Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  From that moment on, the evening passed in a daze. She thought she found words to explain her creative Flair to T’Apple,without talking about time. He nodded and muttered to himself, then she was passed back to Quert Apple who introducedher to others who had purchased more than one piece of her work—including D’Birch.

  That interlude stood out, the GreatLady smiling coolly, apparentlycondescending to forgive Dufleur her rudeness the eveningbefore because she was pleased with a small tapestry Dufleur had done of a slice of Noble Country—one that showed the entrance to the Birch estate. As Dufleur suspected, no rumorsabout the Thymes came to her ears, and she doubted if it circulated.

  Saille Willow had been in the gallery before Dufleur had arrived,and she watched him with sidelong glances. The link betweenthem was strong and, to her, evident, but she hoped she was shielding it from others. She shrank at the thought of even more gossip. Still, she knew that he watched her even when she felt him turn his mind to business. In some way, his presence both energized and eased her. Unqualified support came through their link, as did an underlying desire, anticipation of the night to come. She hadn’t thought she’d spend the night with him, but he had no doubts.

  She would rather he stay with her in Winterberry Residence, but didn’t know how to manage the bed, though the couch they’d slept on the night before wasn’t quite as wide as her bed. Perhaps she could convince Fairyfoot to sleep at T’Willow Residence. The Fam had taken a particular liking to the conservatory.

  Fairyfoot and her collar were praised, too. An Apple had been assigned as a companion to “honor” the cat, though Dufleur figuredQuert didn’t trust the Fam with embroidery and lace.

  Her meeting with D’Sea was very pleasant, especially since her Mind Healer had purchased a couple of her pieces. Smiling, Dufleur chatted with D’Sea, and when the woman nodded decisivelyand complimented Dufleur, she knew that she was spared another appointment. Even as she watched the older woman walk away, she felt perspiration dampen her palms. But it was warm in the gallery.

  By the end of the evening, Dufleur had sold all of her work, and her head buzzed with compliments. When someone spoke of a commission, she referred them to Quert Apple. As the gallery emptied, she took one last look around and found that most of her mother’s lace had sold, too. She sighed in relief. Her mother would be pleased and would avidly check the newssheets for reportsof the event the next morning. Dufleur was a little interested in what they might say, too.

  “I have accepted three commissions for you.” Quert Apple beamed in satisfaction as he approached with Passiflora. Everyoneelse—except Saille Willow—was gone. “I had requests for more, but I know you have other commitments, and I want to ensure your exclusivity.” His smile broadened further. “We have a waiting list.”

  “Good,” Dufleur said faintly. She thought she had an idea of the new rhythm of her own life factoring in the social season and would have to sit down and make a schedule—for experimentingwith time, working on her embroidery, resting.

  Playing with Fairyfoot, the little cat added, prancing up, moving her head so light caught her collar and everyone could continue to admire it.

  “I’ll take Dufleur home.” Saille T’Willow joined them.

  Dufleur frowned at him. “You didn’t commission anything, did you? You have a great deal of my work as it is.”

  “Does he really? I’d like some unsold pieces.” Quert sent him a glance.

  “Not for sale.” He picked up Dufleur’s hand, made a small bow, and kissed her fingers. “No. I didn’t commission anything more.” His eyes went half-lidded, his mouth quirked at the corner. “Though I’m considering an embroidered comforter for the Willow generational bed.”

  “The Willows have such a bed?” Quert asked. “They are very rare. Usually made in the first or second generation of colonization.” A considering look came to his eyes. “I wonder if I could do a show—” He stopped himself. “No, I’m sure no FirstFamilywould loan such a wonderful object.”

  “You must be mad,” Dufleur blurted, folded her arms across her chest. “I will not embroider a bedcover for a man who has a FamCat sleeping on his bed.”

  Myx would ruin it, Fairyfoot added.

  Saille winced. “Oh. Good point.”

  Passiflora raised her eyebrows at Dufleur. Quert looked away, as if something had caught his attention. And Dufleur knew beyond a doubt that she’d revealed too much.

  Saille said, “No, GreatSir Apple, I would not loan my bed. As you said, it’s too valuable. As for other FirstFamilies.” He shrugged. “I don’t know who else might have such a bed. Every Family has secrets.”

  Just that easily he’d asked them to keep quiet, Dufleur realizedwith wonder.

  “Very true, very true,” Quert agreed.

  Passiflora’s smile held a trace of melancholy. “And some Families’ affairs are known and gossiped by all.”

  Quert put an arm around her shoulder. “You’re tired, my dear. I know Holm sent your glider here an hour ago. You’ve been doing a great deal—”

  “My health is perfectly fine.” Passiflora freed herself from her brother. She lifted her chin. “In fact, the Healer, T’Heather, scrutinized me while we spoke earlier.” Her smile softened as she looked to Dufleur. “He wanted to convey to me his thanks once again for the softleaves you embroidered for his lady, and notes that they have now become quite valuable.”

  But Dufleur reacted to the first part of her speech. “You’re not the only one who had an interesting talk with a Healer. D’Sea was here.”

  “Oh.” Passiflora’s eyes filled.

  Dufleur managed a smile. “My health is fine, too.” But she felt closer to Passiflora than she had for a while.

  Quert took his sister’s arm and led her away. “Holm will be waiting for you, you know. You’re overtired.”

  “This social season is important to us.”

  “I know, and you have been such a good HeartMate ...” A door closed.

  “My glider awaits, too,” Saille said. “Come, Dufleur.”

  She eyed him warily. “No comment about HeartMates.”

  “Of course not.”

  They looked at each other. A half-smile was on his lips. Their link was wide and pulsing with emotions—affection, pride, desire.

  Fairyfoot rubbed Dufleur’s ankles back and forth, circling her, sending love and pride and purring. She crooked her tail. We spend the night at Willows’s. Her whiskers twitched. Food here is acceptable, but Willows give Me cream before bed.

  Dufleur stared at her cat. She wouldn’t be small if she kept that habit.

  With smugness, the FamCat sat and looked up at Saille. You should put Fam door to the other rooms, so I can use them.

  “Other rooms?” Dufleur asked.

  “I’m using the consort’s rooms. They’re equal in size to the head of household’s.”

  “But, that bed . . .” "MotherDam had a special bed made for herself. She put the old Willow bed in storage, I had it moved to the consort’s suite.”

  She couldn’t prevent the small, fake smile from flickering on and off her face. That bed scared her, it spoke of generations. Of all the time of the Willows. “So Fairyfoot wants to use the head’s suite as her own.”

  Saille smiled. “Cats don’t have a problem with self-confidence.”

  “No.” She smiled, too, though she knew she was all too full of self-doubt.

  He gazed down at Fairyfoot. “Dufleur has invited me to stay with her.”

  The cat flicked her tail. Bed is small.

  “Very true. I wondered if you’d like to stay in the Willow conservatory.”

  Fairyfoot purred louder. One or two mice there in from the winter. Fresh mouse as snack. Then cream. Then sleep in glass house smelling like summer. “Yessss.”

  “Then I’ll—” He lifted a hand as if to ’port her, but she had already popped from view.

  Saille shook his head, then he scanned the room and eased. “It has been difficult pretending
that you aren’t my HeartMate, that we are casual acquaintances. That I might be thinking of wooing you and not that I’m ready to HeartBond tonight and wed you tomorrow.”

  Dufleur took a step back, stopped. “I didn’t ask you to do any of those things.”

  “No. But I promised not to push. I suppose that means rushingyou, too.”

  “You are moving at the speed of light.”

  “Not time?”

  She dropped her voice. “This is not the place to speak of time.”

  “Or the time?”

  She closed her eyes. “You’re going to be difficult.”

  “Over the fact that you are breaking the law? Perhaps.” He took her hand again. “Or perhaps not. Being able to practice your Flair is important.” He glanced around. “Though I wish your primaryFlair was for embroidery. It would scare and confuse me less.” He reached for her other hand, brought both to his lips. “You are a very talented person, and I am a lucky man.”

  Her heart jumped in her chest. “I don’t think so.”

  His blue eyes went from dancing to serious. He dropped one of her hands and sighed. “Let’s go.”

  She led the way. “The garment storage is here.”

  Then she fell silent, and he didn’t speak, and instead of beinguncomfortable, she felt relieved that she didn’t have to think of things to say. More, he was letting her unwind from the event that had focused on her, until she wondered how to hold her hands, where to place herself in relation to her “art.”

  They stopped at a piece, and he gestured. “I like that. I bought it.” It was a large tatting of her mother’s, worked in silverthread. It did look like a spiderweb.

  “A very beautiful spiderweb.” Saille answered her thought.

  He helped her on with her coat and frowned. “This seems light for a winter like we’re having.”

  She shrugged. “I use a weathershield.”

  “Dufleur, I know you’ve been as busy as Passiflora Holly with all your various—projects. That takes energy. You’re tired, and a weathershield can be draining. Get some gloves and a hat and scarf.”

  Chuckling, she said, “The weathershield is a very minor bit of Flair for me. Hardly noticeable.”

  “In that case, I don’t think I’ll tell you that I’ve never masteredit.”

  “Oh.” A flush crept up her cheeks.

  His eyes heated. “I like seeing your flush, it’s lovelier in more intimate settings, though.” He brought her hand to his lips and nibbled on her fingers. “Maybe I’ll reconsider gloves. You can keep my hands warm with your weathershield, and I can taste your—fingers at any time.”

  The images he was sending to her weren’t of her fingers. She swallowed. “Your glider awaits?”

  “Yes.” He led her out the door into the breath-catching cold. She slammed the weathershield around them.

  He hummed with pleasure. “Nice. Warm.” He gestured to the massive old glider sitting on its stand a few feet away. The driver waved to them, but didn’t exit the warm vehicle to lift the door. No footmen.

  "My Family is predominantly women, and my MotherDam discouraged men from staying in Druida and working at the Residence. A couple came back when I took over the title, but I think several more are waiting to see what happens.” He opened the door, put his hands on her waist, and raised her the couple of feet inside. He followed her in and shut the door without taking his arm from her waist.

  “No light,” he whispered, and the soft glow in the back dissipateduntil it was dark. He turned his head and kissed her.

  Her mouth opened on the press of his lips, and she accepted his tongue. He tasted of the sparkling wine punch that had been served. His body angled over hers, and she noted he was very aroused and that—and the passion flooding down their link— caused her to melt.

  They kissed, and he stroked her breasts. She sensed that he liked the thickness of her garments. He savored anticipation.

  Her mind swirled away under the tide of sensation—his hands on her breasts, his leg between hers, and the knowledge that she had invited him to stay with her.

  The drive was far too long, since he’d spent every moment arousing her to fever, and then, finally, they were in her bedroom.

  He pulled her gently into his arms, and she became aware of his solid erection. It caused her knees to loosen. He chuckled, rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Yes, I desire you. I always do. The most basic fact about HeartMates is that the sex will alwaysbe superb.”

  His hands framed her face, and his blue eyes met hers. “But I want more than sex.”

  “Everything,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” He hesitated. “And I would give you everything in return.Dufleur, why don’t you trust me?”

  She tensed, but kept her gaze locked on his. “I don’t know. I think much of it is that I don’t trust me.” But she probed at his question as if it had been a scientific hypothesis. “I don’t . . .” She sent her confusion, more, her bone-deep conviction that no one could get close to her. After all, her parents had never gottenclose to her. She didn’t have close friends. Something must be lacking in her.

  “Dufleur, nothing is lacking in you.”

  Then she showed him what she thought of as a closed door in her.

  “What?”

  “The horrors of the past. The explosion of the lab, my father’s death, the demise of the Residence. When I was kidnappedby the black cult and my attempted murder. I try not to open them for myself. Can you live with someone who has such terrible events closed to you?”

  “They will open in time.”

  But she doubted.

  Saille was impatient. He wanted all of her now, despite any doubts. Her irrational doubts. All she needed to do was to trust in the HeartMate bond.

  And trusting was the matter of the emotions, you couldn’t rush it, and it was obvious from what she’d just shown him that she didn’t trust him yet. Instead of a heavy sigh, he let his breath out slow and easy.

  Think of his triumphs. He’d found her. She hadn’t formally accepted his HeartGift, but she hadn’t thrown it out into the street again.

  He had her in his arms. They’d loved physically before and would do so again. And that was the last thought he had before he began to persuade her that he’d be a good mate in another fashion.

  Before he’d been too hasty to savor lovemaking. Not tonight. His hands still curved around her face. He loved looking at her. Her wide brow, blue-gray eyes that seemed to see everything, weigh everything. Her lips that always tempted him because they plumped up so wonderfully with passion.

  He lowered his head and brushed her mouth. Didn’t even allowhimself to taste. “Slow and easy. Tonight I’ll show you exactlyhow close I can get to you.” He nibbled her lips, swept his tongue across them to taste.

  Dufleur. Rich. Sexy. With an exotic flavor of no other. Time.

  “I’ll get close. Inside you. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.”

  His hands caressed her soft skin, went to the tabs on the shoulders of her tunic, and opened them. He slid the garment down her, feeling the full roundness of her breasts, the indentationof her waist, the nice curve of hip and butt and stomach. Then the long tunic fell free, and he set his fingers at her waist and the tab there. He peeled it back and pushed her full trous down, down, down her long, sturdy legs. Legs that had wrapped around him as her body demanded release.

  Twenty-two

  He slipped his hand between the silkeen cloth of her pantlettes and her skin, knew his fingers trembled, his breath came short, his own trous tightened over his groin, as his cock grew in anticipation of fulfillment.

  Her folds were damp and plump. “Low light,” he growled and looked at her face. Yes, her lips were fuller, too. Her eyes were wide and had lost the piercing intelligence. He stroked her, coaxing more slickness from her body, slid a finger into her, and she arched. Her stomach caressed his shaft, and his groan mingled with her whimper of desire.

  “My clothes off,” he ordered
and felt the rush of the spell around him as his clothes fell to the floor, his shoes and liners broke away from his feet.

  He stood naked and ready, and she was still garbed in her breastband and pantlettes that showed a thick transparent white against her skin. One of his arms supported her back, and he saw her breasts with aroused nubs of nipples. He looked down her and saw his fingers around her, holding her damp sex. His skin heated, his own sex throbbed with need. Memories of how wonderful it felt to slide into her, feel her legs clamp around him, her hands go to his butt to pull him even deeper inside made him shudder with desire. He withdrew his fingers from her only to rip her pantlettes off. She gave a flinch, but her mouth curved.

  Her breasts tempted. With a quick jerk, her breastband opened and fell away. His lips tasted her right nipple, and he laved it, sucked it. A different taste here from her lips. Sweet. He moved to her left nipple, indulged himself in the softness of her breast pressing against his mouth, the fullness of her flesh in his mouth.

  She gave another whimper of need that fired his brain, set her hands on his shoulders, lifted herself, and slid down on his waiting cock.

  Fabulous. So incredible. He freed her breast to gasp. She’d taken him by surprise, his hands clamped on her bottom, and the feel of her firm flesh in his hands, of her hot, wet sheath surroundinghim snapped his control. He took a pace to the side, another, and his leg touched the bed.

  Then she was on her back, and he was thrusting into her, giving her all of him. Each stroke wound the tension tighter and tighter, until he spun off the edge of the world and into pure sensational pleasure.

  Several minutes passed before he could piece himself together.Touch returned first. Her body was damp against his, her breasts cushioning his chest. He rolled from her, came up against the wall. They’d sleep close together. Good.

  He tucked her under the covers, yanked the linens up.

  She said nothing. He sensed her mind was still dazed, and he smiled, then he held her until she fell asleep, and he slipped into the darkness, then the dreams, with her.

  There was a horrible bang, an awful flash against her eyelidsthat woke her, all her senses screaming with fear. The scent of smoke was everywhere.