Come Back to Me (34 page)

Before she had time to contemplate this, he was kicking the door closed behind him. No braziers or candles had been lit but moonlight poured through the unshuttered windows. Dragon went straight to the bed but did not put her on it. Instead, he set her on her feet right next to it.

"I should be better than this," he muttered as he stripped off his clothes. "I've never had any trouble with control. But the more I make love to you, the less control I have. I don't understand what is happening to me."

Truth
. He was genuinely bewildered and even perhaps a little alarmed. Rycca hid a smile or tried to. It danced in her eyes.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" Dragon said. "But then you're the woman who ran straight off a cliff. Good sense isn't your strong point."

"Perhaps not."

One dark brow rose. "So agreeable?"

"You were wonderful today. What you did for that boy was amazing."

He looked at her in genuine surprise. "I did nothing but what was right."

"You refused to have him tortured or to presume he was guilty. And when you realized he was innocent, you gave him back his life, with his father, his family, the future he would never have had otherwise."

Dragon shrugged dismissively. "Rycca, sweetling, I hate to puncture your pretty fantasy but the fact is I don't especially want Ragnar of Hedeby as an enemy. I gave him the perfect excuse to take his son back and I sent the boy home to him rich. He will be indebted to me forever."

"Be as cynical about it as you like, but you still did what was right and we both know it."

"Enough of Olav. Take off your clothes. Better yet, I'll do it."

"Oh, no!" She stepped back quickly in alarm, which prompted a swift frown from him. It vanished when Rycca said, "I saw how you manhandled that tunic. You aren't about to do the same to this gown. Just wait a moment___"

Even as she spoke, she deftly undid the laces down the side of the garment and lifted it carefully but quickly over her head. Her husband was in a mood, ridden by tension she could not understand. She wanted to placate him, yet she also wished to surrender to the urges he so effortlessly unleashed within her.

Naked save for the gauzy chemise that hid nothing from his eyes, she stood before him, her head lifted proudly to conceal the quivering she felt within. She gloried in his gaze, hot and potent, raking over her. But when he reached for her, she stepped back again.

"I ask a boon, lord."

She had never asked him for anything—save freedom and that he could not give. Caught, knowing he could hardly refuse, Dragon rasped, "What?" He had not meant to be so curt but speech was almost beyond him. He wanted her with a desperation he had never felt before save every time he lay with her, and even then he usually managed to maintain some semblance of control. Not now. He burned, his body drawn bow-taut. If he did not sheathe himself soon within his wife's silken depths…

She looked at him directly, her eyes wide and candid. "All day I have wanted to… touch you."

His dark brows rose. All day? Well, that was certainly pleasing but it didn't make his condition any easier to bear. Harshly, he said, "You don't have to ask permission to touch me."

She shrugged her lovely, almost bare shoulders. "I know, but under the circumstances…" Her gaze drifted down his body, rather pointedly, he thought.

Which definitely did not help matters at all.

"You can touch me later," he said and reached for her again.

She pressed her palms against his chest, tossed back her gleaming hair, and laughed. Really, he was going to die from this.

"Just a little now… please?"

Dragon squeezed his eyes shut and reached deep down inside himself for the control that was so intrinsic a part of his warrior's nature. It had to be in there somewhere. Any moment now he'd stumble across it.

Her nails grazed his flat nipples. He groaned deep in his throat. "Your body amazes me," Rycca said softly. "Before I met you, it never occurred to me that a man could be beautiful. But you are… everything about you is so perfectly formed, so powerful… so very different from myself."

This he knew. It was the marvel of nature, the greatest of the great gods' accomplishments. Or of God, he knew not nor did he care. Naught mattered save the effect of his wife's touch.

She moved closer, the fragrance of her tantalizing him as her hands stroked lightly over his chest. "You have such strength," she said softly, "but you have never hurt me. I find that remarkable."

"I am very careful not to hurt you," he said, his voice thick.

Rycca nodded. "I appreciate that."

She touched his lean hips and beyond, lightly caressing the hard muscles of his buttocks. He gritted his teeth and swore to himself that he could bear this. She was very close to him now, the thin cloth of her chemise brushing against him. He found that barrier intolerable. Plucking at the fabric, he muttered, "Take it off."

She looked a little surprised, then smiled. "The truth is, I feel safer with it on, a little bolder."

"Little?" He wanted to say more, something about her being any bolder and he would burst, but he couldn't get the words out. Probably because he wasn't breathing very well.

Rycca hesitated but only a moment. With the gracefulness so natural to her, she lifted the chemise over her head and discarded it. In the silvery moonlight, her skin glowed like polished alabaster, pale but for the rosy fullness of her nipples and the fiery curls between her thighs. He reached for her urgently, but once again she eluded his grasp.

"Please…" she said again and took his thick wrists in her hands. Drawing them away from her body, she raised her head and met his eyes. "You can't realize how much I want to…"

"Thor's thunder, lady, do whatever you will before I perish!"

Her eyes widened yet more and a startled laugh broke from her. Then her expression was suddenly wistful. "Do not think badly of me."

Badly? How in all creation could he manage that? She was a dream brought to life, the most exquisitely seductive enchantress he had ever imagined. And she was his by the law of man and God. In all the wide world, how could a man ask for more?

A moment longer she lingered, meeting his eyes, and then, before his startled gaze, his warrior wife, proud and valiant, mysterious and beguiling, sank to her knees. Dragon gasped. His head fell back and the muscles of his throat tightened. He had known the services of concubines so skilled that they boasted they could bring a man to madness. While he had enjoyed their company, never had he thought himself lost with any of them.

This was different. At the first warm touch of her breath, the first stunning flick of her tongue, reality dissolved. There was nothing save the heat churning with him, the convulsive tension of his body, and the fleeting thought that the world could end and he would not bestir himself to care.

His hands clenched into fists as he fought the urge to take swift hold of her. She wanted this. So did he, even if it was likely to kill him. He could bear it… he could… He was a warrior, a man of strength and endurance. He would not be undone by a woman, no matter what pleasure she gave. He would hold on… fight the savage pressure building within him. She would surrender to him, not the other way around.

But she was not as other women. There was something in her, some gift of the gods that set her apart. She took him fully within her mouth and he cried out, trembling on the very brink.

His response enthralled Rycca. His scent, his taste, everything about him was as a potent stroking deep within, arousing her almost unbearably. She gloried in her power to give him pleasure even as her blood ran molten and consciousness of all save him faded away.

A tiny, salty drop settled on her tongue, tantalizing her just as a savage groan broke from Dragon. The control of a lifetime, hard-won, rooted at the very core of his being, broke. He reached down, lifting her and in the same movement twining her legs around his hips. Beyond thought, mercy, any consideration other than the savage need of his own body, he took two steps and pressed her against the wall. Holding her there, he reached down, opened her to him, and with a single thrust of his hips, penetrated her to the hilt.

Unable to move, Rycca could only wind her arms around his powerful shoulders and cling to him. Touching him, savoring him, had left her yearning for the completion he now pushed her toward. Even as her body stretched to accommodate his fullness, he gave no quarter but drove into her again and again. She buried her head against his chest and sobbed his name. Their lovemaking was raw, swift, and tumultuous. In the space of mere heartbeats, the world shattered.

Long moments passed before Dragon could think of moving. His chest felt constricted, his breathing ragged. He was dazed and disbelieving. Surely he had imagined what had just happened. But the deep, profound satisfaction of his body said otherwise. So did the fact that he was still holding the woman he had just used so savagely up against the wall.
His wife
.

He shook his head fiercely, trying to deny what could not be denied. How could he, who had always treated women with the utmost consideration and gentleness, have done such a thing? And how must she feel? Distantly, her sob echoed in his ears. Horror roared through him, as intense in its own way as the pleasure that had preceded it.

Quickly, he carried her over to the bed and laid her down. "Sweetheart, it's all right… I'm so sorry… I've never…"

Her eyes flicked open, heavy-lidded and slumberous. Something very ancient danced in their honeyed depths. Slowly, languorously, she stretched. Dragon watched her exquisite body arch against the fur throws on the bed and blinked in astonishment. Surely he misunderstood… it was too much to hope that…

"Hmmm, what did you say?" Her voice was velvet soft and just a little raspy. Gently, she touched his face.

"That I am… sorry?"

Her eyes cleared. "What on earth for? That was wonderful, magnificent." She stretched again and a small, amazed laugh escaped her. "I think my bones melted."

Relief roared through him. He, too, laughed and flung himself down on the bed beside her. He should have known better, should have realized that his warrior woman was a match for him in every way. Gathering her to him, he stroked the slender line of her back as she sighed contentedly. But scant moments later, her mood changed. She raised herself on her elbows and looked at him. "You seemed… tense before."

Dragon was drifting very close to sleep when he heard her. He didn't open his eyes but a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Tense? Sweetling, I was rock hard. 'Tense' really doesn't come close to describing what I—"

She swatted at him. He opened his eyes cautiously. "That's not what I meant," Rycca said. "When we left the hall, you were in such a hurry."

"To make love with you."

"Hmmm, that's nice. But usually you linger. This time you were in a rush before I did anything. You seemed strained, as though something bothered you."

Dragon sighed. He should have known better than to think he could hide his feelings from her. His wife seemed to need no special gift to understand his emotions. But she did possess a gift that set her apart, or so she believed, and it was that which troubled him.

He turned over onto his side, drawing her into the curve of his body, and lightly touched her cheek. "Did you mean what you said today?"

"What I said?" She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. "About what?"

"Truth."

"Did I mean that I know when people are telling the truth and when they are lying? Yes, of course I did. You saw with Olav…"

"I saw you defend a Dane. That was startling enough."

She had not thought of that, had not even considered, in her eagerness to save the innocent boy, that he was one of those she feared so terribly. "I did not—"

"Yes, you did."

"I mean I did not think of it."

He squeezed her gently. Perhaps his hope that she could put the past behind her was becoming real. Yet could that really happen if she was right about her strange ability? What did it mean to live in a world where truth always stood apart from lies? He could not imagine such a thing, nor did he wish to deceive his wife in any matter. Yet he disliked the idea of being always and utterly exposed in every word he said. There were times when a man needed to be… subtle.

Yes, that was the word. Not dishonest but careful in the choosing of his words and the shading of their meaning. A man should be able to do that and still be sure of his wife's trust in him, not concerned she might be judging him a liar. It was that uncertainty rankling him that had driven him when he took her from the hall. He had wanted to affirm his possession of her but never had he imagined he would do so as he had. Indeed, he was still amazed—and not a little concerned—at how easily she had shattered his control.

"How long," he asked quietly, "have you believed you were a truthsayer?"

"I cannot remember a time when I was not as I am now."

"Were you never tempted at Wolscroft to reveal this strange gift of yours?"

Drowsily content, Rycca shook her head. "My father cared naught for truth or lies. He condemned men as he chose, regardless of whether they had actually done anything. Just as likely, he freed men who were every manner of criminal because they paid him to do so or provided some other service for him. Had I spoken, it would have availed nothing save cause me to be burned for a witch."

His arms tightened around her as he silently cursed Wolscroft for the brutal dolt he was. How any man could have so lovely a daughter and not cherish her was beyond knowing. For that matter, how could any man fail to cherish such a wife? He certainly did even as he remained uneasy. Far in the back of his mind, he could never forget that she had not wanted their marriage. She wanted to be free.

"Rycca?"

"Hmmm?" She sounded almost asleep.

"Never mind." He would let her rest and hope to do the same himself. There would be time later to solve the mystery of her, to discover whether a tormented child had spun a fantasy of power for herself or if, incredibly, there was really something to it. For the moment, it was enough that she was where she belonged, in his arms.