountains and nothing else? You see it everywhere.” She recalled the postcard that had spent eight years on the side of her fridge and sent him the image.

  “Yes, I know the one.”

  “I saw that postcard, years ago, and bought it. The image…called to me. The hotel seemed so remote. Isolated. I would look at it and promise myself that one day I would save up and go there. So with Christmas coming…and no one to have Christmas with…I figured…” She shrugged. “It was as good an excuse as any.”

  “And it didn’t work, did it? You drew trouble right to you.”

  She offered him a small smile. “Well, at least I’m not lonely.”

  His hand about hers tightened. “No, thank god.”

  The next store was a dress shop, and here the prices spiraled into the stratosphere. The neat hand-written figures on the creamy vellum tags hovered in such rarified air their astronomical quality got Jenna giggling. Contrariwise, the store seemed to stock very few items, as if they wouldn’t stoop to carrying a vast range and variety.

  “Well, they only need sell one item a week to pay their rent,” Rhys whispered.

  “That’s all they’d sell, I’m sure.”

  But something had caught his eye. Rhys made a beeline for the rack on the other side of the store and Jenna trailed behind him, curious.

  He plucked the hanger from the rack and held up the dress for her to inspect. It was a dark kelly-green velvet evening gown, with a thick halter strap that would run from each side of the bodice. The shaping of the gown meant it would cling from bust to thigh. The bodice over the breasts cut low, and finished off with small ruffles of a dark green paisley silk satin that had been carefully gathered in a row of tiny pleats. Rhys turned the gown around to show her the back. Where the slit at the center-back would run to give the wearer room to move, the paisley hung pleated and gathered, falling into a flaring train.

  “Oh wow…!” she breathed.

  Rhys’ long fingers stroked the soft green velvet. “I would pay the price to see you wearing this.”

  She ran her eye over the gown, and imagined what it would be like to wear something so utterly gorgeous. High heels, stockings and her hair coiled up to show off the plunging back…she would feel like a million dollars.

  “Jenna.”

  She looked at him, and closed her eyes as he gave her an image. She saw what she would look like wearing the dress from his perspective: the willowy redhead, her hair cascading down in a long wave of curls, to touch the small of her back where the velvet clung lovingly to her ass, then glided down to the ground behind her. The silk over her breasts…the temptation to stroke the warm silk, to feel the pleats ruffle under his fingertips. To feel her breasts beneath the silk, her tight nipples.

  His body tightened, excitement starting to warm his belly, to curl through his cock, making it stir and shift, as his imagination leapt on…a sense image of him standing behind her, one hand leaving the heavy weight of her breast to slide down over the taut velvet, across the flat plane of her stomach to fan out over her pussy…to feel the tiny welcoming thrust against his hand. She would lean back against him, her head rolling to the side, her surrender complete.

  Jenna took a deep, shuddering breath, blinking against the image as it faded. Her own body was taut, thrumming with hot sexual need, and her cheeks warmed as she glanced at Rhys.

  He returned the dress to the rack, silent.

  But she could feel the same throbbing tension pushing through him. She didn’t need his thoughts to feel it. It came off him in waves—sudden, sharp and thrilling.

  Her thighs inside the jeans seemed to prickle against the denim…and every fold, every seam, against her naked pussy and ass, rubbed with a delicious friction.

  She was standing stock still in the middle of the floor, staring at nothing. So she took a slow step over to another rack of jewelry and accessories, and pretended to study them.

  Her labia had swelled and sensitized. They ached. She longed for a hand to slip into the slick moisture there, and caress the slippery folds. She wished wildly they were anywhere but here…so Rhys could come up behind her, and slide his hand inside her jeans, and stroke her clit. To perhaps push deeper and slide inside her. Quickly, before she could reconsider, she threw the image at him. Her heart thudded at her own daring.

  And she caught her breath as Rhys’ thoughts slid into her mind, echoing her images. Yes. I could do that. But I would start with this…

  The images continued. She saw/felt Rhys press up against her from behind. His arms came around her waist—her insubstantial waist, and his hands rested over her hips, moving in restless little circles across the soft denim there. He felt the prominent rise of the hipbone through her jeans. His lips pressed hard against her neck, hot and electrifying and he tasted the skin, her delicate bouquet.

  Heavenly. Your scent wreathes my thoughts, subdues them.

  While her heart banged wildly against her ribs, Jenna glanced sideways. The dress shop was merely an enclosure between four of the massive pillars that marched through this section of the hotel, and three sides were made of glass. The fourth solid wall hid a back-store area and the changing rooms. Although the stand of accessories hid her from anyone directly in front of them, including the bored saleswoman at the cash register, anyone passing by on the outside of the store might notice.

  But notice what? She stood there, and Rhys was on the other side of the store, his fingers caressing the soft cool velvet of the gown as he thought his wicked thoughts.

  Two could play at that game.

  She sent her hot, aroused package of thoughts/emotions/feelings to him. A sequence of events: his hand creeping beneath the light jacket she wore, and swiftly parting the top three buttons on her shirt. The anticipation that simple action would set up! Her breasts would ache for his touch, the nipples would tighten with that sharp, almost painful excitement. The shirt would sag open a little, and his hand would slip inside, immediately capturing her breasts. His thumb and forefinger closed around the nipple, stroking it.

  And Rhys returned those thoughts, echoed them. His images showed him doing those actions.

  Close your eyes. Immerse yourself in it. Even his mental voice crackled with harsh excitement.

  She willingly closed her eyes and his images immediately bathed her in a wash of heady sensual pleasure. She felt his hands unbuttoning her shirt, and her nipples crinkled hard in anticipation. But Rhys took it much further than that for he, the experienced one, understood the lack of limitations.

  With her eyes closed, she saw Rhys pull her around to face him. Felt it. He unbuttoned her shirt, and pulled it open, baring her breasts to his gaze. And finally, finally, he cupped each breast, stroking the nipples with hi
s strong thumbs.

  Jenna choked back the cry of pleasure that pushed at her lips, and reached out to grip the steel top of the jewelry stand. She was becoming drunk on thoughts.

  But Rhys did not spare her. In her mind she saw him open her jeans, and pushed them down her hips enough to expose her pussy. She felt the denim whisper along her flesh, and the fanning of cool air against her sex. His hand slid between her thighs, and cupped her mound, and at the same time his mouth captured the tip of her breast, and his tongue flicked her nipple.

  When his fingers bent to invade her vagina, to push inside with hard, thick insistence, she did moan softly.

  Come for me. Let me feel it.

  She pushed aside the foggy clouds of pleasure for a moment. You, too, she insisted, forcing herself to coherent, articulated thought, before sinking back into the tossing sea of sensations. Deliberately she pushed at him the heady rush of excitement spilling through her.

  The mental images changed, became charged and frantic. As if it were a dream, their clothes abruptly vanished. Naked, his cock erect and throbbing, he picked her up by the waist and pushed her up against the glass wall of the store, his muscles and sinews flexing. On the other side of the glass, shoppers strolled by, glancing at them.

  He spread her thighs and lifted her up, his hands beneath her ass. His cock pushed inside her and she gasped. She felt it, the width of him spreading her, filling her.

  At the same time she saw/felt his mouth take her breast, his teeth nipping and drawing the tip out between them. The same doubling/second perspective shifted her focus. Now she knew his feelings, what it felt like to be inside her, the taste and shape of her nipple, and again, her heady, hypnotic scent wreathing his thoughts, making him as groggy with pleasure as she.

  She began to tremble, and in a detached corner of her mind knew her climax threatened, standing in the middle of a dress shop, without a single physical touch.

  Yes. Now. And she felt his hand on her clitoris, a delicate stroke, the touch of butterfly wings. But it was enough.

  She climaxed with a shudder. Bright cascades of light flared behind her eyes, and her heart stood still, as the first big bolt of pleasure ripped through her. Then little secondary peaks flashed and sizzled through her nerves. She gritted her teeth to prevent herself from crying out, her hand gripping the jewelry stand with a death grip. At the same time, she felt Rhys come, with a bright, hard fizzing rush that left her nerves twitching.

  For a long moment she clung to the stand, her eyes shut, letting her heart recover and her knees regain their strength. I can’t believe what just happened!

  She felt him walk across the store and stand next to her. I have heard of it before, but not experienced it until today.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He had a small smile on his face, and his dark eyes were sleepy, like they had been the last time. He was still very much a stranger to her, yet it seemed she’d known this man all her life. She knew him, understood him without the need for endless explanations.

  “Do you have any other tricks I don’t know about?” she asked, and her voice was hoarse.

  “An entire arsenal,” he said, his smile fading a little.

  And she saw/heard/felt him struggling in a swordfight against an overwhelming enemy. In the last moments he had dropped the sword into his left hand, a move that most swordsmen considered unsporting, and dangerous for it left the right flank open to a backslash. But the unexpected move had brought him a few precious seconds to pull the man’s dagger from his own belt sheath and plunge it into his unprotected left side…

  For the enemy will stoop to worse, and I will take nothing less than victory.

  Jenna shivered as she looked into his black eyes, and saw the implacable will there.

  Then he grinned and the impression of aged, weary resistance fled. “You have more than a few of your own tricks, too, Jenny.”

  And she saw again the coffee shop, this time as Rhys had seen it from the back door as he entered: The Prince, lying on the floor howling with anguish as he plucked at his steaming pants while everyone crouched around him. And Jenna herself, standing up at the table, staring down at them all, cool and indifferent to his suffering.

  From Rhys’ perspective it was as clear as day that she had been the instigator of the event. If she had not been convinced already, this would have clinched it.

  She sighed, suddenly weary. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  “This is the wrong floor.” Jenna turned back to Rhys, who remained inside the elevator.

  He looked at the panel. “This is the seventh floor.”

  “I’m on the fifth.”

  “My room is on the seventh.” He stepped past her, on up the corridor.

  “Oh…” She hurried after him, feeling a little foolish. After all, he had to be staying in a hotel somewhere in town. Why not this one?

  She stopped just inside the door of the room, looking around. It was a suite, for she could see a bedroom through a connecting door, on the other side of the large sitting room she stood in.

  Rhys chucked the room key on the desk by the window, and turned to face her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Who are you?” She took a small step into the room. “Who are you, really?”

  “Yours.” He came towards her.

  She held up her hand. “No. The cynic needs facts, Rhys. No more putting me off until daylight.”

  “I spoke the truth. I am yours.” He stopped right in front of her, but didn’t touch her.

  Didn’t he know how his answers unsettled her?

  Yes, I know, but I cannot afford anything but the truth. I have no time.

  “And this room? What do you do to be able to afford a room like this? Or are you on a generous expense account?”

  “Is that not a way of asking if I’m on the job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think what I’m doing is work, Jenna?”

  She swallowed hard. “No. Not paid work, anyway. Life’s work?”

  “Yes, that will do. My life’s work.”

  “And the room?”

  “It’s amazing what compound interest will do, given enough time.”

  “Riddles.”

  “Truth. But just a glimmer of it.”

  She stared at him, unable to stir enough energy to be furious. And she remembered, suddenly, Clement Hine’s voice. Avaon, damn you! The name Rhys had used once, long ago. But the name gave her no information. It provoked nothing.

  He smiled, and brushed her hair from her eyes. “You’re very tired, although you haven’t let it register yet. So as much as you long to understand it all, even if I began at this moment, it would take longer than you have the stamina for to explain everything.”

  He was right. The bone-deep weariness bit at her concentration, made her thoughts fuzzy.

  He picked up her hand. “Come.” He tugged her towards the bedroom. She registered the huge king-sized-plus bed and the single low lamp that lighted the room, then found herself in a marbled bathroom.

  She’d never been bathed before, and would have fought tooth and nail to be nursed in such a fashion if it had been anyone else but Rhys. But somehow it was different with him. She could bury her independence while he administered to her, for he offered small thoughts that comforted her as he worked.

  He undressed her and showered her, stepping naked into the stall with her, so that he could lather and rinse every inch of her body. And as he worked she saw and felt his admiration for her athletic body, for the well-developed muscles and the skills they provided her. With the odd scar she carried on her own body, he paused to grieve over it.

  He dried her, and led her to the huge bed, still naked. He laid her down on the bed and stretched her on her stomach. Warm oil touched her, and Rhys began an all-over massage. Tell me what feels good.

  She opened her mind up, let him feel what his hands were doing, how it felt to her.

  And his hands detected every single kink a
nd knot in her body, and knew just how to smooth them away. After a while that seemed to stretch forever, he turned her onto her back, and worked his way up from her toes.

  Despite the lethargy her deeply relaxed state induced, Jenna still felt a subterranean arousal that seemed to spread across her whole body rather than focus on her sex. But Rhys carefully avoided her pussy and breasts, working with skilled hands on every other muscle.

  Close your eyes. Float with it.

  Her eyes slid closed far too easily, as his hands grew gentle, the hard fingers no longer digging deep into the muscle fibers. He stroked her oiled flesh, the strokes growing more languorous, longer, more sensuous…

  His hands worked down to her breasts, and the oil allowed her nipples to slide through his fingers, to be tugged and teased, stirring her body beneath the deep lethargy. She sighed, a half-murmured moan.

  He parted her thighs a little, and as his hands captured her breasts again, his mouth closed over the twin rises of flesh protecting her swollen clitoris. His tongue slid inside, to lap at the throbbing button, teasing it, stroking it, as Jenna trembled and writhed on the bed, gasping. The strokes firmed and grew swifter, building her pleasure.

  Her climax came sharp and swift, a series of delicate waves shooting through her, searing her nerves. She gasped. Her head rolled limply to one side as all her energy focused and poured out through her nerve endings in the sweet rush.

  Through pleasure and sleep-hazed eyes, she watched Rhys roll her onto her side, and bring the blankets up over her. Her eyes began to close, sleep already claiming her, when she felt him beside her, tucking himself around her, one hand coming over her waist to tuck itself beneath her breast, cupping it.

  His lips rested against her shoulder. Sleep.

  And his emotion/thought followed her down into sleep: a quiet, but very deep pleasure and a slow, equally profound gratitude that she lay here with him, at last, in his bed. And for the first time in his life he was about to wake up with someone beside him…