Bound by Bliss (42 page)

“What did I say, Bliss?” His voice rang with concern.

“You ask too much.”

“But I offer everything as well.”

Was that true? Did he offer as much as he asked? She focused on his face, taking in the tight lips, pinched brow and the eyes that sought pieces of her soul. “I want to believe you. I do. But it is such a risk to take. How can I be sure?”

He stepped away from her and went to sit on the edge of the great bed. He patted the spot beside him. “Come. Sit.”

The command in his voice spoke to her and she found herself moving without thought. She settled herself on the bed beside him, her chemise held tight against her chest. The heat of his body called to her and she inched closer until their thighs touched.

After a moment his arm moved behind her and he pulled her close until she was cradled against his body. “There are few guarantees in life. I wish I could give them to you. I wish I could tell you that the world will be filled with spring lilacs and moonlight dances, but troubles do come and I cannot stop them. What I can do is promise to be there to share them with you.”

“But that is exactly what I am not sure I believe in. I don’t believe that people stay, and certainly not that they stay the same. How can I be sure that you will not leave me?” Her voice was trembling.

His arm crushed her closer. “What do you want me to say, Bliss? I cannot promise not to die like your mother. If I could, I would. But no man can make that promise. What I can promise is that nothing short of death will take me from you. I have known you were mine for years; do you really think I will change my mind now? When have you ever known me to change my mind?”

“You didn’t stay with me when I was seventeen and needed you.”

He released a long sigh. “I did fail you then, but it was not that I had changed my mind. I think you do understand that. I want you. I have always wanted you. I will not give up.”

Could it be true? Stephan was amazingly stubborn. He never gave up on something once he made up his mind. “No, but it’s not like I can tie you to me.”

“Don’t you realize that you already have? You have me bound as surely as if chains trapped us.”

“I do?” Was that hope that sounded in her voice? She rather thought it was.

“Yes, you do. I am yours as surely as you are mine.” He spoke with absolute confidence and she began to find herself believing him.

“How do you know that I am yours?” She forced a hint of humor into her voice, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of the question.

“Do you need me to prove it to you? To bind you so that you know no escape?” His voice darkened as he spoke and there was no mistaking the sudden shift in mood. “You did seem to like the scarves when I wrapped them about your wrists.” The arm that held her reached down and his hand took hers, his fingers reaching down to fully circle her wrist like a cuff.

A shiver ran down her spine at his control. She let her eyes drift shut, concentrated on the feel of his fingers holding her tight, giving her no options. It was a fantasy she knew. If she pulled back, he would let her go. Stephan would never force her to do anything—not unless she wanted him to. And she did want this. She was rational enough to understand that. She might feel fear, but it was not truly of Stephan and certainly not of what would happen between them in this chamber. It was up to her what happened next. It was her choice. “Do you really think that will hold me? Surely you can do better than that.” She pulled against his wrist, but only lightly, making it clear she had no true wish to escape.

She felt the deep breath that left him at her playful response. “I can hold you however I choose. Do I need to demonstrate?”

“I rather think you do.” She spoke far more boldly than she felt, her emotions rising and falling as quickly as an ocean wave in the midst of a tempest.

He slid off the bed, her wrist still wrapped in his long fingers, and turned to face her, his knees settling against hers. “Let the shift drop.”

There was no room for question. She forced her free hand away from her chest, letting the covering drop from her breasts. It instantly fell to settle about her waist, pooling in her lap. Her gaze followed the chemise down, dropping from his. Her breasts rose pale and firm; the pink marks of the wax had faded and only a single scratch marked her. Temple’s mark.

Stephan reached out with his free hand and traced the line. Her eyes darted up to his face, his lips had tensed, but he said nothing. With the hand locked about her wrist he pulled her from the bed so that she stood before him. The chemise completed its journey and dropped to the floor. Her gaze dropped back down, sudden shyness filling her.

He had seen her naked before, but she had been caught up in passion at the time, swept away by the fire in his gaze. Now she was returned to shyness and modesty.

“Look at me, Bliss.” Again he spoke with absolute command and authority.

Her gaze lifted slowly, up his bare legs, past the hem of his green robe, across broad chest and wide shoulders, along the column of his neck, the rugged chin, faintly marked with stubble, over the pressed lips, until finally she met his flashing blue eyes. They shone with heat despite his cold demeanor. “Yes, my lord.”

His lips twitched. He’d clearly heard the satire that marked her tone.

“Keep looking straight ahead. Step forward.”

She did as directed, desire coiling deep in her belly, her bare feet padding on the cool wood floor. The embarrassment was still there, but want and need began to overcome it—and power. With each glance of his heated gaze she could feel herself grow, feel herself become more.

“Another step.”

Again her feet moved. She relaxed, letting herself sink into his direction.

“Where are your pearls, Bliss?” His voice wafted about her, soft, seductive, but his words caused her to freeze.

Her emotions landed like a rock. “Why do you want them?”

“I would like to play with them. Do I need to say more?”

Her desire to please warred with the memories the pearls always awoke within her. “I do not like the pearls.”

“Where are they, Bliss?”

“On the top of my dresser, by the mirror. They are put away in a purple silk bag,” she answered, but did not try to contain the displeasure in her voice.

Stephan didn’t say anything as he walked to the dresser and lifted the large, heavy bag and brought it to the bed. In a single motion he upended it and endless feet of pearls spilled out upon the coverlet. He slipped one finger under the long strand and lifted it. The pearls shimmered in the candlelight, pieces of the moon shining softly. He pulled the strand and it slithered over the coverlet before falling free. He had to lift his arm so that they would not trail on the floor. He walked toward her, holding the strand out. “Why do you dislike them so? They are almost as exquisite as you.”

Her eyes dropped. He had demanded honesty and she could give him no less. “They were my mother’s.”

“Tell me more,” his voice commanded.

“Every time I look at them I remember her and I do not want to remember. Every time I wear them I feel like she is with me.”

“And that is not a good thing? You’ve said that you loved your mother and she loved you. I would think you would like the reminder.” He moved his hands, letting the pearls play between his fingers.

She turned her cheek away. “But she is not with me. That is what I always come back to. My mother died and left me. I want her, not some silly piece of frippery.” The tears of earlier threatened again.

“I know you do. That is why you have been angry all these years.”

“Nobody ever understands that. Do you know how many times I have been told I am lucky to have such a treasure? That I should be grateful to own such a wonder? I don’t want them. I never wanted them. I only wanted her.”

“Shhh, I do understand. And I am sure that she wanted to be there for you.”

“Then why did she leave me?” The words came out a plaintive cry and Bliss wished she could pull them back into her.

Stephan was silent. He lifted the pearls and placed them against her cheek. She braced herself; they were always cold and heavy when she put them on, but now they brushed against her, warm from his skin.

He rolled them back and forth. “I am sure she did not want to leave you, that she would have done anything in her power to stay. Can you not think of them as a gift from her?”

“That is not enough.” She knew she sounded ungrateful, and frankly ridiculous, standing here naked, being rubbed by pearls and complaining that her mother had left her all those years ago.

“I know it is not enough, Bliss. But you must let go of the anger. It is keeping you from living as you are meant to live.” He rolled the pearls one more time, but this time it was his fingers that caressed her, that ran down her cheek, her neck, her arm.

“You mean living as a Danser, full of fun and life.” There was bitterness in her voice.

“No, Bliss. I mean living as yourself, no pretense. Just let it all go and be yourself, be the woman I see, the woman fighting to be free. Give her the choice, do not keep her trapped with your anger and despair. Give her hope.”

“I don’t know if I can.” The words were so quiet it was hard even for her to hear them.

Stephan looped the pearls about her wrist. “Then you admit that she is there?”

“Yes.” Again the word was almost soundless.

“And do you admit that she is mine, that you are mine?”

Her whole body began to tremble. “I cannot deny it.”

“And do you admit that you dared me to hold you, to bind you to me—that you dared me to hold you however I chose?” He pulled her arm back with the pearls until it hung behind her, resting against the upper curves of her buttocks.

“I did say the words,” she answered quietly, trying to understand his actions.

Stephan’s other hand caught her other wrist, bringing it back to rest against the first. The pearls loosened and then looped about them both, drawing tight. Another loop. And then another.

A part of her wished to pull free of the pearls. He would let her free, she knew he would. Instead she bowed her head and waited, tension growing within her.

He bound her wrists together almost to the elbows. There was strain in her shoulders, but little pain. He seemed to sense that instant before true discomfort began. “I think perhaps we should create some new memories for your pearls, some that will help you focus on the good. They are too beautiful to sit in a drawer for years when they long to be caressing your skin, but I do not wish you to look at them and see sadness and anger.”

What he asked was nigh impossible, but she would grant him the chance. She nodded, a brief jerk of the chin.

He swung the long remainder of the strand up over her shoulders and then let it slip down so that it lay about her waist; with a slight twist he bound it together, pulling her hands tight into the small of her back, causing it to arch.

It felt delicious. His control left her free, no decisions to be made. She chewed down on her lip, letting the small bite of pain in her shoulders focus her bouncing emotions. There was security in his binding. She should have felt more vulnerability, but with each twist and tie she felt safer, more secure. It was contradictory to everything she would have believed, but there was no denying the truth.

For the briefest of seconds her mind flashed back to Temple, to how she had felt when he’d secured her hands over her head. There had been no safety there, no security. There had been only terror and fear—the need to escape. So why was this so different?

There was only one answer.

Because it was Stephan.

Stephan, who would never hurt her. Stephan, who would let her go in an instant if she gave the word. Stephan, who knew her body—and her emotions—better than she did herself.

Stephan.

She let her eyes trail up his body one more time, those long muscled legs, shadowed in golden hair, the narrow hips mostly hidden beneath the green brocade, the unmistakable bulge at the apex of his thighs that not even the loose fabric could disguise, the broad shoulders, that hint of hard chest peeking out, the strong lines of his neck—and his face. She always came back to his face. She was reminded of her game of moving over his body, saving the best for last. It was like that with his face, his face was the best of all, those lips, that jaw, the sun-darkened skin—and those eyes.

If his face was the best, his eyes were the best of the best. Her gaze finally settled upon them and she saw the heat, but also the care and the concern.

“You are letting your mind wander again. I have the feeling I would not mind the track that it follows, but for these moments I want you focused where I wish, to focus on nothing but the sensations that you feel.” He lifted the remainder of the pearls and held them before her.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry—and not with old memories.

He looped them about her shoulders again and pulled them tight, looping them about her again and again. As each row pulled tight, hugged against her, she felt herself caught more and more in his web, bound tighter and tighter to him, and not merely in the physical sense. With each twist she felt her soul, her entire being, become more bound to him.

After the third or fourth loop he stopped, holding up the remainder of the strand. “Now, what should I do with this?”

Her gaze dropped to her body, to the rows of pearls crisscrossing it, holding her secure. The imprisoning bonds ending just before her breasts, the darker skin of his hands stark against her pale curves. Her eyes fastened on the glistening pearls as they pulled tight against her flesh, the bonds no longer of memory but of this moment. She watched as he twisted the pearls once more and then brought them up further, tightening them about her breasts, circling up and over and then again. The pearls should have slipped free, should not have stayed caught, binding her breasts in tight circles, but they did. Something in Stephan’s magic fingers caused them to stay, to press her breasts up and forward, straining to be free.

The bite of the tight pearls constrained her with each intake of breath, forcing her to stay locked in the moment, in the feel of Stephan’s touch.