by Jeannie Lin
Baozhen touched her as if she were something precious.
Their first night together had been a fever. Tonight was a slow, simmering burn. She could feel each pulse of her heart as Baozhen bent to press his lips to her forehead. It was innocent—or rather a farewell to innocence. His next caress was at her earlobe, which he tugged at gently with his teeth, making her insides go soft and liquid.
“You were wrong, Little Lian...”
His voice was low, stroking her in hidden places.
“The deed is far from done. It will never be done between us.”
His mouth rasped over the sensitive skin of her throat and her toes curled restlessly within her slippers. Their bodies were interconnected in so many wonderful and mysterious ways.
“Baozhen...” She called out his name breathlessly, encompassing a plea within it that had no words.
“My wife.”
They kissed again. Any lingering questions faded like a morning mist. The moment was right between them.
She found the parting in his robe and her hands slipped inside to roam over skin and heated muscle. Baozhen didn’t stop her this time when she loosened his belt and slid the cloth away from his shoulders. The shape of him filled her hands: broad shoulders, arms that were lean and strong. There wasn’t any part of him that she didn’t want to explore and caress.
“Lian...”
His mouth curved against hers and she could hear a touch of amusement.
“You really aren’t afraid of anything.”
They separated as he shrugged his arms free of the robe, baring himself down to his waist. He caught her watching him. His eyes were dark, lit only by an almost dangerous gleam. Though her face heated, she refused to look away.
When they had made love before it had been furtive and rushed. She had only caught a tantalizing glimpse of what Baozhen looked like beneath his clothes. Her gaze slipped to the evidence of his arousal, straining against his trousers. Her mouth went completely dry. She really was shameless.
“Don’t stop there,” Baozhen said, his voice thick with desire. He guided her hands to the ties at his waist. Then he embraced her again as she worked the knot free and found him, willing and waiting for her.
Her first intimate caress sent a shudder through him. When she closed her fingers gently around his sex, his hand tightened possessively in her hair. He sucked in a breath as she slid her hand along his length. She loved what her every touch did to him. Every muscle in him was steeled and his breath became shallow. The heat from his skin enclosed her.
This was what it had been like when she’d lain beneath him, helpless with pleasure, but there was pleasure in giving, as well. Her own sex dampened in anticipation.
She grew bolder, gripping him harder when she saw that it only excited him more.
Suddenly Baozhen brushed her hands aside. He kissed her roughly, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. Her mind went dark with pleasure and she could feel his hands deftly working at her robe. His skill was undeniable. Before long she was sinking back onto the bed, with Baozhen stretched on top of her, skin to skin. His tongue stroked wickedly over hers and she could taste him, feel his weight on her, his hands anchoring her hips. He was everywhere.
She moaned against his mouth as he stroked his finger between her legs. He had learned what pleased her—was learning still as he parted her folds and deepened his touch, making her writhe and tremble. Her hips twisted against his hand and her cries took on the sound of distress, of desperation.
As the sensation within her began to rise to an unbearable peak Baozhen once again gripped her hips. His head lifted and he met her eyes. His hair had slipped free of its knot and an errant lock fell over his face, giving him a wild look. They were discovering each other after so many years of growing up in close quarters.
There was a moment of stillness as Baozhen positioned himself. Lian’s chest rose and fell rapidly. His ragged breath formed an irregular harmony against hers, as if they had been chasing one another and the hunt was finally done. Done, but not finished.
Baozhen kept his eyes on her face the entire time as he entered her, refusing to relinquish her gaze even when she moaned and clung to him. Her body resisted for only a moment, and then her back arched as the length of him filled her in an endless sensation of penetration and surrender.
He began to move slowly over her. A sheen of sweat formed on his brow as his body lifted and lowered. It was different from last time. Now that she knew what would happen she focused on the feel of Baozhen inside her and let it consume her.
His hips shifted by the barest angle, but it was the difference between heaven and earth. Her lips parted with a gasp as a flood of euphoria swept through her from head to toe.
“Like that?” His breath was hot against her ear as his thrusts sent wave after wave of pleasure through her.
Lian held on to his shoulders and buried her face against his neck as their bodies writhed together, seeking oblivion. It was almost there—just out of reach.
She wrapped her legs around him and Baozhen groaned, his thrusts becoming shorter, deeper.
Soon. Soon, please, soon.
Her vision blackened as climax took her and she squeezed her eyes shut to revel in it. Baozhen was right there with her, letting himself go as soon as he felt the pulse of her body around him, falling as hard and completely as she had.
Finally his muscles loosened and he sank on top of her. For a few moments his weight was welcome, but soon he started to feel heavy and she tried to squirm out from under him. With a chuckle, Baozhen rolled onto his back and took her with him, settling her into the crook of his arm. She drew a lazy pattern over his chest, feeling warm and sated.
“Do you think our parents always wanted us to be wed?” Lian asked after a short silence. She had been enjoying the sound of Baozhen’s heartbeat against her ear.
“They must have gotten impatient waiting.”
She poked at his ribs. “Waiting for you,” she said ruefully.
Baozhen burst into laughter—a deep, rich laughter that filled the room.
“What is it?” she asked, but soon she was caught up in it, laughing as well.
She knew exactly what it was: chasing each other in the alleyway as children, Baozhen taunting her for being skinny, her aiming at him with her slingshot. All those moments...all those memories.
“I loved you from the first moment I saw you,” he said.
“Liar.” She settled back into the warm hollow of his shoulder now that he was no longer shaking with laughter. “You never noticed me.”
“But I did—I always did.”
She pouted a little. That wasn’t how it had happened at all, but all the frustration and endless longing seemed far away with his arms around her. Baozhen had always been there. Their lives intertwined.
“I can’t remember it any other way,” he said tenderly.
She snuggled close and followed the drift of his voice into sleep. All her memories blended together until it seemed there was truth in what he said.
“That’s how it was for me, as well,” she conceded, smiling at the thought of how mercilessly he’d teased her and how she had once hated him with a passion. “From the very first moment.”
* * * * *
The Taming of Mei Lin
Sometimes it feels like it takes a village to put a story to paper!
Special thanks to the emergency brainstorming crew: Eileen Dreyer, Kimberly Killion, Patricia Rice and Karyn Witmer-Gow. And also the Tuesday critique group: Dawn Blankenship, Amanda Berry, Kristi Lea and Shawntelle Madison.
I’m a lucky girl to be surrounded by so many talented friends.
Author Note
In Chinese culture, it’s natural to speak of ancestors as if they’re still present, looking o
ver your shoulder to nod in approval for good decisions and frown over disastrous ones. The role of family is inescapable, ubiquitous, and ever-present. Of course, this is true for all cultures. Our family histories inspire and guide us.
Ai Li, the heroine of Butterfly Swords for Harlequin Historical, constantly refers back to her ancestors and the importance of family honor. “The Taming of Mei Lin” takes place forty years before Butterfly Swords and tells that love story—the family story that’s passed down for generations to come. In order to create Ai Li’s story of rebellion and impossible love, I always had Mei Lin’s adventure in my head.
I was thrilled to be able to bring that story to life. “The Taming of Mei Lin” explores the humble beginnings of the Shen family, a line of warriors steeped in duty and honor and, most important, love. Writing Mei Lin’s tale allowed me to explore the delicate ways that the past affects the future. It was also an opportunity to tie two love stories near and dear to my heart together.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
CHAPTER ONE
Tang Dynasty China, 710 AD
Mei Lin could feel the strands of hair slipping from her knot, tickling against her neck. Uncle made her stand outside during the hottest part of the afternoon, even when there were no customers. She wiped her brow and looked over at Chang’s tofu stand at the end of the street with envy. He at least had the shade of a tree to duck under.
If she planted a seed today, she reckoned she’d still be here selling noodles by the time the tree grew tall enough to provide shelter. And Uncle would still be growing fat, napping in the shade.
A tingle of awareness pricked against her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see someone had stopped just beyond the line of the wooden benches. The stranger wore a gray robe, but that was the only thing plain about him. He had the high cheekbones of the people of the north and stood with his shoulders back, lean and tall. Unfortunately the town riffraff stood just behind him, grinning and poking at each other over some boyish joke only they found humorous. Mei Lin ignored them as she always did.
“Little Cho.”
The boy came eagerly running at her call. Her little cousin was not yet corrupted by his father’s laziness.
“Fetch the tea,” she said and he went running to the stove.
She turned back to the intriguing man. He remained at the perimeter watching her. He had a pleasant expression and seemed particularly still, as if supremely comfortable in this heat and in this world. She stood there with sweat pouring down her back wishing her hair wouldn’t keep falling over her face like it did. It was so rare that strangers came to their village.
He bowed. “Wu Mei Lin,” he greeted formally.
Even rarer that strangers came who knew her name. The smile she was about to give him faded into a frown.
“Little Cho.”
He had just returned with the teapot.
She blew a strand of hair away from her face impatiently. “Fetch my swords.”
The boy scrambled away, nearly tripping over his feet in his excitement. She turned back to the stranger.
“This is why you came, isn’t it?”
“When I learned of Lady Wu’s skill, I couldn’t help but come to pay my respects.”
He insisted on using her family name in an overly polite fashion. The onlookers chortled. The hated Chen Wang was at the head of the pack. Wang tended to stay away from her after she’d given him a black eye that lasted for a week, but he couldn’t resist the show.
“Well, then. Let’s get started,” she said.
Little Cho returned and handed over her short swords. She fixed her gaze onto the man before her. He had his weapons strapped to his side. She’d missed it in her initial fascination.
“I don’t mean to presume,” he began. “If the lady would like time to prepare—”
“There’s no better time. Besides, the rabble will be expecting a performance.”
She scowled at Wang and his lot as she brushed past. It kept her from having to look at him. Why did he have to be so tall and his manners so impeccable? And why was she so taken with this swordsman when it was obvious he was here to humiliate her, just like all the others?
“Little Cho, watch the shop,” she called over her shoulder.
“But, Mei Lin!”
She ignored the boy’s protest and kept walking. He shouldn’t be watching street fights at his age, impressionable as he was. Uncle and Auntie Yin had enough to complain about without her being a bad influence on her little cousin.
The swordsman caught up with her easily, keeping an arm’s length between them while they walked together down the dusty street. There was none of the posturing and swagger she’d come to expect from Zhou’s lackeys. From outward appearances, they could have been joining one another for an afternoon stroll.
“Those are exquisite.”
He was talking about the swords. Twin blades—short, light and quick. Many called them butterfly swords, but there was nothing delicate about them. They were ideal weapons for a woman fighting a larger opponent. Heaven forbid he’d look at her with the same interest.
She sniffed, but a thread of doubt worked loose inside her. He was the first to be interested in her skill rather than the novelty of this odd girl who dared to challenge men.
“You don’t seem like one of Zhou’s thugs,” she said.
“Who is Zhou?”
He sounded earnest; she wanted to believe that he wasn’t just another bragging oaf, here to put this stubborn woman in her place. She stole another glance at him. His black hair was pulled back and tied, highlighting his distinct features.
And he was handsome. She might as well admit it. Looking at him left her with the disturbing sense that she had lost something—something she desperately needed to find.
“You are not what I expected from what they told me.”
He was looking at her face now. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks. “What did they say?”
“That you were the meanest shrew in the empire.”
He smiled as he said it. His brown eyes were a shade lighter than what was common in this region. It reminded her of the golden wash of the sun over the mountains.
She knew then what she couldn’t find: her usual confidence that the fight was already won.
They reached the center of town where the main roads met at the market square. If Zhou hadn’t sent this swordsman, then he must have come on his own to challenge her. It had been two months since Zhou made his outrageous proposal, which she had countered with an even more outrageous declaration.
Zhou was a lesser magistrate of the district. He had proposed marriage after catching a glimpse of her at the noodle stand while he was passing through. Uncle and Auntie Yin had been thrilled that someone wanted to take her off their hands, but Zhou already had a wife. Two wives, in fact! She would be little more than a bed warmer and glorified kitchen maid.
She had announced publicly she would marry no man unless he defeated her in a fight. Her uncle and aunt were mortified, but she wouldn’t back down. Her parents had been poor, but proud people. It would offend their spirits to see their only daughter become some lecherous goat’s mistress.
Zhou dismissed her challenge as the ramblings of a madwoman. She doubted he could lift a sword, but his henchmen continued to bully her whenever they came by. Over the last few weeks, several strangers had wandered into town to goad her into a fight. She suspected they had all been sent by the disgruntled official.
She’d defeated all the country thugs and village boys who’d tried to teach her a lesson. But this swordsman was different. If Zhou hadn’t sent him, then he must have come on his own. Could news
of her declaration have traveled beyond the dusty edge of town?
She turned to him. “Do you still want to do this, considering what a shrew I am?”
That half smile again. “I am not afraid.”
More townsfolk had gathered to see crazy Mei Lin and another one of her displays of rebelliousness. There was a moment of sadness when she squared off across from him. She’d become a spectacle. The only marriage proposals she ever received were these stupid challenges from scoundrels trying to show her up. One of these days, some brute would defeat her. Someone a hundred times worse than Zhou. She’d done this to herself.
“What shall the terms be?” he asked as he paced to the other side of the square.
Still so composed, his every movement measured and graceful. She should have been paying attention to how he moved, not how captivating his eyes were.
“We’re simple folk here. First blood should be good enough.”
She raised her swords while her opponent drew his weapon. The blade gleamed in the afternoon sun, the craftsmanship obvious to even an untrained eye. Even if she discounted the quality of the blade, she knew immediately this man was serious. There was a way a sword fits into the hands of a true practitioner, as if it were an extension of his body.
“You’re not even going to ask my name?” he said.
“Why bother? You’ll run from here in shame very soon.”
“Wu Mei Lin, the honor would be all mine.”
The way he spoke her name sent a shudder down her spine, despite the heat of the afternoon. Certainly he had come to see her out of curiosity, but could it be he was actually interested? He watched her so intently and his pleasant manners gave the impression he was actually enjoying the exchange. She wished they didn’t have this duel between them to confuse her.
He bowed, blade pointed downward, very formal. Like this was a sacred ritual instead of a street brawl. She looked down at her swords and for a moment they felt strange in her hands, as if she didn’t practice every morning and night with them.
