Mystic Rider (15 page)

In the next instant, her skirt and petticoat slipped down
her hips. Gasping, Chantal grabbed to keep them from falling. Undeterred, Ian
began unhooking her corset.

This was happening much faster than she’d anticipated. She
had never bared herself completely even to Jean. Even in her bath, she’d always
worn a shift. She could pretend her body was unflawed if she kept some modesty.

But Ian had no concept of modesty. He’d lit all the lamps
and set candles along the rim of the sunken tub. She could see the hairs on his
chest through the fine weave of his shirt where the steam plastered it to his
skin.

His hands teased at her nipples as he unfastened the last
hook and cast aside her stays, and she shivered at the erotic thrill. His dark
look scorched the flimsy fabric of her shift. When he untied the ribbons, she
had to let her skirt go to catch the shift from falling, but her grasp served
only to raise her bosom like a plump offering. His hungry gaze aroused wicked
sensations, letting her forget, just for this moment, her imperfections.

In his shirt and breeches, he was all magnificent raw male
animal. He was right — clothes did not make the man. Ian was no delicate
gentleman or scholarly monk, but a muscled knight without armor.

If she had but this one night of pure pleasure, she would
enjoy it while she could. If she kept his masculine gaze appreciating her
bosom, she could do this.

Taking a deep breath to quell her fears, she released the
chemise to untie Ian’s cravat. She almost panicked when the shift fell past her
breasts and caught on the fabric pooling around her hips. Instead, she diluted
her anxiety by sliding her hands beneath his shirt so she might admire the hard
strength of his broad shoulders.

Muscle rippled beneath taut golden skin as he tugged the
shirt over his head and flung it aside. Her breasts ached to be crushed against
his nakedness.

As if understanding that words were unwelcome, Ian bent to
capture her mouth again. He slid his palm along her cheek and into her hair,
holding her so that his tongue could invade, incite, and persuade hers into
retaliation.

At last, her breasts brushed his flesh, and she could feel
the swelling of his arousal against her belly. She did not notice when her
clothing finished the journey to the tile. She wanted to unfasten the buttons
of Ian’s breeches, but her hands could not abandon the breadth of his shoulders
and strength of his back as his embrace lifted her from her feet.

“Sweetness,” he murmured as his hand slid down her buttocks
and a long finger swept along the crack between.

She shuddered and almost came undone right then. She had
never bared that part of her person to anyone since she had learned of her
defect. His wickedness elicited a thrill of arousal.

“I would hear you sing for me,” Ian whispered, releasing his
buttons.

She wrapped her legs around him so that he could not see
what he had just touched.

* * *

Chantal clung to his neck, humming a song so sweet that
Ian feared he would have to dive into her before he had his breeches off. Cursing
Other World clothing, he shoved the cloth off his hips while her song teased
and aroused. He nearly exploded from the pressure in his loins.

Steam enfolded them as he carried her down the steps into
the tub. If he had less faith in his gods, he would insist on searching her
beautiful body for the mark that would assure him that she would be the
helpmeet he needed — before he committed an act that would seal them for
eternity. But he could not release her when he was only a heartbeat away from
paradise.

Among other things, he was a priest in his land. Not only did
he have faith that Chantal was meant to be his, but he knew the vows he must
make to bind her to him. That she did not understand did not deter him so much
as knowing he endangered the future should she refuse him. Once he said the
words, he could be bound forever. If she did not repeat the vows, she would be
free to walk away, leaving him without an heir — and without relief. Then he
might as well become a monk since he would find no other woman to satisfy him
as Chantal did.

It was an enormous risk, but the prize was worth the peril.
He trusted in the stars, his gods, and his senses. All three claimed that this
sensuous, rebellious, and contradictory woman was the life mate he needed.
Whether she was gifted did not matter.

After he took her to Aelynn, they could have a formal
ceremony at the altar where he would give her his ring. For now, all he could offer
were the promises and his body.

The tub was deep enough to immerse him to the waist. He
rested Chantal’s shoulders against a pillow on the tub’s sloped edge. Her hair
floated in long tendrils as she slid down to keep her legs around his back.
Suggestively, she rubbed her heels over his buttocks. Ian’s arousal
strengthened, and Chantal smiled seductively through the steam as she urged him
closer.

This time, he would take her slowly, as he had not before.
Letting her float, he cupped her beautiful breasts and suckled gently. She
moaned and writhed and grabbed his arms for support, then urged him with her
heels to hurry. He did not succumb to her generous offer.

While his arousal slid temptingly along her cleft, Ian
played an erotic tune upon her nipples with his thumbs and forefingers, and
stared down into her eyes. “I worship thee with my body,” he said with feeling.
“I take thee for amacara, keeper of my future. With these vows, I do promise to
cherish you in sickness and health, from now until Aelynn calls.” The promise
filled and became a part of him, providing the hook that would hold them as
one.

Her silver-blue eyes widened as if she felt the connection,
too. His arousal pushed at her nether lips, eager for the physical
manifestation of his vow. As the pull between them increased, her lids lowered
in sleepy desire, and her hips rose to urge him to complete their union. She
did not understand. Not yet.

“Repeat the words after me,” he requested, teasing her
nipples into tight buds and nibbling her ear. “I take thee…”

She lifted her mouth to nip at his jaw. “I take thee anyway
I can,” she repeated with a husky giggle.

If time wasn’t so short, he wouldn’t resort to such devious
means of binding her. Her father had forced his hand. If he was not allowed to
urge her to do this with his mind, he must use his body. He limited the vows to
words she understood, hoping the gods would accept this truncated version from
an uninitiated Crossbreed.

“In sickness and health,” he rumbled enticingly, caressing
her buttocks and finding the place that had excited her earlier.

“I’ve done that before,” she murmured, arching eagerly into
him, pushing him farther inside her. “Health is more fun.”

“Play along with me,” he purred, “or I shall turn you over
my knee like a naughty child.”

“I like the sound of that. Maybe later.” She tried to slide
down and take all of him, but he clamped his fingers into her sweetly rounded
derriere and slid backward.

“In sickness and in health,” he insisted.

“In sickness and in health,” she agreed, “so long as you are
around to pleasure me.”

“For all eternity,” he corrected, using terms more familiar
to her.

She wriggled upward, caught his neck, wrapped her legs
tighter, and sank down on him.

It was a wonder his eyes did not roll back in his head at
the white-hot heat suddenly enfolding him. Ian shuddered in ecstasy. He had to
be as large as a ship’s mast by now. She still had not taken him fully,
although she rocked against him with enchanting little gasps as she realized
what she was doing to him.

“For all eternity,” he insisted, holding still.

“For all eternity,” she agreed, without an ounce of
understanding beyond the fierce need pumping between them.

Ian’s blood heated to boiling, his ring flared, and the
candle flames shot high into the darkness, as if a breeze had entered from
beyond. The gods had accepted their vow. The bond was irrevocably knotted in
ways more deeply physical and spiritual than their sexual congress.

Thank all the heavens, he could have her now. And into
eternity.

In triumph and gratitude, Ian gripped his amacara and gave
her all she wanted and more  — he plunged his sex to the hilt, until she screamed
and opened herself entirely to him, body and soul. Feeding on the desires
stretching their bond taut, he tilted her to the angle that most suited her,
rubbing the center of her pleasure with their movement. He closed his eyes as
her ecstasy became his.

The knot between them was too new and too close to resist
her mounting need. Abiding by the pace she set, he thrust repeatedly and deeply.
Even as she convulsed in glorious release, he did not let go.

Grateful for Chantal’s trust and unquestioning acquiescence,
Ian applied all his considerable skill and desire to making the moment of
conception perfect. He suckled her breasts until she wept with need, angled her
so he could reach her womb, caressed the sensitive cleft of her buttocks, and
when she was quivering and moaning and bruising his arms with her grip, he
reached outside of himself to let her ride the sky.

The energy of the universe flowed through him and into her
as he plunged still deeper, taking her higher, opening the heavens to reveal
the secrets there. She cried out her joy, and he succumbed to her cries. They
quaked with their mutual release, and he flooded her with his power and his life.

* * *

Chantal exclaimed in startlement as her body seemed to
come apart in a thousand tiny pieces. A joyous vision of children playing on a
grassy lawn came to her, and then dissipated, and she became one with the water
in which they lay. The stars exploded inside her head, and the man whose hot
seed seared her womb seeped into her blood until she felt him under her skin as
well as under her heart. He was so huge, he nearly cleaved her in two, but the
caress of his hands and the water molded them together again until he was a
part of her in a way that did truly seem eternal.

If she did not conceive after this mind-opening cataclysm,
then she never would. She did not care either way, as long as she knew they
could repeat this ecstasy. She felt possessed with a desire that was not
quenched but increased with satiation.

Ian leaned over to ply her mouth with tantalizingly tender
kisses. She was too spent to do more than nip at the corners of his mouth and
settle more comfortably around him. He was already growing hard within her
again. Excitement tugged at her womb, and to her amazement, her body easily
adjusted to accept him.

“You are humming with pleasure,” he said, smiling down at
her.

“You should smile more often,” she told him drowsily, admiring
the way his stark features softened with tenderness. “It makes you almost
human.”

A hint of sadness crept behind the midnight blue of his
eyes. “Almost,” he agreed. “Too human, sometimes.”

Leisurely, he stroked her from within, and a growing knot of
anticipation vibrated.

“I did not know such pleasure was possible,” she whispered
as he played her as masterfully as she did the piano keys. “Will you visit me
often so you can teach me more?”

“I doubt I will return,” he said without regret. “I will
show you my home, instead.”

Chantal knew her tasks and her life were here in France, and
disappointment washed over her, but she wouldn’t let tomorrow ruin the moment.
“Perhaps someday,” she agreed, so he would not stop his caresses.

He pushed deeper inside her. “Soon,” he warned, “you will
have no choice. But it will not be bad if we have this.”

The stars sparkled inside her again, and she was well beyond
arguing. Convulsing in his hands, she took his seed and let pleasure seal the
bond between them.

Perhaps, when he was gone, now that she knew what pleasure
was, she would find another lover.

“You can’t. You are mine for eternity,” Ian’s voice murmured
seductively as he pulled her into his arms with her last shudder of climax.

As if he could read her mind! Chuckling softly, she snuggled
against his shoulder while the water lapped between them, soothing the pain of
hearing him admit that he would soon be gone, never to return.

Striding across a field to reach her father’s stable,
Chantal felt decidedly odd after experiencing an awe-inspiring night of
lovemaking in a bath and still waking alone. She decided to approach this day’s
tasks with more caution. That she still longed for Ian’s company when her
physical needs ought to be satisfied told her she was becoming much too
attached, too quickly, to a man who had said he would not stay.

The promised expedition to the country should have provided
the distance she needed, but her tight satin jacket chafed at her aroused
nipples, reminding her of the previous night. She firmly diverted her attention
by seeking the right horse to safely spirit her brother-in-law from France. She
refused to be distracted by the barbarian striding swiftly ahead of her — instead
of offering his arms to assist her and Pauline across the manure-strewn
pasture.

“Your father is generous in offering Pierre one of his
horses,” Pauline said, regret tinting her gratitude. She stepped delicately
through the grass with her skirts lifted and her eyes on the ground. “I only
wish he need not leave at all. I am losing everything that is familiar to me.”

Chantal swept Marie off her feet before the little girl
could explore a particularly ripe horse patty. “We must learn to adapt to
survive,” she declared bravely, mouthing phrases she knew were true but with
which she did not feel comfortable. “We have dallied too long in a past that no
longer suits the present.”

“Change comes too fast,” Pauline protested.

Watching Ian striding confidently toward some goal she could
not detect, Chantal had to agree with Pauline’s sentiment. The revolutionary
transition from abstinent widow to sexual playmate had certainly left
her
off balance.