Besieged Heart (No Ordinary Lovers Collection) by Jennifer Blake Page B
Authors: Jennifer Blake
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have as mere man and woman.
Yet how could he take advantage of the power he had used to bring Mara to this point? It would not be right or honorable. Moreover, she might not be inclined to forgive that betrayal so easily when they regained their proper stations.
On the other hand how could he refuse? To injure her pride by spurning her invitation would be just as unforgivable.
He wondered with grim honesty if this last was merely an excuse that would allow him to obey the clamor of his blood. Was he searching for a reason to reach out and take hold of a secret dream before it slipped away, before the ceaseless passage of time left him with only regret?
No. The answer was there before him. Had she seen it, too? Did she know it was the only course? Did she recognize that as long as they could each pretend she did not know who he was then this moment could be taken, whole and clear, from their past and their present? It would be theirs, without apologies or consequences, something to preserve in timeless amber and keep against the long, cold years that lay ahead.
And if all else failed, he thought in despair, it was within his power to insure that she did not remember this short time to come, would never recall that he had loved her.
Yes, it could be better that way.
Being a wizard was good for that much, if nothing else.
Chapter Four
Mara had known he would not fail her. He never had and never would.
As Rayne reached out to take her into the strong circle of his arms, she moved to meet him, pressing close against the hard strength of him, then closer still. She wanted him, needed him, could not bear in that moment to be denied the comfort and solace of him.
He was her wizard, her support, the other half of her heart and mind. She had known it well for long years, though she had lacked the courage to acknowledge it.
She knew it now, just as she knew him beyond doubting. No one else could bend his head to her with such a precise degree of consideration and deference that yet lacked even the shadow of humility. No one else had ever sought so diligently to protect her—even when it was from himself. If he had revealed to her the hard edge of his nature, it was for a purpose. If she was surprised, the fault was her own, for she had known there was steel inside him but never ventured to test the tempered strength of it.
In his wisdom and power, Rayne had taken her prisoner to show her how intolerable being at the command of the baron would be to her, how much she would hate being mere chattel won in war. He had thought to make her see that submitting under force to the will of another person would be an endless humiliation fit to shrivel the spirit and bring death to joy and pride. In this, he had succeeded.
But he had also erred, for he had shown her how it would be to surrender to his will. He had, whether he intended it or not, shown her the face of love.
“Come,” he said, and lifted her in his arms. She turned her face into his neck, brushing her lips against the pulse which throbbed there, as he carried her along the hall and into his sleeping chamber. She was placed on the great, low bed with its silken-smooth sheets of celestial blue.
Or was she?
As he settled beside her, he pressed his lips to her eyelids, first one and then the other, to close them. Suddenly, she was in a bluebell wood with the fresh scent of May around her and the warm sun on her skin. She was blissfully naked, and the cool blossoms and stems of bluebells tickled and caressed and cushioned her. His hands were as delicate as the grass, brushing over her, leaving the shivering, beaded skin of gooseflesh in their wake.
A soft breeze stirred her hair, lifting a strand so it made a satin curtain over her breast. He leaned to find the taut rose nipple through the tresses, laving it with his tongue, taking it delicately between his teeth, then gently, gently into his mouth. All the while, he stroked her thighs, the slender turn of her waist,
Yet how could he take advantage of the power he had used to bring Mara to this point? It would not be right or honorable. Moreover, she might not be inclined to forgive that betrayal so easily when they regained their proper stations.
On the other hand how could he refuse? To injure her pride by spurning her invitation would be just as unforgivable.
He wondered with grim honesty if this last was merely an excuse that would allow him to obey the clamor of his blood. Was he searching for a reason to reach out and take hold of a secret dream before it slipped away, before the ceaseless passage of time left him with only regret?
No. The answer was there before him. Had she seen it, too? Did she know it was the only course? Did she recognize that as long as they could each pretend she did not know who he was then this moment could be taken, whole and clear, from their past and their present? It would be theirs, without apologies or consequences, something to preserve in timeless amber and keep against the long, cold years that lay ahead.
And if all else failed, he thought in despair, it was within his power to insure that she did not remember this short time to come, would never recall that he had loved her.
Yes, it could be better that way.
Being a wizard was good for that much, if nothing else.
Chapter Four
Mara had known he would not fail her. He never had and never would.
As Rayne reached out to take her into the strong circle of his arms, she moved to meet him, pressing close against the hard strength of him, then closer still. She wanted him, needed him, could not bear in that moment to be denied the comfort and solace of him.
He was her wizard, her support, the other half of her heart and mind. She had known it well for long years, though she had lacked the courage to acknowledge it.
She knew it now, just as she knew him beyond doubting. No one else could bend his head to her with such a precise degree of consideration and deference that yet lacked even the shadow of humility. No one else had ever sought so diligently to protect her—even when it was from himself. If he had revealed to her the hard edge of his nature, it was for a purpose. If she was surprised, the fault was her own, for she had known there was steel inside him but never ventured to test the tempered strength of it.
In his wisdom and power, Rayne had taken her prisoner to show her how intolerable being at the command of the baron would be to her, how much she would hate being mere chattel won in war. He had thought to make her see that submitting under force to the will of another person would be an endless humiliation fit to shrivel the spirit and bring death to joy and pride. In this, he had succeeded.
But he had also erred, for he had shown her how it would be to surrender to his will. He had, whether he intended it or not, shown her the face of love.
“Come,” he said, and lifted her in his arms. She turned her face into his neck, brushing her lips against the pulse which throbbed there, as he carried her along the hall and into his sleeping chamber. She was placed on the great, low bed with its silken-smooth sheets of celestial blue.
Or was she?
As he settled beside her, he pressed his lips to her eyelids, first one and then the other, to close them. Suddenly, she was in a bluebell wood with the fresh scent of May around her and the warm sun on her skin. She was blissfully naked, and the cool blossoms and stems of bluebells tickled and caressed and cushioned her. His hands were as delicate as the grass, brushing over her, leaving the shivering, beaded skin of gooseflesh in their wake.
A soft breeze stirred her hair, lifting a strand so it made a satin curtain over her breast. He leaned to find the taut rose nipple through the tresses, laving it with his tongue, taking it delicately between his teeth, then gently, gently into his mouth. All the while, he stroked her thighs, the slender turn of her waist,
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