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“All right,” he said, brushing his trousers for any stray crumbs, then patted his knee. “Come here.”
“The bed is over there,” she said, pointing, as if he’d perhaps failed to notice it.
“I saw.” He patted his knee again. “I’d like you to come here.”
She firmed her lips, wary and taken off balance. “I don’t see why.”
“Don’t the rules say you’re supposed to accommodate my requests?” Actually, the rules said she must follow his commands for the night, but he hadn’t cared for that phrasing and wouldn’t repeat it.One barely spoke to me at all, except to give instructions.At least he could try not to be that wizard, whoever it was. Possibly just as well she wouldn’t say, since Gabriel would want to punch the asshole. “This seems like a good way to ease in,” he explained. “Please.”
“Fine,” she spat out, then stalked over and plopped herself ungracefully—and somewhat painfully—on his thigh. She perched there stiffly, arms crossed, glaring at him. “I’m not terribly experienced, but I do know that—no matter what tales the silly youngsters tell—your seed will not penetrate layers of clothing.”
A smile stretched his lips, the bubbling amusement a welcome sensation. She was prickly as a thorn bush—her wit as sharp as one—but he’d never be bored with her. That fire and ambition of hers could make all the difference in his plans.
If he could coax her into working with him instead of knifing him in his sleep.
“I thought we’d start with a kiss.” He made his voice gentle, reaching up to touch her cheek, thinking to urge her closer. She flinched as his hand neared, so he touched one of the trembling ringlets instead. Like spun silk. She watched him warily, rigid with tension. “Are you afraid?” he asked.
“Hardly.” She lifted her chin boldly, but he felt it in her, the damp frisson of dread, the still, cold fog of fear.
“Did the others hurt you?” He followed the spiral of her ringlet to where it dangled against the wing of her collarbone, moving his touch to her skin. She held still, but twitched under the touch. Waiting until she relaxed under it, he traced the delicate line of her bone under the skin.
“What do you care?” she challenged, but without much punch behind it.
He raised his eyes to hers. Blue and gold, faceted like jewels. “I don’t want to hurt you, or do anything you don’t welcome.”
“That’s not in the rules,” she sounded breathier now, and she’d softened under the caress, no longer perched on his knee like a bird about to take flight. “It’s not required. I advise you to maximize your investment and commence with your five or six attempts.”
“In good time,” he mused. Sliding his fingers along the swanlike column of her neck, he savored the silken texture of her skin. He coaxed her to lean in, cupping the back of her neck. “A kiss?”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Lifted again. “So do it.”
“I thought maybe you would kiss me.” He caressed the sensitive nape of her neck, enjoying her shiver of awareness.
“That’s not how this usually goes,” she replied, a touch acerbic, a bit more intrigued.
“All the more reason.” Whatever those louts had done to her, he was determined to do otherwise—as much as possible. As long as he surprised her, he could be reasonably sure he wasn’t treading the same brutal path. Even having met Convocation wizards and liking exactly none of them, he’d have thought they’d have at least treated a treasure like Veronica gently.
Apparently he’d been wrong about that, too, among so many things.
“I don’t know how,” she confessed, studying his mouth again. “I never have.”
And yet she’d been bedded by three men already. Later, after they were married, he’d extract those three names from her, and those cretins would be the first to crumble in House Phel’s rise.
“Lips to lips,” he whispered, daring to put his other hand on her hip, moving beneath her slight weight so she settled more cozily against him. He brushed his thumb over the nape of her neck, soothing, arousing, savoring. “Like this, but with lips.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder, giving herself leverage, and leaned in. She smelled of hothouse roses and warmed red wine. He closed his eyes, reining in the urge to drink her up in great greedy swallows. The whisper of her lips against his registered as a breath, a bare hint of a kiss.
She withdrew marginally and held herself still, waiting. He didn’t move.Come here, little butterfly, and sip of me.
Lured in by the honeyed call, she returned, bending her stiffened arm a bit more to allowing a less fleeting press of her lips to his. Letting her control the kiss, he gently responded, moving to mirror her touch, reflecting her burning heat, much as he had before. Just enough to meet her halfway.
She tested, tasted, the bright curiosity in her opening up, spilling through the cracks in her tough, disciplined mental walls. Seeming to be unaware of it, she leaned into him, the soft rounds of her breasts tantalizing as they swept against his chest. Taking the chance—wasn’t he with all of this?—he slid the hand at her hip up her slender back, the silken velvet nap hot from the fire and from the woman within.
When he parted his lips, inviting her in, she made a small sound of surprise, but didn’t draw back. Yes, she hesitated… but then opened her mouth, now mirroring him, and sank in with heat and a rush of heady passion.
Their combined desire billowed and swirled, their energies meshing and sparking, her fire heating him to boiling. He groaned, pressing her to lie fully against him, holding her close. This. This was all he’d hoped for. And with only a kiss. When she was his and they started truly combining magic, the results would be even more spectacular.
But, as she kept pointing out, first things first. The rules stipulated they needed to make a child, so make a child they would.
