Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [57]
Then, suddenly, without warning, he pulled back. Her eyes were shining, her lips bruised. She stared at him in dazed wonder and rising joy.
His sanity flooded back.
“Arianne, go.”
“No.” She flung her arms around his neck.
He disengaged them, his blood beating hotly in his temples.
“Go!”
“I am staying. I…”
He wheeled away from her, then immediately sprang back. He gripped her by the arms, not gently, his lean face dangerous in that dim and silent chamber. “If you stay, I can’t answer for what will happen. I’m a strong man.” He gave a bitter half laugh. “I’ve survived worse dungeons than the one far beneath us in the bowels of this castle. I’ve survived whippings and beatings, starvation, bitter cold, and war—but I cannot survive you. The wanting of you…needing of you…not being able to have you…”
“Have me. Take me. I’m yours,” she whispered and threw her arms around his neck again, rising up on tiptoe to kiss him.
A sweet kiss. An innocent, giving, yearning kiss that stirred something previously untouched inside him and sent the fire raging even more intensely until, abruptly, Nicholas knew he had to pull away.
He held her at arm’s length, reining in with a supreme act of will the tattered remnants of his self-control.
“This is wrong, Ari.” His voice was thick, yet dogged. “Wrong. You know nothing of men, of the world. You’re in love with some boy you knew long ago, some wild, heedless daredevil you admired from afar…”
“Yes—and no! I loved you then, loved him then—but you’re not that boy anymore. I know that. He’s gone forever. You’re not that boy, and I’m not that skinny, freckled child who followed after you. Look at me, Nicholas.” She raised her chin, her eyes bright as stars, defiant, compelling. “I’m a woman, a grown woman.”
He groaned and raked a hand through his hair. That she was. A beautiful woman. With her lush, pouting lips, her brilliant eyes, her creamy, flawless skin. And hair softer than velvet and sweeter-smelling than the wildest of forest flowers.
“And I love the man I see before me,” she went on in a whisper that tore at his heart. “I would trust my life to you, give my life for you. I love you, Nicholas of Dinadan. I always have. And now, now more than ever, I always will.”
Firm and stubborn she stood there, a slender, incredibly lovely woman reaching out to him. Giving, loving, hoping.
“I was wrong about you before…in the cottage. Those things I said. You are a true friend to my brother. You’re risking everything for Marcus. For me. I beg forgiveness for misjudging you.”
“Arianne, if I stay, if I kiss you again…I won’t stop…not until I’ve had you, taken you…”
“Please.” She laughed shakily, reaching up to drag her fingers through his hair, to stroke his face. “Take me. I want you to…”
“By God, you’ll wed me when this is over. If we live we’ll take our vows. It will be forever. Answer me now, yes or no.”
Arianne tugged his head down toward hers. “You make it sound like a threat.” Her laughter was soft, spilling over him like sun-warmed honey as she traced her finger gently, teasingly, around his lips.
“It’s a vow. A vow of honor.”
Nicholas pulled her against him. As his hand closed over her breast, Arianne’s eyes widened with newly discovered pleasure.
“Forever,” she squeaked.
“You won’t change your mind.” It was a statement as his thumb found her nipple.
“I…never change my mind…Nicholas,” she managed and then closed her eyes in pure pleasure as his mouth devoured hers again.
When they sank down on the corner pallet, it was as one. Her body was aflame everywhere he touched, and he touched everywhere. With furious, exquisite passion they clung together, shedding tunics and hauberk and breeches and chemises and hose, their bodies hot and feverish despite the chill easing off the stone walls.
By candlelight they kissed and touched and tasted. Neither knew what the morrow would bring. They might have only this one night.
Arianne’s hands slid down his powerful back, and her fingers paused as she discovered the many scars embedded in his flesh.