Demon Lover (4 page)

Chapter Four

Once more Gwyneth waited in the room full of straw, desperate and alone, but with a sliver of hope which she hadn’t possessed the previous night. For now she knew there was someone who could give her the magic to perform the impossible task. But what could she do to summon him?

She stood in the center of the room, sneezing as the chaff in the air tickled her nose, and examined the chamber from corner to corner. How
had
he entered the room? Did one of the great stone blocks which made up the walls and floor move aside to provide him entrance? And where exactly had he come from?

She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Sir,” she called softly, “I beseech you to come to me again. I need your help. Please.”

There was no answer. The dead silence was disturbed only by a tiny rustle, perhaps of a mouse brought in with one of the bales of straw.

Gwyneth clasped her hands together. “I cannot do this alone. I need your magic. Please, I’ll do anything you require if only you will save me once more.”

More silence. What if he didn’t come this time? Now that the king was convinced she could perform the task, he might take her refusal to accomplish it a second time as willful disobedience—perhaps treason. Could she convince him that her magic power was used up since the full moon of the fifth month was waning? She couldn’t be expected to produce gold again until another eighteen years had passed, according to her father’s bizarre claim.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tears slipped from the corners to trickle down her cheeks. “Please, I need you,” she whispered.

“Then you shall have me, my lady.” The voice murmuring near her ear, hot breath tickling her neck, nearly jolted her out of her skin. She started to whirl to face him and her shoulder slammed into his hard chest. He stood right behind her, as solid and immovable as a wall.

One gloved finger reached out and caught the tear which had dripped nearly to her jaw. “Diamonds,” he murmured. “More beautiful than the green glass you wear around your neck.”

Gwyneth automatically reached up to touch the elaborate emerald necklace that draped her throat. “You’re here,” was all she could manage to say.

He dipped his hooded head slightly. “Your wish is my command, but as before, I will demand a payment.”

What this time? Her heart pounded as she remembered the ravishing kiss last night, the way it had stolen her breath away and made her skin burn.

“I have this necklace.” She fingered the cold, hard gems. “Although I don’t know how I would explain its loss to the king.”

“Then you don’t really
have
the necklace if it doesn’t belong to you.” He stroked a hand down her arm from shoulder to wrist, and her flesh tingled. “But you have other jewels more precious than those. Rubies.” He touched her lips lightly with a fingertip. “Star sapphires.” He indicated her blue eyes. “And a single precious pearl.”

One gloved hand slid down the front of her gown to cup her mound through the layers of silk and petticoats. He pressed hard with his finger on the very bud she had massaged earlier, and warmth bloomed from the sensitive spot.

Gwyneth drew in a sharp breath.

For a sizzling moment they remained locked together with his hand on her pussy the only point of contact, and then, abruptly, the demon stepped away from her. She felt the absence of his commanding presence which had made the air around her positively crackle with energy.

She licked her lips before she spoke. “What would you have me give?”

He looked around the room. “There’s more work to be done tonight.”

It was true. The room was filled with nearly half as much straw as the previous night.

“I would need more than a kiss this time.”

Scissors of fear and excitement snipped through her mask of calm. “How much more?”

“I want to touch you. Everywhere. And I want you to touch me.”

Her excitement mounted. He would unmask, then. She would see his face at last. But then the other half of what he demanded struck her. He wanted to see and touch her body—naked. She’d never been naked in front of anyone in her entire life.

At her hesitation, he added, “I will not have sex with you, nor will I force you to do anything you don’t enjoy. But I must have something for my trouble.”

Gwyneth had no other options, and a deep-seated part of her wanted to know his touch and to have his gaze travel over her body. Just thinking about it set her afire all over again.

“Very well. It’s a deal.”

“Then you may begin to spin. I suggest you hurry, as there’s a great deal of work to be done and I demand some time at the end of the evening for myself.”

Gwyneth gazed at the mountainous bales of straw and empty spindles waiting to be filled. Her fingers were already swollen and sore despite the balm one of the serving women had treated them with. The task before her seemed monumental—
but at least not impossible now
, she reminded herself as she cut the twine on the first bale of straw.

She sat on the stool and fed the strands into the flyer while her foot pumped the treadle, making the wheel spin round. Gold thread began to coil around the first empty bobbin. She fed her lapful of straw into the machine and reached for more, all the while rhythmically pumping her foot up and down. It was impossible to see at what point the strands of straw became metallic gold. The wheel was a blur, the distaff spun and Gwyneth gave up trying to see the moment of change, accepting the magic as she did the mysterious wizard himself.

She hummed softly and rocked in time to the rhythm of her foot on the treadle. All the while she was acutely aware of the man who watched her.

“Do you enjoy spinning?” he suddenly asked.

“When I’m not doing it to save my life, yes.”

“What is that song you hum?”

“An old spinning song one of the women in the village taught me. It helps me keep a rhythm so the thread is spun evenly.”

“Your mother didn’t teach you?”

“No. She died when I was very young.”

“I see.” He had moved to stand beside her, watching her hands move and standing with his own clasped behind his back. “And what of your father?”

“He raised me the best way he could, I believe.”

“The way one would raise a prize calf for the market.” His tone was as sour as week old milk.

She stopped spinning and turned to him, glaring. “My father loves me. He wants the best for me. Is there any harm in that?”

“When it puts you at the king’s mercy? Yes.”

Gwyneth nearly knocked her stool over as she rose and marched over to fetch another bale of straw. She was sweating as she dragged the heavy load past the dark-cloaked man.

“You will never be done in time at this rate, and there won’t be time for my payment,” he remarked. “I will help you to finish faster.”

With a swirl of his hooded cape, he turned from her and brought over another bale of straw. He handed her bundles of straw and replaced her distaff each time it was full of gold. Gwyneth’s hands flew as she fed straw into the flyer, her foot was a blur operating the treadle and the wheel spun so fast it made her dizzy. She was fairly certain the stranger was responsible for this increased speed with his mysterious magic.

Much sooner than the previous evening, or at least she thought so, although she had no timepiece with which to measure the night, the seemingly insurmountable task was finished. Rows and rows of golden thread sat on the floor. Only a few bobbins were still empty, and there was no straw left except for chaff and dust that littered the floor.

Her back stiffened as Gwyneth became aware of the stranger standing behind her. His hands rested on her shoulders, heavy and warm. She was torn between pulling away from the unfamiliar touch and purring like a cat as he kneaded her muscles lightly.

“Are you ready to pay my price?” The low rumble of his voice set her very bones trembling in a not entirely unpleasant way.

In answer, Gwyenth rose from the stool and turned toward the dark figure, ready to do her duty. She rubbed her numb and stiffened fingers against her palms, trying to restore the feeling in them. Her mind spun like the spinning wheel through all the possibilities of what he might do to her. What he did do took her by surprise.

The demon stepped toward her and took her hands in his gloved ones, turning her palms up so he could examine her cut and swollen fingers. He bent his head over them and she felt the warm, moist puff of his breath against her skin just before he pressed his lips to one palm. Her hands were hidden in the shadow of his great hood, but she felt every touch of his unseen lips as they traveled over her hands, kissing each finger, every pad of her palms and even her wrists.

By the time he pulled away, releasing her hands, Gwyneth felt no more soreness. She rubbed her fingertips against her thumbs and found the cuts from the straw miraculously healed.

“How did you…?” She stopped speaking. Having accepted the reality of spinning straw into gold, it was a little absurd to be amazed by a simple healing.

“What will happen now?” she asked instead.

His hesitation gave her the impression that perhaps her savior wasn’t too certain himself now that the time for payment had arrived. He touched a gloved hand to the edge of his hood and, for a breathless second, she was certain he would throw it back and reveal his face at last.

Instead, he lowered his hand, reached beneath the folds of his great cape, allowing her to catch a glimpse of equally black shirt and trousers beneath, and brought out a long scarf—black, of course. At first she imagined he would bind her wrists with it, then Gwyneth realized what it was for.

“Turn around,” her anonymous visitor commanded, and when her back was to him, she felt his presence close behind her again. She heard the whisper of silk before she felt the cool, smooth material slip against her forehead and cover her eyes. He bound the blindfold tight around the back of her head so there was no chance it might slip down.

Gwyenth listened hard to the sounds of his movement, a slight rustling, soft breathing, the tap of boot heels, a metallic clink. What was he doing, taking off his clothing? Part of the agreement had been that she would touch him, as well as him touching her.

“It’s been a long night. You must be thirsty. Drink this.”

She jumped as his warm hand—ungloved at last—touched hers and pressed a flask into it. Without thought, she lifted the flagon to her lips and drank. The cool liquid that bathed her throat was unlike anything she’d ever tasted, sweet and tart at the same time and with an odd metallic tang. The deep draught quenched her thirst completely.

When she was finished swallowing, he took the container from her, his hand lingering as it touched hers again. Only after she’d surrendered the flask did Gwyneth remember the common wisdom about not drinking or eating anything from the faerie world—for certainly, this being was not of her world. Had she just done something that would bind her to him forever?

“I would see you naked.” If possible, his voice was rougher than ever, so gravelly and low the words were hardly recognizable. “Unfasten your dress.”

Instantly, Gwyneth’s throat was bone dry again, although she’d been expecting an order like this. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“You promised. You must.”

“No. I mean I honestly can’t. A team of maids put me in this dress. The buttons are all the way up the back and I can’t undo them myself.” She turned and offered him her back again, shocked by her own seductive tone as she said, “Will you?”

Without reply, the man stepped toward her again and began to push the small buttons from their loops. Gwyneth concentrated on every touch of his hands on her back. He muttered something in a foreign language as he reached the halfway point, and for a moment she thought he might pop the rest of the buttons and simply tear the gown from her body. But he patiently finished the task, pulled the heavy gown down her hips and grasped her hand to help her step out of the pool of fabric. Her body felt lighter without the dress, although the horrid corset still bound her rib cage. But her bare arms were free. Gooseflesh rose on them in the cool air.

“You wear too many layers of clothing,” he informed her as he set to work on her corset. “It’s not healthy or natural.”

“Nor is it my choice,” she reminded him. “These are not my clothes any more than the gown I wore yesterday. These fancy dresses and jewels and shoes, even the undergarments, came from the king. But it was kind of him to provide them for me.”

“So you like your new finery?”

She didn’t really, but would not let him know that. Perhaps if he considered her as under the king’s protection it would keep her safe from his advances. “His Majesty plans to make me his bride. I suppose I must get used to wearing such things.”

There was a long silence and his hands stilled on the ribbons of her corset before continuing to loosen the constricting garment. “Is that what you want?”

“It would please my father,” she answered.

“Would it please you?”

“Every girl dreams of marrying an important, wealthy man, having a secure future and her children provided for.” She kept her answer vague. He needn’t know she feared the king and found him an odious man.

“Then you shall probably get what you dream of,” he remarked and continued unclothing her. The corset was cast away, leaving her unbound, her breasts rising and falling with her fast breathing.

Next he peeled off her chemise, leaving her top half completely bare. Gwyneth shivered, not from the cool air, but from being exposed to his examination. This was too similar to her naughty little fantasy about her father exhibiting her nude body to prospective suitors—awful and wrong, but oh-so-arousing.

There was another very long pause and she imagined any second he would reach out and touch her breasts, but he didn’t. In the silence, she could hear his breathing and her heart beating in her ears. The prolonged agony of waiting for something to happen made her trembling worse.

“Are you cold?” His voice startled her.

“No. I’m afraid.”

“I won’t harm you. I only wish to look at you and…and touch you a little. That was the agreement.”