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“Dammit.” He stared down at the puppy, and Badger licked his thumb. “What am I to do with you now?”
He strode to the window and looked down in time to see Helen help the children into the dogcart. Abigail glanced up once, he thought in his direction, but she hastily looked away again, so perhaps he was wrong. Then Helen climbed in, and the footman driving the cart gave the reins a shake. They all rolled away, out of the stable yard, out of his life, and Helen never once looked back.
His body urged him to run after her, but his mind chained him where he was. Keeping her would just delay the inevitable.
Now or tomorrow, he’d always known that Helen would leave him.
Chapter Twenty
The sorcerer opened his doors to Princess Sympathy readily enough, but when she told him what she’d come for, he laughed. He led her to the yew knot garden and pointed to where Truth Teller stood, immobile and cold.
“There is your knight,” the sorcerer said. “You may work what little magic you know to save him, but be forewarned: I give you only this day. If he is still a man of stone when the sun sets, I will make you his stone bride and together you both shall stand in my garden for all eternity.”
The princess consented to this poor bargain, for she had no other choice if she were to make Truth Teller a man of flesh and blood again. All the hours of that day she performed the spells and incantations that she had brought with her, but when the sun’s rays began to fade, Truth Teller was still stone. . . .
—from TRUTH TELLER
Three days later, Alistair was woken by a commotion downstairs. Someone was shouting and carrying on. He groaned and shoved his head beneath his pillow. Rising early was no longer a priority in his life. In fact, he had no priorities at all. Might as well stay abed.
But the commotion grew louder and closer, like an advancing midsummer’s storm until—ominously—it was right outside his bedroom door. He’d just flung the covers from his head when his sister crashed into his room.
“Alistair Michael Munroe, have you lost your mind?” Sophia blasted at him.
He clutched the bedsheets to his bare chest like a startled maiden and scowled at his sister. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, dear sister?”
“To your own stupidity,” Sophia said promptly. “Do you know I met Mrs. Halifax on Castlehill in Edinburgh just yesterday morn, and she said that you and she had parted company?”
“No,” Alistair sighed. Badger had woken with the commotion of course, and the puppy came bumbling over the bed to lick his fingers. “Did she tell you that her name isn’t really Halifax?”
rust his tongue into her mouth, demanding satisfaction, and she complied, sweetly sucking. Yielding to him, though he knew it was an illusion. He ran his hands over her shoulders, down her gently curving back to her hips. He filled his palms with her rounded buttocks and squeezed.
She broke the kiss, gasping, and looked at him with wide eyes. “Alistair—”
“Shh.”
He picked her up, her weight solid in his arms, and he was glad to play the conqueror. In his arms she was helpless to escape.
“But we need to talk,” she said, her face solemn.
He swallowed. “Not yet. Just let me…”
He lowered her gently to his big bed, and her golden hair spread over his dark coverlet, an offering any god would be pleased with. He was no god; he didn’t deserve her, but he’d take what he could for as long as he could.
He stripped off his banyan and crawled, naked, over her form. With those harebell-blue eyes, she watched him come up over her. Wide and impossibly innocent. Dark now and a little sad. She raised her hand and brushed it carefully, tenderly, over his scarred cheek. She didn’t speak anymore, but her eyes, her expression, the very gentleness of her touch sent ice into his veins.
He leaned down and kissed her so he wouldn’t have to look into those eyes anymore. He drew her chemise up over her legs, feeling them shift restlessly beneath him, feeling the brush of her bush against his belly. He lifted his head briefly to draw her chemise over her head and throw it aside, and then he lowered his nude body to her nude body and kissed her once more.
Men talked of an afterlife filled with heavenly bliss, but this was the only bliss he wanted, in this life or the next: to feel Helen’s bare skin beneath his own. To delight in the soft cushions of her thighs cradling his. To press his hard cock into the velvet of her belly. To smell her intimate, womanly scent mingled with the scent of lemons, and to feel the warmth of her skin. Oh, God, if ever there was a chance of paradise for him, he’d relinquish it, and gladly, to stay right here in Helen’s arms.
He traced the faint bumps of her ribs, the indent of her waist, the curve of her hip, until he came to the center of her. She was wet, her curls drenched already, and he gave thanks because he wasn’t sure he could stand a moment longer outside of her. He grasped his cock and guided himself to her warmth, to her softness.
To home.
She was tight, despite her wetness. He clenched his jaw and thrust into her in small shoves, parting her folds, burying himself deep. She held him and he closed his eyes to keep from spilling too soon. He felt her arms slide around him, and she pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him with a moist, open mouth and spread her legs, wrapping her calves over his hips. He moved then—it was that or die. Sliding, grinding, pushing his flesh into hers. Making love to her. She continued to kiss him without any haste, her mouth accepting his tongue as her body accepted his cock.
This was all he wanted. This was heaven.
But his body had to speed up, the imperative to plant his seed overtaking the luxury of a slow coupling. He raised himself on his arms to intensify his thrusts. He watched as her heavy eyelids drifted closed, her face flushing a deep pink. Her breath was coming short, but she’d not yet crested. He held his weight on one hand and with the other searched for that small bit of feminine flesh that would send her over the edge. He found it, hiding in her slippery folds, and he gently pressed, slowly circled. Her arms fell from his shoulders, and she flung them over her head, grasping the pillow with both fists. He watched her, diddling her pearl and humping her hard, and when he saw her toss back her head, he felt it, too. The churning explosive start of his orgasm.
