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She yawns, turns toward the mirror, treating me to an uninterrupted view of her glistening sex. My jaw drops, and all sensation rushes south.
I jerk my gaze away and growl, “You will not tempt me, Alienor. Not this time. Now, get up and face your husband!”
Her soft sigh sweeps across my nerves like a caress, and I clench my teeth. Everything about this sorceress is designed to confuse and beguile. She may be able to fool the others in the human world, but not me. Beneath her enticing exterior is a heart of stone.
“What’s going on?” murmurs a soft voice.
I turn my gaze back to the bed. She’s awake.
My fury cools to a simmering curiosity, and what’s left of my heart pounds a rapid beat. I stand straighter, pull back my shoulders and puff out my chest in a stance meant to intimidate.
Alienor sits up, her gaze turned toward the window. Since she trapped me before I got the chance to tear up her room, the curtains and wall and wooden pane are still intact.
Her posture deflates, and she exhales a long sigh.
I tilt my head, wondering what could make her so disappointed. Isn’t it enough that she has taken everything and still maintains the beauty of an innocent maiden?
A growl rolls in the back of my throat at the reminder of her treachery. I should never have shown my wife mercy. I should never have allowed my courtiers to talk me out of her well-deserved execution. Instead, I gave her time to scheme a fate worse for me than death.
Her gaze snaps to my side of the room, and our eyes lock.
“Yes,” I snarl. “Look upon your husband.”
“The Boogie Man?” she whispers, her eyes sparkling.
My nostrils flare. “What did you call me?”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” She swings her legs to the side of the mattress and bounds across the room.
I step back, frown, and try not to admire how her breasts bounce. Of all the reactions I anticipated, the last I would have expected would be excitement. I pictured her crying, begging, pleading for mercy or at the very least, looking shocked.
Alienor isn’t unsettled by my appearance. She looks elated.
“Hello.” She dips her head and gazes up at me through lowered lashes. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
My lip curls. “You are Alienor.”
She frowns. “How do you know my name?”
Alienor’s sweet giggle makes me flinch. If I didn’t know any better, I would say she was trying to flirt. She shakes off the question with a wave of her hand.
“Never mind,” she says. “What are you doing here?”
“Do you not recognize me?” I ask.
“You’re the Boogie Man who’s been trashing my room.”
“What is a Boogie Man?”
“You, of course,” she says with a coy smile.
My eyes narrow. Is she mocking me? From the way her cheeks turn pink, I would say she was ignorant. It’s impossible. A witch as powerful as my Alienor should have retained her memories over the centuries.
Telling her that I was once the King of England might incite her lust for power, so I give her one of my lesser titles.
“I am Henry Curtmantle, Duke of Normandy.”
She gazes up at me through expectant, brown eyes, so I elaborate.
