Sera rolled over and tucked her hand beneath her cheek.
She fell asleep in an instant. Nicholas kissed her forehead and
tucked the quilt around her. “Little magician,” he whispered.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
Nicholas descended the stairs and went straight to the stable.
The snow was beginning to let up a bit as he trod a path to the
stable and saw to the horses’ care. When he returned, he
deposited his saddlebags inside the front door and then carried
wood in from the neat stack beside the outer wall of the hunting
box.
His stomach chose that moment to make itself heard—
loudly. He was ravenous. It took little time to prepare a tray of
salted ham, cheese, and rich brown bread from the pantry. As
he pulled the cork on a fine Pinot Noir, he remembered Mrs.
Torville’s sweets and added one to the tray. Slinging a saddlebag
over his shoulder, he carried the picnic upstairs to the master
bedroom, where he could watch over Sera until she awoke.
After lighting a brace of candles, he settled into a
comfortable library chair and opened one of the books he had
brought in his saddlebag, the old, battered copy of Plato’s
Republic. He munched a sandwich and read with a great deal
of interest what had bored him silly in the classroom.
He read for hours in the cozy room, waiting eagerly for
Sera to awaken. Night wore on. Sera stirred, shifted and sat up.
Her eyes were large in a pale, drawn face. Whatever she had
done to him last night had taken a toll.
“Hullo.” Nicholas smiled at her and put down the book. He
had looked at her dozens of times while she slept, trying to still
the heat that surged in his blood for her. Now that she was awake,
he had a difficult time meeting her eyes.
“I’ve been thinking you might like some privacy. There are
gowns and those frilly things women wear in the armoire and
warm water for bathing in the pitcher. Take your time. I’ll wait
for you downstairs. Dinner’s not very elegant, but hearty,
nonetheless.”
He took the tray and the books downstairs with him. He
waited nervously for her below, wondering which inevitable
change in Sera’s attitude would destroy him more—
embarrassment at having seen him at his worst, or pity for his
frailty.
She evidently made a quick toilette, for she appeared on
the stairway twenty minutes later. “What is this place?” she
asked him, taking in the fine furnishings, the elegant paneled
walls, the tiled Russian stove warming the room even more than
did the fireplace.
“My hunting box.
“She cast him a wary look. “Why are my gowns in the
armoire?”
There was no way out of it, now. He looked at her, rosy and
scrubbed like an innocent schoolgirl, her hair giving off a halo
of warm light against the candle glow. He thought of the mess
he must have been for—what was it, two long days and nights?
She knew it all now, everything about his wretched body—his
terrible, flawed lungs, the weakness that betrayed him and her
in a situation fraught with danger.
“I… um… I’m afraid I wanted you all to myself for a few
days. I had the place stocked and our clothing brought here.
Aren’t you glad to have them?” he asked as smoothly as he
could.
She refused to be turned from the immediate subject. “Do
you mean that you wished to take me to your bed, Nicholas?”
Direct, as always. Hell.
“Yes. But of course, I would not expect such a thing now.
Not after you saw me succumb.”
She came so close he could catch the scent of her, the
damnably arousing perfume of flowers in a spring meadow.
“Succumb? You speak of pneumonia as if it were drink or
gambling. ‘Tis not a vice.”
“Isn’t it?” He turned away from her, filled with shame and
a sense of loss. His voice sounded loud in his own ears. “To be
so puny that one cannot even take care of his own needs? If I
had been vigilant, given it enough time and rest before I brought
you here, it never would have overcome me. But I was an
impatient fool. You needn’t worry. After what you’ve seen of
me, I’ll not ask you to share my bed, nor—“
Her light slap between his shoulder blades brought him up
short. “I swear I shall go mad from your absurd self-flagellation,”
Sera muttered.
“Sera, how do you think I feel?” he ground out, turning
and taking her shoulders, shaking them a little. “If they had
come last night or the night before, I would have lain there like
a slug while they took you. You think I can look at myself in the
mirror knowing I was worthless? God! I resembled an
overgrown infant more than a man, and you saw it all.”
Her eyes flared with hot anger, surprising him. “Fool! Fool,
to think I would care about any of that. What would you have
had me do? Let you die because you’re not fit? What is ‘fit’? To
be a man like your father, who would not even speak to his
daughter? Who must have tormented you so that you feel you
must be perfect always?”
She broke away from him and walked to the fire, hugging
herself, a forlorn, stiff silhouette against the glow. “I don’t think
I can bear this nonsense,” she whispered, more to herself than
to him.
Suddenly, she whirled on him. “Nicholas, do you think that
only you are allowed to feel shame? I couldn’t keep you safe. I
couldn’t hide us well enough. And so they got through.”
She took a shaky breath. “I killed a man,” she said in a low
voice. “Had he been aiming at me, I would not have done it.
But he was about to shoot you. Nicholas, do you have any idea
what you mean to me? That I would kill for you? So don’t tell
me how you’re not ‘fit’. Don’t think me so stupid as to want
you strong and beautiful every minute of your life. Just take me
in your arms and help me get through the night.”
Sera hid her face in her hands and sobbed as though her
world had blown up about her.
He shuddered at the sounds, holding tightly to his own
control. “You’ll regret it in the morning,” he said shutting his
eyes. But her sobs battered at him.
“By all the gods, stop being so damned noble!”
Pride and shame were no match against Sera’s need. He
came to her and opened his arms. She flung herself against him,
clinging while he covered her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth with
kisses. “Hush now. It’s over. Sera, don’t cry. I can make you
forget. We’ll help each other forget.”
He lifted her in his arms. She leaned her head on his
shoulder, giving herself up to him, accepting him. She was light
as he carried her up the stairway and into the bedroom. Small
and precious in the middle of the big bed when he laid her down.
He slipped off her shoes, pausing to stroke his hand up the
arch of her foot, hearing her swift, indrawn breath. And then he<
br />
sank into the mattress beside her. Her blue eyes, dark and fearless
in the light of the candelabrum, looked straight at him and into
him. No darkness could dim the radiance of her hair. He pulled
the pins from it and spread it in a golden cloud on the pillow.
Combing his fingers through the silken veil, he tamped
down the surge of heat in his groin. “I’ve imagined you this
way for so long—from the first, I think. Just like this.”
She said not a word, just lay there waiting for him, breaking
his heart with the trust in her eyes. There was no sound but the
hiss of the logs on the fire. The world, with all its condemnation,
lay outside this room, outside this bed. But here, there was a
haven, where there was no weakness that couldn’t be forgiven,
no need that couldn’t be fulfilled.
He reminded himself to go slowly, but he had wanted her
for so long. He feared to lose control. Direct as always, Sera
unbuttoned his shirt and began to stroke his chest, learning him.
Her touch was like a brand, searing his skin. He had to push her
hands away and imprison them both with one of his. It had to
be special for her.
“No. This is going to last,” he said. He rose on one elbow
and stroked the fall of gold on the pillow. “I want to see you. I
want to make you feel everything.”
“Yes,” she told him.
Yes. To her it was all so simple. She cared about him. Him.
Not his wealth, not his power, not his failings.
Outside the window, the blizzard ruled. He had all night to
make her forget everything but this room, and him.
Sera looked up into Nicholas’s face as he leaned over her
in the bed. His eyes, dear gods, his gray eyes, beneath the straight
brows, had deepened to the color of slate. His lids were heavy,
the dark, fringed lashes hiding his thoughts when she wanted to
know everything. Then he gave her a look so heated her heart
skittered into a faster beat. She pushed, and the soft linen of his
shirt fell open, revealing a strong throat and broad chest, both
darker than the white cloth and lightly furred with hair. His skin
gleamed gold in the light of the fire. How could he not see how
strong he was, how beautiful? She lifted her face to his neck
and kissed the hollow of his throat. He gasped as her tongue
found heat and soap and clean male—Nicholas’s taste filled
her, and she found it delicious.
“Let me pleasure you,” he whispered, a deep rumble that
made her catch her breath. “Let me show you how it can feel,
how you can feel.” His hand supported the back of her neck.
He planted teasing kisses on her cheek, her chin, tasting the
corner of her mouth with his tongue, his kisses light and sweet,
a wicked, knowing seduction below her ear. His mouth covered
hers in a searing kiss, and her lips parted helplessly beneath a
deep exploration that left her mindless of anything but his
strength, his mastery. After a long time, he broke the kiss. She
gave a soft cry of disappointment. And felt his breath, the warmth
of it.
“Take off your gown, sweetheart. I have to see you.”
“All right.” His hands helped her with the tiny buttons she
couldn’t open because she was trembling, torn between desire
and a sudden, wrenching self-consciousness. In the harem, he
had thrown his cloak at her and ordered her to cover herself.
Did he find her ugly then? Would he find her ugly now?
She sat up and slowly lowered the bodice of her gown. He
had risen to his knees, and his hands closed beneath her elbows,
lifting her higher, until she, too was kneeling facing him on the
bed. When he tugged at the gown, it slid down her torso and
gathered about her hips in folds of soft wool. Sera shut her eyes
against the possibility of his disappointment. Nicholas said
nothing. He only slipped his hands down her shoulders, easing
off the sleeves of the thin linen shift to follow the gown. She
knelt there, exposed, hot with blushes in the fire lit room. She
peeked at him, trying to determine his reaction. Pride alone kept
her back straight as his eyes slowly perused her body with
intense concentration. His eyes closed as he took a deep,
shuddering breath.
Sera gave a whimper of defeat and grabbed the gown up
again. Nicholas’s eyes sprang open. “No,” he said, pulling the
dress down and then sliding his hands down the outline of her
body.
“Why did you shut your eyes?” No more lies, even if it hurt
to hear the truth.
“I had to stop wanting—Sera, it’ll scare you.”
Curiosity and fear warred as she took in the heat in his eyes.
“What?”
He touched her then, a slow stroke of his forefinger from
shoulder to collarbone and down, over the swell of her breast,
circling once, and then rubbing with his thumb, and not once
did he look away. His gaze locked upon her as though she were
the only precious thing left in the world. And she—she couldn’t
hide what that soft abrasion did to her. Her body thrust forward
against his hands. Her face, no doubt, reflected her every wanton
response.
Slate darkness in candlelight, his gaze held her captive while
he rubbed the nipple between thumb and forefinger. Sparks of
heat shot to her belly, and farther down. She had a difficult time
holding on to thought.
He watched her with a fearsome stillness. How could she
reveal how wild, how lost she was to the heat he engendered
with his clever hands? He would be appalled. Certainly, any
Hillman would expect more dignity from his mate.
But desire overwhelmed her. She turned her head away,
losing herself in fiery spurts of pleasure from that lascivious
stroking.
“Look at me.” His voice was a warm whisper against her
ear, carrying her up on a spiral of urgency. She dared a glance
into his eyes. Burning, intent, they left her helpless and
imprisoned. His beautiful lips curved in a smile that knew all
about her.
Oh, yes, he knew. Knew he had enslaved her at last. Knew
she had no thought of making him stop—that she could not
bear it if he stopped.
“We were discussing what I want to do,” Nicholas reminded
her, lifting her breasts with his hands, staring intently at the
tight buds of her nipples.
“Yes,” she said again, grasping at the spider web threads of
his words.
“The same thing I wanted when I saw you for the first time
at Iman Hadar’s palace.” He cleared his throat. “To come into
you, as deep and hard as I could.” The words came out in a low
growl. His face looked different, leaner, strained, as though he
were in pain. His gray gaze held her, a brigand’s gleam in
shadow.
“Oh.” She raised her hand to his chest, to the springy hair
and the solid muscle there, so different from her softness.
“No. Don’t touch me… yet.” He covered her hand with his
own and brought it bac
k to her lap, lingering there with his own
hand, brushing through the wool, against the juncture of thigh
and that private place, igniting hot fire where all the feeling
centered.
“Just ‘oh’?” His lips quirked. “Where’s the bold Sera who
challenged me?”
“Trying to touch you. I don’t understand. What is this ‘no’?”
“If you touch me, it’ll be over before it begins.” He gave a
low laugh that turned into a groan and took her face in his hands.
“One time, Sera, just once, trust me to do something without
your help.”
So soft were his lips as they molded her mouth. His body
bent over her, finally close enough to touch, but he wouldn’t let
her touch him. He held on to her hands, pressing them to her
sides while his tongue tasted and his teeth nibbled at her lower
lip.
Sera arched her body and rubbed her breasts against his
chest, feeling the soft tickle of his hair against her nipples. She
was aching for more where he had touched her so lightly. He
tumbled her back on the sheets, tasting her mouth, groaning
when her lips parted for him.
Following her down, he covered her body with his, and she
felt his thigh, long and muscled between her legs, and him, full
and hard against her. No more teasing kisses now. His tongue
plunged into her mouth in the rhythm his body took, pushing
against her, urging her to move against him in the same beat. It
was heavy, his body’s demand, and sweet, too, the way he
cupped her breast, stroking with his fingers, following with his
mouth. His tongue curled around the nipple, and she cried out,
rising up to him.
He’d freed her arms. She threaded her fingers through his
hair. Oh, it was soft and thick and warm with life. The very
bone of his skull felt smooth, finely wrought and solid beneath
her fingers. She couldn’t think, she could only feel the tug of
his mouth as he suckled at her nipple, his heat pumping against
her, so strong and eager and alive that she felt only joyous desire.
Alive, she thought dimly. They were both of them alive.
Her hands fluttered from his hair down the strong, corded
neck. She fumbled with his shirt and tried to tug it off over his
wide shoulders.
Nicholas felt Sera’s haste, and he wanted it, wanted her
eager, and no more barriers between them. Rolling to the side
Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt Page 31