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The lights were dim in this part of the palace and her footsteps echoed eerily loud in the medieval hall as she searched for the right hallway that would lead to the tower stairs. But finally she found the stone arch and the circular staircase that wound to the top of the tower.
A guard was at the top of the stairs in front of the door, but he bowed and immediately opened it for her.
Hannah sucked in a quick breath at the chill in the air as she stepped into the night. It was a clear night and the lights of the city below played off the bright stars overhead.
She drew her dark blue velvet cloak closer and set off, walking along the high thick wall in search of Zale, imagining all the people who must have walked the same path in the eight hundred years since the castle was built.
She imagined the worries people must have had, the hopes and dreams, as well as the pain. In eight hundred years, politics, fashion and technology had changed, but the human heart hadn’t.
“What are you doing?”
It was Zale’s voice, coming from the dark and she jumped and turned, peering uneasily into the night. “Where are you?”
He moved away from the shadowed wall and into the open. Moonlight silhouetted his tall frame and lit his profile. “Here.”
She couldn’t read his expression but his voice was hard, his tone impatient. For a moment her courage wavered and then she gathered her strength and pushed on. “I am so sorry you had to hear any of that earlier, but it isn’t what you think. It wasn’t Alejandro. I haven’t spoken to him since Palm Beach and even then, there was nothing.” The words tumbled from her, one after the other, hoping somehow to get through to him.
He wasn’t listening, though. “I don’t care,” he said brusquely.
“But I do, which is why I had to find you.” She took a deep breath, nervously crushing the soft velvet fabric between her fingers. “I know I haven’t been easy. I know I’m not the woman you wanted. And I wish I had been. I wish I could be the right woman, the one that could make everything perfect for you—”
“I don’t need perfect,” he interrupted roughly. “But I also won’t tolerate dishonesty or deceit.”
“I’m sorry. I am. But you must know that since I arrived I’ve only wanted one thing, and that is you.”
He made a sound of disgust.
She moved toward him. “I mean it, Zale. There is no one else for me. I need you to believe me.” “Emmeline,” he said warningly.
She ignored the threat in his voice. “I hate it that you’re angry. Please forgive me—” “Em—”
She cut off his protest by rising on tiptoe to kiss him. His lips were cold, rigid beneath hers but she couldn’t give up, couldn’t not try. And so she kissed him slowly, sweetly, reaching up to clasp his face between her hands. She could feel the rasp of his beard against her palms and the gradual warming of his mouth beneath hers.
And then he was kissing her back, hard, almost aggressively. She welcomed the punishing pressure of his mouth on hers, and in an instant the kiss exploded into something hot and hungry and fierce. Zale dragged a hand into her hair and knotted the silken strands around his fingers, drawing her head back to give him better access to her mouth. He parted her lips, his tongue plundering the soft recesses of her mouth.
He kissed her until her head spun and little stars danced before her eyes, kissing her senseless, kissing her until he was all and everything.
He pushed her back, pressing her against the cold stone wall, as his hands took hers, trapping them above her head, holding her immobile. “This isn’t working,” he said, leaning into her, his voice a rasp in her ear. “We don’t work.”
She could feel the warmth of his fingers wrapped around her slender wrists and the pressure of his hips grinding against hers. His hard, broad chest crushed her breasts and his knee pressed between her thighs, rubbing against her most sensitive place, and she felt absolutely no fear. Just pleasure. And desire.
She needed him. Wanted him. Wanted him even when he was savage and furious and intent on punishing her because he’d never hurt her. He’d always protect her. Even if it was from himself.
“But we do work,” she answered. “At least this part does … when we’re together like this.”
“But sex, even great sex, doesn’t make a marriage work. There has to be more. I want more.” His voice was hard, sharp, and yet his head dipped and he kissed the corner of her mouth and then her soft lower lip.
“But we could have more,” she protested, tipping her head back, eyes closing, as his lips traveled down the side of her neck setting her skin and body on fire.
