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Coward.
Tyr had made himself comfortable on a bed of cushions as far away from the main bed as possible, Jazz noticed when she returned to the main part of the pavilion. He was resting back with his eyes closed.
Good. Maybe he was asleep.
* * *
He closed his eyes as Jazz walked deeper into the pavilion, but he’d seen enough to know she took his breath away. Standing with her back to him, she had begun to brush her hair. The light was behind her, and even though she had thrown a robe over her diaphanous nightgown, he could see her naked form quite clearly. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As she continued to brush her long, damp hair in smooth, hypnotic strokes, he realised that Jazz had no idea she possessed a magic strong enough to arouse a man who had believed for years he was dead to all but the most primitive feelings. He was painfully aroused now, and emotionally aroused, and all thanks to Jazz Kareshi.
Jazz Skavanga, Tyr amended, smiling to himself as he considered this most surprising of all the recent developments.
Jazz had applied some attractive scent, and the robe she had donned was of some flimsy material in softest coral that picked out the blush in her cheeks. And she was plaiting her hair—
Don’t do that. Don’t plait your hair. Don’t tie it back.
He smiled as he imagined Jazz’s reaction to his newfound feelings, but meanwhile frustration was threatening to throttle him. What he needed was another dousing in the freezing-cold stream.
He turned away, feigning sleep as Jazz stood up and turned around to face him. If she had any sense she would go straight to the big marital bed, and then tuck herself in and go straight to sleep. At the very least, she should stay well away from him. He was curious as to what she would do. He’d hunted her down at the party and had wanted her ever since. When she’d fallen from the horse, his heart had stopped beating, and when he’d checked her over for injury, his life had stopped too. He wanted Jazz more than ever now, but though the world might assume he had carte blanche to seduce the woman who was now his wife, Jazz meant more to him that that, and he would never mislead her by promising more than he could deliver.
He breathed a sigh of relief when she turned for the big bed. But would that help him? Having Jazz a few feet away when he had spent most of the wedding ceremony trying to avoid contact with her because the ache of wanting her was so acute? Did he seriously think he was going to make it through the night?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IF ACTIONS SPOKE louder than words, then Jazz had no option but to do this. With the prospect of a loveless wedding night ahead of her, what did she have to lose? She stared at Tyr’s big, muscular back clad in a black tee. He was wearing black boxers too. She’d sneaked a look.
What a modest bridegroom. What a shameless bride.
When fantasy clashed with reality, all she could think about was Tyr looming over her, magnificent and immense. But if he moved a muscle, she’d probably run a mile.
So was their friendship dead too? Jazz wondered as Tyr remained motionless with his back turned to her. As he continued to ignore her, she wondered if Tyr ever ached for a touch, or a kind word and a warm look, as she did right now. She understood why he’d become hard and self-reliant, but she wanted him to know that she cared, and that this was their wedding night—which terrified her, and challenged her to be more courageous too. Or else, was she doomed to an empty life with a head full of Tyr Skavanga? She gazed at the big, silent Viking, currently stretched out on his bed of cushions just a few yards away. Maybe she should have married the Emir of Qadar.
How lucky was she to have so many choices?
‘Jazz?’ Tyr murmured her name without opening his eyes. ‘Jazz, what are you doing? What the hell!’
‘What does it look as if I’m doing?’ Having climbed beneath his covers, she pulled them up to her chin. ‘I was cold, so I’m joining my husband for our wedding night. The least we can do is share our body heat.’
‘No, we can’t,’ Tyr assured her, putting space between them.
He had tried not to look at Jazz in her diaphanous robe, with her hair streaming round her shoulders, and had failed miserably. The urge to make love to her was overwhelming him. She was lying in his bed, for goodness’ sake!
‘You’ll be more comfortable in the big bed.’ He spoke gruffly, closing his mind to a sight that had cracked his heart wide open and left him with the worst case of frustration known to man.
