“It was you who distracted them,” he pointed out.
Was it? She pressed her lips together, searching the face of the woman in the mirror and finding someone older, a woman who had seen the truth of her dreams and let them go.
“The delegation from New Europa arrived today to discuss the alliance,” Isban prodded, sensing her melancholy. “They asked about you.”
“Ah.” She smiled bitterly. “How polite.”
“Just because he was not among them, does not mean that he did not wish to be. He is still the servant of a king, after all.”
“I grow tired,” she said softly.
“Of course.” Isban straightened, turning to shuffle toward the door, gesturing at the air with frail fingers. “Rest well. And take heart, all of our souls have met before in other worlds. How we all find each other again, in this one, is anyone’s guess.”
She released a slow breath as he disappeared, waiting to move until the doors were closed behind him. Rising from her seat, she crossed to the balcony, the recent rain still slick along the open screens, water glistening from flowering vines. On the horizon, the storm clouds had drifted apart, their edges frothing with moonlight.
Nadira hesitated, catching a glitter of blue from the stone balustrade. It deepened as she approached, revealing the facets of a large stone, shards of color dancing in its depths. The diamond.
“Jacob,” she whispered.
“I had hoped to find you alone,” he said.
She turned to see him standing in the room behind her, leaning slightly on the handle of a polished cane, a pressed uniform barely visible under his cloak. He took a step forward. “I trust you have not settled on poor Isban. He might have the patience, but one wonders if he has the stamina.”
A joke. Nadira stared at him. “How did you get in here?”
“I still have some evasive skill, it seems.”
Her heart ached with the words, the soft tone of resignation he could not hide. “You are not fully recovered.”
“It is a slow process. The bullet, the fall, both took their toll, but I am alive and nearly as capable as I was.” He came closer, standing over her like a dark spirit. “My heart never stopped beating.”
“Mine did,” she replied, watching his eyes warm, their blue glint finally familiar. “For months, I have dreamed of nothing but seeing you alive. They left us guards and took you away, bleeding, unconscious…”
He raised his hand to her chin. “To speed me to a surgeon, and rescue a certain duke left on a mountain top.”
“I was desperate to know where you were, and your diplomats would say nothing, only that you were receiving the best care. There was not a moment that I did not wonder what that meant, if you were in pain…”
“I am here, Nadira,” he said. “I was always here.”
“I needed to care for you. I needed to touch you and know that you are still alive, and I couldn’t.” She clenched her teeth against the flood of emotion, relief, anguish, possessiveness…too much to bear. Reaching for the clasp of his cloak, she released it, watching it fall from his large shoulders.
She heard his breathing change, felt him lean closer, his lips parting as she loosed the buttons of his jacket, starting from the collar, ignoring medals and ribbons, unthreading his jacket belt with impatience, parting the starched fabric to find his shirt, his skin.
She stroked her hand over his bare stomach and he closed his eyes.
“They did not touch you this gently,” she said.
“No.”
“They healed you, but they did not comfort you.”
He didn’t reply to that, lost in the feel of her fingers sliding up his chest, kissing them lightly as she raised them to his lips.
“I need to see you,” she murmured.
“A command,” he noted softly, setting the cane aside and balancing gingerly on both feet. Sliding his jacket off, he drew the shirt over his head, revealing the purpled skin over his collar bone, crossed with scar tissue and the pale tracks of removed stitches, the shape of sinew now forever altered.
Stroking over his arm, she kissed the wound, feeling his hand cover her hair, caress her neck.
“All of you,” she insisted. “Everything that was broken, everything that was left whole, everything…”
He made a harsh sound under his breath and followed her as she led him away from the balcony, his movements graceful but pained. She urged him down on the bed and he complied, tilting his gaze toward the ceiling, shutting his eyes as she removed his boots, his dark trousers.
The leg wound had been larger, the scars crossing in desperate directions above his knee, as if the bone had broken through the skin, and more than one surgery had been required to correct it.
She smoothed her fingers over the angry red lines, exploring the muscle around them, lowering her mouth to kiss the warm contours. He drew a sharp breath, reaching for her, finding a strand of her hair and slipping it between his fingers.
Nadira nuzzled her way up his thigh, kissing the tender weight of his testicles, the swelling length of his cock, feeling him tense, and groan, and arch gently toward her. His vulnerability touched her, soothed her, the spark her own desire flourishing in its warmth.
She slid off her robe, her silken caftan dress, until she was as naked as he was, until they were both nothing more than moonlight and shadow.
He stroked her neck, her hair, her cheek. “I thought of you,” he said. “Unprotected here. It drove me mad.”
“I was not unprotected. Isban is well respected. He takes great care—”
“Not as much as I do,” he said, the words edged with emotion.
Lifting her by the waist, he dragged her beneath him, cradling her in his arms, the hard weight of his chest held above her. He kissed her with the slow, beautiful rhythm that she remembered, his body patient and waiting.
She replied with her tongue, with the arch of her back, wrapping her legs around his waist and rubbing the folds of her sex against his shaft until he sucked air through his teeth, trembling and ready under her fingers.
“Jacob,” she murmured his name as if it were a plea.
He kissed her, his tongue gently seeking, teasing. Nestling his hips between hers, he entered her with a long, slow stroke, filling her body and her heart, making her blood sing. She gripped his shoulders, surrendering to the feel of him, enjoying every thrust, every open-mouthed caress, until heat became release.
He held her close, held her safe, loving her as the moonlight slipped away and the dawn chased the shadows from the room, leaving only two lovers, lost in silk, and folded together like peaceful hands, oblivious to the sparkle of a sunlit diamond.
About the Author
Morgan Karpiel
Morgan Karpiel is a RWA Golden Heart Finalist (2005, 2009 & 2010) and the recipient of the prestigious Maggie Award of Excellence in Fiction. She is currently working on the next novella in her erotically-charged Fantasies of New Europa series. The first of the series The Inventor and other titles are currently available. She also welcomes you to visit her website at MorganKarpiel.com
Table of Contents
Cover Image
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
To Catch a Thief
Palace of Secrets
A Mask with Two Faces
The Sacred Valley
Light
Darkness
To Love a Sultan
About the Author
The Champion Page 9