The Promise (19 page)

She lifted her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through his hair, and pressed closer. At that moment, they both gasped—not in pleasure, but in pain.

“Ow!” they cried simultaneously. He grabbed at his shoulder and she pressed a hand to her split lip. They looked at one another and burst out laughing.

“Mayhap,” he said, as he carefully removed her arms, “this will have to wait until we are both healed.”

She smiled as best she could and nodded. “Yes. But, will you lie here with me on the bed, at least? It is very cold tonight, and I could not sleep for thinking of you on the floor.”

He hesitated for only a moment. “Very well. I will only hold you, though, and we will share our warmth. Nothing more,” he admonished her with a shake of his finger. “I will not have you devaluing your virtue, not even with me. We will wed first, then … enjoy each other’s favors.”

“‘Enjoy each other’s favors’?” She snickered, but nonetheless scooted down next to him. “Where did you hear such language?”

“I read it in one of my father’s books.” His voice held a smile. He seemed willing to be teased by her. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

“Does everything you know come from your father’s books?” she asked, while she snuggled up next to him and flirted with him outrageously. Now that they had confessed the depth of their feelings for one another, it seemed natural.

He lay quiet for a long moment, remembering the scholar father who no longer lived, but whom he must have greatly admired.

“Much of it.”

She sat up and stared at him, struck by a new insecurity.

“I cannot read,” she blurted out. “Is that important to you?”

He smiled and pulled her close, adjusting her with care for his injured shoulder. “I will teach you all I know.”

She looked up at him and gave him a feline smile.

“And I will teach you all
I
know,” she purred, laying her head upon his chest. She had the satisfaction of hearing his heartbeat knock wildly against his ribs before she closed her eyes to sleep.

CHAPTER TWELVE

G
üNTER STARED DOWN AT
A
LONSA WHILE SHE
slept with one arm draped across her bare belly and the other flung above her head. Her ripe lips parted slightly; the lower one, fuller than the top, enticed him to nibble. He restrained himself; he did not wish for her to awaken just yet.

In the first pale light of dawn, he could see a slight flush touching her mouth and cheeks, the skin on her rosy breasts glowing pink. He rubbed a hand over his beard and realized he was responsible for that; he’d never had the chance to shave. He resolved to remedy it at the first opportunity. For now, he continued his leisurely study of her as though she were an exquisite painting in repose.

Her dark-brown hair fanned out over the pillow where he had draped it in an idle whimsy. He lightly traced a finger over her full, delicately arched brows. The dark shadows beneath her eyes and the deep nature of her sleep testified to the intensity of their lovemaking throughout the night.

It had been as lush and lavish as the woman who lay beside him. She had given him all she had, and in doing so, had tempted him to new heights of staggering passion. There were times when he’d buried himself so deep inside of her he could have sworn he’d entered the gates of heaven before the angels themselves. Nonetheless, soon the dawn would begin to creep into the room from the high window in the cloister cell, the door would be unlocked, and she would awaken. Then, he knew, the recriminations would begin.

He tried not to dwell on the irony of where they had spent this past night: a solitary cell fit for religious contemplation and sensual denial. He stared up at the suffering effigy of the Lord above the bed and winced. Mayhap he should have taken it down before he’d ravished her, but at the time, he’d had other things on his mind.

“I
am
going to marry her, you know,” he promised the graven image in a soft voice. “We are nearly betrothed. Will you forgive us this one little sin?”

The wooden Christ’s face, occupied with the sins of the world, did not respond.

Alonsa stirred in her sleep and sighed, a smile curving her lips. Günter wondered what she dreamed of that was so pleasant. Him, he hoped. The few hours he had managed to sleep, he had dreamt of her. The smell and taste of her had followed him into slumber, sharpened his lust for her, made him crave her even more. He’d woken up fully aroused, so much so he had nudged her awake, slipped inside her, and made swift love to her all over again.

He smiled ruefully; at least he
hoped she’d
been awake.

No matter. She would indeed arise soon, and he needed to be ready. He had thought a great deal about how to approach their first moment, and though his heart ached at the very thought of what he must now do, he knew there was no other way. Not if he wanted to keep her by his side. And he did.

God, how he did.

She stirred, stretched, and slowly awoke. Her dark eyes drifted to his and the sleepy, appreciative look in them made him hot all over. He recognized the moment memory returned, however. Her eyelids snapped open and she clutched the blanket, which he had moved down in order to better admire her, to her breasts.

He took a deep breath, smiled casually, and began the charade.

“Good morrow, Alonsa. Feeling better?”

Her gaze darted from side to side even as her head remained still. She barely breathed. He hoped she would think to do so soon, or she might swoon.

Finally she spoke, or rather stammered, a reply. “G-good morrow. Günter. I am … fine.” She bit her lip as though she couldn’t remember whether she was supposed to have been ill or not. “How are … you?”

He smiled a self-satisfied smile that was actually quite real.

“Never better.” He yawned and stretched like a big cat. “Nothing like a bit of bed play to loosen up the muscles, hmmm?”

She frowned. “Yes, I suppose so …”

Günter allowed his fingers to trail gently over the delicate skin of her shoulders. He ignored her instinctive retreat. “Yours are feeling better now, I hope?”

She stared at him, a blank expression on her face.

“I noticed your shoulders were as tight as coiled springs last night,” he reminded her. “A night of bed play is always my preferred remedy when that happens to me.”

She sat straight up, and her eyes widened with astonishment. He hardly noticed because when she moved, her light musk scent—now mixed with his earthier one—drifted up from her skin to tantalize his nose. It reminded him of their night of untamed passion and fairly screamed “possess me once more.”

He needed to get out of this bed before he threw her flat on her back and did just that. No matter how badly he wanted her, it wouldn’t fit with his long-term strategy for her. Instead, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, flipped his side of the blanket back, and leapt out of bed.

She gasped.

He followed her gaze down to the prominent erection he already displayed, and smiled unapologetically. “Sorry, but it will have to wait for another time, much as I would like to oblige you.”

She ripped her gaze from his nether parts and blushed furiously. “I was not… that is, I did not mean …”

“I fear Father Andrew will appear any moment now,” he said, overriding her stumbling objections. He indicated the sunlight coming through the windows. “We will have to hurry and get dressed. Would you like to wash now, or would you prefer I go first?”

She eyed the basin of water on the small table, glanced down at her own obvious nakedness beneath the blanket, and looked back at him.

“Er … you may precede me,” she mumbled.

He shrugged and picked up one of the washing cloths. “Suit yourself.”

He turned his back on her, dipped the cloth in the water, and rubbed it over his face and neck. Water slowly trickled down his chest and back. Goose bumps rose on his flesh and his nipples pebbled as cool air met cooler water on his skin. He could feel Alonsa’s eyes on him like hands upon his flesh, and he smiled to himself.

He turned to give her a better view while he rubbed the cloth slowly over his chest and stomach. Lifting his arm, he dipped the cloth in the water again and poured a little stream down the length of his limb. He slid the cloth up and down, then repeated the procedure on the other side, taking his time. Next, he lowered his hands and began to leisurely wash below his waist. He heard her sharp intake of breath.

Touching himself while she was watching did nothing to ease his arousal, but if he was going to be uncomfortable this morning, she may as well be, too. He slid his hand slowly up and down and his length glistened and thickened. He stole a look at her rapt expression and hardened even more. He admitted to himself, however, that he was preening, and if he continued in this manner, he would reveal how much he wanted her even now. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he reluctantly moved on, hastily completing his bath.

When he finished, he turned to fully face her. He caught her staring at him, a libidinous expression worthy of a wood nymph on her face. She seemed frozen in place, too overcome to even pretend not to be gawking.

He held the cloth out to her.

“Your turn,” he said softly, an unspoken challenge in his voice.

Her eyes narrowed with hunger, then widened in alarm. He tried not to laugh while he tossed the cloth to her. She made no move to catch it, so it landed with a
splat
against the wall and then fell onto the bed. He turned away.

“I’m finished,” he said, over his shoulder, dried himself quickly, and began to pull on his clothes before he had a chance to change his mind.

He heard her breath come out in a rush of air, then a mad scramble behind him while she hurried to bathe and dress before he turned back. He took extra time with his outer garments in order to give her a sense of privacy. Besides, if he saw her wet and naked, he could guarantee Father Andrew would receive the shock of his aged life when he unlocked the door.

When he was certain she had dressed, he faced her once more. She stared up at him, cautious, uncertain, and uncharacteristically silent.

“Well,” he said, breaking the ice. “Are you anxious to continue our journey?”

“Continue?” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean we are still going on to Genoa?”

“Of course.” He retrieved his weapons from the wall where he had propped them last night and began to strap them on. “Where else? You still intend to take passage home, do you not?”

She blinked in surprise. “Well, yes, but I had thought perhaps, after last night…”

“Yes?” he asked blandly.

She folded her hands in front of her and shifted her feet. “I thought you might try to convince me otherwise.”

He paused in the act of securing his
Katzbalger
across his abdomen and gazed at her. “Now, why would I want to do that?”

Her cheeks took on a distinctive pink cast that had nothing to do with the abrasions from his beard last night.

“Ah!” He smacked his forehead lightly with his palm as if her meaning had just dawned on him. “You thought I would beg you to return with me because of our little exploits in bed last night.”

She put her hands on her hips, insult written all over her face. “Little exploits?”

He really did hate doing this to her, but it was for her own good. He nodded and looked her up and down.

“Yes. You were … quite good, do not mistake me.”

She gasped again.

“But I see no need to change your travel plans,” he continued before she had a chance to speak. “Nay, you said Genoa, and Genoa it shall be. Far be it from me,” he pointed out with a lift of one eyebrow, “to break a promise once I have made it.”

He spied her mantle pooled in a heap on the floor and picked it up. He moved behind her and she spun, watching him much as a small mouse might watch a cat it suspects will leap at any moment.

Smiling benignly, he draped the mantle over her shoulders, being careful not to touch her in the process. Not yet. All he needed was for his shaking hands to come in contact with her soft flesh in order for his performance to be ruined. As it was, just the sight of her served as pure torture for him. He stepped back.

“Of course, I think we both realize how ridiculous it would be for you to join a cloister at this point.”

A knowing look spread across her face. She folded her arms together and nodded. “Ah, so we are back to that again, are we?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Well, yes … surely last night proved to you just how—unsuited—you would be for such a life?”

She flushed and looked away. “It is not as if you gave me the opportunity to decline.”

A touch of anger spiked through him. “Are you saying I forced you?”

She kept her face averted, but he suspected her natural honesty wouldn’t allow her to lie. Finally, she blew out a breath and stared at the floor.

“No. It would have happened sooner or later,” she admitted.

She surprised him. Still, he pressed on. There was not much time left.

“I have another offer that might appeal to you, if you are willing to listen to it.”

She gazed at him with suspicion in her eyes. She had such beautiful eyes. He remembered how they had glazed with passion when he had thrust inside her, when she had bit him on the shoulder like some wild creature in the throes of another climax. He still bore the tooth marks. He hoped they would never fade.

“Günter?” She was staring at him, an odd expression on her face. “I said, what sort of offer?”

He brought himself back to the present with an effort.

“A way for both of us to get what we want.”

One delicate eyebrow rose. “And what is it, exactly, you want?”

“You. That is,” he added when he saw her eyes spark, “to marry you and thereby keep my promise to Martin. And to have a few more nights of what we had here, at least until we weary of one another.”

That should only take a lifetime.

“After that,” he shrugged, “you are free to do as you wish.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What are you saying? If we marry, how can I do as I wish?”