Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [148]
“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “That would be the easy thing to do, wouldn’t it? But I’m not that predictable.”
She stepped back. “Randur Estevu … you infuriate me at times!”
“Hey, relax. I was only joking.”
After she had calmed, they resumed the dance steps and kicks and flourishes. He placed his body against hers, the palms of his hands resting on her shoulder blades. “I know you like me, Eir. This isn’t cultist science we’re talking about, just a guy and a girl, and it’s all a bit inevitable. You’re a handsome woman, I’m a pretty man. Anyway, the day you offered to pay my debts, that was a decent indication of your feelings.”
“Well, why haven’t you reacted?”
He leaned in close to her ear, the space between the two of them becoming charged. “Because, Stewardess, we must think only of the dance and for success there are certain tensions that must be maintained. You do want to be seen as the best at the Snow Ball, don’t you?”
She was so stunned by his serious response she did not know how to reply. Instead she blurted her response. “So even if I offered myself naked, you still wouldn’t want to …” She wanted to use his words, but couldn’t. “Take me?”
“I couldn’t because I respect you too much for that.”
“Oh. Right.” She could not resist taking advantage of this closeness, because, to hell with the dance, to hell with etiquette of the court, she wanted him right there and then. His cocksure brashness had reduced her confidence, and now she wanted to impose upon him her Imperial stamp.
She slid her hands further up his lissom body, gripped him, angled her head, kissing his neck, and as she tasted his skin he gave a sigh. His heart pulsed against her breasts. His arms had fallen uselessly to his sides, but soon he took hold of her head, drew her lips closer to his own. A slight groan, more rapid breathing.
She moved away slightly to regard him, and all he did was stare at her in confusion, struggling to read her. Surely this inveterate romancer would know better how to react at a moment like this?
He tried vaguely to say something, but she pressed a finger to his lips. It took all the strength of will she had to turn away, to move across to a wall tapestry. She pulled it aside to reveal a window through which a wind blew from across the city. She waited for him to come to her, determined she would not turn back to face him, the spires and bridges meaningless and empty under her gaze.
But he didn’t come near, and she was driven to ask, “Has the great Randur Estevu finally been silenced?”
She heard his footsteps approach, felt his words brush against the back of her neck: “I don’t know what to do now.”
“You’re no amateur, from what I’ve seen.”
“Those women … they didn’t matter. It’s just that I’m not sure what I feel right now. I mean, ever since you offered to help me … well, I’m just not sure what it is that’s going on in my head. I don’t want you to think you’ve bought my attention.”
“Perhaps you have genuine feelings after all?” she said, expecting some witty response from him which was calculated to anger her.
Instead he said, “I know I’ll end up hurting you and I don’t want to do that. Like I said, I feel I’m in your debt.”
“There are ways of clearing such debts.”
“Wouldn’t that simply make me a man-whore?”
She shrugged. “Not if you wanted to do it anyway.” She felt a little desperate and out of control.
“I thought ladies in high positions had responsibilities about how they acted.”
“After all this is over, the dance, I mean,” she said, “when you travel back to Folke, won’t it be dangerous?”
“Probably,” he said. “Time is fairly urgent, because she hasn’t got too much of it left.” His tone changed, became brighter. “Anyway, if you want to, we can slip down Caveside tonight and practice before the ball. There’s a street dance organized, so Denlin said, and I think we should go, because it’ll get you used to dancing in public. You’ve enough time to slip into something a little