Always - Iris Johansen [23]
“You didn’t know about his illegal activities?”
“A princess can’t be bothered to look out the window of her tower except on very special occasions. Didn’t you know that? I thought he was in the import-export business.”
“He was, in a manner of speaking,” Clancy said dryly.
“I didn’t find out Martin was a criminal until just after we separated. I had been trying to hold our marriage together for the previous two years, but had finally given it up as a lost cause. My parents had been killed in a plane crash, and I suddenly discovered that there were such things as pain and responsibility in the world. Even a princess has to grow up sometime. I wanted to become a person as well as a wife and mother. Martin didn’t understand that and tried to bolt the doors of the tower firmly in place. He refused to accept the fact that I’d finally outgrown my cloistered lifestyle. He still does, for that matter. He’s talked himself into believing that if I come back to him, everything will be the way it was.” Her voice lowered to a mere whisper. “Nothing can be the same again. Not ever. Not without—” She broke off and drew a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes opened, but she kept them fixed firmly on the horizon so that he couldn’t see their glittering brightness. “You can see why I object to you imprisoning me, Clancy. I’ve just managed to break out of one jail.”
“I wouldn’t be like Baldwin. I might want to keep you as my own personal harem girl, but I’m intelligent enough not to try to do it.” He paused, then added wistfully, “I hope.”
She hadn’t mentioned the child. Clancy studied her face, noting the fine-drawn tension of her lips and the air of bleak desolation that surrounded her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, comfort her, but her control was so fragile he was afraid it would shatter. And he couldn’t risk that: if she exposed her vulnerability now, she might resent him for it later. His hands clenched on the arms of the deck chair, and he forced them to relax one finger at a time. “I think it’s time I told the captain to turn around and go back to the dock. The tip of your nose is definitely pink. You’d better come with me to the bridge. You need to get under cover as soon as possible.”
She sighed regretfully as she picked up the shirt draped protectively over her legs and handed it to him. “You’re probably right, but I hate to move. Oh, how I love to bask.”
“And I love to watch you bask,” he drawled. “It could become my favorite outdoor sport. As for indoor sports …” He suddenly frowned. “Your legs are pink, too. The shirt didn’t do much to protect you.”
“The damage was probably done by the time you so gallantly threw it over me.”
His eyes were still fixed moodily on her legs. “You don’t take care of yourself. You’re too thin.”
“Chicken legs,” she agreed lightly.
“No.”
There was a note of thickness in the negative that caused her gaze to fly to his face. His eyes were now hotly intent and his lips held a hint of sensuality. Her heart leapt to her throat and she felt a flash of heat run through her that had nothing to do with the sun.
“No, they’re lovely.” One big hand reached out and slowly touched her upper leg. She felt a jolt of electricity that made her a little dizzy. “Beautifully symmetrical and well muscled.” His index finger moved caressingly to her inner thigh. “Silky. Good Lord, you’re so soft and silky.”
She should move away from him. She should brush his hand aside with a light remark. Why couldn’t she move? Why did she just sit here with that hot, languid heat unfolding within her and the tension building in the center of her womanhood? She felt as if she were mesmerized as she watched his slowly moving finger trace lazy patterns on her flesh.
“Part your legs a little, acushla.”
She obeyed without thinking. She didn’t seem to be able to think, only to feel. His hands were so big and strong, darkly tanned against her fairness. There was nothing graceful or artistic about the finger that was sending shafts of sensation through her. His hand was as blunt and strong as