Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  He groaned, and she sucked on his tongue, and he grabbed her bottom and pulled her tight, and she gloried in the heat and the tide of delicious sensation that swept her mind away.

  She shifted so her aching sex would cradle his hard length and moved against him. They moaned into each other’s mouths.

  He lifted his head, breath ragged. “No clothes,” he ordered and a cool breeze whisked around her, and she was naked.

  So was he.

  Skin to skin. And it was very, very fine, the slide of their bodies together. His rough velvet, hers smooth.

  Their mouths met, parted, tongues tasted, probed, duelled. Her hands roamed the planes of him, the curve of his thigh, the hard roundness of his backside. She slid a leg up around his waist, locked it, moved so that most needy part of her could welcome the heated length of his erection.

  “Hot, wet,” he said, setting his teeth in her lower lip and arousing her to the edge of ecstasy, until only fulfillment of her driving need mattered. She whimpered.

  He shifted and thrust, and she gasped as pleasure speared her. I want . . . it was hardly a thought, more a demand from her body, her heart, her soul to him. There was a change in space, in position, and the cool leather of the couch met her back, and he came down on her and into her, and it was hard and good.

  Then fast. He pumped, and she writhed, wanting, yearning, needing. Too fast. The slick slide of him took her too high, too quickly, unbearable.

  One. Last. Thrust.

  She screamed her completion, and it echoed through her head and her heart and through time itself.

  He grabbed her close, arched, shuddered, and his groan was but a whisper that wrapped around her and pulled her into madnessonce more. Shattering. Falling.

  Resting. Damp, fragrant skin against damp skin. Warm entwinedbodies.

  "HeartMate,” he said, and it was the last thing she heard beforelush sleep claimed her.

  She awoke, then realized it was the sense of time passing while she was in a cocoon of comfort and safety. Tiredly, she understood that she didn’t trust comfort and safety, had gotten used to being wary, even in sleep. What did that say about her, and was she becoming like her mother? She sincerely hoped not.

  But Saille still held her in his arms, between the back of the sofa and himself. Surrounded by him.

  She didn’t know how to escape. And she had to, because she wanted him so much. The scent of him, of them, promised everything.

  So much different than being at Winterberry Residence, or before in her own home. Love. She was afraid of it. A huge emotion that changed everything.

  Here in T’Willow Residence she was safe—as long as she was the embroiderer, not the time experimenter. The Residence around them pulsed with life. It was strong itself and housed no less than fifteen other Willows—not to mention the FamCat, Myx, sleeping on Saille’s bed, or Fairyfoot snoozing in the lush verdant air of the conservatory.

  None of those entities would want her working with time. Saille opened his eyes and snared her with his gaze. Awake, though she’d known he’d been sleeping a moment before.

  His arms tightened, and he frowned. “Do you always run away?”

  She flinched. “I’m still here.”

  “You were thinking of leaving, would have if I hadn’t been holding on to you.”

  “I don’t know what I was going to do, would have done.” Her mouth flattened. “Such pretty words for a morning after . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence with “sex,” which is what she wanted to say but wasn’t truthful. She couldn’t bear to call their coming together “loving,” which was what settled in her mind. That was too scary.

  “You’re right.” He brushed her lips with his mouth, fuller from kissing. “I should have pretty words for my HeartMate the morning after we finally made love in the flesh.”

  He slid his body against hers, and she became aware that his flesh was hardening and stirring and her own body melting for his.

  When he slipped inside her, she was ready, the sheer thicknessof him pleasured her. Fulfillment.

  His thrusts were slow and measured, and he looked down at her with bright blue eyes, and she couldn’t escape his gaze, couldn’t hide.

  Intimacy.

  They climbed to the pinnacle together, and he held on to her when they fell together.

  The aftermath was fully as lovely as the first time, so differentfrom her other limited experiences, when either she or the man left soon after sex.

  Several minutes later, Saille pushed her hair away from her face. This time his gaze wasn’t demanding, but concerned.

  “I looked for you as soon as I arrived at the Aspens’ ball last night. What happened?”

  She wanted to ask why he hadn’t come at the start of the ball, wanted to know, but actually saying the words would revealtoo much—that it mattered whether he’d been there. That she wished to know more about him. That she might even probe into his secrets.

  She was still formulating a reply when he said, “Passiflora D’Holly heard that you had been the object of unkind words. She was concerned when she couldn’t find you. It became obviousthat you’d left.” His voice was rough from sleep.

  She pushed up. This time he didn’t hold her, but let his hands slide down her arms. He followed her to stand beside the sofa. Now she felt mussed—hair sticking out in different layers, damp with perspiration. Not at all attractive.

  He squeezed her hands a little. “Stop that. You are beautiful. And you’re looking everywhere except at me.”

  So she met his gaze. It was unwavering, but didn’t seem as judgmental as his first words. Straightening and pushing her shoulders back, fighting down a flush, even though it was too dark for him to see, she said, “I owe Passiflora another apology. I shouldn’t have allowed my hurt feelings to dictate my actions.” Though she still shuddered at the thought of facing down a lot of strangers of the highest noble class who judged and gossipedabout her Family. She grimaced. “I hate doing something stupid.”

  “Everyone does.” Once again he squeezed her hands, and a gleam came to his eyes as he smiled. “But loving—and being together like this—is far from stupid. It’s simply right. Don’t you feel it?”

  Their link was wide and the feelings he sent—wonder, affection,joy—wrapped around her like a blanket. So hard to deny her own feelings. So difficult to step away, but she did, and he followed. She took another pace back, tugging on her hands, and he let them slide from his own.

  “I’m not running away.”

  “No? It seems like you’ve been running from me since I first started visiting Dandelion Silk.”

  Her chin shot up, she swept a hand around the room. “Look at you, a FirstFamily GreatLord, and me, a lower-class noble. Tell me whose life will change the most if we . . . if . . .”

  “If you HeartBond with me? I can promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make your life change for the better.”

  “Ha.”

  He tilted his head. “I’ve been poor, and now I’m rich. I like rich better. You’d have your own suite of rooms—”

  “—and expectations of fulfilling responsibilities of GreatLadyWillow. D’Willow.” The idea of taking the title of her enemycaused a ripple of disgust to go through her. She raked her fingers through her hair. Her brain hurt. “I can’t do this.”

  “We can talk about responsibilities,” he paused, “expectations.” He strode to the undraped window, glanced down, then back at her. Hands on hips, he said, “A year ago if I’d been offeredthe title and the status and the wealth and a good home and a loving Family and my HeartMate, I would have known all my dreams had come true.” His jaw hardened. “That should be true for anyone. What dreams do you have that can’t be fulfilled by those things? By whatever I can give you?”

  Suddenly cold, she picked up a throw and wrapped it around herself. “You want honesty?”

  “Always.”

  “Me, too. I prefer honesty.”

  “That’s progress.” />
  “I don’t care about titles. Much. I want to be D’Thyme. That’s important to me, and it will come to me eventually. But now it is not a very respected name, because of both my father and mother. I want to remove the tarnish from that name.”

  “I can help.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, but we can find a way.”

  She sighed and sat and rubbed her face. “I only know one way to restore the name.”

  She heard him pace to the window and back again, then felt the slight shift of the couch when he sat beside her. He didn’t slouch.

  He didn’t touch her. “You mean the continuation of the experimentationwith time.”

  Eighteen

  Deciding he was right, she’d been cowardly, she turned to face him. “Yes. The illegal experimentation with time. And to clear my father’s name, I need to prove that my—our—studies are valid.” She laughed harshly. “Provide something of value to the FirstFamilies at least, if not all society.”

  He set his hands on her shoulders. “You can do it.”

  “I think I can. But not without working, illegally, with my Flair.”

  “How dangerous is it?”

  Her heart started thumping hard. “You’re the only one who’s ever asked me that.” She swallowed. “Everyone else just believesit’s unsafe.”

  His hands tightened, let go of her. She missed his touch. “I can’t say that I want you doing anything dangerous. But I can understand why.” She sensed he fibbed there. More like he might try to understand why, but even that was something. And there was no feeling from him that he’d betray her in any way. Only enough emotional support that it made her want to weep.

  “I don’t know what happened in my father’s lab,” she said baldly. “He didn’t often work at night, and none of our projects were dangerous.” She lifted her chin. “The Family has worked with time since our founding. It’s our specific Flair that brought us the title. Nothing like this has ever happened. Because of one tragedy ...”

  “And the help of my MotherDam,” he said quietly.

  “Yes.” Her lip curled. “She was a moving force in the vilificationof the Thyme name.”

  “But you must admit that Druida is more populated than ever before. An explosion . . .”

  She looked aside, at the windows where the light of the twinmoons was being swallowed up by the rising sun. “The Thyme estate is on the edges of Noble Country, but we have a good-sized land parcel. No one was harmed except the . . . the Residence itself. I had a good home.”

  He shifted and put an arm around her. “And that’s an additionalgrief. It’s odd how a person can become attached to a house entity. I am already to the Willow Residence.”

  “Willow Residence is not my home.”

  “It could be. And your mother’s.”

  He didn’t say that it appeared her mother would soon need another home.

  “My mother can be a difficult woman. In that list of yours, status would be her first priority.”

  “Living here, she could move in the highest of social circles.” His tone was neutral.

  “As the mother of a GreatLady. I can’t think of that.” She rubbed her face again. “She would be wild for me to marry you.”

  “Additional pressure on you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I like Winterberry Residence.” She reverted to the previous topic.

  “It obviously likes you.” Again the dry note in his voice.

  “Because it kept my secrets.”

  “Plural? Is there more that you aren’t telling me?”

  She stared at him. “No. But you have secrets, too.”

  He hesitated.

  “I don’t need to know them.”

  Rubbing a hand over his heart, he said, “That hurts.”

  “I’m sorry. Back to your list of wonders. Having gilt is good. I’ve been poor, but now I’m—we’re—doing better. And it’s good to know that my embroidery will sell well.”

  “Your embroidery is art. I’ve always thought so.”

  She closed her eyes. The man was too good to be true. There must be something wrong with him. He didn’t like her working with time, practicing her primary, Familial Flair. His words and the feeling behind them were too cautious.

  “As for a loving Family . . . I have Ilex and Trif Winterberry. My mother loves me in her way. I know you believe your Familywould accept me . . .”

  “They’d adore you. So modest and talented and undemanding,and you make me happy.”

  Dufleur sniffed, and it was more watery than she cared for. “Nevertheless, they’re strangers. All of them. I’ve had to watch my step with so many strangers lately. And your Family is not goingto be pleased if I smudge your title or status with my actions.”

  His grim smile was as good as her own. “We can fight any dishonor together.”

  “My father wasn’t dishonorable! He wasn’t mad, or stupid, or a fool like those women said last night.”

  “So that’s what you heard.”

  “That’s what was said to my face. I’m not used to highborn nobles insulting me at social events—”

  “Especially since you didn’t want to attend the social events in the first place.”

  Some of her anger drained. “No. But now I’m stuck, and I must admit Passiflora has been wonderful, and I repaid her poorly last night.” Her lips pressed together, then she said, “I’ll do better, but D’Birch and her friend were spreading all the lies and rumors again throughout the room. I didn’t want to face it. You were right, I was cowardly and ran away.”

  "HeartMate.” He put his hand on her cheek and stroked it with his thumb, and her blood fired once more, and she nearly despaired. They’d just loved, and he aroused her once more with a small touch.

  She was overwhelmingly aware that he was naked, and as her pulse ignited with passion, it cycled to him and returned to her with the taste of his own desire. She couldn’t resist. Morninglight was filtering in the window, another clear, chilling day, she should be home for breakfast.

  “Saille,” she breathed out, knowing his name roused him further, but wasn’t the word he wanted to hear. She added more, echoed what he’d said earlier. “Lover.”

  And he used that word as a basis . . . his gentle fingers caressedher, his lips pressed against her skin in tender kisses. She strove to keep the mood, to return his gentleness, and allowed herself to slow and explore him, cherished his low moans and quivers.

  Once more he tucked her under him and met her eyes. This time his looked blurry with desire. Though he kept the loving slow, it cost him in his ragged breathing. The pleasure inside her slowly spiraled until the ecstasy heightened and she arched to shattering completion and took him with her.

  The late dawn of winter brightened the windows before she wriggled from under him.

  He groaned again, swept out a hand, and caught her wrist. "HeartMate,” he said.

  She grabbed his hand with her free one, slipped from his grasp, kissed his fingers. “Lover.” She hesitated. “I can give you that much. Lover.”

  “I have never had such loving,” he mumbled. He opened his eyes, and they were less than sharp. She bent and kissed him on the lips.

  “Neither have I.”

  “Another temptation for me to give you.”

  “I must go.” She grimaced and dressed. “Apologize to Passiflora and my mother. She’ll expect me for breakfast. I can just manage a quick waterfall and change of clothing.”

  The FamDoor flapped, and Fairyfoot appeared. She looked at them critically. You noisy. As noisy as Cats.

  Dufleur felt a flush heat her neck. Saille put an arm over his eyes.

  “I’m ’porting on three,” said Dufleur.

  Fairyfoot leapt, and Dufleur caught her. No extended claws. Good. “One, fabulous Saille. Two, my sweet lover. Three, see you later.” And they were on the teleportation pad of Winterberry entryway.

  Dufleur dropped Fairyfoot, who made a startled sound. Rug. No
cold stone floor.

  Glancing down as she hurried to the steps to her level, Dufleur saw Fairyfoot was right. An old but beautiful rug—clean as the entryway was clean—now filled most of the chamber. It helped muffle her steps down to her rooms. Good, her mother and D’Winterberry were spending more gilt on the Residence.

  A few minutes later, she left Fairyfoot eating furrabeast and walked into the breakfast room.

  Her mother was waiting at a small table covered with pristinelinen and studying household documents. Grateful for a littlerespite before a scolding, Dufleur took cheesy eggs and porcine strips from the buffet and ate, refueling herself after the wonderful activities of the morning. She shifted a couple of times in the wooden dining room chair. It had been nearly two years since she’d had sex, and her body twinged.

  Several minutes passed as Dufleur ate. She knew her mother was aware of her, and hoping the anticipation would bother Dufleur, but this morning she was hungry enough to only concentrateon the food and not worry about her mother’s mood.

  “Dufleur,” her mother finally said in a tone that sent chill slivers of ice down her spine. Definitely a mother tone. A disapprovingmother tone. Nothing to do but keep her back stiff and face expressionless and take whatever berating there would be. No getting out of it. No defense allowed. The action had already been judged a crime and eternal nagging punishment was about to begin.

  “Yes, Mother.” She set down her silverware. She wouldn’t be able to eat further. Just looking at her cooling eggs made her queasy.

  "GraceLady Caraway scried me this morning.” Dufleur cringed inwardly. That was the name of the woman who’d been Dringal’s false friend. “Already, this early in the morning.” Dringal’s nostrils pinched. “And told me you’d been rude to D’Birch. D’Birch of all people. She’s not a woman you want to rile. And that you revived the old gossip about your father and the Thymes.” Muscles clenched in her jaw.

  No use in telling her that Agave had primed the women. Especiallysince Dufleur knew miserably that she’d fueled the fire by leaving.