She flinched as a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
Skye turned to see Nick’s impish, dark eyes, his lips sporting a mischievous smile.
“Want some help?” he asked.
She didn’t respond to the rhetorical question, letting him turn her around so that her back was against his breast. He caught a handful of water from a stream and brought it to her, lathering her shoulder, slowly moving down the length of her arm. He took her hand in his, as if comparing it to his own, marveling of its delicate form a moment before moving across her slender waist, the curve of her hip. He took two handfuls of water and pressed them to the swell of her breasts, moving down to cup their fullness as if enjoying how well they fit in his large hands. She laid her head back against him while he caressed her, his fingers gently twisting on her sensitive points, rousing her desire to an already tormenting level. With a flick of his thumbs, he left them, bending to lather her shapely thigh, rolling with slow, leisurely motions down her calf, to her slender toes. He moved back up on her other leg, up to her hip, running a hand across what he seemed to think was her magnificent bottom, brushing a sodden red tress away to fully appreciate the sight.
He straightened and reached out to the wall panel to slow the power of some of the jets, and grasped her hand, urging her over to the bench that ran the length of one wall. He sat down on the firm cushion, pulling her atop him so that her knees were straddling his narrow hips. Her breath caught as he positioned her, and he thrust himself inside of her, filling her with her wantonness. He held her slender back with one hand, pressing against her bottom with his other, helping her awkward movements until she found her motion. She tangled her fingers within his hair on his shoulders, falling against him, overpowered by the sensations. Her lips neared his and he drew her into an impassioned kiss, knowing her desire, maddened by her lust. He drew away and wrapped his arms around her, and she laid her cheek on his wide shoulder, away from his ear, her breath coming fast and harsh. The spray of a jet lightly splashed her face, the steam billowing around them, the heat penetrating her ... She heard him hoarsely say her name, as if from a distance, the sound of the falling water like a warm rainstorm ... She struck her hips fiercely down on him as her rapture neared ... Her head tilted back and he clutched at her nape as the waves flooded her, drowning her, sweeping her off into the storm ...
She fell against him and he held her, tenderly in his arms. A long while they stayed there, unmoving, lost within the clouds.
A shaky sigh came out of him before he slapped her on the bottom, urging her to rise. She moved off him, struck with an emotion not unlike embarrassment, for how she had taken him, how she had lost all of her control. He didn’t seem to notice her distress, reaching up to the wall panel to put the jets on rinse mode. He moved her in front of a pulsating stream and quite dutifully rinsed her hair, spreading the long heavy tresses apart and wringing them in his hands.
When the lather was but a soft essence on her skin, he guided her over to the entrance of the shower, taking a large towel off a hook and playfully fluffing her hair with it before he relinquished it to her. She caught his mood, finding no need for embarrassment in his easy presence, and she fluffed at his hair with the towel. He restrained her arms but she wildly resisted, wrenching one arm free with a laugh and a trick, feigning to do damage to his most private areas with her knee, leaving him no choice but to take her captive, swooping her up into the cradle of his arms and carrying his plucky burden to the confides of the bed.
He tossed her onto the mattress and crawled atop her, splashing her with a shake of his wet hair. She saw the merriment in his dark eyes before he bent to kiss her ...
Skye was new at the sport of lovemaking, but she discovered that she was a quick learner. He had a way to make her want to satisfy him, with a firm yet gentle hand guiding her to explore the means that pleased him ... a kiss on the soft tuft of dark hair at the center of his breast, on his narrow waist ... As she touched his manhood, seeing how she affected him she became bolder, and kissed him how he had kissed her. He held her head in his hands, loving her while she loved him, bringing him to his passion, giving her a satisfaction she had never known before. She rested with her cheek on his waist a long while before he urged her up to him, taking her into the crook of his arm.
They had no need for words while they rested, drifting off near the throes of sleep and then awakening to savor each other’s presence. He rose in search of a meal, and returned with a handful of ambrosia fruit, which he playfully shared. He spilled a drop of the tang onto her breast—which he had to retrieve with his tongue—taking her off into another bout of passion.
Skye noticed that the sun was setting when he fell back on the pillows, completely spent. She laid her head on his breast and he wrapped his strong arms around her. The sun faded into darkness and the moon began to light. As she neared the vague and misty clouds of slumber, she remembered the dreams she'd had of the blond-haired, blue-eyed man, and thought that he was he.
***
As their fourth day at the cabin dawned, bright and sunny, Skye awoke in a troubled and thoughtful mood. She was within the circle of Nick's arms, his breathing even and deep while he slept, peacefully. This was a position that she was becoming accustomed to—much too accustomed to. She had tried not to think about tomorrow, and live in the moment of today, but it was coming to be that tomorrow was today.
She carefully crept out of his hold, and he stirred at her absence but fell back to sleep. She bent her elbow and leaned her cheek on her hand, looking down on him, on his handsome face, his tousled black hair with the fainter long eyelashes—his sensual visage.
Who was he? She didn’t want to think about his true nature, that he was an adventurer and this was but a carnal stop in his travels. She didn’t want to think about him leaving her, taking from her his touch, his spirit ...
For now, he couldn’t get enough of her. He had taken her out in the warm and shimmering pond ... on the soft and verdant lawns ... even upon the rustic table by the pond, beneath the canopy of brilliant stars. When he touched her, she could think of nothing else, and they rarely spoke, sharing a kindred spirit. At least, that’s what it appeared to be. But her doubts were there, as well ...
He was playing a game with her, and she had known it from the start. She had thought that she could be the victor over him—to show him that she could equal and excel in this battle of wits, and beat him at his own game. But now, as it was, even if she were the winner, she would be the loser. He would leave her someday, off on his next adventure.
But, he was here now. The moment—after all—was all that truly mattered.
He stirred and she dropped down beside him, feigning sleep. He caressed her cheek a moment, making a pleased sound—like he had feared that he had dreamed her—and she moved slowly, pretending to wake.
He muttered, “Mornin’, sweetheart.”
“Mornin’,” she greeted.
He moved himself atop her, his tongue tasting the sweetness at the swell of her breasts. His hands caressed them a moment, bringing out of her her shaky sigh, and then he spread her thighs and thrust himself within. She took his head into her hands, feeling the silk of his hair while he loved her, taking satisfaction in every thrust, every raging feeling ... The moment struck them both at once, rocking them in the easy, torrid waves ...
He stayed unmoving within her a long while, savoring her. She sensed that he thought of something, as if he had found an answer long sought to some disturbing question. He kissed her cheek and moved from her, going off to the bath.
Skye rose, grasping the dressing robe at the foot of the bed, one he had left out for her modesty. She slid into the dark-blue silk, tying the sash at the hip while she moved for the door and opened it, greeting the day. It was warm and sunny again, the soft blue sky cloudless. She moved out into the fragrant air, hoping to compose her thoughts.
She ambled by the sparkle of the pond when she saw him, heading into his starship. Afte
r a moment he came out, holding a small dark travel bag. He saw her and waved at her, and shouted something unintelligible, and headed back to the cabin. She wondered what that was all about, and then she shrugged and sat down at the rustic table. She watched the shimmer on the azure pond, trying to sort her muddled intellect.
He was with her now, but she didn’t want him to leave ...
Skye sat there, dreaming and fearing. What she saw next startled her out of her thoughts. A blond-haired, blue-eyed man was approaching her, him having the same build and stature as Nick. She sprang up to her feet and he stopped before her. She had seen this image before—and she knew him to be the Prince Royal of Adriel.
“Prince Nicholas!” she breathed.
“Don’t be scared,” he said quickly.
She gaped at him in her shock. “You’re the prince!”
He shook his head. “I’m Nick Christian. I get that a lot, though ...”
Skye found the table behind her and sank down on it, glad for the support. Her eyes took in his shoulder-length blond locks and the bright blue-green eyes that were assessing her, worrying about her reaction.
“Skye, it’s me,” he said, with panic coming into his eyes.
She could only stare.
“I’m Nick,” he tried to assure. “I just had to wear the costume, is all ...”
She tried to collect her wits. “What did you do!”
“It was just some hair dye and lenses. I had to ...”
She continued to gape. This was a completely different person!
“Why?” she breathed.
“Let’s just say that I have some ... formidable characters after me. I had to wear the disguise. And it is annoying, always being taken for the prince.”
Skye swallowed hard, trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart. This was the blond-haired, blue-eyed man—the man in her dreams—standing before her ...
He reached out his hand and touched her shoulder, and she flinched.
“Awh, no,” he groaned. “No, Skye. It’s me, Skye. I’m telling you, it’s me ... You know me.”
She looked up at his pleading, bright blue-green eyes. She didn’t know this man at all.
He took her trembling hand and urged her up to her feet.
“Come here,” he prompted, leading her toward the cabin.
She followed him in a confused stupor until they stood before the mirror in the bath. She saw their reflections, her violet-blue eyes and his blue-green eyes, the fear in hers and the confidence in his.
“You see?” he said, pointing at his image. “The eyes are but a light to the soul. Their color doesn’t matter. I am the same man I was before.”
His thumb came up to caress her cheek, but she couldn’t relax against him, and he moved his hand away.
“I can see why you’d be confused,” he admitted. “I do look an awful lot like Prince Nicholas. We even have the same first name. We’re similar, except that he’s taller. And he’s really quite a bore ...”
She was even more perplexed. “You’ve met the prince?”
He nodded. “At a festival. We couldn’t get over how similar we looked.”
Skye began relaxing, getting over her shock. “You could be his twin,” she considered.
“Well, everyone has one, so I’ve heard.”
Skye had heard that also, that more than one image was cut from the same heavenly cloth. Still, it was uncanny ...
But, one fact that she was sure of was that Prince Nicholas—so noble and true—would never visit brothels. And anyway, what would he be doing with her?
“Come,” he said, taking her hand and guiding her into the adjoining room, to the bed. “I’ll show you that I’m the same man ...”
He stripped from his clothes and sat down on the bed, and guided her to stand before him. He unfastened the sash of her dressing robe and reached up to her shoulders, sliding the dark silk off her. She stood there, bare and trembling, and his bright blue-green eyes feasted on her curves before he pulled her down atop him.
Skye became lost in her emotion while he kissed her, feeling the same familiar presence. Howbeit, when she opened her eyes and saw his blond locks on her breast—all tousled while he pleasured them—she had a jolt of unfamiliarity and she stiffened. He noticed, but he moved on, downward to her thighs, spreading them to pleasure her there. After a moment she welcomed him, abandoning herself to his soul.
When he took her, he was gentle at first, until his passion swept them off into the usual, intimate rapture ...
Skye rested there afterward, light-headed and spent. This was the same man that she had fallen in love with ...
She gasped as the realization struck her.
She was in love with him!
He didn’t notice her distress, in complete contentment as he pulled her into his arms. He grasped her head and pushed her cheek onto his breast, stroking her hair. After a moment, he let out a long sigh.
“Skye, as much as I’d like to, we can’t stay here for forever. I must get back.”
She lifted her head, suddenly fearful. “Where do you have to go?”
“I’ve a few things to take care of,” he said, and waved the matter off with his hand. “But Skye, I want you to come with me. I’ll set up a house for you. You won’t want for a thing.”
Skye felt a dark, heavy weight falling upon her spirit. “A house?”
“Yes. You’ll be very comfortable.”
A house ... She was stricken with the reality of who he was. This was an adventurer. She would wait in his house for him, her heart broken and in misery while he was off on his next conquest—the next brothel, the other women. He would leave her, taking from her her spirit, her love ... This was the man of her dreams, and when he left her, she would have nothing—not even her will. Her father had left her. Her mother and brother had left her. And he would leave her ...
Skye’s mind worked fast in her panic. She had to make him leave her. She had to make him leave her now, while she could still withstand the pain.
She closed her eyes, knowing of a way. It would break her heart, but it was best sooner rather than later—before he could take her soul.
“You couldn’t afford me,” she said flatly.
“What?” he asked, with a chuckle.
“You couldn’t afford me.”
“What?” he asked, with suspicion.
She moved out of his grasp. “You don’t know this, but I’ve very expensive tastes. You’re just an adventurer, a pale imitation of Prince Nicholas. What would you have to offer a woman?”
He sat up and stared at her like he’d never seen her before. The shock on his handsome face brought an aching into her breast.
He cursed and sprang up and hurried into his shirt and leggings. He stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him.
Skye fell down on the bed, trying to control her tears—he mustn’t know of her pain. She knew that he’d be able to fix his ship, now ...
After a long while, he returned. He threw a contemptible glance at her before he began his story. “You know what?” he said. “I just realized that I could fix the helm. I think I can recharge the gyronic defabrillator.”
Skye had to say it. “The gyronic defibrillator,” she corrected quietly.
He was bewildered a moment, at a loss, and then his gaze turned to hers. His eyes narrowed on hers. Her eyes narrowed on his. He smirked at her and nodded his head, and left from the cabin.
She rose and slipped into the dressing robe, dreading his return. When he entered the room, she couldn’t meet his eyes.
“It’s ready to go,” he said, brightly in his sarcasm. He suddenly considered her apparel. “Well, you can’t walk around in that ...”
He moved to the wardrobe, returning with a simple black dress and shoes. “Will this work?” he asked, uncaring if they would, or not.
She took them from him and went to the bath to dress.
He wouldn’t look at her when she approached him, and they were silent as t
hey headed off to his ship.
When they were in the ship and on their way, he quietly rose from his seat at the helm, and she rose from the passenger seat and followed him, over toward the lounge.
Solemnly she said, “Just drop me at the nearest transport.”
“No, ma’am. I always take a lady where she wants to go.”
He had emphasized the word ‘lady’ as if he highly doubted that she was so fit.
“Dakota, is it?”
She nodded, not meeting his eyes.
He moved into the bridge and locked himself within it.
Nicholas stared at the closed door, totally confounded. How could he have been so wrong?
He wouldn’t take the safe zone—a wide arc around the sun to Adriel, the parallel planet—he’d take a short cut, and take his chances with the solar flares.
Skye collapsed on the nook’s empty bed, finally letting her hot tears flow.
Chapter 8
Skye saw Nick again when they—at last—landed on Adriel. She had only seen him five times on this flight, and that was only when he visited the bath. In every trip, he wouldn’t give her a single glance, and returned to lock himself in the bridge. He didn’t eat from the galley and neither did she, having no appetite. The hours dragged on mercilessly, and she concluded that this was the lowest point of her life.
She'd had to stop herself frequently from going to him, from pleading to him that she didn’t mean it, that she truly wasn’t like that. She’d stop herself, telling herself that she must stay strong. This was for the best. She just couldn’t let any man destroy her soul.
He left the bridge and moved for the exit. “We’re here,” he said somberly.
The Princess of the Wild (The Royals of Adriel Book 2) Page 8
