by C A Nicks
“And you as a woman wish to read into that more than I meant?” The defence was automatic. She had him pinned to the spot with a look that said he was going nowhere until he’d fully explained himself. A look he knew well, only this time he had nowhere to run.
“Hell yes, I do. Tell me what you meant.”
“We don’t have time for this. It’s not important.” He straightened fully, distancing himself by the mere difference in their height. Looking down at her earnest face he saw the hope behind the bravado, the plea in her beautiful eyes that he continue to be honest with her. A sudden constriction in his chest almost stopped his breath. It hit him like an arrow piercing his heart. Did he love her? Is that what he meant?
“It’s the most important thing, Fabian.” She touched her heart. “It’s all right. You don’t have to say it. Not out loud. Just know that what we say and what we feel in here will motivate all our future actions. We can make all the grand plans we like, but this is ultimately what will drive us.”
“What will drive you, perhaps.” He was having trouble breathing. “Women are motivated by emotion, men by logic.”
“This is what it is to be human, Fabian. I’m not trying to back you into a corner. I’m trying to warn you how it will be. We’ll hide our feelings because we don’t want to use them to coerce. But we’ll act on them anyway. The more I care for you, the more I’m likely to do something stupid for you. Do you understand? If we don’t factor our true feelings into the equation, neither of us have a plan that has any hope of working.”
“A woman who thinks like a man. Are you sure you are not Imarna?”
“Who are they?”
He shook his head. “Forget I said that. I hear your words, but I still do not know what you wish me to say. I can’t allow emotion to cloud such important matters.”
“Neither of us can, which is why we need to get as far away from each other as possible.”
“Go then.” Even as he said it he was moving towards her, backing her against the wall, wrapping a hank of her hair around his fist. “Your logic is sound. From now on we will each care only for ourselves.
“I agree,” she said rubbing her head against the hand holding her hair, sliding a flat palm over the bulge in his pants. “From now on, it’s every man for himself.”
“With no quarter given.” He palmed her breast, squeezing too hard for comfort. With a strangled gasp, Tig attacked his belt, yanking it open, almost ripping the buttons from his pants in her effort to get inside. He countered by taking her mouth, reaching around to hoist her up flush with his body. Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him in place, while she kissed him back with a passion that up till now had only been hinted at.
“No quarter and no mercy,” she said and slid her lips to his neck, sucking until he felt the sting of blood vessels bursting, marking him for all to see.
“I should go upstairs and pack my bags.” She stopped to draw a frantic breath. Lowered her head to taste the dip of flesh at the base of his throat. He tipped back his head, encouraging her to continue the onslaught, both hands gripping her buttocks to keep her in place.
“We should go upstairs, I agree.”
He didn’t give her time to argue. Not that she seemed inclined to. This moment would come and go and if they did not seize it now, it might never come again.
Still holding her, he stumbled up the stairs, to her bedroom, walking straight to the dresser to yank open the drawer. Much as he would like to leave the matter of a child in Fate’s hands, he remembered her assertion that she had no need of one.
“Let me.” Tig knelt before him on the bed, pushing back the folds of his pants to free his straining cock, shoving them down over his hips. Leaning forward, she swept back her hair and placed a lingering kiss on the smooth skin before rolling on the sheath with delicate care. He wanted to ram into her, hear her plead for his mercy, but she was still dressed and taking a frustratingly long time to divest herself of boots, pants and underclothes. With a deep groan he hooked a hand under each of her knees and tipped her back onto the bed, dragging her to the edge.
Had he ever seen a more erotic sight? Straw-coloured hair tangled about her face, spreading across the quilt. Arms flung back in total abandon as she focussed on the pleasure he gave with each hard thrust.
Holding back, waiting for her was agony. Eyes closed, teeth holding her bottom lip, face a mask of concentration, she climbed towards her climax.
He let himself go, knowing that one day he would take her skin to skin. He could not leave without doing that. When his last spasm died down he sank to his knees, drained of all energy. With his cheek resting on her soft thigh, he listened to the race of her pulse beating in time with his.
Just as well he had no breath with which to speak for he would likely have said something he regretted. He felt her fingers, gentle in his hair and breathed in the heady scent of her release. After that small storm, a moment of peace to savour and store away in his memory.
“Undress,” he said, already rising to pull his shirt over his head. “I wish to lie naked with you. To hold you and feel every part of your skin against mine.”
“Me too.”
No longer any need for coyness, she unbuttoned and unlaced and lay down beside him, shifting easily into the enclosing circle of his arms. One leg draped over his thigh, he wondered at the fit of them together. At the way she moulded her form to his as if made for him.
Still he did not speak. Their frantic coupling had been a diversion from the problem in hand, and the question still remained. In all his grand plans, what did he do about Tig? How could he let her go, knowing he might never see her again? How could he keep her with him, knowing who would take her after he’d gone?
His plucky little Tig. Fierce as a lioness, independent as the winter storms that blew in from the high plateau, yet still so vulnerable to the vagaries of powerful men.
“Now I want to stay,” she said drawing an idle line on his chest with her fingernail.
“And now I know you must leave.”
Did he imagine the small nod of her head? She sank deeper into his side, her head tucked under his chin. He’d rarely lingered with a woman after sex, unaware of the comfort to be found in so simple an action. Something else to take back with him if he ever found a woman worthy enough.
Tig’s breathing evened out as she relaxed into sleep. Fatigued as he was after their disturbed night, he stayed awake and kept sentinel, his mind too busy for sleep. Before him lay that heap of tangled threads which he was struggling to loosen and organise into some sort of plan that would benefit them both. What if Tig was right and the mages could not get him home? And Warrington? He had no idea of the man’s real strengths. Confidence in his own ability would only get him so far and victory was not assured. Tig must at the very least remain a neutral bystander until such time he could guarantee her protection. And that he could only do by sitting on the warlord’s throne and staying there.
He had not reckoned that love would be a part of his punishment.
“What time is it?” Tig lifted a sleepy head, eyes wide as she took in the bed and the naked man beneath her. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep.”
“You needed it.” He shifted her, urging her to relax with him for a few more moments. Wishing to explore further these new feelings she evoked in him. He’d shown his paramours indulgence, but never softness. He’d thought himself strong, yet lying here, holding this precious bundle of flesh and bone, he felt a different kind of strength. For her he would lift mountains.
He already knew she would never ask him to.
* * * *
He wasn’t making it easy. Hard man, fantasy lover and now this aching tenderness stealing her will and making her want to stay curled up in his arms forever. Fate was a bitch, for sure. Showing her how things could be, while making other plans for her.
The rhythmic stroking of Fabian’s hand lulled her fogged mind back to sleep. Tig resisted the pull. Why waste this time sleeping? From the sh
adows at the window, they’d slept away the best part of the afternoon. And so much to be done.
“It will wait,” Fabian said sensing her restless mood. “Indulge me a while longer.”
An offer no sane woman would refuse. “What if Hal comes back? You know he was behind the attack last night?”
“A show of force. To tell me his support will command the loyalty of others. A game, nothing more.”
“Two men died in that game.” Untangling herself from his embrace, she sat up. “Death seems to mean nothing these days.”
“You wished I had let them kill me? Or you instead?”
“They were under instructions not to kill. Just to flush you out.”
“And they knew the risks.”
“I guess.” She tucked her knees under her chin aware that her inability to lie still and allow others to take charge had broken the mood. Fabian needed peace and calm, not her carping on about morality and the fuzziness thereof. The feel of Fabian’s finger tracing the line of her spine made her shiver. The man was totally irresistible. Why even bother to deny that?
She turned, gazing over her shoulder through the curtain of her hair. One arm bent behind his head, the other continuing its lazy exploration, he looked entirely too content for a man about to take on the world.
“It’s nice to see you so relaxed.”
“Good sex will do that to a man.”
She twisted to lie on her front beside him, head propped on her folded arms. “Good was it?”
“Did I not just say?”
“Only teasing. We’ll have to stop doing this, you know. You’re spoiling me for all other men.”
“I intend to. May I ask you something?”
“Of course, ask away.” He smelled like men did after a hard day’s work. Who would have thought sweat could be so sexy? This close she could see each hair on his chin and cheeks, the flecks that lit up his dark eyes, the landscape of pattern and scars criss-crossing his skin, telling the story of his long life. He claimed to be thousands of years old. How could that be possible?
“It would please me greatly to take you to climax, skin to skin, without that dammed sheath to dull the pleasure. Would you grant me that, Tig? I want to feel myself encased in your warmth. I want to get as close to you as a man can. Let me, Tig.”
The imagery alone was almost enough to make her come. Her innards clenched as she imagined him sliding inside, hard and hot, filling her with no barriers in between. He’d make one heck of a salesman.
“I will not get you with child or disease. You need have no fear of that. I would curse myself for all of eternity if the woman I want above all others was the one I had never fully taken. It would be a gift beyond price.”
He was ready to take her, his cock standing proud. She had only to move a little and lower herself onto him.
“You’re not the first man to ask.” She touched his arm to quell the frown rapidly forming on his face. “But you’re the first man I want to say yes to.”
“Then say it.” Definitely not one of the society gentlemen from the old days. When Fabian saw advantage, he took it.
“I want it more than anything, too. But a baby would complicate things too much.”
“Let me worry about that.”
He was already astride her, pinning her down with his weight, already seeking entrance.
She couldn’t get him inside her fast enough.
“Pull out before you come,” she gasped, hoping he would, wishing he didn’t have to. Braced over her, he looked in agony. Whether from the sensation or the decision not to spill his seed inside her, she didn’t know. His forehead touched hers, their breath mingled and he held himself rigid, on the brink.
He was gone too soon, pulsing against her thigh, on a groan of deep regret. He rolled to flop onto the bed beside her, breath ragged, leaving frustration in his wake. For both of them, but at least now they knew.
“Have you done it like that before?”
“Only with you.” She was glad now that Carson had respected her choice not to bear him a child. And that she had never let Hal go all the way. Sex up till now had been a momentary pleasure, a duty or a bargaining chip. Here was proof that it could be so much more.
“Is it not better?”
“It’s a whole lot better. And messier,” she said grimacing down at the stain on the bed-sheet.
Fabian narrowed his eyes, touching a finger to the wet mark. “I have never had to concern myself with such things. It was always dealt with immediately.”
She gave a wry chuckle. “Oh, you’ve never had to sleep in the wet patch, that’s for sure. It was good, better than good. I’ve never been so thoroughly loved.”
“I hope you never will be again.” He shook his head. “Selfish of me, I know. I should not have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” She kissed him, a lingering touch of her lips to his and then a light peck on the end of his nose to lighten the mood and ease their way back to reality. Time to step back into life with all its pressures and obligations and impossible decisions. Fabian’s stomach gave a loud grumble.
“Let’s go hunting. Catch something huge and meaty and roast it over the fire-pit like we used to do back in the day. What do you say?”
She had to laugh at the way his dark eyes lit up at the prospect of a kill followed by a meat-feast.
“Will we not be observed?”
She flipped herself upright. Located her underwear. “Worrying about that is getting a little redundant, don’t you think? We’ll stay close to home.”
“What kind of game do you have apart from rabbits?” Fabian followed her lead and gathered up his clothes. Sniffed disdainfully at his shirt and tossed it back onto the floor. “I smell like a serf. Will you bathe me when we return?”
“If you’d like me to.” She picked up the dirty shirt. Handed it back to him. “You’ll be even sweatier when we return. I’ll get you a clean one then.”
He saw the logic in her argument, accepting the shirt without question. She moved to the dresser and stared at herself in the mirror. Despite the mad tangle of her hair, she had a glow about her. That insufferably pleased look only a bit of afternoon delight could bring. Grabbing her silver-backed hair brush, she made a start on the snags. The brush had belonged to her mother, along with the hand-mirror and silver comb. One of the few possessions of value she hadn’t pawned.
Fabian’s large hand sliding the brush from hers took her by surprise. She shivered when his fingers grazed her scalp and all but stopped herself from purring as he pushed the brush into her hair with long masterful strokes.
“Had I still my glorious mane, you could do this for me,” he said. “You have been blessed with beautiful hair. This pale colour is considered very exotic where I come from.”
“Yes, here too. I’m thinking of selling it when I get into town. More people wear their hair short in the towns and cities. Won’t stand out so much and I’ll need the cash.”
The brush stilled. “You will do no such thing.”
“I might have to. It’s a vanity anyway, and I can’t afford to be sentimental, not now.”
The mirror reflected back his pursed lips, his nod of resignation. No big deal, really. It would grow back. On impulse, she opened the dresser draw and found the small scissors she used to trim her nails. Handing them to him she said, “Take a hank, from underneath where it won’t show. I’ll plait it for you, as a memento.”
For a moment, she thought he didn’t want it. He took the scissors and lifted her hair. Clipped a long strand and handed it carefully to her.
“We would wear the hair of the vanquished as ornament.”
“That’s gross. Warlords do that here, too. This is a token, not a trophy.” She laid the hank onto the dresser top. “How long was yours? Before they took it?”
“It fell to my thigh. A symbol of my manhood and courage, it now probably adorns the saddle horn of that bitch of an Imarna queen.”
“Short hair suits you,
though. Can I have a piece of yours? Something to remember you by? Because when I’m old and grey I’ll look back on these past few weeks and think I dreamed them.”
He snipped a chunk without hesitation. Laid it on the dresser next to hers, and then solemnly continued with his brushing. No longer relaxed, she felt the anger and something of a hint of melancholy returning. The strokes became harder, faster with no concession to the tangles. She endured it as she had as a child. When he was done he threw the brush onto the dresser and turned for the door.
“I’ll light a fire under the copper so we may have hot water when we return. Bring the bow, I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Poor man. In all of his bluster and arrogance and fanciful stories about having fallen from the sky, she must remember that whatever had happened to him, he’d lost everything and he desperately wanted it back.
And it was her job to help him achieve that.
Chapter 12
Hunting for food rather than pleasure lent the experience a much keener edge. No horns blaring or packs of dogs baying for blood. And best of all, no troupe of sycophantic courtiers applauding his every move. Falling over themselves to congratulate him for administering the killing blows to beasts that were already half-dead anyway.
Just he and Tig, the two dogs and a crossbow. And the knowledge that if they didn’t succeed, they wouldn’t eat.
“Over there,” she said and ducked behind one of the rocky outcrops punctuating the scrubby grasslands. In the distance, the pale line of the desert where only the carrion birds and the foolish ventured since the coup. Crouched behind her, crossbow at the ready, he scanned the ridge and saw nothing.
“What are we looking for?”
“Desert deer. See that dip and clump of long grass? It’s behind there. Should be able to nab one without anyone noticing.”
“The game belongs to the warlord?”
“Strictly speaking I’m supposed to pay for a hunting licence. They turn a blind eye to the odd deer or rabbit but any more and they want their cut.” Tig’s features clouded. “Of course with Warrington in charge things might change. I’m sending the dogs. When it breaks cover, take it down.”
