"I’d love that." Her smile brightened. "Funny, but I had a feeling you knew how to joust." She looked sideways, a coy tilt to her chin, and in a low, sultry voice said, "You know what I'd really love?"
Alex knew exactly or thought he did. "To see it done with knights in armor and you in a medieval dress. And of course, you'd want to give one of them a favor of yours to carry," he added, confident in his answer.
Shakira wrinkled her nose. "Yes, but that wasn’t what I had in mind. What I'd really like is to try it a couple of times myself." She batted her lashes and said, "I bet you could show me."
"Cunning woman, you led me right into that." Tempted to lean over and kiss her, a hairsbreadth from doing so, he stopped himself. Don’t rush.
They rode for awhile discussing the nuances of the joust and other tournament events then moved on to more personal talk. She asked how often he came to the cottage.
"Whenever my schedule allows," he told her. "This place is my reprieve from the chaos of the entertainment industry. Here, I’m simply Alex, part-time neighbor and horse breeder, rotten-to-mediocre darts player, depending on what local pub I’m in, and who, today, happens to be out for a ride with his lady."
She nodded and seemed to understand his desire for peace. "I’ve noticed an odd phenomenon with your mistresses," she commented in an abrupt change of topic.
He groaned. "I see we're back to talking about the lawsuit."
Shakira’s cheeks flushed hot pink at his censure. She stammered an apology. "I’m sorry. I-I forgot. Please, forget I mentioned anything."
"Don’t worry, ask your question."
Her eyes stayed fixed on the path ahead as she shook her head, "No. It’s not important."
"Ask your question."
She let out a long sigh, and reined in her horse. "Fine, fine, fine, I'll ask and then we'll talk about something else. Agreed?" She waited, refusing to speak until he agreed to her terms.
"All of your mistresses seem to have, how shall I put this?" She tapped a forefinger to her lips, "An expiration date."
Confused, he shook his head. "What do you mean?"
"They either last three months or six months, but six months appears to be the maximum 'sell-by' date. Why is that?"
Both nudged their horses into a walk.
"Those seem to be the magic timeframes for women. Most women," he corrected himself. "Some at three months get possessive. Others at six months begin to get marriage minded. They equate longevity with monogamy or a commitment I’ve no intention to make. Please understand, mistresses they may be, exclusive relationships they're not. I don’t make false promises. This is their assumption."
It danced across his mind to tell her she'd be the exception. With her, the relationship would be exclusive for a long time. He started to say as much and changed his mind seeing her expression and how she gaped at him. "Why are you giving me that look?"
"Because I'm astonished by how naïve you are. Do you honestly believe a woman isn't going to see your affair as serious after awhile?" Brows high, one hand rested on her thigh, a loose hold on the reins with her other.
The saddle creaked under him as his weight shifted. Gossips and ex-girlfriends often labeled him an aloof womanizer, never naive.
"Alex, all women," Shakira paused, "even the worldly women you know, were little girls once. All little girls are raised on fairy tales where the handsome prince comes along or the knight in shining armor saves the damsel. We're brought up to believe the fairy tale ending will happen to us too. Of course, your mistresses see you as their knight. You're handsome, witty, smart, and successful." She waved a dismissive hand. "You get my drift. They see the happy ending in you and want to grab it."
"You're saying it's my fault these women delude themselves."
"No, I’m not saying that at all. It's nobody's fault. There’s no blame to be laid. I'm just telling you what is. You say ‘magic time’ like it's premeditated on the part of a woman. I'm saying it's not premeditated, but ingrained."
She didn’t say anything else for a long moment as they rode along.
"What an awful existence for a woman, being a mistress," she said at last, without acrimony.
Uncomfortable with the remark, he asked, "What makes you think it's so awful?"
"The woman is caught in this netherworld relationship. She's good enough to keep, as long as she's fun and entertaining, but not good enough for a long term commitment. Personally, I'd rather be an occasional lover than any man's mistress."
"Why?"
"I'd rather enjoy a pleasant evening once in awhile and be free of attachments than be a prisoner of false hope."
Even his resilient nature felt the sting of the analogy. He wasn't sure what to say. It was an indictment of his lifestyle, a lifestyle she didn't understand. For women like her, the fairytale theory probably applied. She presumed his mistresses had her depth of character and judged him based on her heart, her dreams. He decided to let the matter go. "We change directions here."
"That's it? You're just going to drop the subject? You've nothing more to say?"
"Yes, yes, and no. Let's move on to other, more fun things."
Shakira looked like she wanted to say more but didn’t.
The next few hours they kept a relaxed pace. They enjoyed the idyllic surroundings with no further mention of mistresses or the lawsuit. When the stable came within sight, Shakira reminded him about his promise to teach her to joust.
"No milady, I haven't forgotten. It's my desire to please you in all ways. I mean on having you here, again and again." She rolled her eyes at the double entendre and spurred her horse into a trot.
Alex gave the grooms several instructions as he handed them the horses. He led her to a work area adjacent to the stables. "I'll need a tennis ball. There should be some lying around the paddock. The boarder’s dogs play with them. Meet me out back."
She found two, one nearly new and one badly chewed. "I wasn't sure what you wanted them for so I brought both."
He sawed several inches off a wooden rod, took the newer ball and a small knife from a toolbox. Without measuring, he cut a circular hole in it and attached the ball to the end of the pole.
"Clever you, thank you for keeping me extra safe."
He chuckled, testing the fit of the ball with a squeeze and a tug. "Actually, this is for my protection." He motioned with his free hand towards the grassy field. "Shall we?"
As promised, Alex ordered a Percheron brought out for her. The destrier stood a full hand higher than the thoroughbred she'd ridden. His coal black coat glistened, the thick mane and tail fluffy from recent brushing.
Shakira rubbed the back of her fingers against his muzzle letting him sniff, letting him see she wasn’t a predator. She walked around him and stroked his back and flanks, speaking soft words of reassurance to him. He remained still, his erect ears swiveled, listening, as she petted. The gelding's broad head arced and his nostrils flared, when Shakira scratched the indentation at the base of his neck.
"I've got an itch you can scratch." Alex flashed his best wicked grin.
She smiled and tipped her head, her gaze dropped to his lips. Was she considering the invitation? She turned to the horse. "He's beautiful, what's his name?" she asked, squelching Alex’s brief ray of optimism.
"Eclipse."
"It fits him."
"He's sensitive to leg cues but has a tough mouth. That's probably a good thing, since you're just learning the jousting basics. In the beginning, there's a tendency to pull back harder than necessary." Alex held Eclipse's reins as Shakira mounted. Once she adjusted to the different saddle, he handed her the lance.
"I've taped the handle for better grip since this is a makeshift lance. A proper one would have a vamplate to keep your hand from slipping forward." He walked to her right side and tucked the end of the pole under her arm. "Try to keep it firm against you," he instructed. "The lance should lie across your body at a thirty degree angle. Tipping it too far in either directi
on makes your position in the saddle too precarious. "Ready?"
She nodded and he mounted Thor.
"The grooms stacked hay bales the length of the field which will serve as our tilt. We'll just walk the first few times until you get the feel of everything. Remember to angle your lance and not the horse, the temptation is to turn the horse towards your opponent. Try to aim for my shield."
"Do I get a shield?" Shakira sounded a little alarmed. "I think I'm very vulnerable without one."
"Not yet. It's too much for you to concentrate on right now. Beside, I'm not using a lance today. I'm only deploying some defensive moves with my shield."
He grimaced as Shakira and Eclipse walk towards him. Eclipse wasn't bothered in the least by the equipment or the activity. On the other hand, Shakira's lance was everywhere except where it should be. It dipped down hard almost striking one of the bales as she fiddled with the reins. Somehow, she managed to keep Eclipse's head straight, only to send her pole rocketing up to bounce unsteadily for several strides.
Frustration flickered over her face. He half expected her to swear and complain about the unwieldy instrument. Instead, she stopped to organize herself. She adjusted her position and reaffixed the lance firm along her ribcage and aimed for his shield.
Not the strongest strike, but she hit her mark. The pole caught the lower edge of the kite-shaped buckler, slid off, and banged his thigh. He’d chosen the triangular shield over a small round style for greater protection. A good choice. The larger size kept his manhood safe from bruising or worse.
Shakira repeated the maneuver numerous times. An apt student, she improved with each pass and got better at keeping the weapon steady. Her confidence grew proportionately and Alex ended the lesson on a positive note while she was doing well.
Shakira jumped down and threw her arms around him as he dismounted. She lingered for a long moment then let go as though the feel of him burned her.
"Can we do this again tomorrow? The joust, I mean."
The joust—no mention of a ride with him. “Love to,” he said, hiding his disappointment.
Chapter Ten
On the doorstep, Shakira took a moment to study the white cob cottage. With its well-groomed thatch roof, and big, black shuttered windows, Alex’s getaway was larger than most crofter’s cottages. She thought it might’ve been a small pub once. Over the centuries as the structure settled, the lintels had shifted and dipped. The crooked timbers that framed the door and front windows added a whimsical character to the house, in her opinion.
She’d only been inside for a few minutes earlier in the morning to drop off her overnight bag and guitars. Now, Alex took time to show her the rest of his sanctuary.
Aged, dark oak beams lined the ceilings and were a stark contrast to the creamy magnolia colored textured walls. A small Victorian fireplace with a delft blue-and-white tile surround was inset on one wall of the cozy drawing room. On each side of the fireplace were bookshelves filled to capacity. An overstuffed chair by a leather topped reading table and iron floor lamp occupied one corner. A small sofa sat across from the fireplace.
An archway connected the area to the kitchen. Built in a time when men were shorter, the top of Alex’s head only cleared the entry by a couple of inches. Dishes stacked on open shelves above a farm style sink and newer looking marble countertops took one wall. A nice stainless refrigerator and very nice, cast iron Aga stove lined another wall. Suspended over the stove, pots and pans hung from hooks attached to a medieval looking metal ring. A modest pine table and two straw-bottomed pine chairs used what space remained.
“Nice Aga,” she said.
“I like to cook. It’s relaxing.”
“I always think of you as eating out.”
“I do, in London. Other than the Aga and the fridge, I live modestly when I'm here. There's no television, radio or phone. It's not barbaric. I don't deny myself the convenience of electricity or the pleasure of hot running water and indoor plumbing." A subtle change, fractionally more serious and curious, tinged Alex’s expression. "Does the lack of many amenities bother you?"
She shared his desire for tranquility and the simplicity of his little house appealed to her. Sixth sense, intuition, whatever names a person gives gut instinct, she recognized the undercurrent of something else in his question. No matter how casual his tone, if she couldn’t bear the cottage, he’d interpret it as indirect rejection of a part of him.
"On the contrary, I envy the serenity you have here."
A broad grin crossed his face and he led her by the hand to his bedroom. A king-sized four poster bed with a blue and green plaid counterpane took up most of the room. A plain steamer trunk sat at the footboard, while an odd, six-sided table with only a brass lamp and clock atop was next to the bed. Old world looking latched door shutters of black oak covered the inside of the window. Everything had a function. A man’s bedroom.
Shakira laughed.
Alex frowned. "What's so funny?"
"Your bedroom, it's so--you," the furrow between his eyes deepened, "so masculine." She pressed her fingertip to the wrinkled spot. "There isn't one bauble or knick-knack. It shouts," she lowered her voice several levels, "I'm a manly man's room," accentuating her point with a guttural grunt.
"Is that a compliment?"
"Yes."
He looked unconvinced. "I don’t give a fig about the décor. It’s always been me alone. You're the first person to visit."
"Really?"
"I never wanted to bring anyone here before." He scanned the room. "What would you change?"
"Nothing, I wouldn't change a thing. Not when it reflects the manner of man you are." Her gaze paused on his eyes and then drifted to his lips. She looked away and stepped back into the hallway. Alex promised her stay would be platonic. He was doing a fine job. Oh, he teased and tested her resistance, but within boundaries, never crossing the line. She was the one making a cake of the agreement. She shoved her hands into the waistband of her pants and turned toward a closed door, "Is this another bedroom?"
"I saved this for last. I think you’ll like what I’ve done."
Shakira entered into a small but professional music studio. "Wow." She paused to take everything in. An eight-foot mixing board with the latest digital recording equipment filled one wall. Speakers and racks of CD's filled another. "Wow," she repeated and ran her fingers over every piece of equipment. "This is incredible. What exactly do you do here?"
"Remixes of music I like. I noodle around creating different arrangements for various songs. I can’t play an instrument, but I can recreate the sound of most."
Alex moved close and slipped his arms around her as she examined the board. "It's the reason I asked you to bring a guitar. I thought we’d experiment with some tunes and see what we come up with." Against her neck, he whispered, "What do you say? Would you like to fool around with me?"
Whispering became kissing and nibbling. He found the exact spot that turned her insides to Jell-O and her legs to spaghetti. The man had better radar than a bat.
"We are still talking about music, aren't we?" Shakira managed to ask.
“If you insist."
She broke away and headed for the door before her mind and resolve changed to mush. "I'm going to change out of these riding clothes and get my guitar."
Alex worked the mixing board while she played. He asked about Beltane, curious about how they chose the songs they covered. What stimulated their interest the most, the words or the music? She told him each member brought different songs to rehearsals, the reasons varied.
"Sometimes, the turn of a phrase touches a chord in your psyche or a guitar riff resonates. A lyric in a foreign language can become crystal clear through the poignancy of the singer."
They stopped after a few hours and listened to the playbacks of the new arrangements. Some were ditched, their favorites they saved.
"Are you tired of electric guitar?" She slipped the strap from her neck and shook her hair out. Without wait
ing, she started for the door. "I’ll get my acoustic."
He caught her by the hand and pulled her back into his arms. "Why don’t we take a break? I’ll whip up a light meal. Are you hungry?"
"Ravenous."
"This won't be an elaborate meal." Alex wiggled an index finger in front of her nose. "A French chef, I'm not. I make simple fare that's filling and tasty, period."
"Sounds good. I’ll be your sous chef."
"I’d prefer you be under the chef, rather than my under chef." He chuckled, amused with his play on words.
"Male humor is so sophomoric."
Alex shrugged and chuckled some more. "We are easily amused. It’s a gender flaw. Can you make a salad my sexy sous chef?"
"Of course." She thought for the span of a heartbeat. "Do you actually know someone who can’t make salad?"
"Yes." Alex spun her around and sent her off with a pat on the butt. "Meet you in the kitchen in five minutes."
***
Shakira came out of the bathroom. Alex had tucked the sheet into the sofa and about to spread the blanket out.
"I can finish this," she said.
"I only need a pillow from the other bed and I’m done. The bedroom is yours."
"Don’t be silly. You can’t sleep here. The sofa is way too short. You’ll never get comfortable."
"You’re my guest. I’m not-"
"Stop," Shakira folded her arms across her chest. "I either sleep on the sofa or at home. Your call."
"You know, there’s a way we both-"
"-Can enjoy the comfort of the bed."
"You read my mind."
"Oh--what an opening." Laughing, she leaned into him to kiss his cheek. “Sofa’s fine.”
He turned and cut her off with a kiss on the lips. One of those hot, no coming up for air, toe curling kisses. His hands slid up her sides, his thumbs grazed her ribs and skimmed across her nipples with a faint brush. As the last vestige of resistance began to fade, she flattened her palms against him as a halting gesture, she told herself. Her hands lingered on his waist instead and then progressed up his chest. Every indentation, every muscle, the cushion of hair under his shirt, every tactile change registered beneath her touch. Her thumbs teased his erect nipples. She smiled against his warm lips, pleased when he groaned.
Journey in Time (Knights in Time) Page 5
