Lancelot's Lady

by Cherish D'Angelo

  She raised her chin. "Are you saying I'm bad luck?"

  "Rhianna, you're the queen of bad luck." He grinned at her. "Whether you're bad luck to me, we'll have to see."

  Rising from the chair, he flipped the ice pack.

  "God, that's freezing," she hissed.

  "I can warm you up."

  His gaze devoured her and she gulped in a breath.

  "I should go back to the house," she said.

  "Then I'll carry you back."

  "No," she said quickly. "I'm sure I can walk now. It's not very far."

  Rhianna made it three steps before her ankle gave out. Thankfully Jonathan was right behind her or she would have ended up on the floor. This time she made no protest when he lifted her into his arms.

  Neither of them said a word as they approached the house. Jonathan carried her upstairs to her bedroom and set her down on the bed.

  "Thank you," she said.

  "For what?"

  "For rescuing me. And carrying me here."

  "No problem."

  As he moved to the door, she said, "Lancelot's Landing is a very fitting name for this property."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "You know," she said with an awkward laugh. "Sir Lancelot, brave knight rescues the maiden and all?"

  He bowed low, the towel threatening to slip off. "At your service, milady."

  She let out an unladylike snort. "Somehow I don't see Lancelot in a towel.

  Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "What do you see him in?"

  There was no way Rhianna was going to touch that.

  "Good night, Jonathan."

  "Sleep well…milady."

  When the door closed behind him, she let out a pent up breath.

  "I can warm you up," he'd said.

  "I bet you can," she murmured.

  Chapter 17

  Rhianna awoke to the chatter of tropical birds. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was after ten in the morning. She'd slept in.

  "Damn!" she muttered. Misty must be wondering where the heck she was.

  She threw off the covers and tentatively tested her foot. A dull ache settled around her ankle, but it was bearable. The good news was she could walk.

  Quickly dressing, Rhianna went downstairs in search of her young charge and a pot of coffee.

  "Misty?"

  The house was unusually quiet.

  As she entered the kitchen, she expected to see Misty at the table, coloring or playing with her Barbies. But the table was empty except for some fresh flowers in a vase, a carafe of steaming coffee and a clean mug.

  "Bring on the caffeine," she mumbled.

  She caught sight of a note on the fridge door.

  Rhianna, I hope your ankle is better. I decided not to wake you this morning. Take the day off. The Atkinsons are looking after Misty, so put your foot up and relax. I'm taking my easel down to the beach. See you later tonight. By the way, thanks for the mementos. Jonathan.

  Mementos? What the heck was he talking about?

  Something twinged in the back of Rhianna's mind and a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach made her moan.

  "Oh no…I left my panties and bra in his studio."

  Chewing her bottom lip, she thought of her options. She could wait for Jonathan to return her clothes. That would turn her a few shades of red. Or she could sneak into the cabin while he was painting at the beach.

  He'll never know I was there.

  Slipping her feet carefully into a pair of sandals, she headed for the door. As she limped across the lawn, mindful of her sore ankle, her head bobbed left, then right. God, she hoped no one would see her entering Jonathan's cabin.

  At the cabin door, she hesitated.

  What if he's still inside?

  She knocked. "Jonathan? You in there?"

  Silence.

  Relieved, she eased open the door. The easel was gone.

  "Okay. Do this before he gets back." She frowned. "So where are my clothes?"

  She checked the kitchen area, the floor, even the bathroom. Her clothes were nowhere to be seen. The only thing she could think of was that perhaps Jonathan had already brought them back to the house.

  With a moan, she slumped into the armchair. "Why couldn't I have left behind a ratty sweater―or socks?"

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the porch.

  Her heart did a back flip. Oh crap.

  Jonathan stomped into the cabin, muttering under his breath. He shoved the easel and canvas against the wall by the door and dropped a tool box on the floor.

  He straightened, finally noticing her.

  "Jesus Christ, Rhianna!"

  She gave him a coy smile. "Did I startle you?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I, uh, came to get some things I left behind."

  "Ah," he said, his pinched expression relaxing. "I almost brought them to the house this morning."

  "Why didn't you?"

  He smiled. "I knew you'd come get them."

  The air was charged with electricity. Rhianna could feel the sparks on her skin.

  "So where are they?" Her voice was raspy.

  "Hanging on the back of the bathroom door."

  "I didn't put them there," she said, her cheeks aflame.

  Jonathan shrugged. "I didn't want your lingerie to get covered in paint."

  "I'll get them and be out of your way."

  Rhianna disappeared into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later with the nightshirt and panties balled up in her hands.

  "Bye," she mumbled.

  "Wait."

  When she turned, she was shocked by the conflicting expressions in his eyes. Frustration mixed with hunger lurked beneath the surface. Both were dangerous.

  She should leave. Now! Otherwise, he was going to take what he wanted. She could see it in the way he stared, the way he clenched his hands at his side, as if afraid he'd touch her.

  She held her breath.

  "I knew you were naked under that robe," he said, wiping his forehead with the back of a hand.

  She gulped in a breath. "I don't think―"

  "When I look at you," he interrupted, "I feel I can paint anything."

  "Then what's stopping you?"

  "You."

  "Me."

  Jonathan took a step closer. "You're all I've been able to think about lately. And now I know what I need to paint."

  "What?"

  The corners of his mouth lifted. "You."

  She gaped at him. "Why would you want to do that?"

  "Because you're beautiful."

  At first, she didn't know how to reply. In a small voice, she said, "You need glasses."

  "Don't you know how beautiful you are?"

  She snorted. "I bet you say that to all the ladies."

  "There's only you and Mrs. Atkinson around," he said dryly. "And somehow I don't think Marvin would appreciate me hitting on his wife."

  "Is that what you're doing? Hitting on me?"

  The words were out of her mouth before she could contemplate the ramifications.

  Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "If I were hitting on you, I'd give you more than a bad line."

  There was no breathable air in the room.

  Rhianna stood rooted to the floor as he approached her in slow, deliberate steps, his eyes locked on hers and filled with smoldering passion.

  "If I were hitting on you," he said, "I'd tell you how stunningly beautiful you are, that you have the most amazing green eyes I've ever seen."

  Warm hands caressed her face as he lowered his head.

  "If I were hitting on you," he whispered, "I'd kiss you again and again."

  And he did.

  Jonathan's lips met hers with an urgency that scared her. But this time Rhianna didn't pull away. When he moved closer, she met him halfway. Their lips locked in a passionate kiss that took away all sense of time and place. There was only now. This time. This place.

  Jonathan tasted of strawberries. His mouth devoured her
s, drawing her away from her skin until she was a quivering mass of desire.

  He groaned. "What do you want, Rhianna?"

  I want you…

  She parted her lips, inviting him in.

  "I can't stop thinking of you," he whispered against her throat.

  She moaned as his lips drifted lower, teasing her, while his fingers flipped through the buttons of her shirt and peeled it away. Her bra quickly followed, along with the clothing in her hands.

  Sapphire eyes caressed her.

  "You're so beautiful," he said.

  In a moment of shyness, Rhianna tried to cover her breasts, but Jonathan caught her hands and kissed her hard.

  "I want you," he said, nipping at her lower lip.

  Old fears resurfaced, but she pushed them aside. This was her time. Time to experience passion the way it was meant to be experienced. Time to take that final step, to learn what she'd been missing all these years.

  He stared deep into her eyes, an unspoken question on the tip of his tongue. When his mouth claimed hers in a breathless kiss, she gave him his answer.

  Yes…

  Wasting no time, Jonathan swung her into his arms and carried her to the sofa where he eased her onto the cushions. Hovering over her, he said, "Are you sure?"

  In answer, she reached up and drew him down, her gaze never leaving his. What she felt now couldn't be wrong. She felt beautiful, desirable…whole.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  He bent his head and kissed the inside contour of her breasts. Hot kisses rained over them, searing them. Then he blew across one nipple, causing it to go rigid.

  Rhianna gripped the cushions beneath her.

  "Please…" she moaned.

  Jonathan's mouth captured a nipple and she cried out. The sensation of his wet mouth and soft tongue on her sensitive nipple made her gasp and arch her back in response.

  Had she died and gone to heaven?

  The throbbing between her legs intensified until she couldn't stand it any longer. "Oh God…"

  He moaned against her breast.

  Jesus! What was he doing to her?

  Shivers of intense pleasure raced through her. She was adrift on a sea of ecstasy that pushed her higher.

  Jonathan reached down, one hand sliding between their bodies. Heat radiated from his hand through her jeans, scorching her skin. When he cupped the source of her frenzied yearning, she knew she was at the peak of something wonderful.

  "I want to touch all of you," he said hoarsely.

  When Rhianna was completely naked, Jonathan studied her with an intensity that bewildered her.

  She had never felt so exposed.

  ~ * ~

  Jonathan peeled off his own clothing, unable to calm his racing thoughts. This was what he'd been waiting for. Rhianna was what he'd been waiting for.

  My muse.

  Heart pounding, he studied her. He took in the luxurious locks of auburn hair that partially covered her breasts. Her stomach was flat and smooth, her hips gently rounded.

  She reached up. "I feel self-conscious."

  "You're perfection."

  He lowered himself until her feverish skin connected with his. She hissed in a ragged breath, her eyes reflecting wonder and nervous anticipation. Then she took a small breath and held it.

  Jonathan chuckled. "What are you doing?"

  "Waiting."

  "It would be rude of me to keep a lady waiting."

  "I don't know how―"

  "Shh." He grazed her lips with his thumb. "No talking."

  He claimed her mouth. It started as a sweet kiss, but swiftly ignited a fire that neither of them could extinguish. Her tongue entwined with his and he groaned.

  God, how he wanted her. That was evident by the hardness between his legs.

  "See how much I want you?"

  He moved his hips in small circles and Rhianna's eyes flared at the sensual contact. Releasing her, he shifted to one side and leaned against the back of the sofa. With one hand he traced a path from her neck to between her breasts to her stomach. She quivered under his touch. He leaned down to kiss her, his fingers wandering lower.

  She was hot. And wet.

  "Wait." But even as she said this, she moved against him.

  He parted her legs and continued touching, caressing, exploring. Her breathing quickened and she arched her back, crying out his name. Positioning himself above her, he prodded at her opening in teasing movements. She squirmed beneath him, panting, her eyes half-glazed.

  If he didn't get inside her now, he'd explode.

  "Are you ready?" he whispered, biting her lip.

  She bucked beneath him and bit him back. "Yes."

  In one fluid movement he was inside her, trapped within satin depths. She was so hot, so tight, he could barely hold back. He groaned and kissed her hard, afraid to move, afraid he wouldn't last.

  Something wet touched his cheek.

  He raised his head. And froze.

  ~ * ~

  "What's wrong?" he asked. "Did I hurt you?"

  Rhianna couldn't stand the pained expression in Jonathan's eyes. "It's not you."

  "Then what?"

  She closed her eyes. How could she tell him? How could she possibly explain to him that she'd been violated by a disgusting excuse of a man for so many years that it made her feel dirty, used…unworthy.

  Damn you, Peter Waverley!

  She'd done everything to put Peter out of her mind. The sensations she felt with Jonathan were so different, so exciting. She wanted more. But when he'd entered her, it brought everything crashing down around her.

  Jonathan waited patiently.

  "I can't do this," she said, crying softly. "I'm sorry."

  "Tell me what's wrong, Rhianna."

  "I…I can't."

  He withdrew from her, visibly confused and deflated. She was barely able to look at him.

  He'll never want me now. Not after this.

  Rhianna recalled her little ritual at the pool. How stupid could she be? How could she possibly think that a few words and holding her breath underwater could cleanse her and make the nightmares go away?

  Maybe she should just accept this as her life.

  Maybe I'll always be damaged goods.

  Outside, the sun spread radiant rays across the land and sea, but inside the cabin an invisible cloud of gloom had invaded the room.

  While they dressed in awkward silence, Rhianna tried not to think of what had just happened.

  Oh my God. I let him―

  No, she couldn't go there. Not now.

  Jonathan smoothed a t-shirt over his chest, his eyes searching hers. "We're both adults, Rhianna. I've let you know how I feel. I want―"

  "Let's not talk about it," she cut in. "Please. I feel humiliated enough."

  "Don't. We did nothing wrong."

  She didn't reply.

  With a sigh, he said, "I should go."

  "No, I should," she argued. "This is your studio."

  He gave her a half-smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

  She paused in the doorway. She wanted to say something―explain why she couldn't give that part of her to him―but the words wouldn't come.

  "I guess I'll see you later tonight," Jonathan said.

  She could feel his stare burning into her back as she hobbled across the yard. He still wanted her. She knew that. What was worse, she wanted him, and the only thing standing in the way was her past.

  How was she ever going to rid herself of that?

  Chapter 18

  Rhianna spent most of the day in bed. She stared up at the ceiling and played out variations of an imaginary conversation with Jonathan―where she revealed what had happened in her youth. No matter how the conversations played out, she was left with the same results. Jonathan would storm out of the house, unable to look at her, sickened by her…blaming her.

  He's not like that.

  But how could she be sure? She didn't know much about the man. She knew nothing of his h
istory, where he came from, his youth. He'd probably had the perfect upbringing and never had to face such vile ugliness.

  Do you want to bring that into his life? Into Misty's?

  They deserved better.

  She threw one arm across her face. "Just finish your time here and leave. You'll forget about them after a while."

  But would she? How could she possibly forget the gentle caresses of Jonathan's hands on her body or his soft lips on her breast? Even now, she wanted more.

  Rhianna let out a moan. "Don't think of that."

  Turning on one side, she caught sight of the framed photograph of JT. It had fallen into the open drawer of the nightstand. Jonathan must have knocked it over when he'd carried her to her room.

  "JT, why did you send me here?"

  Higginson must have allowed JT to make the arrangements. Still, it was unlike the butler not to confirm everything. JT's memory was not the best.

  She placed the photograph back on the table. Closing the drawer, she saw her cell phone on the floor. Something else Jonathan must have knocked over. She picked it up and flipped it open, knowing there'd be no signal. And there wasn't.

  No phone. No radio. No way to contact anyone.

  Rhianna released a frustrated groan.

  It hadn't been her idea to get stranded on this blasted island. Fate had intervened, however, and now she was stuck here, but one day Angelina's Isle would be a past memory.

  Would she view it with relief or regret?

  By late afternoon, Rhianna decided she'd spent enough time sulking and wishing for something she couldn't have, so she headed downstairs. Surprisingly, her foot didn't hurt at all. Or maybe she just couldn't feel it because of the sharp pain she felt in her heart.

  As she reached the bottom step, she heard Mrs. Atkinson's familiar whistling coming from the kitchen. She found the housekeeper chopping potatoes, while Misty sat at the table and rolled a large carrot between her palms.

  "Hello, dear," Mrs. Atkinson said. "How's your foot?"

  "Much better, thank you." Rhianna inhaled deeply. "Something smells fabulous. What is it?"

  The older woman smiled. "Your supper."

  "We grew everything in the garden," Misty signed. She pointed to a basket filled with various vegetables. "Mrs. Atkinson let me help her pick them. We're making chicken soup."

  Rhianna smiled. "So you had a good day?"