The Prince Who Loved Me Part 24

"Until recently, I was the amba.s.sador."

She looked at his clothing, and he laughed. "I am not one to like ceremony, so there is some irony, nyet? But when I must dress, I do. I mainly attend parties, pretend to remember people I do not, and carry messages from other kings and parliaments."

"It sounds rather boring."

"I do not enjoy it." He leaned forward. "What I do enjoy are pert Scottish misses who dance as if they have three left feet, sing with great enthusiasm, smell like the forest, and would rather bury their heads in a book than wear silks."

She'd never seen anyone with such deep eyes, the color endless. "Some of the women you've met must have been beautiful."

He shrugged, his shoulder warm against hers. "You are beautiful, but that is not enough. Beautiful is only for looking. You cannot hold it." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I will have a favor from you."

Finally, he'll ask for that kiss! She nodded, her breath increasing.

He lifted her spectacles from her nose and folded them. "I wish to see your eyes." Setting them aside, he cupped her face with his large, warm hand. "Your eyes make me think of the fields near my summer home in Oxenburg.

"Every year, the soil is turned, and it is rich and dark and brown like your eyes. Those fields grow the most golden wheat the world has ever seen. Gold like the flecks in your eyes, like the lights in your hair." He brushed a curl from her face, his fingers trailing over her cheek to her bottom lip. "I drown in your eyes."

Her mouth suddenly dry, she wetted her lips. His gaze followed the delicate swipe of her tongue.

He drew in his breath. "d.a.m.n it, Roza, ask me to kiss you."

He wanted to kiss her! And she wanted him to. Wanted it so badly that her heart stuttered, her skin tingled in antic.i.p.ation.

She turned her face into his palm and kissed his warm skin. "You must ask me," she whispered, begged.

His mouth tightened, and she saw the war he was fighting-he wanted the kiss as badly as she, but his pride demanded her capitulation.

"Ask," she whispered, grasping his wrist and trailing her lips over his fingers. "One word, Alexsey."

He caught his breath when she nipped at his fingertips, her gaze now locked with his. "Ask," she whispered again.

A flicker of naked desire flashed across his face, and he winced as if in pain. "Nyet. You must be the one."

Bronwyn thought she'd burst into a fireball if he did not touch her soon. Her entire body craved his touch with a longing that left her squirming with need.

What could one kiss hurt? her pa.s.sionate side asked.

But the future-her Scottish side urgently whispered.

Forget the future. I want this right now.

"To h.e.l.l with asking." She pulled his head down and kissed him.

Lucinda melted into his arms, and Roland's heart warmed.

-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth With a pained moan Alexsey scooped her into his lap, his mouth possessing hers. She twined her arms more tightly about his neck and opened to his seeking tongue, answering him kiss for kiss. She fought to both breathe and devour, writhing to get closer, to taste him more. He broke the kiss to nip pa.s.sionately at her bottom lip and she gasped with need, her body aflame with a yearning that was almost painful.

Alexsey's breath shortened at the sound of Bronwyn's small gasp. She clutched at his s.h.i.+rt and strained against him as he slid his hands over her ripe curves, deepening the kiss as he did so. G.o.d, she was a delicious conundrum, p.r.i.c.kly and soft, defying him with one sentence and then the next, kissing him as if she never wished him to stop.

He ran his hands over her body, exploring her generous curves, loving that she felt like a woman and not a sack of bones. He could hold her without being afraid of breaking her. Her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s and hips were made for holding and tasting.

One hand traveled down the swell of her hip to her thigh, while his other smoothed up her back. Her heart beat wildly, sending a prideful thrill through him. Ah, Bronwyn, this is what happens when you stop thinking. You feel.

He teased her lips and stroked her tongue with his own. Panting and flushed, she returned his embraces, mimicking everything he did with even more pa.s.sion.

She was a creative lover, and every time he got her alone, she surprised him. On the outside, she was a neat brown paper package primly tied with a string, but inside was an explosion of the richest spices, the most expensive wines, the most delicious morsels. The desire to unwrap her and lay open her secrets was irresistible.

He untied her cape and pushed it off. Then he found the tie to her gown and tugged it free, pus.h.i.+ng her gown open and sliding his hands over her thin chemise to her full, round b.r.e.a.s.t.s with a groan. They filled his hands and more, making his c.o.c.k ache with need. G.o.d, he loved her fullness, her wholeness. He gently cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, watching as her lashes fluttered at his touch, her sharp gasp urging him on.

He pushed her gown down so he could see the generous circles of her rosy areolas through her thin chemise, his eyes feasting on the sight. Then he bent to take her nipple in his mouth through the material, rolling his tongue over and over the hardened nub, encouraged by her heated gasps. From one breast to the other, he ministered slavishly, denying himself as he urged her pa.s.sion higher and higher.

She clutched at him with greedy hands, her legs opening to his searching fingers, her hips moving restlessly. His body ached with the need to bury himself in her, but he fought for control. She was too delicious, too precious to gulp. This was a woman made to be savored, over and over, long and leisurely.

Slowly, he slid his hand up her leg to her warm thigh, her soft skin sliding under his fingertips. He paused just short of her womanhood, trailing kisses from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to her neck. He slowly, ever so gently, slid his fingertips over her, barely grazing the wet, swollen folds.

She jerked in his arms. He held her tight and continued to stroke her, speeding his movements.

Wet and wanting, she clutched his shoulders in her need, her legs parting yet more. He stroked her more firmly now, enjoying the expressions that crossed her face. She was so wild, so wanton, sprawled in his lap, as he stroked her once, twice- She convulsed, her cries soft and desperate as pa.s.sion rolled through her.

The sound left him with a deep ache that made him grit his teeth. He rested his forehead on hers, their breathing loud. "You are so beautiful," he managed to gasp.

Seconds pa.s.sed and then she moved against him, her voice husky and low. "Alexsey." Her gaze locked with his. "I want more."

"But-"

Her fingers curled about his s.h.i.+rt and she jerked him close. "You said I had but to ask. I am not asking, but telling."

He laughed and kissed her swollen lips. "I cannot say no to you. I have never been able to say no to you." He hadn't had that power since the moment he'd met her, and the realization was staggering. Before he could wonder about it, she slipped her hand into his lap and cupped him.

He sucked in his breath as his erection throbbed anew. What seemed like a scant second later they were both undressed; then he was lowering her-naked and flushed with need-to his coat.

He kissed her everywhere he could see, wors.h.i.+ping the softness of her skin, the rose of her areolas, the flush of pa.s.sion on her cheeks. And then gently, ever so gently, he moved between her legs and pressed his rigid c.o.c.k to her.

She was wet and waiting, and he slid in until he rested against her maidenhead, surrounded by her heated warmth. She was so deliciously tight, her movements innocently wanton. He gritted his teeth to hold off his reaction and slowly pressed forward.

She grimaced and arched against him.

"Bronwyn," he managed to gasp out. "This may-"

"Stop talking. Just-" She pressed against him, gorgeously abandoned.

He steeled his jaw and thrust through her maidenhead, capturing her cry with a rain of kisses, silently begging her forgiveness even as his body moved within hers.

A deep ache that was both pleasure and pain filled Bronwyn. She clutched his shoulders, gasping as, through the ache, a powerful need grew to pull him to her, to get closer, to feel him. She slid her hands to his waist, and then his hips. With a sudden effort, she pushed against him, engulfing him completely.

He moaned her name.

Encouraged, she wrapped her legs about his hips and, lifting her own, buried him deep inside her. She did it again and again, the dull ache receding with each stroke. And each time she pulled him inside, a gasp of pleasure was ripped from Alexsey's lips.

He joined her, thrusting in the rhythm she'd set, their bodies damp as they fiercely pleasured one another. Moments later a wave of pleasure ripped through her, making her cry his name. And this time she took Alexsey with her as they rode wave after wave of pa.s.sion, finally collapsing together, clinging to one another under the sky.

A long time later, she sighed with happiness. She felt wildly powerful and rather naughty, almost drunk on the sensations coursing through her body. "So that's what all the fuss is about."

He chuckled and lifted up on his elbow to smile down at her, his hair falling rakishly into his eyes. "Da, that is what all the fuss is about."

"It's-" "Wonderful" was too pallid. "Amazing" was too technical. "Blissful," she said.

"Yes, it is." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Are you glad you stopped thinking?"

"Oh yes. A million yeses." She smiled sleepily. "In fact, I may decide to never think again." Which would be blissful: to never have to consider what-ifs and what-fors, but just be. Suddenly she understood why that held such appeal to so many people.

"I am spent, my love. You have drained me." He kissed her bare shoulder, then rolled to his back and tucked her against him, her head against his shoulder.

She fit perfectly, and he smiled when she snuggled against his neck, the scent of rosemary and lily tickling his nose.

Not only did he feel replete, but he also felt proud, as if he'd accomplished something uniquely special. He supposed he had; he'd won his way into the arms of the most fascinating woman he'd ever met, and now, he was loath to let the moment pa.s.s.

Holding her to him, he brushed her silken hair from her cheek. "We are good together, we two."

She raised her head to look at him. "May we do it again?"

He laughed. "Of course, though I must recover first. And you will need time, too. You may be sore for a day or two and might not feel like-"

She rolled on top of him, her eyes laughing. "Nyet." She ran her hands over his chest, his stomach, down to his half-sleeping c.o.c.k. "I feel like it right now, Alexsey."

"Sadly, men need time to replenish. Women, not so much."

She regarded him through half-closed eyes, a wistful expression crossing her face. "How long will it take, for I must return to Ackinnoull soon or someone may come looking for me."

He wrapped his arms more tightly about her, holding her warm body to his. "It is early still, so you will be safe here, with me. Besides, it is good manners to linger after a romp." He rubbed his cheek to her hair, tugging her cloak over them like a blanket.

"A romp, eh? That's what it was?"

"A romp, a tryst, lovemaking . . . call it what you will."

"Whatever you call it, it was very nice." She curled against him like a cat warming itself on a rock.

Her chest was pressed to the side of his and he could feel her heart, the beat as steady as she, her skin warm against his. A man could get used to this.

For several minutes they remained thus, both enjoying the closeness of the moment, but all too soon, Bronwyn sighed and then rolled away. "It grows late. I must dress."

He reached for her but she eluded him, climbing to her feet and gathering her clothes. "Stay here," she instructed. "I'll be back."

She was gone before he could protest, and he heard her was.h.i.+ng in the stream. He gave her some privacy, rising to gather his own clothing. Soon she returned, looking flushed but presentable. With a quick kiss on her swollen lips, he went to the stream, as well.

When he returned, he saw a faintly troubled look on her face.

"Nyet." He sat on his coat and patted the seat beside him.

"No, what?"

"You may not start thinking yet." He captured her hand and tugged her down to his side.

"Yes, but-" She turned to look up at him. "Alexsey, what are we doing?"

"Enjoying one another. It seems right, doesn't it?"

"Yes." But there was doubt in her voice.

Because she wishes for this to mean more? Or because she fears it means too much? He looked into her face, but now, when he most needed to, he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Her eyes were dark, her brow knit, but no clue rested in her expression. "Perhaps our purpose is simply pleasure," he said cautiously.

"Perhaps."

She didn't look happy, but neither did she look disappointed.

He sighed. "We are making memories, Roza. Memories to enjoy long after this moment is gone."

Her smile seemed tight. "And you can remember it whenever you smell rosemary."

He would, too. He would remember this day until the last breath left his body. That was good, wasn't it?

From far in the woods arose a call.

"Mairi!" Bronwyn grabbed her book from where it sat on the ground, while trying to pat her hair back into some semblance of order, and looked adorably fl.u.s.tered. "I was to help my sister polish the silver. She mustn't find us here."

An odd pang went through his heart. "I don't wish you to leave."

"I don't wish to leave, but I must."

Reluctantly, he found her spectacles and handed them to her. "I must see you again."

She slid the spectacles onto her nose. "We will. We're to come to the castle soon. I will see you there."

"That's not enough!" He slipped an arm about her waist and tugged her closer. "There is so little time left, and I want to see you alone-not with dozens of people."

Her lips turned downward. "It's all we have."

"I want more. Bronwyn, let me come to you tonight."

Her eyes widened. "You mean . . . to my bedchamber?"

"Let me spend the night with you, and show you-" How I feel. The words froze his tongue. How do I feel?

She pulled away, shaking her head. "No. That's-Alexsey, we can't. We can't risk getting caught. Besides, my rooms are in the attic. There's a tree there, but it's not safe to climb."

"Bronwyn!" Mairi called, her voice closer. "Where are you?"

Bronwyn tugged her arm free. "I must go."