Royal Affair
Page 18
A silent sigh escaped her as their driver took them farther into the mountains east of the city. She must be practical about the marriage. During the past week, she’d accepted the fact that they could have a good union without sharing a wildly romantic love. As Max had said, they had mutual respect and passion. That was enough.
A ping of sadness echoed through her. Pushing it aside, she turned to him. “Are we almost there?” she asked in the plaintive manner of a child, her smile teasing.
“Almost,” he murmured in a deep tone that started a vibration deep inside her.
I love this man, whatever he is, prince, king, husband, friend. I love him.
After climbing a steep, paved road, they stopped beside a large house built of logs, lights glowing from within.
“A lodge,” she said. “How romantic.”
He didn’t utter a word, but simply took her hand and, helping her with her skirt, guided her from the vehicle and onto the broad front porch. The mountain air was cold, she noted, as if she were a spectator on the scene.
After opening the door, he swung her into his arms and stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind them. Setting her on the shining wooden floor, he locked the bolt, his gaze on her, that unsettling intensity in those fathomless depths once again.
Turning away, she glanced around. The beautiful golden mums that she liked decorated the room. A table was laid for two in front of a fire crackling in the grate.
“I thought we might be hungry,” he said.
She nodded as words deserted her.
“Shall we change?” he asked. “Our luggage should be here.”
“Oh, yes, that’s a good idea.”
He led the way to a master suite on one side of the huge cabin. Pink and white roses were everywhere.
“Max,” she said in wonder, “this is so lovely.”
“The roses are from home. From Lantanya. I had them flown here for us, for tonight.”
It was such a thoughtful gesture, and so unexpectedly romantic, her chest filled with emotion. “Like that first night,” she finally managed to say.
“Yes.” He moved behind her. “Shall I help you with your dress? Is there a zipper?”
“At the side,” she instructed, holding an arm up. “And a placket of buttons in front.”
“Ah,” he murmured in satisfaction.
Deftly, he unfastened the side opening, then, still behind her, he started on the tiny, silk-covered buttons that began at her throat and dipped to the center between her breasts. By the time he finished, her nipples were beaded in wanton anticipation of his caresses.
“I want you,” she said, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder.
He slipped the wedding gown off her arms, then leaned down to kiss her shoulder and neck. She laid her head against him, swamped by tactile sensations.
When she was unable to stand it another second, she turned and snuggled into his arms, love and longing all mixed up inside her, demanding release.
“I’ve never felt this way,” she admitted.
He cupped her face between his large but gentle hands. “How? Tell me how you feel.”
She hesitated to confess her unrequited love, afraid he didn’t want that much from her, that he would be content with the passion they shared.
“Tell me, my sweet rose,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me what I need to hear.”
The deep sincerity of his tone, the vivid hunger in his gaze confused her. “Max? Is something wrong?”
His heavy exhalation touched her lips. “Now that it is a fait accompli, I wonder if you will regret the marriage.” His smile was self-mocking. “I wonder if you will grow to hate it…and me.”
Her heart contracted, then expanded to fill her whole body. “I could never hate you,” she told him softly.
“Then tell me, before I kiss you, how you feel,” he demanded.
He realized he needed to hear her words of love without the heady swirl of passion riding their senses. He needed to know why she’d stopped protesting the marriage and had accepted him as her mate. For a second, as she hesitated, he was aware of a pit of darkness before him, an abyss of unrelenting misery if she didn’t care….
“I love you,” she said. “I have from the moment you set the match to the cherries jubilee. It was like a spark igniting my heart, lighting a path to my very soul.”
Relief speared through him as she smiled, her innate shyness flickering through her eyes. The strange tightness in his chest suddenly eased, too. He knew what it was now, recognized it and welcomed it even though it left him feeling open and vulnerable.
“You will be queen of my kingdom, but you’ll always be the princess of my heart,” he told her. “My sweetheart rose…my love…” He kissed her tenderly.
Ivy closed her eyes until she could control the happiness that flooded her with joy. Wrapping her arms around his strong shoulders, she gave herself to him, to the passion, as she had that magical night.
My love, he’d called her then. My love, he called her now.
With exquisite caresses, with sweet murmurings and laughter, he peeled away the layers of clothing, exposing more than their eager bodies and driving hunger for each other. They came together in mutual desire…and love.
“Max, I love you,” she whispered on a sob as he made her vulnerable with his touch and his kisses, his wonderful, wonderful kisses….
Minutes or hours later they rested, then languidly rose. He placed a lush velour robe around her and slippers on her feet, then quickly donned sweats and thick socks.
“Ready to eat?” he asked, leading the way to the living room and the table laid before the fire.
She nodded, actually hungry for food now that other needs had been fulfilled. A blush warmed her face at his smile.
“So am I,” he said.
There were various meats and accompaniments in the refrigerator. They filled their plates. When they were seated on each side of the small table, he raised a glass of champagne. “A toast.”
She lifted her glass and waited.
“I’ve felt odd the past couple of days,” he told her. “There was a tightness inside that I couldn’t explain. Today I realized what it was.”
His eyes told her before he said the words.
“I love you. I always will. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for all my life. I had thought I was foolish to expect a great love, but fate or my guardian angel knew what I needed. You.”
His gaze never wavering, he drank to her and them and their future together. She did, too. He spoke again.
“Be still, my heart, ’tis naught
But love that has wrought
This miracle of passionate delight,
And bliss of a most enduring sort.”
She recalled the poem of the lovesick Lantanyan whom Max had quoted what seemed ages ago. Now she smiled as these new words settled softly in her heart like rose petals, to be preserved forever.
“My knight of the roses,” she said, lifting her glass. “Champion of my heart and guardian of its treasures. May our love bloom eternal, a garden forever in the springtime of its flowering.”
They drank of the heady nectar of shared love and pledged their troth to each other for all time. Then they sealed it with a kiss.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Laurie Paige for her contribution to the LOGAN’S LEGACY series.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6097-3
ROYAL AFFAIR
Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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