The Winter King
Page 125
“You think that was funny?” He rose to his feet and towered over her, naked and without shame or false modesty, watching her dazzled eyes gaze up at him. She wasn’t laughing anymore. She was instead looking up at him with undisguised hunger, and he was gladder than he’d ever been for his height, his strength, the broadness of his shoulders, the muscular build of his warrior’s body.
He bent and swept her up into his arms with effortless strength and laid her on the bed. “Good morrow, min ros,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her lips, then nuzzle the soft skin just behind her ear. “I do believe I could get used to waking up beside you.”
Her arms twined around his neck. “Me too.” She kissed him, and he felt her grin against his mouth as his body covered hers. “But I think Bella will demand hazard pay.”
An hour later, Wynter gave Khamsin one last, lingering kiss, and headed back to his chambers to bathe and dress for the day. She lay there for several, long, lazy minutes afterwards, humming to herself and twirling one long, black curl around her index finger. She rolled over to lay her head on the pillow he’d used, breathing his scent deep into her lungs.
If only all their time together could be as wonderful as this morning. She’d felt so at ease, holding him, touching him, breathing him in, reveling in his closeness. They’d seemed so . . . right. Like two halves of a whole.
It was more than just the sex. Yes, he could just look at her, and she melted. Yes, he made her moan and gasp and explode with a pleasure she’d never thought possible. But this time, they’d seemed . . . closer. Gentler. Instead of their usual rough, wild, passion, they’d shared exquisite tenderness. Afterward, he’d watched her with the strangest expression on his face. As if he was beholding something . . . precious.
Kham ran her hands over her face, letting her fingers linger on her passion-swollen lips. She’d never been precious to anyone. Not that way. Even with Tildy, behind the abundant love had always been a hint of pity, a measure of sadness for the child no one else treasured. With Wynter, there’d been none of that.
Of course, she’d probably misread the look on his face. Or even if she had read it right, the feeling was probably ephemeral—a fleeting tenderness brought on by the glut of pleasure they’d shared and gratitude for the lives they’d saved at Skala-Holt. Not something to trust. Certainly nothing to think would last.
With a sigh and a pout for the cold splash of brutal practicality that seemed determined to dampen her good mood, Khamsin set aside the Wynter-scented pillow and sat up. Time to steel herself for another cold day in Gildenheim. Throwing off the covers, Kham thrust her feet into the slippers beside her bed and reached for her velvet dressing gown.
“It’s all right, Bella,” she called to the still-frosty door. “You can come in now.”
The door cracked open, and Bella poked her head through, casting a cautious gaze around the room. Once she ascertained that Wynter was indeed gone, she opened the door completely and carried in a tray laden with Khamsin’s usual pot of fragrant, steaming jasmine tea and a small repast of smoked salmon, soft, creamy cheese, and thick slices of toasted bread bursting with whole grains and plump nuts. Bella set the tray on the small tea table in the alcove near Kham’s bed.
“I am sorry we gave you such a fright earlier,” Kham apologized as she took her seat at the table.
“No, no, the fault was all mine, ma’am,” Bella demurred. “I didn’t realize the king was here, or I would never have intruded.”
Kham closed her eyes as Bella ran Queen Rosalind’s brush through her hair, enjoying the soothing tug on her scalp. Few things in life were as comforting as having one’s hair brushed. Bella pulled Kham’s hair back and secured it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon, then reached for the teapot and poured a stream of fragrant, dark golden liquid into the porcelain teacup, adding a cube of sugar before handing it to Khamsin.
Kham took a sip and frowned. “How long are you steeping the tea, Bella?”
The maid stilled. “Five minutes, ma’am, precisely as Mistress Tildy instructed. Is there a problem?”
“It just seems a little bitter. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed it.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Bella snatched the pot off the table. “I’ll go make a fresh pot.”
Bella looked so horrified and contrite, Khamsin felt guilty for saying anything. “Please don’t bother. It’s not that noticeable. Leave the pot. Just try steeping the tea a bit less tomorrow.”
“Of course.” Bella set the teapot back on the table. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry about what?”
Kham turned in surprise to see her husband emerge from the connecting rooms that joined their two bedchambers. He hadn’t bothered to fully dress. A pair of tawny leather pants rode low on his waist. His feet were bare, and so was his chest. Every broad, magnificently muscled golden inch of it.
“Wynter!” she exclaimed in surprise. Then, remembering Bella, she added a more respectful address, “Your Grace. Has something happened? Is something wrong?” Her first thought was that there’d been another avalanche.
“What?” Silvery brows rose over pale eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong. Why would you think so?” He crossed the distance from the dressing room to her breakfast alcove in a few long strides. “Can a man not share breakfast with his wife without causing a stir?” He bent to kiss her upturned lips, started to straighten, then paused and dipped down for a second, more lingering kiss. When he pulled back, she could only gape at him in wordless wonder. He took a seat—dwarfing the feminine chair with his massive frame—and reached out to place two fingers beneath her chin to gently nudge her mouth shut.
He bent and swept her up into his arms with effortless strength and laid her on the bed. “Good morrow, min ros,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her lips, then nuzzle the soft skin just behind her ear. “I do believe I could get used to waking up beside you.”
Her arms twined around his neck. “Me too.” She kissed him, and he felt her grin against his mouth as his body covered hers. “But I think Bella will demand hazard pay.”
An hour later, Wynter gave Khamsin one last, lingering kiss, and headed back to his chambers to bathe and dress for the day. She lay there for several, long, lazy minutes afterwards, humming to herself and twirling one long, black curl around her index finger. She rolled over to lay her head on the pillow he’d used, breathing his scent deep into her lungs.
If only all their time together could be as wonderful as this morning. She’d felt so at ease, holding him, touching him, breathing him in, reveling in his closeness. They’d seemed so . . . right. Like two halves of a whole.
It was more than just the sex. Yes, he could just look at her, and she melted. Yes, he made her moan and gasp and explode with a pleasure she’d never thought possible. But this time, they’d seemed . . . closer. Gentler. Instead of their usual rough, wild, passion, they’d shared exquisite tenderness. Afterward, he’d watched her with the strangest expression on his face. As if he was beholding something . . . precious.
Kham ran her hands over her face, letting her fingers linger on her passion-swollen lips. She’d never been precious to anyone. Not that way. Even with Tildy, behind the abundant love had always been a hint of pity, a measure of sadness for the child no one else treasured. With Wynter, there’d been none of that.
Of course, she’d probably misread the look on his face. Or even if she had read it right, the feeling was probably ephemeral—a fleeting tenderness brought on by the glut of pleasure they’d shared and gratitude for the lives they’d saved at Skala-Holt. Not something to trust. Certainly nothing to think would last.
With a sigh and a pout for the cold splash of brutal practicality that seemed determined to dampen her good mood, Khamsin set aside the Wynter-scented pillow and sat up. Time to steel herself for another cold day in Gildenheim. Throwing off the covers, Kham thrust her feet into the slippers beside her bed and reached for her velvet dressing gown.
“It’s all right, Bella,” she called to the still-frosty door. “You can come in now.”
The door cracked open, and Bella poked her head through, casting a cautious gaze around the room. Once she ascertained that Wynter was indeed gone, she opened the door completely and carried in a tray laden with Khamsin’s usual pot of fragrant, steaming jasmine tea and a small repast of smoked salmon, soft, creamy cheese, and thick slices of toasted bread bursting with whole grains and plump nuts. Bella set the tray on the small tea table in the alcove near Kham’s bed.
“I am sorry we gave you such a fright earlier,” Kham apologized as she took her seat at the table.
“No, no, the fault was all mine, ma’am,” Bella demurred. “I didn’t realize the king was here, or I would never have intruded.”
Kham closed her eyes as Bella ran Queen Rosalind’s brush through her hair, enjoying the soothing tug on her scalp. Few things in life were as comforting as having one’s hair brushed. Bella pulled Kham’s hair back and secured it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon, then reached for the teapot and poured a stream of fragrant, dark golden liquid into the porcelain teacup, adding a cube of sugar before handing it to Khamsin.
Kham took a sip and frowned. “How long are you steeping the tea, Bella?”
The maid stilled. “Five minutes, ma’am, precisely as Mistress Tildy instructed. Is there a problem?”
“It just seems a little bitter. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed it.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Bella snatched the pot off the table. “I’ll go make a fresh pot.”
Bella looked so horrified and contrite, Khamsin felt guilty for saying anything. “Please don’t bother. It’s not that noticeable. Leave the pot. Just try steeping the tea a bit less tomorrow.”
“Of course.” Bella set the teapot back on the table. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry about what?”
Kham turned in surprise to see her husband emerge from the connecting rooms that joined their two bedchambers. He hadn’t bothered to fully dress. A pair of tawny leather pants rode low on his waist. His feet were bare, and so was his chest. Every broad, magnificently muscled golden inch of it.
“Wynter!” she exclaimed in surprise. Then, remembering Bella, she added a more respectful address, “Your Grace. Has something happened? Is something wrong?” Her first thought was that there’d been another avalanche.
“What?” Silvery brows rose over pale eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong. Why would you think so?” He crossed the distance from the dressing room to her breakfast alcove in a few long strides. “Can a man not share breakfast with his wife without causing a stir?” He bent to kiss her upturned lips, started to straighten, then paused and dipped down for a second, more lingering kiss. When he pulled back, she could only gape at him in wordless wonder. He took a seat—dwarfing the feminine chair with his massive frame—and reached out to place two fingers beneath her chin to gently nudge her mouth shut.
