Someday My Prince

by Christina Dodd

  “ ‘Hoped’?” She just hadn’t imagined he would respond with such unmistakable carnality.

  Funny thing, though. She wasn’t afraid. Waves of savagery rolled off of him like billows of lava down a volcano’s slope, and she wanted to dance on the brim just out of danger—and maybe, when she’d danced long enough, she would allow herself to be consumed in a blast of fire.

  Lifting her hands to the top button, she carefully slipped it from the buttonhole. And stopped. “I’ll take off my clothes if you take off yours.”

  “Don’t tease me,” he said, so low she could scarcely hear him and so intense she dared not. “I’m barely holding off as it is. When I’m out of my trousers, princess, your time has run out.”

  His words struck right to the heart of her.

  No, not the heart; lower than that. Deep in her womb she experienced a softening, a yearning, and she wanted him now—and she feared him now. Stupid to be afraid, but in this matter he held all the power, and she was nothing but a weak woman. A woman in love.

  She stared at him in a stricken daze. In love. She loved Dominic of Baminia, or Sereminia, or wherever he was from. That was the reason she’d brought him here to tell him the very secret that was the core of her kingdom. That was why she trusted with only a foiled kidnapping as evidence that he was reliable. That was why she had chosen him to make love to her. She loved him. All the other suitors paled in comparison to the rough, perilous, genuine man called Dom. She loved him.

  “Don’t look at me like that, all perplexed and scared.” He released his grip on the chair arm and touched her cheek with his thumb. “Nothing ever frightens you, O princess of Bertinierre. You’re about as brave a woman as I’ve ever met.”

  “No, I’m not.” She couldn’t bear to have him think her courageous when most of her life she had been barely existing. And she didn’t dare tell him that she had discovered she loved him. “I just don’t let anyone know when I’m frightened.”

  He chuckled, soft and deep. “That’s what courage is, Your Highness. But you don’t need courage with me. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. I don’t even have to do this now, but I owe you. Only ... I want you too much to do it your way. We’re going to do it mine.” His callused thumb scraped along her chin. “So take off your clothes.”

  The buttons of her jacket slipped through their holes easily. They should, because she used both hands and watched her own motions vigilantly. When the jacket hung open, she halted to take a breath—and heard his own intake of air. He was looking into the shadows of her jacket, staring as if, with his gaze, he could strip away the meager bit of cloth and see her flesh beneath.

  Odd, to be so shy when he’d already bared her breast, but he had done that, and in a flurry of passion. This ... this was passion, too, but a different kind, slower, more deliberate, almost painful in its intensity.

  “Take it off.”

  The arms of the jacket were tight, especially at the wrists, and usually her maid helped her. He wasn’t going to help her; one glance at him proved that. She had to stand up, put her arms behind her, grasp one sleeve with the opposite hand ...

  “Face me,” he commanded. When she hesitated, his voice became a whiplash. “Face me!”

  She swiveled on her heel and glared down at him. Damn the man! Who did he think he was?

  He answered the question without her ever speaking it aloud. “I’m your lover.”

  Will-o‘-the-wisps danced on her heartstrings.

  “And I want you to face me.”

  She already was facing him. Him, her lover. He’d said so, so it was true. She was wise enough to know that wasn’t the same as a declaration of love, but she was the princess of a wealthy kingdom. She could bribe him into staying with her, give him passion enough to hold him at her side, and maybe someday all those great, dangerous emotions she sensed in him would coalesce around her.

  Her old experiences whispered coldly, Maybe not.

  But she didn’t listen. When she was with Dom, she felt strong, invincible, and convinced that anything was possible.

  “Take off your jacket.”

  He thought she was brave; she would be a fool to disillusion him. Reaching behind her again, she grasped one sleeve with the opposite hand and tugged. The jacket gaped open, revealing the light lacy trim of her chemise.

  Dom observed her relentlessly, his fingers stroking the chair arm.

  She worked the sleeve off and hesitated. The other sleeve still clung to her arm and shoulder. She would have to tug it off, too. Were there rules to be followed while undressing for a man?

  She watched the movement of his long, tapered fingers. She wanted those fingers on her. In a burst of courage, she stripped away the jacket and dropped it to the floor.

  His gaze followed its course. His fingers stopped their action. He sat motionless, like a god surprised by the impertinence of one of his maidens.

  Languidly, his gaze traveled back up her legs, her hips, to her breasts, and there lingered. In a voice as rich and warm as sable, he said, “I can see your rosy nipples through the white chemise. They’re already puckered, and look, you’re shivering as if my hand touched them, or my mouth suckled them. Think how you’ll moan when we’re touching, our whole bodies rubbing, here on the porch.”

  “On the porch?” She looked about her with dazed eyes, realizing for the first time how exposed they were. When she had thought of making love, she’d always imagined a dark, enclosed place, safe as a womb. But Dom had commanded her, and she had begun to strip without a thought to the eyes that could be watching them.

  Again he read her with uncanny accuracy. “The birds fly, the squirrels charter, but no person can see you here. Look, Laurentia.” He waved an arm, and like a woman mesmerized, she stared out at the view. “The ground drops away, and the only thing between us and eternity is air and sky. This is almost a treehouse, and here we have the freedom to do as we like. We can laugh, and we can love, and I can make you mine in every way I know how.” His lids drooped, and he looked like a man sated rather than hungry. “And I know a lot of ways.”

  “Dulcie only told me about one.”

  One side of his mouth curled as if he were trying to restrain his amusement. “Dulcie’s been holding out on you. Right now, I would like to see you nude. Take off your clothes.”

  The skirt buttoned on the side, and Laurentia opened the buttons. She didn’t consider that all she wore was the thin knee-length chemise and silk hose tied with thigh-high garters. It never even occurred to her that without the skirt, he could see ... everything. She might have undressed for a man every day, it was so easy.

  Until her boots caught on the waistband when she kicked the skirt away.

  She frowned at the boots, fitted and impossible to get off by herself. She hadn’t considered them this morning when she’d dressed and contrived at the same time. Now the thought of bending down, clad only in her chemise, and wrestling boots off her feet seemed undignified and not at all appropriate.

  But she hadn’t taken Dom into consideration. “Here, let me.” In a graceful motion, he slipped out of his chair, the chief cavalier in the court of temptation, and did as she had wanted.

  He put his hands on her—on the leather of her boots, where she couldn’t even feel them.

  That wasn’t good enough. That wouldn’t do at all. She glared down at him, but he knelt before her with head bent.

  And if he had looked up, what would she say? No, I want you to touch me?

  She lacked the nerve.

  Nimbly he unbuttoned one boot. “I approve of the high heels.” Gently he hefted at her foot.

  She wavered. “Why, because it makes me taller?”

  “No, I like you just as you are. But these pointed heels work well when some blackguard attacks from behind. If you plant your heel hard enough on his instep, you can pierce his foot.”

  “Dom!” The idea of such violence horrified her.

  “Just remember.”

  No longer able
to keep her balance, she caught at his shoulder, putting her hands on him. As he slipped off the boot, his muscles flexed, rippling beneath her palm, giving her the barest sample of how it would be when he had removed his clothes and the two of them lay together.

  She frowned, looking around the porch. Dulcie said people had to lie down to make love, and while the bed was made, it was far away, clear into the corner. If she could scarcely stand while Dom removed her boots—the other disappeared under his ministrations—she couldn’t expect to make it to the bed.

  He hadn’t planned this very well.

  Then his hand wrapped around one silk-clad ankle and slipped up her calf, and she forgot her concerns. He passed her knee, and her vision blurred. He untied the silk ribbon garter at her thigh, his knuckles brushing her bare skin, and her fingers lost their tactility.

  So what if most of her senses had developed unexplainable defects? It was worth it to have his hands on her skin as he rolled down her hose. To have them tarry at the back of her knee to stroke the pale and sensitive flesh, then continue down, down to her foot. His fingers lingered on the fine bones of her ankle and stroked the slight arch of her foot. She smiled and tugged against his hold, but the sensation wasn’t so much a tickle as a titillation.

  She knew what he would do next. He would slide his hand up her other leg and remove her other hose.

  Only... he didn’t. “Now,” he said, “you take off the other one.”

  “Oh.” She tried to think how she should do it.

  “Here.” He patted her chair. “Put your foot up here.”

  If she did that, she’d have to pull up her chemise to untie the garter and although she had always understood that a lack of drawers left her exposed, the position would leave her ... more exposed.

  “Laurentia, I want your leg here.”

  She didn’t move, bound up with wanting to say no, to assert her authority, to force him to admit he couldn’t make her do anything. And above her procrastination was the insight that she balked only because of shyness.

  He knew. The man knew females, knew her, too well for any woman’s peace of mind. “Laurentia.” He placed his hand, warm, callused, deft, on her bare calf. “I’m what you want. Out of all the men in Bertinierre, you picked me, and that was right.” His hand glided up to her knee—not far enough—and back down.

  “I can give you pleasure like you’ve never had before. Before I’m done with you, you’ll have screamed a hundred times.” His hand slid up to mid-thigh—still not far enough—and back down.

  “But I want you very badly. You look at me, and you think, He’s sitting at my feet, and he can see”—he smiled wickedly— “everything. And it’s true. I can see through that material. Did you know that?”

  Dumb with anticipation, she shook her head.

  “The light shines though it. I can see every curve. I can see your breasts, so perfect, and the indent for your navel, and this ...”

  His hand spiraled up, up, up, until it reached the hair between her legs. He barely brushed the ends, but she couldn’t suppress a whimper. Breath held, she waited ... and hoped ...

  His hand slithered slowly, so slowly, back down to her ankle. “I want you to put your foot up here”— he placed his other hand on the chair seat—“and I want you to take off your stocking. That’s all. Just this one time, I want to do this my way. Won’t you indulge me?”

  “I am probably setting a bad precedent by allowing you your own way about everything.” Very carefully, she placed her foot on the chair. Not because she wanted to maintain an illusion of dignity. Oh, no. Because she wanted to remain standing, and that required all of her concentration.

  “You are. Give a mercenary an egg, and he’ll want the whole damned chicken.”

  Lifting the hem of her chemise, she placed it just above her garter and smoothed it down. Beside her, she heard Dom take a deep, harsh breath. She untied the garter and dropped it, then began the process of removing her stocking. Easy to do, except that her fingers seemed suddenly swollen and clumsy, the silk attained a life of its own, and her leg stretched on forever. She had never had a man kneeling beside her, holding her ankle, looking at her legs and more, for all she knew. As she leaned over to roll the stocking down her calf, she gingerly glanced down at him—and froze.

  He wasn’t looking at her legs. He was looking between them.

  He could see everything, not through the chemise, but beneath it. From his expression of taut enjoyment, she deduced he liked seeing everything, had planned to see everything.

  That revelation thrilled her, and the thrill appalled her. What kind of woman was she to enjoy a man’s gaze on the place that should be cloistered?

  “Dom?”

  He didn’t look up, or speak a word of comfort. He’d been caught out, as he knew he would be. Without changing expression, he placed his hands on her hips and turned her toward him. She tried to lower her leg, but with lightning reflexes he caught her knee and held it in place, so that she faced him, one foot on the floor, one foot on the chair, exposed and so vulnerable she ached with shock, with fear, with the anticipation he’d carefully cultivated.

  He eased the chemise up to her waist, and looked again. He might have been a statue, he was so still. Only the rise and fall of his chest betrayed him.

  Tilting his head, he met her gaze. He hid nothing from her now. He let her see him as he really was: mercenary, warrior, a bastard in every way. He wasn’t a good man, or a kind man, but he was her man.

  It almost hurt to smile at him, and she knew her lips trembled betrayingly, but he read the message she sent him. She had thought his expression would lighten, but if anything the magnificent broodiness of him deepened. Swiftly he turned his dark head to kiss first the upright leg, right on the pulse that beat inside her thigh. Then .. . then he kissed her raised leg, again on the thigh, a little closer to the place no man had ever been.

  Oh, he didn’t know that. She knew he hadn’t comprehended when she said he would be her first lover. Maybe, with his upbringing, he didn’t even understand what “virgin” meant. But it mattered to her, that he take a little extra time to allow her to get used to these sensations.

  Yet she couldn’t complain that he was rushing her. This seduction was nothing like the kisses they’d exchanged in the stable. This was unhurried, tender, teasing. Only it was so much more thorough than she ever allowed herself to dream.

  He kissed her again, right on the cord of muscle on her inner thigh, and on this kiss he opened his mouth. He braced his elbow against her knee and his fingers again brushed the thatch of hair between her legs.

  “Laurentia,” he murmured against her skin, “do you know what I’m going to do?”

  “No.” Then it hit her. “Yes!” She tried to step back.

  He was ready for her. Sliding one arm between her legs, he wrapped his hand around her bottom, holding her in place.

  “Dom!” She caught his hair in her hands, but that only made him burrow into her, rubbing his head on her like a great cat. “You can’t—”

  “No, you can’t”—he laughed harshly—“stop me.”

  His fingers opened her, exposing her more when she thought there could be no more. He pressed his kiss on her inner flesh, the naked part, the tender part. He found the most sensitive nubbin and he licked it with the flat of his tongue, just like the cat she thought him. Whimpering, she hung onto his hair, not to pull him away but for support.

  Had he no inhibitions? Did he think she had none?

  He sucked on her, drawing her into his mouth while his hand traced the entrance to her body. Over and over, his finger circled, threatening, promising, while his lips and breath and tongue drove her to the edge of madness. Her face tingled, her breasts tightened, her toes curled. He subjected her to pleasure until she tried to shove him away. Then he distracted her—with the thrust of his finger deep inside her.

  Her back arched, she threw her head back. Her inner muscles twisted, trying to take him deeper— and hi
s mouth fell away. “My God!” His finger eased from her. He stood in one effortless motion, and she got a terrifying glimpse of a countenance drawn tight with driving desire. Then he imprisoned her in his arms and twirled her toward the bed.

  She tried to walk.

  Apparently she wasn’t quick enough for him, for he lifted her from behind and carried her, his hands gripping her to his chest as if she were fighting him.

  She wasn’t. She was too stunned to fight, to protest. When he laid her in the middle of the blankets, he placed her there so firmly that the straw-stuffed mattress crackled in her ears, and with his hand on her stomach, he said, “Don’t move.”

  She didn’t think she could.

  Standing, he stripped his shirt off over his head, baring muscles and scars, the thatch of hair, the rippled abdomen. His hands went to the buttons on his trousers. He opened them swiftly, a man absorbed in his need.

  A man ... His erection sprang forth, and while her lips moved, she no longer had breath. “Oh, no.” Driven by a maiden’s sudden terror, she scrambled to her knees and made for the opposite edge of the mattress.

  He grabbed her ankle. “No, sweet, not a chance.” He dragged her back to him, his hand catching the hem of her chemise.

  She clutched at the covers, tangling them in her fists. No wonder she’d felt him through his clothes. He was too big. “We can’t do this. I forbid it.” For a woman close to hysteria, she thought she sounded remarkably firm.

  For all the attention he paid her, she might not have spoken. He flipped her back over to rest in the middle of the bed. He pulled her so that his knees were between hers. The front of her chemise bunched up to her waist. When she tried to kick him with her free foot, he caught that and held her wide.

  He advanced as inexorably as an army, and when he lowered himself to her, she found her courage had vanished. Her hands moved restlessly on his arms, not shoving him away, but not hugging him either. Tears welled in her eyes, and one trickled down her cheek. “Dom, please.”

  He rested on her, his weight heavier than she expected. He kissed her cheek, her ear, licked the track of the tear from her temple. “I’m not going to hurt you, Laurentia.” His voice rumbled through his chest, pressed so firmly against hers, and his deep tone brought her comfort when she knew it should not. “I promised to give you pleasure, and I will. Now.”