Dance of Desire (30 page)

Yet, that meant he must use other means of persuasion. Including denial of what his prisoners wanted most.

Rexana now stood on the third rock, peering down into the water, one hand pressed to her bodice. She touched that wretched brooch. She wore the gold arrow every day. It seemed to mean more to her than her own happiness.

"I will have you, Rexana," he said under his breath. "I will."

He reached for the saddlebag, shoving in the chicken and the
stoppered
wine flask. As he reached for the figs, water plunked behind him—the sound of a small stone plummeting into the pool.

Rexana shrieked. "Nay. Oh, nay!"

Her distress slashed through Fane like a double- edged knife. He shoved to his feet, one hand on his dagger's jeweled hilt. Danger? The meadow seemed deserted. The guards had not shouted a warning.

She was down on all fours on the rock, her face close to the water. Her body shook as though she scarce had the strength to stand.

"Rexana?" He tore through the grass, smashing stalks and daisies. A bee hurtled over his head, its drone as sharp as a whizzing arrow.

She plunged her arm into the pool. Soaked her silk bodice up to her shoulder. Grabbed for an object in the water.

"Rexana!"

He stumbled on the stony bank, regained his balance, and lunged toward the nearest rock. Why did she not answer him? What could be so important that she risked falling in?

Sobbing, she leaned farther into the water, as though the object were just out of reach. Her cheek flattened against the pool's surface, and her hair floated behind her like a silky golden veil.

"Stop!" He leapt onto the first stone. "Be careful —"

Her free hand skidded on the smooth rock. Clawed for a handhold. Slipped.

Head first, she tumbled into the water.

"God's teeth." Water splashed over Fane's boots. He jumped to the third wet, glistening rock and stared at the silk floating on the pool's surface. Rexana flailed her arms. Her foot slapped the water. Spitting, choking, she surfaced, then stood.

Rubbing water from her cheeks, she blinked down at the mud-swirled pond that came to her waist. She was trembling. Her eyes welled with tears. She looked utterly bedraggled and as vulnerable as a soggy baby rabbit.

Fane's heart twisted. Hunching down, he extended his hand. "Come out, love. I will help you."

She sniffled and shook her head. "The brooch fell in. I must find it."

A groan stirred within Fane. His gaze dropped to her bodice. The little arrow no longer winked and taunted him from its esteemed place above her left breast. A gleeful laugh welled inside him.

As he silently snuffed away his ridiculous thoughts, his gaze drifted lower. His throat thickened. The wet silk dragged down the neckline of her gown. Revealed the enticing cleft between her breasts. Molded to her luscious swells. Her hardened nipples poked against the bodice like two fat, juicy grapes. What a magnificent sight.

"I must find the brooch." She squinted down into the pool's clouded depths.

Clearing the lustful haze from his mind, he said, "Stand still. You are stirring the bottom."

She froze. Her mouth crumpled. "If 'tis lost —"

He caught her icy fingers. "We will find it. Together."

Another groan rumbled inside Fane, this one born deep in his soul.
We.
Lovesick fool. He could not refuse to help Rexana, no matter how much he resented her brother and that accursed brooch.

Her face warmed with hope. He released her hand, unlaced and removed his boots, then slid off the rock into the pool.

The chill water sucked the air from his lungs and the heat from his loins. He inhaled once, twice, until the initial shock subsided. As his breaths slowed, he became aware of her warm nearness only a touch away. Of her quickened breathing. Of a sense of expectation humming between them.

He ran his hand across the water's surface, brushing aside her floating skirts. Her fingers touched his. She did not pull them away.

Anticipation shivered through him. He clenched his teeth. Fought the wanton thoughts that leapt into his mind. Focused on the murky swirl of mud and water around him. His nostrils filled with the scents of damp cloth, mud, and sun drenched water. And with Rexana's tantalizing scent.

Down near his bare feet, where the sunlight just reached, he spied a glint of gold. He ducked beneath the water. Dragged up a handful of mud. As he rose, shaking hair from his face, he sluiced the mud from his fingers.

The brooch winked in the light.

"You found it!"

"I vowed that we would," he said.

Her eyes shone with gratitude. With her free hand, she wiped tears from her cheeks.

He extended his dripping palm toward her. Her fingers brushed across his skin. Touched the brooch. Then, on a sob, she wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed tight. The little arrow nestled between their wet palms.

Pride and pleasure leapt to life within him. He held her gaze. Questioned, without words, her desires. Strong, sure, her gaze did not falter.

Realization shot through him with the echo of a thunderclap. She wanted his kiss.

Expectation throbbed through every part of his body. He savored the press of her flesh against his. Gently swept his thumb across her knuckles, even as he planned how best to give her what she asked.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled. Raised their joined hands. Kissed the backs of her fingers. "Come here, Rexana."

She tilted her head up, as though startled by his boldness. Sunlight played over her throat and the matted strands of her hair streaming down her bodice. Her lashes dropped on a shiver.

A shiver of interest.

He pulled her toward him. Water lapped against his wet tunic. Chilled his cold flesh. He did not care. He wanted her kiss. Needed it. Craved it.

Closer, closer, she came. Her drifting skirts brushed against his groin. His senses flooded with her. Rexana. His wife. The woman of his heart and soul.

Her tongue darted between her lips, dampening them. His patience fled. Burying his hand into her wet hair, he cupped her head. With a groan, he lowered his mouth and kissed her.

He expected resistance — a cry of protest, or her hand, tearing free of his, to press against his tunic. Yet, with a breathless moan, she melted against him. Opened her lips like a sweet, blooming flower. Kissed him back.

Desire roared to life in his veins. She tasted wild. Eager. Like a woman whose fierce hunger matched his own. With his tongue, he deepened the kiss. He had sensed her rich passion, the untamed desire hidden deep within her. At last, he had unleashed it.

He kissed her until his body thrummed with need, and his soul cried for physical consummation. He tore his lips from hers. Shook his hand free of hers. As she curled her fingers protectively around the brooch, he reached into the water, locked both hands on her waist, and raised her up. He set her upon the closest rock.

Eyes glazed, her mouth reddened with kisses, she braced her hands upon the weathered stone and stared down at him. Expectation shone in her gaze. Shimmering droplets on the ends of her hair dripped into the water. She was beautiful. A water Nereid, gifted to him by some ancient pagan deity.

He set his hands upon her damp, silk-covered knees and parted them. A breath wrenched from her lips. He stepped forward. Claimed the water between them.

Gazing up at her, he trailed one hand up her right calf, shielded from his touch by wet silk. "I want you, Rexana."

Her breasts rose and fell on a sharp inhalation.

"Tell me you want me. Tell me you want our union."

Her eyes closed. She pressed her lips together, as though to quell an urgent, impulsive 'aye.' "I want you, Fane, but —"

"But what?" His patience broke like cracked stone. He grabbed rock handholds either side of her hips. Bracing his foot against the slick, submerged portion of the boulder, he heaved himself up. His thighs slid between hers. He hovered over her, his arm and shoulder muscles screaming with tension, his body hard and straight as an arrow.

She scrambled backward.

Shaking hair from his cheek, he dropped to his hands and knees. Pulling his sheathed knife from his belt, he tossed it onto the rock. He crawled toward her like a hungry, prowling lion, until he trapped her at the other side. With a low, husky growl, he straddled her.

She lay flat on her back. She stared up into his face. Her wide-eyed gaze shadowed with desire, yet also uncertainty.

The stone's rough warmth seeped into his palms. In contrast, he imagined the soft, pliant texture of her skin. His hands itched to touch her. Explore her. Free her breasts from the mass of soggy, confining fabric. Bare her beautiful body to the sunlight, so at last, he could see and touch all he desired.

As though reading his thoughts, she pushed up on her elbows. "Fane, cease."

"Why?" He dipped his head to kiss her brow.

Nose. Mouth. Tempted her with slow, deep, persuasive kisses, until her head fell back and she whimpered. "This is what we both want," he said against her lips. "You cannot deny it. You cannot deny me."

"I cannot," she agreed with a helpless gasp, "but —" "You worry we will be seen?" He laughed against her creamy neck. "The guards will turn their backs. They will be watching the road" — he nibbled her ear- lobe — "though there will be few travelers this day. Most of the locals celebrated our wedding feast. They will be lying abed, nursing sore heads."