Blooming Desire: An Extraordinary Spring Romance Collection

by S. J. Sanders

The centaur barked out a startled oath and jerked his weapon up, holding the sword in a defensive posture as though he expected a rain of deadly spears to impale him.

  If he’s not careful, I will, the voice said with dangerous calm.

  He cast a look into the tree in accusation. “I live to serve and protect,” he said, speaking to the tree. His voice was stripped of the earlier anger and replaced with respect and a quaver of fear. He slid the sword home into the sheath with the same killing grace he’d used when drawing it. Taking several steps backward, he eyed the violently waving limbs warily. “I am the warden. I am the guardian of your grove. Why do you threaten me?”

  Veronica really didn’t care why or need to know what the deal was. She must get the hell out of there. She needed to find her daughter and the two of them could get home and back to their lives.

  Sure, he was her version of perfection, but he came with the additional horse half that she couldn’t reconcile. Also, he was way too skilled with the sword for her comfort. He seemed more interested in dicing her for eating the nuts from the tree than fulfilling her fantasies.

  The voice. The connection. The tree seemed very amused at her jumbled thoughts, particularly the one about how her body might accommodate a horse-sized lover.

  For fuck’s sake.

  She had to get out of there.

  Heat burned her face and neck and she tried to ignore the helpful images the tree sent to her. Of course a damn vegetable wouldn’t care about size issues.

  Burning pain shot up her leg from her ankle when she attempted to stand. Putting weight on her foot sent shards of agony through her. Biting back the curse, she blew out a shuddering breath. The sound drew the centaur’s attention. He jerked his contemplation from the tree to focus on her. Their eyes locked and her stomach did a wild spiraling dance.

  His fluted ears were fucking adorable when the tips perked up with interest.

  He was even prettier now that he wasn’t in full-rage mode.

  His mouth fell open and his eyebrows shot up as his eyes went very round. He was realizing something that she hadn’t been privy to.

  Great.

  Now he’s getting it. He’s smart, too. Even better, the voice said, confirming her suspicion.

  “My gods.” His voice, a bright, clear tenor, was all concern. For the first time, he seemed to really take her in. His assessment was a slow sweep of his gaze from head to bare feet before settling on her face. Despite the situation, she was a little flattered by the darkening of his eyes as his pupils dilated. “You’re hurt.”

  It was as though he hadn’t just pulled a sword on her a second ago. She wanted to point that out to him but when he moved toward her, she scuttled back using her good leg and hands to slide away on her backside. The fabric of her expensive dress scraped through the detritus of the forest floor.

  Shock filled his eyes and he held up his palms to her in a gesture of surrender and to show he had no weapons. “Sshhh, Te’acina. Let me help you. By the bright goddess herself, you’re bleeding.”

  Frowning, she glanced down at herself and regarded her various wounds. Small ones mostly. The skin of her knee was scraped and blood had trickled down her shin but it wasn’t much. Her ankle was likewise scratched and bleeding but the twist had really done more damage. “It’s only a scratch. You were pretty eager to run me off a moment ago. I’ll just go and get out of your way.”

  The centaur winced at her words. His elegant features grew pinched, even his plump lips went flat and tight. “I was mistaken.” The words cost him something. Clearly he was not accustomed to being caught in the wrong. She found it charming that he wasn’t too proud to admit it. “I did not expect anyone to be here. Most females are on their way to the gathering spot for spring festival. Most won’t come to the grove to seek out their tree until the challenges are all completed and they’ve selected their life partner.” His ears twitched back slightly.

  His boyish smile melted her heart.

  And other parts of her, too.

  Particularly the heated space between her thighs that had been unfurling with warm need since the first moment she’d seen him. The tightening low in her belly was a delicious ache. It wasn’t as though she was chaste or anything close to it, but her partners were nothing like the being before her.

  Young.

  Forbidden.

  Exotic.

  Wild.

  Animal.

  Gesh, there was something seriously wrong with her.

  Clearing her throat, she shoved her lascivious thoughts back. She said, “I’m not sure what any of that means. The gathering spot? Spring festival? Challenges? Any of the rest of it really.”

  “I will explain. Please, may I see to your wounds?” He motioned with a hand toward her legs, eying her naked limbs in a more suggestive manner than purely medical reasons required.

  Not only is he half horse, he’s way too young for you, she scolded herself. Allowing her fantasy to run away with her would make her no better than her ex-husband. Worse really. The centaur looked younger than her own sons and even her future son-in-law.

  Way to make her feel like Mrs. Robinson.

  “Fine,” she murmured and settled back on the ground but she braced herself just in case he went for the sword again. The tree didn’t seem to think that was an option and sent another wave of calm through her.

  Don’t be so quick to disregard him. Physical age isn’t all that important compared to other qualities, the tree whispered. Bravery. Honesty. Faithfulness. Dedication. These are characteristics in a proper mate that transcend age. We all grow with time but a leathery old seed does not make it better than a supple young one.

  She might have suspected the tree was calling her old, except it had obviously picked her. For some reason. And it wouldn’t have done so if it thought she was a gnarly old nut.

  Right?

  The centaur stepped closer to her as the tree made this pretty argument on his behalf. He moved slowly, hands held before him to show he meant no harm. She was the timid rabbit he was trying not to spook.

  And she appreciated it very much.

  The horse half of his body extended one massive hoof forward and curled the other under in a Spanish bow. At last, his grip closed on her shoulder and gave a slow squeeze.

  “Easy, lady. Forgive me for scaring you. I will let no harm befall you,” he said as though this were all perfectly normal.

  His huge hands were not soft, but they were extraordinarily gentle, with calloused fingers that belonged to someone familiar with hard labor. He rubbed one down her back but quickly jerked away before he reached her hip. Carefully he resettled his touch to her elbow, sliding down to her wrist. The heels of her palms were scratched and torn. Splinters of wood had cut into her flesh in several places. When she’d fallen she’d really done a number on herself.

  She didn’t resist his careful manipulation. When he made a soft tsking sound of sympathy, she shifted her attention away from the equine body to the man.

  And found she couldn’t draw in a breath.

  The horse-man was even more stunning up close.

  His snowy white hair had two thick locks of ebony braided at each temple and pulled back from his elegantly pointed ears. The feathers were threaded through one braid along with beaded leather cords that glittered faintly. A simple bronze coronet circled his brow with a twisted knot set with a shimmering blue stone that rested on his forehead, just between his odd-colored eyes.

  He was as lovely as a fae prince. His youthful features were unlined and unblemished but so full of concern. His attention remained fixed devotedly on the task of removing a thorn that had gouged deep into her palm.

  “There,” he said when he’d extracted the barb from her skin. The serious expression melted into a rather boyish smile as his attention shifted to her face. Their gazes locked. “I am A’pone Xeralish, of the Truchi Tribe. Son of R’shain.”

  That probably meant something to his people, but nothing to her.
r />   As though he could read her mind, the centaur grinned at her. He went from cute to adorable as his dimples peeked out at the corners as his pretty mouth curved upward. His smile widened, She could only imagine how her shocked expression appeared to him. The tips of his ears reddened. Behind him, his tail fanned higher and gave a mighty swish. Black and white hairs snapped against his powerful flank.

  Shit.

  Despite how attractive he was, and how easy it was to forget, he was still a centaur.

  Not a faery prince or an elf lord.

  “I’m Veronica,” she said. “Veronica Klassen.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Te’acina Veronica Klassen.” He gave her hand a squeeze with his.

  She returned the motion despite her scratches and wounds. There was something soothing in his touch. Both the way his grip engulfed hers and how assured his touch was on her. The contact was more intimate than any wound cleaning warranted. His odd eyes held her captivated. The way their focus drifted to her lips when she moistened them with the tip of her tongue made her melt.

  His attention traveled down her body, taking in her expensive, torn evening gown. The bejeweled cloth and style were unsuitable for the wilds of the forest and the chill in the air. For a moment his attention strayed to her exposed legs and feet and remained there until she wiggled her toes.

  His gaze jerked back to her face.

  “I’m of Earth.” When he didn’t respond she sighed. “I’m a human. Do you know what that is?”

  His expression faded into worry, dark eyebrows drawing tightly together over his bright eyes. “Ov Earth?” He tasted the words and licked his plush, rosebud lips as though it displeased him. “A human?” Again, he attempted the words, but this time adding the flaring of his nostrils, his aquiline nose crinkling. “Ov’Eartha-human tribe?” He peered at her, caressing her knuckles with a stroke of his thumb.

  “Not exactly.”

  “I do not know of this Ov’Eartha-human tribe. The Truchi trade with all the tribes, greatest to the most modest. I know the chieftains from here to the cold mountains, all the way to the lakes and beyond to the salt waters, where we trade during festival.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, either.”

  “Our people, the Centauri, are of many tribes. Each spring our people come together at a neutral location. This is the gathering spot. Not only the Centauri but also the Jahtauri all come together for the spring festival.”

  As he spoke, he released her hands and reached to his equine shoulder where an intricate leather satchel was belted with a strap around his girth. Reaching inside, he withdrew a flask and a small bundle. Unfastening the delicate clasps, he extracted a length of neatly folded orange silk.

  “First the unmated Centauri and Jahtauri females arrive. Young maidens and mature matrons who have not yet found their life partner. They spend several weeks in fellowship with other tribe sisters.”

  “Why?” Veronica asked, mesmerized by the ritual he made of arranging the brilliant length of sun-kissed bright silk.

  He gave her a puzzled look and then chuckled, cheeks going pink. “I believe they trade secrets shared only between females and discuss the males they favor or dislike. Once the rest of the tribes arrive there is trade and feasts and then the games for the males begin.” He’d arranged the fabric in artful pillows, resting on his extended forearm.

  Reaching for her hand, he splashed a small bit of water from the flask onto her cuts and she gasped at the chill of the liquid.

  “Tsh! I’m sorry, Te’acina. It must be cleaned before we travel.”

  “Veronica. I’m Veronica and I’m not traveling anywhere.”

  He didn’t respond, instead focused on unfurling the first length of silk. He bowed his head over it, pressing his bejeweled forehead to the fabric before presenting it to her. She didn’t draw her away as he wrapped it in the first fabric strip.

  “A’pone, I’m not traveling anywhere except to find my daughter.”

  His brows drew together and he hesitated in the act of picking up the next cloth. “Your daughter?” His lips tightened, “But…how?” He cast a narrow-eyed look up at the tree in accusation before his gaze returned to her face. “You have a life partner?”

  “What? No. I mean, I was married once. A long time ago.”

  The centaur’s brows creased and his full mouth turned down at the corners. “Oh. You lost your mate? My deepest sympathy for the passing of your heart.”

  “No. Not like that. We grew apart.”

  He didn’t need the details of how her ex-husband left her for a woman-child the age of their youngest daughter.

  Particularly not when her thoughts were stuffed with impure fantasies about this man-beast who was probably the same age.

  The centaur’s expression tightened and he breathed something that sounded like an oath under his breath. “Forgive me. For our people, such a thing is unthinkable. To leave your mate? It is not done. Ever. Only death could tear a male from his life-partnered mate.”

  He seemed so young and naive as he spoke with innocent earnestness. He really believed it.

  True love.

  She worried about the future ahead of him. A whole world of pain and disappointment.

  Her heart ached for him.

  Veronica wanted to protect him.

  The tree silently approved of her conviction.

  “Perhaps he just wasn’t my life partner.”

  “That must be so.” His smile crept back, and he completed the intricate ritual of presenting her the fabric and wrapping her other hand. “Do not worry,” he murmured as he lifted her bound fingers to his mouth. “There is a true life partner out there for you. A perfect one who can withstand the trials of this life and remain strong at your side.” He met her gaze as he brushed a caress across her knuckles.

  The grin that curved up his sinful mouth was equal parts sweet and naughty.

  Butterflies filled her chest and swirled within the marrow of her bones. Around they spiraled, tightening muscles low in her belly and deep inside, stirring a carnal hunger in her.

  She tried to push the sensations away as heat warmed her sex. Slick need pooled between her thighs despite her attempt to resist her attraction to him.

  He leaned closer to her, lips pressing along her silk-wrapped digits in time with her pulse.

  Surely she no longer qualified to find a life partner.

  She’d lost her chance.

  Veronica was too old.

  “It’s too late for me,” she whispered.

  “Mate-bonding knows no limitations. It has no expiration. It can never be tricked or faked and it certainly cannot be escaped.”

  She should push him away or yank her hand from him. Instead her fingers tightened around his and with her free hand she cupped his cheek. Touching him was a privilege she simply couldn’t resist. She caressed the tips of her fingers over his bronzed skin. His flesh had the texture of warm silk. Flawless.

  His eyes half closed and he leaned into her touch. Slowly they came together. She rose up while he bowed to meet her until their foreheads touched. Through his dark lashes, his steady gaze held hers. “I need to clean your legs.”

  She wished he’d close the last little distance between them and kiss her instead of teasing her with the confident stroke of his fingers along her bandaged hands. It wasn’t fair that he made talking about attending her injuries sound like foreplay.

  He made it feel more intimate than the last foreplay she’d engaged in.

  I need to clean your legs.

  She imagined that pretty mouth between them. Cleaning her. With his tongue.

  His nose brushed along hers in a slow, sensual caress. The warmth of his breath ghosted over her lips and she tasted him on her tongue when she gasped. Scents of sweet oat grasses, honey, and a rich, earthy musk filled her mouth.

  A low groan vibrated through him. Did he taste the delicious acorn on her? She didn’t think anything would taste better than that
nut. With him filling her senses, she suspected he would simply overwhelm her.

  “A’pone…I can’t do this.”

  She needed to focus on finding her daughter.

  She couldn’t let herself get swept up in the attraction she felt for A’pone.

  The bronzed ring on his finger gleamed faintly in the light as he brushed a knuckle along her cheek. “I understand.” Drawing back, he gave her the space he’d stolen. Rather than feeling better, it left her with an emptiness in her chest.

  It’s just your heart rate returning to normal, she told herself.

  “Something bad happened to you,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He hesitated and rather than answering drew out another cloth from the pack and soaked it with water. Warily he reached for her legs, hesitating before touching just above her knee. “Not only the wounds. You are heart-sore. And your body. I mean….” His voice trailed off. In silence he dabbed away the blood from her shin before looking from her limbs to his body. “Where are your legs?”

  “I only have the two.”

  This only made his lips tighten and concern creased his brow. She realized that he found her appearance as odd and unsettling as she found his. Perhaps even more so given the stricken expression as he touched her legs and regarded her bare feet.

  Why had they been so drawn to each other then?

  He’d been the one to insist on binding her hands and touching her like he considered seduction an art form.

  Maybe she’d imagined it.

  She was hearing voices in her head after all.

  Who knew what other madness was taking over.

  “Do your people know you’re missing? Will they send emissaries to negotiate for your safe return?” His brows lowered as he focused on cleaning her scrapes and asked in a more serious voice, “Or did you flee from them? Are they the ones that…did this to you?”

  “I’m human, we’re just like this.”

  “No one is just like that—twin legs.” He frowned. “Were you hexed?”

  “Hexed?”

  He nodded, expression serious, eyes searching hers before dropping to give one last swipe of the cool cloth against her torn skin.