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How could he have come to crave her smiles so quickly?
“And it was partly my fault,” she continued. “I just didn’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“How could you make a fool of yourself? You have better manners than half the ladies in my court.” He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of her at dinner last night. Even the way she ate her soup was like a dance, a sensual celebration of movement that had captivated every male at the table.
“My mother insisted I learn how to behave in case we were ever invited to serve at a royal court,” Calliope said. “Not that we would have been, with my magic being so unpredictable and my…strangeness.”
“Your strangeness?” he asked, frowning. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s why I try not to speak too much if I can help it.” She blushed pink across her cheeks. “There’s less chance of talking to people who aren’t there if I don’t talk much to begin with.”
“I see,” Aaron said, wanting to throttle every person who had ever made her feel shame over something beyond her control.
The castle physician had explained Calliope’s condition the night before. It was a malfunction of the brain—slightly more common in the Fae than humans—that could be kept at bay with a mixture of herbs and low stress levels. There was absolutely no reason for her embarrassment. If anything, the worsening of her condition was Henri’s fault for abducting her and subjecting her to miserable living conditions.
Hell, it was a wonder she wasn’t raving nonstop after weeks in a dungeon. Just thinking of how she’d been treated was enough to make him want to strangle Henri with his bare hands. Despite the advisor’s pique over losing the chamber
s that had been his for half a century, it was best that Henri no longer lived in the castle. If Aaron had been forced to lay eyes on him on a regular basis, he didn’t know if he would be able to keep his anger in check.
She shrugged uncomfortably. “Yes, well, that’s why—”
“I have an aunt who can’t eat cake unless she drinks a special tea beforehand.”
“Oh?” She blinked. “Really?”
“She was born with an intolerance for sugar. Even with the tea, she can only eat dessert occasionally.”
“How sad,” Calliope said, eyes wide. “I can’t imagine. I can’t resist dessert. Especially cake. If I’ve got a cake fresh out of the oven, I’ll have a slice for breakfast, a bit more after lunch, and by the time bedtime comes around I’ll have convinced myself a sliver before turning out the lights won’t hurt.”
Aaron smiled. Even the way she talked about cake made him want to snatch her up and kiss her breathless.
“Exactly,” he said. “But we don’t think anything of her calling for the tea before the dessert course.”
“And why should you? I mean—” She broke off as she stopped and turned to stare at him. She took a breath, but then stopped and stared a bit more. She took another breath and held it before blowing it out through her pursed lips with a shake of her head.
He was beginning to think she had misunderstood him when, finally, a smile stretched across her full lips.
“You are as kind as I thought you’d be.” Despite her smile, she looked on the verge of tears as she stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek.
Aaron slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, turning his head to catch the lips that had warmed his cheek. She made a soft, eager sound as their mouths met and opened to the sweep of his tongue, meeting his slow thrusts with languid, teasing strokes of her own.
She tasted even better than she had yesterday, so sweet and clean that his head spun and that feeling of intoxication returned. He wasn’t a man who indulged in drink, but he would gladly get drunk on Calliope’s kisses any time the opportunity presented itself.
It wasn’t long before the bags once again hit the dirt road.
“I’ve been dying to touch you again,” Aaron confessed, both arms around her, smoothing up and down her back, cupping her buttocks in his palms before moving up to tangle in her hair. He would never get enough of feeling her against him. “I thought you regretted it.”
“No, never. I only worried—”
“Don’t worry.” He buried one hand in her hair, pulling her mouth closer, while his other palm urged her hips tight to his. She moaned and pulsed forward against his obvious arousal, her control vanishing as quickly as his own.
It was as if the second they touched, every barrier, every societal convention, every thought of how one “should” behave with a new lover melted into nothingness in the heat of their passion. It was uncommon in the best sense of the word, a rare abandon that Aaron was already coming to crave.
“You don’t understand,” she said, her words ending in a gasp as he ran his hand up her ribs to cup her breast. Her nipple tightened until he could feel the bud through the fabric. He hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to her breasts the first time they’d made love, an oversight he meant to make amends for immediately.
“Then explain it to me, love,” he said, kissing down the length of her neck.
He ignored the way that word kept finding its way into conversation. No matter that a part of him admitted to the madness of loving her, the old Aaron would never have made the mistake of uttering the word aloud. The old Aaron knew a thing or two about women—how to lure them in and how to frighten them away if need be.
