Spellbinder
Page 61
Where did she learn to talk like that? Angling his head, he stared at her, and she gave him a smile filled with such fierce joy, it was like she shoved him off a cliff.
He fell… he fell into her as inexorably as Icarus, who had flown too close to the sun. The climax he plunged into was a completely involuntary thing, beyond his control.
As he spurted into her tight, hot passage, he twisted up and back with the intensity of it. Vaguely, he was aware of her hands spread flat across his chest, helping to support his weight.
Sex had never been a transformative experience for him, until now.
Making love had never been transcendent.
Until now.
Now he finally understood why a queen might betray her husband for a knight who forsook his vows. Why Helen of Troy had been seduced by Paris and left everything in her life behind to follow him.
Why love could become a driving compulsion stronger than honor or death.
And as his climax slowed and he came back down to her again, covering her completely as he lost himself in the sensual extravagance of her lips, he realized he had come to a final point of completion in this dangerous journey he and Sidonie shared.
His heart still thundering in his chest, he pressed his lips to her forehead, and thought, I will do anything I have to do in order to keep you.
Anything.
* * *
They made love two more times.
Obsessively.
Unable to stop, or relax. Unable to unclench.
Morgan’s body. The ripple of muscles in his long limbs, the sensation on her skin as she rubbed her face in the hair on his chest. His face, that deep voice, the wisdom with which he seduced her, those brilliant, brilliant eyes.
It wasn’t comfortable, this roaring need for him. It wasn’t balanced. It hurt. She felt like she had plunged into a crisis of some kind. Reality had altered and had ignited her with invisible flame.
At one point, he held her by the throat while he took her from behind, and she loved it so much. It was so far beyond anything she would have once considered acceptable she didn’t know who she was anymore.
Finally exhaustion flattened her onto the narrow bed. “I need more,” she whimpered. “But I can’t.”
His voice had gone hoarse. He held her tightly, muscles locked. “So do I, but we’ve run out of time. It’s almost dawn.”
The thought of separating from him was like someone slicing at her with a knife. She buried her face against his chest. “No.”
“You have to find a way to come back to your room before your audience with Isabeau,” he told her as his breathing evened. “Don’t let anyone keep you from doing it. I’ll figure out a way to get the battle spell here to you.”
Lifting her head, she searched his face anxiously. His handsome features had already become so familiar to her—she could see the man she had come to know in the darkness shining out in every one of his expressions and gestures.
It all fit in seamless harmony together, like a lock and a key. How she had ever entertained the idea that he could have been Warrick was beyond her.
“How?” she asked. “It’s harder for you to move around in daylight.”
“I don’t know.” He stroked her short hair. “But I’ll figure it out. I’ll work on that today. The main thing you will need to do is not trigger the spell before you’re ready to play, because when it activates it will be unstoppable. You don’t want to squander it beforehand, but you also don’t want to trigger it in front of anybody in case they sense it. Once it settles into your skin, you should be all right, and you’ll know when that happens. You’ll feel it.”
Remembering the flood of epiphany from the last time, she nodded. Her stomach tightened as she thought of what was to come.
But she wouldn’t let him see how afraid she was of all the many things that could go wrong. She had been selfish enough earlier when he had mentioned the possibility of leaving for a while. She wouldn’t do that to him again, not when he was already doing everything he could for her.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said, pushing conviction into her voice. “I’ve been performing since I was four years old.”
He tilted his head. “Really?”
“Really.” She smiled at him. “This will be just another performance.”
A performance that her life depended on. Neither one of them said it.
He shifted position so that he could lean his forehead on hers and stare deeply into her eyes. She had never felt so connected to another person before. She touched his mouth and ran her fingers along the lean line of his jaw.
“I’ll try to be in telepathic range when you play,” he told her. “But I might not manage it.”
“I understand.” Throwing her arms around his neck, she held him as tightly as she could. “Oh, Morgan, I…”
I love you. I need you. My body aches all over, yet I still want you so badly I can hardly breathe.
She didn’t think she could say any of it and still make her arms loosen enough to let him go. Biting her lips, she pulled back. When he looked at her inquiringly, she gave him a twisted smile and shook her head.
She told him, “You’d better go.”
With a muttered curse, he rolled off the bed, scooped up his clothes, and dressed in short, violent movements. As he fastened his trousers, he said, “The hunter’s spray I was wearing wore off quite some time ago. I have more in my bag, but you can’t let anybody in this room until you’ve had a chance to freshen it with some other kind of scent. Go to the chatelaine Preja and tell her you want to clean your room. Preja is a good woman. Ask her for some of the soap scented with lemon, and cedar chips for the wardrobe to keep moths out of your clothes. Both the cedar and the lemon are strong fragrances.”
“I will, first thing,” she promised. She glanced at the bed. It was time to test what Kallah said about the fabric being spelled. “I need to wash the blanket too.”
Slipping on his boots, Morgan dug in his bag and pulled out a bottle. After spraying himself thoroughly, especially down his legs and his boots, he tucked away the bottle, then pulled her upright to kiss her. “I would help you if I could.”
She touched his jaw. “You’re helping me more than enough already.”
He glanced again at the window, where the darkness was beginning to lighten, and his face set. “I need to go.”
He fell… he fell into her as inexorably as Icarus, who had flown too close to the sun. The climax he plunged into was a completely involuntary thing, beyond his control.
As he spurted into her tight, hot passage, he twisted up and back with the intensity of it. Vaguely, he was aware of her hands spread flat across his chest, helping to support his weight.
Sex had never been a transformative experience for him, until now.
Making love had never been transcendent.
Until now.
Now he finally understood why a queen might betray her husband for a knight who forsook his vows. Why Helen of Troy had been seduced by Paris and left everything in her life behind to follow him.
Why love could become a driving compulsion stronger than honor or death.
And as his climax slowed and he came back down to her again, covering her completely as he lost himself in the sensual extravagance of her lips, he realized he had come to a final point of completion in this dangerous journey he and Sidonie shared.
His heart still thundering in his chest, he pressed his lips to her forehead, and thought, I will do anything I have to do in order to keep you.
Anything.
* * *
They made love two more times.
Obsessively.
Unable to stop, or relax. Unable to unclench.
Morgan’s body. The ripple of muscles in his long limbs, the sensation on her skin as she rubbed her face in the hair on his chest. His face, that deep voice, the wisdom with which he seduced her, those brilliant, brilliant eyes.
It wasn’t comfortable, this roaring need for him. It wasn’t balanced. It hurt. She felt like she had plunged into a crisis of some kind. Reality had altered and had ignited her with invisible flame.
At one point, he held her by the throat while he took her from behind, and she loved it so much. It was so far beyond anything she would have once considered acceptable she didn’t know who she was anymore.
Finally exhaustion flattened her onto the narrow bed. “I need more,” she whimpered. “But I can’t.”
His voice had gone hoarse. He held her tightly, muscles locked. “So do I, but we’ve run out of time. It’s almost dawn.”
The thought of separating from him was like someone slicing at her with a knife. She buried her face against his chest. “No.”
“You have to find a way to come back to your room before your audience with Isabeau,” he told her as his breathing evened. “Don’t let anyone keep you from doing it. I’ll figure out a way to get the battle spell here to you.”
Lifting her head, she searched his face anxiously. His handsome features had already become so familiar to her—she could see the man she had come to know in the darkness shining out in every one of his expressions and gestures.
It all fit in seamless harmony together, like a lock and a key. How she had ever entertained the idea that he could have been Warrick was beyond her.
“How?” she asked. “It’s harder for you to move around in daylight.”
“I don’t know.” He stroked her short hair. “But I’ll figure it out. I’ll work on that today. The main thing you will need to do is not trigger the spell before you’re ready to play, because when it activates it will be unstoppable. You don’t want to squander it beforehand, but you also don’t want to trigger it in front of anybody in case they sense it. Once it settles into your skin, you should be all right, and you’ll know when that happens. You’ll feel it.”
Remembering the flood of epiphany from the last time, she nodded. Her stomach tightened as she thought of what was to come.
But she wouldn’t let him see how afraid she was of all the many things that could go wrong. She had been selfish enough earlier when he had mentioned the possibility of leaving for a while. She wouldn’t do that to him again, not when he was already doing everything he could for her.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said, pushing conviction into her voice. “I’ve been performing since I was four years old.”
He tilted his head. “Really?”
“Really.” She smiled at him. “This will be just another performance.”
A performance that her life depended on. Neither one of them said it.
He shifted position so that he could lean his forehead on hers and stare deeply into her eyes. She had never felt so connected to another person before. She touched his mouth and ran her fingers along the lean line of his jaw.
“I’ll try to be in telepathic range when you play,” he told her. “But I might not manage it.”
“I understand.” Throwing her arms around his neck, she held him as tightly as she could. “Oh, Morgan, I…”
I love you. I need you. My body aches all over, yet I still want you so badly I can hardly breathe.
She didn’t think she could say any of it and still make her arms loosen enough to let him go. Biting her lips, she pulled back. When he looked at her inquiringly, she gave him a twisted smile and shook her head.
She told him, “You’d better go.”
With a muttered curse, he rolled off the bed, scooped up his clothes, and dressed in short, violent movements. As he fastened his trousers, he said, “The hunter’s spray I was wearing wore off quite some time ago. I have more in my bag, but you can’t let anybody in this room until you’ve had a chance to freshen it with some other kind of scent. Go to the chatelaine Preja and tell her you want to clean your room. Preja is a good woman. Ask her for some of the soap scented with lemon, and cedar chips for the wardrobe to keep moths out of your clothes. Both the cedar and the lemon are strong fragrances.”
“I will, first thing,” she promised. She glanced at the bed. It was time to test what Kallah said about the fabric being spelled. “I need to wash the blanket too.”
Slipping on his boots, Morgan dug in his bag and pulled out a bottle. After spraying himself thoroughly, especially down his legs and his boots, he tucked away the bottle, then pulled her upright to kiss her. “I would help you if I could.”
She touched his jaw. “You’re helping me more than enough already.”
He glanced again at the window, where the darkness was beginning to lighten, and his face set. “I need to go.”
