by Robyn Donald
Establish some sort of claim?
Reluctantly he admitted it. Of course his intervention hadn’t been necessary; her experience showed in the way she’d skilfully parried any advances.
He’d wanted her at eighteen, but it was impossible. He was no debaucher of innocent girls.
But now…now she was no longer innocent.
While they’d been talking darkness had fallen—thick, all-encompassing, enclosing them in an intimate circle of candlelight, yet Rosie sensed a distance in him, an aloofness that chilled her. An upward glance revealed that he was looking at her, his eyes remote behind the thick screen of his lashes.
He was watching her mouth.
Tension shafted through her, bringing with it a fierce delight. She’d seen desire often enough to recognise it. In spite of his formidable restraint, Gerd was attracted to her.
Rosie’s heart clamped in her breast.
So? she thought, trying to tamp down the unwanted tumult of excitement. Desire was common coin; it meant nothing beyond the swift heat of passion. She’d always been repulsed by men whose only interest in her was physical.
But this was different; this was Gerd…
Don’t go there! Doing her best to be sophisticated, she warned herself that Gerd was very much a man, and so just as capable of feeling meaningless passion as her rejected would-be lovers.
That hateful thought prompted her to remark tartly, ‘Pondering matters of state, Gerd? Or should I call you Your Royal Highness now?’
Their eyes clashed, his hard and more than a little intimidating. ‘Only if you say it in Carathian. And even then, only if you’re a Carathian citizen.’
‘So what do people who are neither call you?’
‘My family and friends call me Gerd.’
‘Then I’ll stick to that,’ she said jauntily, adding with a wry smile, ‘even though I’m neither family nor friend.’
She didn’t know what she expected from him after that—a smoothly bland statement that she was both, perhaps. But he leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily, his handsome face sardonic.
For some reason an erratic pulse beat high in Rosie’s throat; she had to clasp one hand around the stem of the champagne glass to stop herself from covering that betraying little hollow, but she could do nothing about the exhilarating rush of adrenalin that charged through her.
Lazily he said, ‘We’ve had this conversation before. Since you’re Alex’s half-sister, I consider you to be very much part of the family even though there is no blood connection. As for being friends, do you think a man and a woman can be nothing more than friends?’
‘Some men, some women,’ she returned. ‘It’s not impossible.’
His brows lifted. ‘Let’s be specific, then. Do you think you and I could be friends?’
Was he flirting with her? Tantalised by the thought, Rosie struggled to achieve the right throw away tone. ‘It doesn’t seem likely. Friendships need to be worked at, and how often have we seen each other in the past three years? I don’t think we can call our selves friends. Friendly acquaintances, possibly.’
There, that should show him she didn’t want any sort of flirtatious relationship with him. Darn it, she was trying to get him out of her system! Encouraging this sort of half-bantering innuendo was not the way to do that.
‘An innocuous description.’ But a raw edge in his voice sent surreptitious little shivers the length of her spine, warned her it might not be wise to take his words at face value.
A waiter arrived with the first course, a cold soup, and while they drank it Gerd steered the conversation into much safer channels.
Relieved, Rosie followed his lead, keeping her gaze away from those darkly golden eyes, that fascinating mouth. Only to discover she couldn’t stop looking at his hands—lean, long-fingered and smoothly assured.
Little quivers tightened inside her as she found herself wondering what they’d feel like on her skin. She swallowed hastily and told herself to be sensible. She knew exactly what they felt like; when he’d kissed her he’d slid his hands across her back, causing a shuddery delight to riot through her.
Stop thinking about it! She forced herself to be bright, to wait a second before she spoke, and to restrict herself to impersonal glances and manufactured smiles.
By the time dinner ended she was as taut and tightly coiled as an over-wound spring. There wasn’t the usual business with credit cards, and she bit her lip to stop asking how such payments were managed. Did the restaurant send a bill to the palace?
The same car met them again, with the same anonymous security man beside the chauffeur. Rosie sank back into the seat, clipping her seat belt across to form a fragile barrier between her and Gerd.
Stupid, because of course he wouldn’t pounce!
Gazing out of the window, she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I like modern buildings, but I have to admit these old houses with their carvings and oriel windows and studded doors have something that makes me wish New Zealand had a longer history.’
‘The novelty, probably.’ He sounded distant, glad that the evening had finished. ‘You’re used to houses built of timber. The fact that in Carathia stone has always been the cheapest and most common material might make the buildings here more romantic.’
Rosie ignored a little jab of pain. ‘Could be,’ she agreed, and lapsed into silence as they drove through the still-busy streets and up the hill to the palace, huge and dramatically lit on the hill.
‘It’s so big,’ she ventured, gazing at the classical splendour of it. ‘Did the ancestor who built this have a particularly large family?’
‘A particularly large sense of his own importance,’ Gerd told her astringently. ‘One of his barons married a woman from southern Italy who found the family’s ancient castle intolerably cold. She must have been very beautiful and he must have been besotted, because he razed it and used the stone to build a mansion. Not to be outdone, the then Grand Duke had the original castle here demolished so he could build a much bigger, more grand palace than his vassal.’
‘To the great relief of everyone who followed him onto the throne, I’m sure,’ she returned cheerfully. ‘I love castles—they’re grim and powerful and evocative of history and passion and treachery and chivalry, but I’ll bet the reason they’re mostly in ruins now is because they were so uncomfortable.’
The car drew up inside the palace courtyard. ‘Comfort over romance, Rosemary?’
Uneasily aware of his brief smile as he spoke, she said, ‘Absolutely.’ And it wasn’t entirely a lie.
As they walked towards the door Gerd said, ‘A nightcap?’
CHAPTER FOUR
COMMON sense told Rosie to make her excuses and her escape as quickly as she could with dignity.
But if she’d listened to common sense when Gerd asked her to dinner she’d have missed out on the bitter-sweetness of the evening. From now on she’d only see Gerd in photographs. The knowledge ached through her, summoning a kind of desperation, a need to hug each precious moment to her breast.
Think of it as a final goodbye, she told herself with bleak realism. Without a tremor she said, ‘Thank you, I’d enjoy that.’
In his private sitting room he poured drinks while she examined the room. This was not the bigger one where he’d entertained the family, but a smaller, more intimate affair, furnished quite casually. Her gaze ranged from the huge sofas that befitted a man of his height to some exquisite glassware in a cabinet, and she made a soft sound of pleasure.
‘From Venice,’ he said, following the direction of her gaze as he handed her the drink. ‘The Venetians ruled most of this coast at one time.’
‘Did they conquer Carathia?’
‘No, but they demanded a yearly tribute—wine and silver from the mines.’
‘The glass is beautiful, such glorious colours. I didn’t know there were silver mines here.’
‘They’ve been worked out for a couple of centuries, but they were
what made Carathia prosperous in the Middle Ages.’
Rosie sipped the white wine he’d given her. A silky, subtly sweet liquor, it breathed the scent of flowers. ‘This smells like spring. And tastes like it too. Is it from here?’
‘Yes.’ Grim-faced, he looked down at her, and in a voice she’d never heard before said, ‘I chose it because you always remind me of spring.’
Rosie froze, silenced by a fierce rush of adrenalin. She looked up into glittering golden eyes as a heady recklessness clamoured through her, a torrent both languorous and without mercy, sweet as honey and dangerous. Through the drumbeat of her pulse she tightened her shaking fingers around the glass. The voluptuous appetite Gerd roused with his kisses all those years ago blazed into open need.
She began to tremble.
Narrowed eyes gleaming, he took the almost untouched wine from her and set the glass on a table. Rosie’s heart gave a great leap and the breath stopped in her throat. Heat pounded through her, softening her bones, banishing any coherent thoughts in a widening surge of hunger.
Yet as Gerd lifted her hands to his lips, she managed to croak, ‘This is not a good idea, Gerd.’
‘Have you a better one?’ he asked deeply.
Shivers chased them selves over her skin, through every wakening cell in her body. ‘I don’t know—I just don’t really think…’ she said in confusion, the words slurring when he kissed the jumping pulse in one wrist.
His mouth was hot and demanding, lingering over the fine skin. Rosie swallowed to ease her dry throat. There was something she had to say, but she couldn’t remember what.
Still holding her gaze, he held her hands to his chest so that the open palms rested above his heart. Its rapid beat echoed her own turbulent pulse, thundering a primitive call.
Rosie closed her eyes, but that made things worse; without sight every other sense was sharpened. She could hear his breath, hard and fast as though he’d been running, and his faint, masculine scent teased her nostrils—evocative, compelling.
Desperate, she forced up her lashes and held his gaze, wincing at the arrogant jut of his jaw and the golden glints in his eyes, the eyes of a predator.
She should be terrified.
She wasn’t.
But something had to be said.
‘Princess Serina?’ she muttered almost pleadingly.
He told her harshly, ‘I’ve made no commitment to her or to any other woman. She is not expecting a proposal from me.’
Rosie struggled to articulate a further question, but he kissed the unformed words from her lips, and she surrendered to desire so intense her knees buckled. Gerd’s arms tightened around her. She gasped when he picked her up and carried her, mouth on mouth, across the room, sinking onto one of the big sofas without releasing her.
The kisses turned shockingly erotic when he bent her head back across his shoulder and explored her sweet depths with a torrid passion. Dimly, vaguely, Rosie wondered if she should have run while she had the chance.
Too late now. His slow, drugging kisses summoned a wildly incandescent response from every cell in her body and she had never felt so safe.
Yet never been in such danger…
Gerd lifted his head and scrutinised her face, penetrating eyes gleaming between dark lashes, the angular framework of his handsome face suddenly far more prominent. ‘If you don’t want this tell me right now, before it’s too late.’
Rosie dragged breath into her famished lungs. Disconnected thoughts tumbled in freefall around her brain, fleeting scraps so coloured by emotion she couldn’t assemble them into any coherent order.
Finally she managed, ‘Why?’
Closing his eyes, he said in a rough voice, ‘Rosemary, I’ve wanted you since I first kissed you, but you were far too young.’ Catching her unawares, he opened his eyes again, fixing her with a fierce, unguarded gaze that set more nerves jangling. ‘And now you’re grown-up, but it has to be what you want too.’
His words jerked Rosie upwards. Mouth tight, eyes blazing, she surveyed his ruthless face.
It was too cruel of him to kiss her like that, as though she was the most important thing in his life, as though he’d longed for her just as fiercely as she’d craved him, and then let his damned principles get in the way.
Furious, she exploded, ‘Of course I want you—I’ve wanted you since I understood what wanting is.’
He said harshly, ‘You deserve more than a one-night stand.’
For some strange reason his words strengthened her resolution. She met his gaze with boldness. ‘So do you.’
His chest lifted and she saw wry laughter gleam in the golden eyes.
And something else, she realised, her heart picking up speed once more. Determination, as though he’d come to some turning point and now saw the way ahead.
‘So perhaps we will forget about it being just one night,’ he said. In a voice without any inflection he asked, ‘What is your decision?’
‘Why do I have to decide?’ she demanded.
He gave her a taut, narrow smile. ‘You know why.’ He held out his hand. Slowly she put her hand into his keeping. Against the tanned strength of his, hers looked fragile, almost lost.
He wrapped his fingers around hers and said, ‘Pull.’
‘I don’t have to.’ Her stupid hand was shaking, and she fought back an unregenerate sizzle of excitement. ‘I know you’re stronger than I am.’
‘That’s why you decide,’ he told her in flexibly.
Clearly, he wasn’t going to change his mind. Without thinking she hauled back. Instantly his fingers closed around hers, holding them in a firm grip that didn’t hurt.
And then he let her go. In a voice as uncompromising as that grip had been, he said, ‘Make up your mind, Rosemary.’
Awash with a hunger that screamed for satisfaction, Rosie forced herself to think. Part of the hold he had on her had to be simple frustration because she’d never made love. In her dreams it was wonderful, transcendental, but she’d listened to enough friends to understand it needn’t necessarily be like that.
So if she experienced sex with Gerd chances were she could rid herself of this fruitless desire.
Or it might make things worse—give life to a craving she couldn’t control.
But that had already happened. Hell, because of this man she was still a virgin!
Be logical, she told herself almost beseechingly. A long-distance friend ship was difficult enough to sustain; a long-distance love affair—one based only on sex—would be even more difficult.
Eventually it must burn out, and when it did she’d be free of the lingering hangover of her adolescent passion for him.
She said, ‘I—all right, now that we know that this…this need is mutual, why not just follow it and see what happens?’
His mouth tightened. ‘Be sophisticated and adult about it?’
‘Is there anything wrong with that?’ she demanded, challenging him directly. ‘It’s better than being foolish and juvenile, surely? We’re both adults. We both know this can’t go anywhere, so why not take what we can from it and enjoy it and when it dies remember it without regret?’
Gerd smiled, but his eyes were coolly watchful, and she had no idea what he felt when he said, ‘If that’s what you want, then that is the way it will happen.’
But he made no movement to kiss her again, and an icy chill of panic gripped her. Had she repelled him, even disgusted him?
And then he smiled and said softly, ‘I suspect you’re every man’s dream mistress, Rosemary—no strings, no commitment, no future planned. Just the promise of sex whenever we want it, wherever we want it.’ His voice deepened. ‘However we want it.’
‘Oh, there’s going to be some sort of commitment,’ she told him, hoping she sounded as confident as her words. But she needed to get something straight, although her heart constricted when she said, ‘Until we call a halt I’ll be faithful to you, and I’ll expect the same from you.’
The dark head bent
in an autocratic nod. ‘Very well, then, it’s a deal.’
The words were blunt, as blunt as hers had been, she reminded herself.
‘It’s a deal,’ she whispered, and held out her hand.
His mouth was a thin line, strangely ruthless, as they shook hands. But it gentled when he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips.
The sensuous caress sent more wanton excitement tingling through Rosie. And then he bent his head and kissed her again, and his mouth took her into that realm where thought and logic no longer mattered, where the only reality was Gerd’s passion and her abandoned response.
But even as she yielded she wondered how he might react if he realised she’d never done this before.
It didn’t matter. His kisses stoked the fires that had been smouldering so long; for the second time in her life real desire slammed through her, a relentless, consuming source of pleasure and anticipation that banished any apprehension.
When Gerd found the hollow at the base of her throat and kissed the feverish pulse there, she stiffened and gave a soft, in voluntary groan.
‘You even smell of spring,’ he said, his voice low and impeded. ‘All flowers and sweetness and energy…’
Rosie pushed his shirt back and kissed his shoulder, her mouth open and seeking. He tasted like every dream she’d ever had—a sexy mix of challenge and charisma and power, an earthy flavour that was Gerd alone, made from his body, the true essence of the man.
To her astonished delight, she felt him tense, and then his mouth moved to the curve of her breast.
Breath locking in her throat, she waited for the revulsion she usually felt, the sense of being invaded that always before had had her calling an abrupt halt.
It didn’t come. When he kissed her she understood the true meaning of longing; tautly expectant, her breasts ached with voluptuous hunger that only he could ease.
But he lifted his head. She had only a moment to endure the cold chill of rejection before he began to push aside the ties that held up her dress.
‘Am I likely to wreck this pretty thing by doing this?’
Gerd’s raw voice only added to the reckless clamour in her blood. ‘No.’