Alex took his eyes off her only for the seconds he needed to bar the door and then turned his attention back. She smoothed the front of her outfit and padded barefoot over to him. In his absence, she'd acquired a length of scarlet silk and draped it sarong style. It clung in all the places a man wants a sarong to cling and stopped several inches short of her knees. She’d tucked a corner of the material into the bust line so the hem lifted to form an inverted vee at the top of one thigh.
He filled a goblet from a nearby flagon of wine and drained it. "Nice outfit." More complex sentences hovered out of reach as his brain concentrated on the split and journeyed upward.
"Thank you. I purloined it from the seamstress. I kept tripping over the sheet. Besides, I hoped you might find this more to your liking." She took his goblet, refilled it, and poured one for herself. "The wine is better than I expected."
"It's from Bordeaux. The province is under Edward’s control." Wine was the last thing on Alex’s mind. "Rocky..."
"Alex..."
"We need to talk." They said in unison.
"If you don’t mind, I’d like to go first," Shakira said.
Alex agreed, but he didn’t like it, anxious to execute his strategy.
"I’ve given the mistress issue a lot of thought."
She sounded serious, too contractual. His heart sank. He’d stayed too long meeting with the knights. She’d had too much time to dwell on her negative ideas. "Rock--"
"Shh, don’t interrupt me."
He steeled himself for the litany of excuses why she couldn't accept.
"We’re not attorney-client here. There are no Wickersham and Longleat colleagues looking over my shoulder or paparazzi to worry about. I can’t think of a reason in the world to say no."
Alex blinked, he wasn’t sure he heard right. "Did you just agree to be my mistress?"
"Yes."
He let that resonate for a few seconds and debated whether he still needed to give her an out clause. He did. He wouldn’t dishonor either of them with misconceptions.
"You don’t have to do this. What happens in this chamber is between us." Alex sipped from the chalice not really tasting the wine. The rush of something far more complicated than lust possessed him. He wanted desire to dictate her agreement, not circumstances.
She set her wine on the table and wound her arms around his neck. "I know, to both statements." She tugged the leather tie from his queue. "I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do for so long," she confessed in a throaty, sultry tone.
Without looking, he reached back to set his goblet down, fumbling several attempts in a sudden bout of clumsiness before he found the mantle.
Her nipples pebbled beneath the thin material as she rubbed against his chest and grazed his cheek with her lips.
"I've always wanted to see you with your hair loose." Warm, moist breath teased his earlobe.
"You only needed to ask. I'd have gladly obliged," he groaned.
"I wanted to do it myself." She pulled his head down and kissed him with surprising force. She stole his breath and gave him hers in exchange. She plunged deeper, sucking, probing, demanding.
He cupped her buttocks. They tensed beneath his palms as he rocked his hips and made his rhythm hers, swallowing her moan when he pushed his hardness into the softer flesh of her belly. Her buttocks tightened more as his fingers skimmed the valley in between. She rose on tiptoes and tilted her hips as though to take his full erection through the slash of cloth she wore.
She broke the kiss with a choked cry and buried her face in his neck. Anticipation? Hunger? He walked her backwards towards the bed. He dipped his fingers into the shadowed hollow between her breasts, knuckles grazing their peaks. He loosened the tucked silk and ripped the scarlet barrier off.
Her fingers fluttered nervously from his temple to his jaw and into his hair. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the palms. Keeping a light contact with her fingertips, he stepped back.
"Indulge me."
The candlelight gave her olive skin a burnished glow. He allowed himself the luxury of time with her nakedness, his eyes traveling to the places he’d touch first with his hands, then his tongue. She blushed under his scrutiny when his eyes dropped to the dark, fluffy vee between her legs. Shyness had no place here in their chamber. He’d see that quashed.
Her hair had fallen forward and draped over the tops of her breasts. The black sheet shielded her nipples from his view.
"Move your hair."
She flipped the offending locks over her shoulder but tipped her face to avert his gaze.
"Look at me." She paused, and then raised her eyes. "Tell me what you want, Rocky."
She shook her head. "I can’t."
"Yes, you can. There’s nothing you desire you should be embarrassed to ask for or do."
"I’m not bold. Besides, you know what women like."
"I know what other women like. Not you." Alex thought for a moment how to break down her inhibitions. "Undress me." He expected crimson to betray her self-consciousness and a few bumbled tries before she’d accomplish the task.
Her color high, she removed his tunic with little effort and laid it carefully over the back of the chair. She knelt to remove his boots, bumping his erection through his hose with her cheek as she worked the leather down inch by inch. His balls tightened at the erotic contact. She looked up and clasped the sides of his hose and dragged those down slower. She tossed the garment and slid her hands up his thighs. She wrapped her warm hand around him and licked his full length then rubbed the tip over her lips and kissed away its seminal tear.
"Bloody hell." Air rushed through his flared nostrils. His fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her up and kissed her roughly. Any thoughts of sweet seduction disintegrated. His mouth swept a fevered path from her lips, over her throat where her pale blue vein pulsed and thrummed beneath his lips. He nuzzled the soft skin under her ear. She’d washed her hair at the cottage. He inhaled the clean, sharp scent of his tea tree oil shampoo. He inched lower. The faint odor of her perfume clung to her collarbone. The sugary taste of the wine on her tongue, the feel of her pliant, responsive body under his palms filled his senses.
Her breath came in small pants. She clutched him, her fingers pressing deep into his skin. He loved her quick intake of air when he cradled her ribcage. He fought the powerful need to immediately bury himself in her.
A log in the fire popped and hissed. In a hush, the wood crumbled through the grate.
Alex nipped the fleshy part of her shoulder. "Tell me what you want."
"I can’t," she repeated through kiss-swollen lips.
"Then I will do things to you until you can."
He kissed her without urgency. A gentle exploration, he licked the seam of her mouth parting her lips, granting him entry. Methodical and patient, he ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of her upper lip. Taking her bottom lip between his teeth, he alternately nipped and sucked.
His hands worked magic elsewhere. Small circles on the side of her breasts teased goose bumps from her. He avoided her nipples to trail his fingertips along their underside, his touch feathery strokes under her arms. He kissed her again, slow. She drew his tongue in farther while he slid his palms down her spine in increments, letting her feel his heat. Her kiss gentled to a heady sigh as the pads of his fingers danced over the dimples above her buttocks. He bent and suckled each breast and when their pale color blushed bright pink he moved on. His hands caressed her thighs, her ribcage, and her spine with long strokes. He thumbed her hipbone as he palmed the bend of her hip. She gasped. It was the tiniest of sounds, like the whisper of silk falling to the floor. Her pulse quickened under his touch. Alex nuzzled her temple so she couldn’t see his grin.
"Tell me."
Several seconds passed before she spoke. "I-I want you to heat my flesh, inside and out. I want you deep within me, buried to the point I cry out." Her eyes wide with excitement locked onto his. "Make me forget time and danger. Make me burn."
As one, they tumbled down on the bed. Whatever the next day brought, whether they remained here or returned, tonight she was his.
She became the seducer, moving, arching, and writhing. Those silvery eyes dilated into black pools and she matched him nip for nip, stroke for stroke. Whether driven by fear or bottled-up desire, she gave herself over to the fervor of pure passion, potent and raw. She possessed none of the finesse of his previous lovers, and he didn’t give a whit.
She set the pace. He obliged every demand her eager body made. He kissed her hip bone and smiled against her skin as she pressed herself against him. He spread her legs and kissed behind her knees and the soft flesh of her inner thighs. He slid a finger inside her. Her readiness wasn’t in doubt. He wanted to drive her mad, to cry for release, to know desire without hesitation, without boundaries. She moaned as he circled the swollen nub and pressed, arching when he slipped a second finger in, then out, then in again, swirling, taunting, making her body weep.
"Alex, please."
"Not yet." He lifted her leg over his shoulder thrusting a third finger inside. Her muscles clenched around his fingers, released only to clamp harder. He withdrew. He toyed with her curls, and then skimmed his fingers along her slick folds as he lowered his head and blew warm breath over the damp nest.
Shakira threw her head back, raising her hips high, she pushed against his fingers. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Oh, God. Please Alex, now," she pleaded, nails digging into his shoulders.
He moved her hands above her head and secured both wrists in his large hand. "Not yet darling. Not yet." He thrust three fingers back into her. The contractions came intense and fast, her body searching for fulfillment. She throbbed and pulsed. His fingers pressed on the ready flesh and brought her to the edge. Then, he stopped. She cried out at the sudden desolation. Her hands flexed and fought his restraining hold.
"Do you burn?"
"Yes. Yes." She wrapped her legs around him tight.
He released her hands and a slipped one hand under her hips to take him deep. Angled for ultimate penetration, no fingers now, it was all him.
***
She slept curled next to him, her leg stretched across his thighs, her fingers twitching against his chest. They’d done their best to exhaust each other.
He eased from under her onto his side. He traced the curve of her cheek and wondered if she’d accept this relationship once they returned. Will her opinion of mistresses change? Or, will she eventually want marriage? Ever so lightly, he ran his finger along the seam of her mouth. She smiled in her sleep but didn’t wake.
Marriage. Centuries ago she’s precisely what he; Guy Guiscard would’ve sought in a wife. Centuries ago.
Alex Lancaster will never take a wife, never marry.
He closed his eyes and dozed off.
Cannons roar. Sections of the ramparts collapse, the formidable stone pounded into submission under the relentless assault. The garrison survivors who’d retreated from the outer curtain wall are now cut off. Archers, knights, and foot soldiers have fallen back to reform on the perimeters of the bailey. Squires run along the lines with orders from the Captain of the Guard. Archers scramble to find higher ground to fire down on the enemy as they rush the breech.
The holding’s villeins, men and women, any who aren’t too young, or too old, or too infirm, armed with axes, pitchforks, hoes, some with only sticks stand ready to fill the gaps where soldiers fall. Barring a miracle, after this day, Elysian Fields would be no more.
Unseen, he walks among Cromwell’s New Model Army, his enemy’s lines. A grimy sheen of black powder and sweat coats the arms and faces of the men who work the heavy guns. White flashes momentarily obliterate the features of the artillerymen as they detonate the cannons again.
"No!" Alex bolted upright, heart pounding. He swung his legs to the floor and pressed the heel of his hand hard to his chest.
Shakira scrambled up and wiped sleep from her eyes. "What’s wrong? You yelled."
"Everything is fine."
"You’re not fine." She scooted to his side. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing, an old nightmare returned."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head. Sudden, acute pain stabbed through his cheek. Alex turned so she wouldn’t see him wince. "Thank you for the offer." He forced a smile and faced her. "Go back to sleep, please. I’m fine."
She looked unconvinced but said, "Goodnight," and lay down again. After a few minutes her breathing evened into a deep, rhythmic pattern.
The faces in his dream melted away. His body calmed. Alex untangled the sheet that bunched at the foot of the bed from their earlier lovemaking. "I can never be more than your lover, darling. I hope you understand when the time comes," he said and spread the sheet over the sleeping Shakira so she wouldn’t catch a chill.
"Never."
Chapter Eighteen
Shakira cracked open one eye. If she was very, very lucky, this would be Alex's cottage. If she was very, very unlucky, she’d see the walls of an old Keep. Rough cut, honey colored stone confirmed the worst. She closed her eyes and tried to convince herself she still slept and this was part of a horrible nightmare. She refused to acknowledge the noises that drifted up sounded too authentic for a dream.
Gates creaked, doors slammed, dogs barked, horses whinnied, geese honked, one after another. Women shouted orders. Young voices answered, followed by the sound of running feet. The sun hadn't fully appeared on the horizon yet, but castle folk see no reason to be quiet. Their daily life begins when the first bright streaks show themselves.
"Rocky?" Alex patted her shoulder. "Rocky, we need to get up."
Torn, she lay curled and silent. She didn’t want to face waking in 1355, but she definitely didn’t want to believe she dreamt making love to Alex either.
A vigorous shake and a smack on the butt ended any pretense of sleep. "Rise and shine, my lovely," Alex said, a bit too energized for her tastes. He threw the sheet off and sat on the edge of the bed.
She rolled over with a groan. "What time is it?"
"Around five, I’d guess." Alex ran his hand along his cheeks and jaw scratching at the stubble. "I’d like to get going soon. Would you mind if I didn’t shave?"
"I don’t mind. You look kind of sexy, kind of dangerous with your ten o’clock shadow even if it is only five o’clock. She wriggled her butt deeper into the mattress snuggling under her half of the covers.
He lay down again. With his weight on one elbow, he poked his head under the sheet and kissed her belly. "I find you pretty sexy too, even if you do snore."
"I don’t."
"Oh darling, I’ve slept on the ground with exhausted knights for months on end. You’d do any one of them proud."
"What is that supposed to mean?" He tried to pick the sheet up again, but she held it tight to her sides.
"Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I just never heard a woman snore like a hibernating bear," he said and attempted to loosen her fingers.
She closed her fists.
"I take it morning sex is out."
"There are a couple of ways to wake a bear with a poke. Sadly for you, you picked the wrong stick."
Alex laughed and got to his feet. He filled the basin with water from a pitcher brought the night before and washed.
She sat up, tucked the sheet under her arms, and watched as he splashed his face and neck, then toweled off. Unconcerned with his nakedness, he opened the bailey-side window, looked down, and threw out the dirty water from the bowl. How much can someone standing on the ground see from that angle? She made a mental note to check.
He walked back and refilled the basin. Wetting a square of cloth, he dipped it into a small bowl and rubbed his teeth.
"What are you cleaning your teeth with?"
"Salt. It's disgusting but better than nothing." He tugged the sheet and pulled her to the foot of the bed. "When you're done, we'll eat and ride out." Ano
ther tug and she was on her feet. She gathered the sheet and loosely draped it around her like a makeshift toga.
"How can we ride out, I don't have anything to wear?"
"By the time you're finished the seamstress will have one of your dresses here. She'd better. She and her assistants were paid handsomely to have one ready this morning." With a pat on her bottom, he urged her in the direction of the chamber pot behind the screen.
She couldn’t move. The idea of taking care of such personal needs while he was in the room mortified her. He tapped her bottom again before she shuffled over to the chamber pot. She’d held off going to the toilet since he returned last night. Now, she really had to go. She huddled behind the screen, dancing from foot to foot.
"Rocky, are you all right? You’re awfully quiet back there."
"I’m fine." She crossed her legs and tried to sound casual. "Is the maid bringing a tray of food, or are you going to the kitchen? Maybe you should go down and ask?"
"You want me out of the room, don't you?" Alex chuckled. "I’m guessing you’re reluctant to use the pot while I’m in earshot?"
"Well...yes."
"I'll go so you have a few minutes to yourself."
The door closed. Relieved, she maneuvered herself as fast as possible over the medieval answer to a water closet. "Barbaric, like peeing in a tea kettle," she muttered.
She finished fast, hesitated, but ultimately used the sponge on the dish by the pot to clean herself. She felt sorry for the servant who had sponge cleaning detail. She washed her hands and face and fixed her hair, a difficult job with only a small hand mirror. She used the same cloth Alex did to clean her teeth. The salt residue clung to her tongue and gums. The sharp aftertaste reminded her of childhood trips to Brighton where she always seemed to swallow gallons of salt water playing in the surf.
Someone kicked at the door as she rinsed her mouth for the third time. "Coming," she called, grabbing the discarded sheet. She clutched the cloth to her chest and opened the door a few inches to peek out. Alex stood there with a tray of food, a dress slung over his arm, and his foot poised to kick the door again. Oblivious to the food, she snatched the dress from him the moment he put the tray on the table.
Journey in Time (Knights in Time) Page 9
