Princess (16 page)

He stepped from open field into shadowy wood. “Your Highness?”

Not seeing her or hearing her, he strode about fifteen feet down the wide path, where he came to a small, grassy clearing. He stopped, and his shoulders slumped.

Once more, she was nowhere in sight. He heaved a sigh.

“Your Highness?”

No answer.

“I see. This old game.” He turned, looking around. “It wasn’t amusing when you were five. Come out. Now.”

She didn’t.

“That’s an order!”

He heard a nymph’s silvery laughter and a few snapping twigs. He whirled in the direction of the sound and immediately gave chase, grinning in spite of himself as he shoved his way through the branches of a cluster of saplings.

He came out into a place where the trees were thinner. Walking slowly, he glanced one way and the other, but he saw no errant princesses.

“Very well, perhaps I deserve this, but Serafina, you know full well I am responsible for you. I will not tolerate you running off by yourself. What if I had needed you for something? What if something had happened—”

Something small and round pelted him in the back of the head.

“Ow!” He spun about face as the acorn she had thrown at him bounced to the leafy forest floor.

He scowled into the thicket that lay in the direction from which the missile had come, rubbing the back of his head. “You are beginning to irritate me, Your Highness. I’m in no mood. You can see it’s getting dark. Supper will be ready soon.”

He could feel her stifled laughter all around him. Her merriment permeated the glade like the babbling of the brook, which was not too far away, judging by the sound.

In spite of himself, Darius was charmed. He smiled ruefully. “Ah, Cricket,” he murmured. “My whimsy, mischief garden girl.”

By his feet, he found evidence of her passing—a daisy she had dropped.

He crouched down and picked it up gently, recalling the countless times she had tried to make peace with him since that April night three years ago. It had been the hardest thing he had ever done, resisting her that night. Only slightly less heartbreaking were the times she had come to him afterward, making blushing, awkward apologies. He had lived by the rule that it was imperative never to weaken toward her. It was best for her to forget him.

For that reason, he had met all her friendly overtures, all her attempts to include him in her activities with her friends, with an aloof, stony silence.

He closed his eyes, nestling his cheek against the flower’s petals.

So gentle.

A wave of loneliness and loss washed through him. How like her, forcing him to play with her when he had refused, given the choice. Hide and seek, her favorite game. Was it not he, in truth, who was hiding? Always hiding.

He opened his eyes again and was still, for he could feel her watching him.

“Why do you go on forgiving me?” he asked softly, not knowing whether she could hear him, not sure if he could bear to hear the answer.

He checked the wave of emotion and rose, the flower trailing from his hand. He walked to the center of the glade and looked around.

“Very well,” he declared to the woods at large. “You have every right to be cross at me. I was rude to you this morning. I ordered you to entertain yourself, and when you complied, I ended up screaming at you. I’m sorry. Will you come out now?”

He heard a small, feminine snort from behind a cluster of wild vines.

He smiled craftily to himself and crept nearer, but she must have seen him coming, for when he thrust his arms into the twisting branches and parted them with a triumphant cry, he found she had already eluded him.

“Hmm.” He walked back toward the center of the grove and looked around. “Perhaps you will accept my apology when I say I have taken steps already to make it up to you.”

He listened, certain he had her full attention. Where was the chit?

“There will be no chaperons come to plague you,” he announced.

He heard branches move and looked over to see a pair of violet eyes peering out at him from between the green leaves.

He let out a hearty shout and sprang toward her. She shrieked and bounded off like a doe, crashing through the woods. He chased, feeling his heartbeat thrumming in his veins.

He laughed as she bared her ankles and knees, climbing over a large log barring the path ahead of him. She shrieked again in mock terror when she saw him, yanked her skirts over the log, and kept running down the path, laughing, her curls flying, daisies falling behind her as the wreath of flowers on her head came undone. Daisies tangled in her long, black hair.

Darius leaped the mossy log as she disappeared around the bend in the path, but he could still see her pale dress through the trees, draping her slender body, fleeting and graceful. Heart pounding, he got her in sight again as he rounded the bend, and then, in a burst of speed, he sprinted up behind her and tackled her. She twisted in his arms, trying to squirm free even as she was falling with him. That was how she ended up lying on her back under him, their faces inches apart.

Breathing hard, he grinned at her. “Got you.”

She gave him a defiant pout, but her eyes were sparkling under their thick, velvet lashes.

Resting on his elbows, he plucked the last daisy from her hair and brushed it down her nose. When she wrinkled her nose and turned her face away, he tickled her neck with it.

She laughed, still slightly out of breath. “Stop that, you rotten beast.”

“Am I heavy?”

“A ton!”

“Good.” He tickled her under the chin with the flower.

She smacked his hand away, giving him a harmless scowl. Playfully, he scowled back at her, then she smiled, as if she could not help herself. Such a smile. It took his breath away.

Pure innocence. Pure sweetness shining from her violet eyes. Not for the glorious Anatole, not for some blue-blooded prince, but for him—the nothing. The worthless, Gypsy bastard. His playfulness faded.

“What is it?” she whispered uncertainly as the crickets sang around them and the breeze sighed through the boughs far, far above.

“You.” His voice was captured in his throat. As if he were a boy, his hand trembled as he cupped her face. He felt clumsy, inept. Her creamy cheek was like satin, and his touch was reverent.

She searched his eyes, looking startled.

“You are so beautiful,” he choked out.

“Ohh, Darius,” she whispered with a melting smile, even as her body softened under him. She slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. “Thank you.”

He savored her innocent embrace in silence. He was in heaven, wrapped in her loveliness. He could feel her ripe, firm, perfect breasts pressed to his chest, and he ached to touch them. He could feel her flat belly, her womanly hips cradling his pelvis.

When she drew back and gazed up at him, her eyes promised him that everything she had to give was his for the taking, his alone. Whatever her reasons, however misguided, she chose him, and, God, how he wanted her. His whole body was trembling against her.

He swallowed hard. “Serafina, I have not been honest with you.”

“Shh,” she whispered, placing her fingertip over his lips. “I know, I know.”

“I can’t run anymore. I’m so sick of pretending—”

“Shh,” she breathed. “You don’t have to explain. You’re with me now.”

He stared at her.

Lifting her hand, very gently she traced the crescent-shaped scar on his mouth with her fingertip. He flinched but did not pull away, watching her face, unsure if he felt redemption or despair.

Without warning, she curled upward and kissed the curved scar softly, lingeringly.

He slid his arms beneath her and held her to him, tangling his fingers in her curly hair. She whispered his name, kissed his cheek and neck. She caressed his arms, carefully avoiding his hurt shoulder.

Striving for sanity, he closed his eyes, but the smell of her skin was too tempting. He lost the battle, dipped his head, and pressed a kiss to her throat.

He heard her whispered groan. She lay back on the forest floor and tilted her head back, offering herself. He stroked her hair as he covered her throat in kisses.

He did not know how long they went on like that, holding and touching, exchanging soft kisses like two innocent children, rapt with discovery. Certainly it was not the way he conducted his usual seductions.

This was nothing like that. His soul was on fire. With her, he was as raw and heated and uncertain as the virgin in his arms.

Dusk deepened in the woods. Their movements released the earthy scents of the dried leaves and the soft, velvety moss that was their bed. Night birds sang lonely melodies of love.

He became intensely aware of her hands sliding over his body, exploring his back, his sides, his hips. Somehow she had untied his cravat without his noticing. She caressed his neck, hooking her finger through the silver chain bearing the medal she had given him. Kissing the crook of her neck, he felt her hips lift beneath him in fiery instinct.

Lust slammed through his body. He gave her left leg a nudging caress with his right knee. She yielded, opening her thighs, allowing him to lie between her legs. He was rock-hard, certain that one touch of her hand could make him explode.

His pulse was wild, and he could feel her heartbeat pounding in her body. She ran her fingers through his hair. He dragged his eyes open and looked at her, panting slightly.

She was breathless, her lips slightly parted. Her violet eyes were glazed with wonder as she discovered her desire, feverish with need that mirrored his own. She tilted her head back, staring at him hotly, as if he were already sheathed deeply inside her.

He slid his fingers through her hair, cradling her head in his hand. He wet his lips, swallowed hard, hesitating, afraid of he knew not what.

So afraid.

“Serafina,” he said in a trembling whisper.

“Yes. Darius, yes.”
She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her.

The future, the world beyond the forest dissolved along with his resistance. Years of resistance, futile from the start. He belonged to this girl, body and soul, and he knew it.

With relief so exquisite he could have wept, he smoothly lowered his head and kissed her lips.

CHAPTER EIGHT

She kissed him back ardently, her whole soul in it. She could barely believe it was happening. She was kissing Darius Santiago—her idol, her demon, her knight.

He cupped her face as he kissed her lips softly again and again, dizzying her. He tasted of mint and warmth and male. He was so gentle, each kiss a soft caress of his warm, sculpted mouth on hers. She could feel his rushing pulse under her palm as she stroked his neck. She gloried in the weight and strength of his muscled body atop her. Sifting her fingers through his silky black hair, she returned his kisses eagerly.

He began kissing her more insistently, stroking the corner of her lips with the pad of his thumb. He seemed to grow impatient.

She tried to pull back. “I don’t know what you want—”

“Open your mouth,” he murmured, his low voice roughened by desire.

“What, are you sure?” she began, but when she parted her lips to speak, he filled her mouth with a kiss a thousand times beyond her dreams.

Astonished, she sank back helplessly in his arms. He clenched her hair in his hands and stroked her tongue deeply, richly with his own, hungrily. It was a kiss that merged them, a wild, mystical, and mutually claiming kiss that tasted of eternity.

She could feel the impact of the boundary they had crossed, resounding out into the universe, altering everything.

When she tilted her head and began kissing him back in this soul-deep way, tentatively at first, he gave a soft, heady groan.

“Oh, God, I adore you,” he whispered.

She stopped, absorbing his words with amazement. She captured his angular face between her hands and searched his eyes. “Do you mean that?”

He returned her gaze without facade or pretense.

“I would die for you,” he said.

She stared at him, pained with sweetest anguish, then pulled him gently toward her and intensified the kiss. For a long moment, they were completely caught up in kissing, then she felt his hand inch lower, toward the neckline of her dress, as if he burned to touch her breasts but did not dare. His fingertips skimmed horizontally along her modest neckline. She thought of all the times she had caught him staring and smiled to herself against his mouth, covering his hand with her own.

“Is this what you want?” she murmured, moving his hand lower, molding it over her breast.

He drew in his breath, partly a moan. She closed her eyes and lay back again in drifting pleasure as his warm hands caressed and explored her, gently kneading her flesh. She opened her eyes heavily when she felt the small tug at the buttons on the front of her dress. He gave her a challenging look from under his glossy forelock, as if daring her to stop him. She smiled sightly, watching him. “Mmm.” She shivered when he slid his hands inside her bodice, gently pulling it down.

He moved back and stared at her breasts, then lifted his stare to hers. He seemed too moved to speak.

The knowledge that she pleased him sent a pang of joy down through the core of her body.

Slowly, he knelt over her, kissing her forehead tenderly while he grazed his fingertips lightly down the valley between her breasts. He caressed her midriff, then brushed her nipples lightly with his knuckles, watching her face for her reaction, glancing down at their instant plumping. He leaned down and brushed his face against her breasts.

“Oh, Serafina.” He shuddered with longing against her. “You are so soft.”

He cupped her breasts in both hands, burying his face between them. He turned his face to kiss the inner curve of one, then the other. She felt her nipples swell and harden beneath the gentle kneading of his hands until they ached with fullness. His eyes closed, he rooted against her softness. Heart racing, she leaned, arching her back slightly, offering herself instinctively. He opened his mouth and accepted her taut, swollen nipple for a first, tentative suck.