He grinned and swooped toward her, pushing the hair off her face and running a line of kisses along her hairline, behind her ear. Slipping her arms around his waist, she pulled herself toward him, molding her body to his, reveling in the hard planes. The backs of her knees bumped into the bed and he lifted his head from nuzzling her collarbone. A look of inquiry rested in his blue eyes, her new favorite color.
She nodded. “Yes,” she said, wriggling them around so his back faced the bed. She heaved with all her might, not doing a thing to budge him. With a smile laced with mischief and understanding, he let himself topple onto the bed. He held out his arms invitingly and she finally got her chance to launch herself at him. “Oof,” escaped her lips as she landed against his chest.
He immediately cradled her in his arms, capturing her mouth, once more, in a searing kiss. All the while she was getting lost in his exquisite tongue action, her underdress was being moved further and further up her legs. He squeezed her behind and she gasped around his mouth.
“I’ll stop,” he said. “I apologize.”
She thumped him in the chest and reached around to replace his hands. “Don’t you dare stop. The cold air just shocked me a bit.”
He gave her a puzzled look, as if he wanted to ask her something, and she feared he was going to become overly chivalrous. She would have fainted if he insisted on stopping. She needed him so badly her hands trembled as she raked them along his sides. His body lurched to life underneath her and she smiled triumphantly.
He pulled the coverlet over them and, soon, they were ensconced in a cozy cocoon, the heat from their bodies melding them together. She tugged at the drawstring of his breeches, finally able to get them down over his hips. Her chemise was up above her waist, and he slid it neatly over her head, tossing it across the room.
“So lovely,” he said, stroking his fingertips down the side of her breast.
Goosebumps popped out all over her skin and he smiled, running them back up. Lowering his head, he traced her nipple with his tongue. Of their own volition, her hips rose off the mattress and she wrapped her legs around his waist. So close. Not close enough.
“Tristan,” she sighed. “This is …” she let her thought trail off, her mind drifting in and out as he kept kissing down her body.
It was almost more than she could handle and she found herself getting greedy and impatient. She tugged on his shoulders and he smiled up at her from belly button level. She really liked that view of him and let her head flop backwards onto the pillow, deciding to let him keep working his way lower. She tangled her fingers in his hair and shivered. He pulled the blanket closer around them in response, but it wasn’t from cold. Indeed, she was heating up from within. Kicking at the blankets she thrashed her head back and forth, trying to hold on to her sanity as his tongue found its target.
“Oh, that’s …” she couldn’t seem to make a complete sentence and wondered vaguely if she’d ever be able to think straight again.
Soon, she didn’t care at all about anything other than Tristan and what he was doing. Nothing like this had ever happened in her own time. She’d never complain again about the curse if it meant a lifetime supply of this.
After she nearly pulled the hair from his scalp, he made his way back up to her, leaning on his elbows and looking into her eyes with a self-satisfied grin. As boneless as she felt, a fresh hunger overtook her and she grabbed him around the neck, pressing against him and, once more, wrapped her legs around his hips.
When he didn’t immediately give her what she so desired, she opened her eyes to find him looking at her questioningly again.
“Fay?”
She held in the squeal of impatience and only nodded vigorously. “Yes, I’m sure, I swear it. I want you so very much, I really do.”
He chuckled, but still hesitated. She realized with horror he believed she was a virgin, which, of course, an unmarried woman of her standing in this time would be. And, of course, since she was from a completely different time, she wasn’t. Should she wriggle away to keep him from finding out? Oh, that wouldn’t make her happy at all. She’d have to climb the wall and take a dunk in the river if she ever wanted to sleep again. But he’d be outraged when he found out she wasn’t. What could possibly be more scandalous in this time?
She decided to take her chances that he wouldn’t notice and pushed against him, squeezing an unmistakable invitation with her thighs. If he mistook it, she was fully prepared to beg. She tipped her chin and he kissed her tenderly on the mouth, also tenderly easing himself closer to her.
Barely able to breathe with longing, she waited, waited… And holy crap that was painful. She gasped at the intensity of the tearing pain. He stopped at once, back up on his elbows. She barely had a second to register that she seemed to be a virgin again. It had to have something to do with being transported by the curse. After all, she’d had to have left a body behind in her own time for everyone to think she was dead. Perhaps this was a whole new body. Well, hell. It was a blessing and a curse. She wouldn’t have any awkward explanations to give, but now it was going to be a massive—and she did mean massive—pain.
“It’s okay,” she panted, still wanting him.
She’d gone through this before, the summer before she started college. The second time would be better. As she looked at his worried, gorgeous face, she knew she wanted this first time, a second time, and many more after that. Once again, she squeezed him with her thighs, trying not to let him know she was bracing herself.
“I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “I fear I shall tear you to pieces.”
She snorted at that. “I don’t want to know what you’re used to,” she said, irritated at the embarrassment of it. She was glad he wasn’t stealing maidens’ virtues all over England, but she hated thinking of the alternative. And he was being awfully smug about his—she wriggled around and felt his great manhood pressing against her. Okay, not that smug. Despite her trepidation she got a new surge of desire. “Please,” she moaned. “Believe me, I’m ready.”
He laughed, which made her laugh. “My odd lady,” he said, nudging her nose with his.
Her embarrassment melted away and she was glad for this new start. She’d keep her other relationships, not that there were so many, in her mind, but her body would be all Tristan’s. A warm, melty feeling made her relax, no longer bracing for impact.
“I really want this,” she whispered. “I’m really ready.”
He kissed her. His lips brushed against hers and his tongue gently parted her lips as he eased his body to meet hers. There was only the slightest tug as he made it past and then they were truly joined. It only took a moment for her to realize she wouldn’t have to wait for the second time at all for it to be enjoyable. She knew she was going to enjoy this first time, a true first time. Very, very much indeed.
*
She found her way back to reality, noticing her underdress hanging from the wall sconce. It was a good thing the candle hadn’t been lit or she’d have a fine time making her way back to her room. She didn’t want to think about going back to her room at all, but she could see the sky through the window turning from black to gray, and knew Batty would be poking her head into her room as soon as the sun was up.
She stole a glance at her knight, not in his shining armor but looking just as majestic, and smiled, ridiculously content. The sheet covered half of him and she openly admired his exposed top half. She itched to trace the lines between his muscles but didn’t want to disturb his sleep. She scooted closer and leaned over his peaceful face, admiring the lashes that rested on the top of his cheekbones. Once again, she wanted to run her finger over his nose, feel the slight bump in the bridge.
“What is this?” he asked, eyes flying open.
She jumped and pulled the sheet up, suddenly shy. “You were awake,” she accused.
He smiled playfully and pulled at her protective sheet. “Fair is fair,” he said. “I should get to gaze upon you as well. And I was as
leep, until I felt your breath on my cheek and wanted more of you.”
“Oh,” she said, letting him tug her covering away, wanting more of him as well. “But I should go. My maid will check in on me at dawn.”
He scowled at the window which grew brighter every second. “I would like to speak to your father,” he said, suddenly serious.
That jolted the last bit of sated content out of her. “About what?”
“To make you mine, of course,” he said, trailing his finger along her jaw. “Do not look so frightened. I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”
Disappointment marred his handsome face and she realized what he meant. Goodness, he wasn’t going to tattle on her, he wanted to marry her! But why? Out of responsibility or chivalry or rules or whatever the reason people married in this time, or because he loved her? She wanted to ask him, wanted to hear him say it, but perversely couldn’t bring herself to do it. It didn’t seem right if she had to ask.
Once again, she had the curse to thank for ruining what should have been a perfectly wonderful moment. She could have taken the declaration that he wanted to ask her father to marry her at face value. Instead, she had to quibble over the terms of that damn curse, because if it wasn’t true love on both their parts, the deal was off. And she knew what would happen if she failed.
“I—I am yours already,” she said, lowering her lashes seductively. Of course, the mood was ruined but, hopefully, she could leave without making a complete mess out of such a perfect night.
He frowned and nodded. “Very well, then.”
She threw her arms around him, wrestling him to his back and straddling him. “I want you to speak to my father,” she blurted, hands gripping his shoulders. “I just … I wanted more time.”
“More time?” he asked, completely perplexed.
“I—I like it like this, kind of secretive …” There was no way she could make him understand she needed more time to be sure of her feelings. Why would her feelings matter, after all, to a man of this time?
He stared at her for so long she thought he’d turned to stone, but he finally shrugged and relaxed. “As you wish, my lady.”
He wasn’t happy, she could tell. She tried to shake his burly shoulders. “I am your lady, don’t forget it. I am.”
He effortlessly broke free from her hold and ran a finger along the side of her cheek, his smile looking more sincere now. “Very well. I never understood you when I first met you. I suppose there’s no reason to understand you now. I will wait until you tell me to speak.”
She leaned over and kissed him, which took more time than she had, but she savored every second of the feel of his tongue tracing her lip. “Thank you,” she sighed, looking at the window. “I have to go or I’ll be disgraced.”
He jumped from the bed and gathered her clothing, bringing it to her and handing her piece after piece, surprisingly in the right order, which put her off a little. It was clear by his masterful performance the night before he had a good amount of experience. She only hoped it wasn’t that much. It was helpful, though, and she was dressed in no time.
“Until I see you again,” he said, kissing her deeply once more at the doorway.
She was near panic now, certain she was out of time and would be found out. “Soon,” she promised, and ran.
His touch electrified her. His very look made her weak at the knees. All she wanted was to spend every waking minute with him, but was that true love or only amazing chemistry? She’d have to know for sure or it could mean her life.
Chapter 17
It had been an agonizing week since the jousting demonstration, agonizing because she’d barely gotten a few glimpses of Tristan since their night together. Except for a few words at supper and the occasional glances when she saw him in the great hall, he’d been too busy to make time for her. She kept longing for him to suggest they meet in their special spot, but Lord Drayton kept arriving to supper before Tristan and sitting beside her, with Roric sitting in his usual spot to her left.
It was finally that night that Sir Tristan managed to get there first, but Lord Drayton snagged her other side. It had been the most awkward two hours of her life. Lord Drayton kept saying snide, passive aggressive things about lowly knights. Then he’d hurry to explain that he had the utmost respect for the ones in his employ, making sure no one misunderstood that being an actual lord of the realm was terribly important.
Sir Tristan had been pushed to the limit, finally asking Lord Drayton something about sending some of his lowly knights to a certain battle, and how the number had seemed vastly smaller than what he’d reported sending. Apparently, this had been a real inconvenience for everyone else at that battle. Lord Drayton had been offended enough for Fay to think there was something to Tristan’s accusation, and her neck had almost snapped from the ping-pong argument that ensued.
She finally had to declare she thought she was having a relapse and excused herself from the table. Then, the most horrible thing happened. Lord Drayton caught up with her in the hall and breathlessly asked if he could speak to her father before he left for home in a few days. She wanted to scream. And yet, she couldn’t be unkind to him. He wasn’t the one, never would be, but he hadn’t done anything to warrant her acting badly toward him.
She panicked and stuttered, “You can certainly do whatever you want. I’m sure I have nothing to do with it.” She felt like that would be enough to give him the hint she wasn’t interested, or at least she hoped.
She made it to the stairs, feeling uncharitable about being so glad that Lord Drayton’s visit was coming to an end, when the most wonderful thing happened. A big hand reached out over her head and kept her from opening the stairwell door. Turning around, she saw it was Tristan, staring down at her with such intensity that she had to tug at the neckline of her gown.
“I was beginning to think you’d lost interest in me,” she said.
He looked shocked. “Your father keeps giving me tasks to do and I want to impress him,” he said. “And this was the first time I could sit beside you. I swear I’ve been wanting to either kill Lord Drayton or your father’s chamberlain.”
She’d giggled at that, because poor Roric always sat next to her. “It’s not Roric, that’s his rightful place. You’ll want to keep your murderous impulses aimed at the right man.” She felt wicked the moment the words were out, but it had only been a few seconds since Lord Drayton had both irritated and alarmed her with his request to speak to her father.
“I must return or cause suspicion,” he said, leaning close to her. “Meet me again tomorrow at dawn? At our place by the fishing stream?”
Their place. Joyful quivers shook her and she agreed in the blink of an eye. There was no playing hard to get where Tristan was concerned. She’d missed seeing and speaking with him so much that week, she was almost, nearly positive she loved him. Perhaps when they met tomorrow morning, she’d tell him he could pop the question to Sir Walter.
She hashed it over in her mind the whole time she got ready for bed, inadvertently ignoring half of Batty’s chatter. She went back and forth between being so dismissive of Lord Drayton’s generous offer, and then berating herself for being so indecisive over Sir Tristan. It was such a shame they’d landed in her lap so close to each other and she couldn’t concentrate fully on either one. Lord Drayton was well spoken, well respected (except by Tristan, but she suspected that was jealousy, which she didn’t mind) and rich. She suspected her father might very slightly favor him as a match for her. If she wasn’t so distracted by her red hot attraction to Tristan, perhaps she could have loved him. She didn’t think she’d ever know, because of that red hot attraction. Maybe it wasn’t love with Tristan, but it was something. Something that refused to be denied.
Fay finally got in bed after Batty took down her hair and fussed over her. She made sure Fay was comfortable and didn’t need anything else before she retired to her own room. Fay reminded her she was right next door then shooed her away, ready to sto
p thinking about men and get some rest. She snuggled under her covers, blushing to herself that she wanted to get some good rest so she could be bright and chipper for her secret assignation with one of the men who kept her awake. She really ought to be ashamed of herself.
She was drifting off to sleep, as usual making no headway in her arguments, when her door burst open. She sat straight up in bed, wondering groggily if she was about to be murdered. It was only Batty, flustered and apologetic.
“It’s Mrs. Merrick,” she said, pulling a dress from the cabinet.
“Catherine?” she asked, alarmed. “Is it time? Is it the baby?”
“Yes, that’s what she thinks. The midwife has been sent for, but she’s begging for you in the meantime. I didn’t want to wake you, but she’s relentless.”
“Of course. I don’t mind at all.” Except for the fact that she couldn’t be a lick of help if the midwife didn’t arrive in time. If that baby started to show itself before that, Fay swore she would run. “Should we bring Anne?”
Batty shook her head. “Marjorie said she’s been feeling poorly again, taking a tonic from the physician to suppress her coughs. Anne doesn’t want us to worry and forced her to promise not to say anything, but Marjorie was worried enough to tell me.”
That meant she was truly ill again, if Marjorie was willing to betray Anne’s sworn secret. “Okay, we won’t wake Anne. Come on. But should we bring anything?” She had visions of towels and boiling water, movie staples for all emergency births.
“She only wants you to hold her hand and comfort her, I’m sure,” Batty said, looking as nervous as Fay felt. “We won’t have to do anything.”
Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1) Page 16
