Rapunzelle: an Everland Ever After Tale (9 page)

“Surely there were prettier girls, in New York? Back East?”

Maybe
. “None with your passion. Zest for life.”

Blonde brows rose. “You think I’m passionate?”

A blind man would see that she was passionate for adventure. “I do.” He remembered the taste of her lips, and shifted so that he could draw the fingers of his other hand down her now-pink cheek. She didn’t stiffen or edge away, but instead continued to watch him. “I’m glad that I get to spend some more time with you, to experience that zeal.”

She shrugged, then, and pulled back, looking towards the water. “I don’t do it on purpose, you know. I just… I just want to see everything. Do everything.”

“Is that why you let me kiss you?”

Had he thought that she’d blushed, before? Now the dark pink climbed up her neck, and colored even her delicate ears with the blonde wisps tucked behind them. He hadn’t intended to ask the question, but judging from the way she loosed his hand and twined her own fingers together in her lap, it was an enlightening question to ask.

Finally, she took a deep breath, and he didn’t bother pretending that he wasn’t watching the pale purple material of her bodice stretch across her breasts. Breasts that he’d been lucky enough to stroke—at least the tops—not too long ago. Breasts he was suddenly aching to touch again. “I’d never been kissed. I wanted to try it. I didn’t know you, but…”

But he was there, and he was ready to be kissed. He was ready to be kissed again, in fact. Pulling one booted foot up, he rested his elbow on his knee, and realized that for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about what others thought of him. He was thinking about how nice it was to be enjoying the grass, the shade, the breeze, the pretty girl.

With a grin, he picked up her braid—lying across her shoulder and pooling in her lap—and circled it with his fingers. She stiffened slightly, but didn't look his way. Not yet, anyway. Dmitri ran his hand down her braid until he reached the tip, and took a moment to thoughtfully brush the bundled end of her hair against his thigh. She was holding her breath, he could tell, and he hoped it was in anticipation. Because it felt nice, he brushed her hair across his leg again, and then lifted it to brush against his other palm.

“The first time I saw you, I thought you were a
shlyukha
. A woman who sleeps with men for money.” Her eyes cut towards him, and her mouth made the most tempting
oh
of surprise, and he knew that he’d gotten the response he wanted. “You were painted and plumped, and oh-so-touchable.” A flush had risen up her neck, and she sucked in a breath at his words. “I’d decided right then and there that Everland
did
have something to offer me, and I wanted to take you upstairs with me.
Ah
, I see I’ve shocked you.”

“No, I…” Those breasts—tucked away primly behind purple cotton—were heaving with her deep breaths, and he smiled wickedly again, knowing that she was so close to being his again.

“Oh yes, I thought you a whore… But in truth, you were a tempting innocent, and all you wanted was a kiss. Any man would do, I suppose? But it was me that you…
used
.”

“What?” Her voice was a mere squeak.

“I said…” Dmitri tightened his grip on the tail of the braid, and twisted his hand once so that the hair was wrapped around his fist. “That you used me.”

That
got her attention. Still pink-cheeked, she whipped back to face him, her mouth already opened to defend herself. Maybe it was his grin—knowing, and probably as wolfish as his name—that stopped her. Another twist, another wrap of the braid. “You wanted a kiss, and I was a convenient kisser. You didn’t know me. You just…used me.”

Another twist. Her hair really
was
long, wasn’t it? She hadn’t seemed to notice yet. “I didn’t mean…” Her whisper was as breathless as the rest of her. “I wanted…”

“Oh, I know what you wanted.” Green eyes widened in a delicious sort of adventurous innocence that he couldn’t resist. Two more twists; two more layers of braid wrapped around his fist, and he was finally to her shoulder. Her eyes flickered from the hair to his face. “But I think that you owe me something. To apologize.”

“I…do?”

“Another kiss, I think.”

“
I
should apologize to
you
?”

His smile was positively naughty. “Fine, then. I will apologize to you.” His gaze fastened on her pink lips. “After,” he murmured absent-mindedly.

“After wh—?“

And then, with a tug, she was his.

Her lips weren’t strawberry-flavored this time; they tasted better. He wanted to lose himself in her, but knew that he couldn’t afford to. Knew that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

So he released her, after not nearly long enough. He was beginning to suspect that a lifetime wouldn’t be enough time to enjoy her. When she sat back, her eyes were glazed and her lips seemed redder, plumper. He’d done that to her, and knew that his arrogant smile was probably entirely inappropriate.

“I’m sorry.” Her first words threw him out of his gloat, especially when
he’d
been expecting to apologize to
her
.

“What?”

“I’m sorry that you felt used when I kissed you at the Gingerbread House.”

Carefully he began to unwrap her braid. “I am not sorry for kissing you, then or now.”

And that’s when she smiled, and he knew she’d been teasing, the same as him. “Me neither.”

When she looked at him like that—
bozhe moy
!—
he wanted,
needed
to kiss her again. So he did what any sane, sensible man deeply attracted to a woman he found himself with under a secluded tree would do. He changed the subject.

“I think I like you better with your hair down.”

She sniffed and pulled the braid out of his hand. But she was smiling when she said. “Yes, I can see why you might think that. Most of the time it’s a pain, though.”

Zelle seemed willing to change the subject, so Dmitri accepted the opening, leaning back on his elbows, careful to hide a part of his anatomy that would certainly prove him a fool for not kissing her again. He wondered how improper it would be if he removed his jacket. Wondered if he cared. “So why don’t you cut it? Not that I’m advising it, of course. It is handy.”

She actually stuck her tongue out at him, as if they were playing. The sight did nothing to make him feel playful, though. “You think that I haven’t? I cut it once a year, on my birthday. It’s the fastest-growing hair I’ve ever seen.”

“When is your birthday?”

“Next month. The first. I’ll cut off at least three feet, I think.”

That
got his attention. “Three
feet
of hair? You cut off that much each year?”

She sighed, and flipped the braid back over her shoulder, so that it pooled on the grass when she leaned back on her hands and gazed at the lake. “See what I mean about ‘fastest-growing’? It’s a pain.”

“It’s lovely.” It was more than lovely. “And different.”

A snort. “It’s blonde. There’s nothing special about it. You’re blonde.”

“I mean, different from your parents’. Both of my parents were blonde, because where I come from, we have a surfeit of light hair, light eyes. But your parents are both so dark.”

Zelle shrugged. “Mother is actually my stepmother. She married Papa when I was about two. I just assumed that Papa’s first wife was blonde.”

There wasn’t anything to say except, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, but not necessary. I have no memories of her—I don’t even know her name. Papa and Mother never speak of her, or their pasts.” He could see her roll her eyes slightly. “They’re ridiculously in love. It’s nauseating, sometimes.”

Dmitri smiled, to see her acceptance of something so unusual. “My parents were a love-match too.”
Mama
had died before the Emancipation, which had probably been best, for everyone. “They were very lucky. It is a rare thing.”

“Rare?”

“You don’t think so?”

She shrugged again, and then sent a glance at him from under pale lashes that had him sitting up straighter. “I’ve seen plenty of love matches here in Everland. I don’t think it’s so rare. Do you really think that?”

He stared at the column of her neck, and thought about the way her smile made his chest tighten. “Actually, I’m beginning to agree with you.”

And there was that smile, the one that made his throat thicken.

Dmitri was seriously considering reaching for her again, tasting her…when she leaned forward and started fiddling with her feet. The movement was so unexpected that he didn’t react for a silent minute, instead watching the graceful curve of her neck, her shoulders.

Finally: “What are you doing?”

At that moment, Zelle pulled her short boot off with a triumphant flourish, and began to roll down her stocking. She sent him a mischievous grin over her shoulder and began to work on the laces of her other boot. “I’m taking my shoes off, silly. Digging your toes into the shaded grass is one of the highlights of summer!”

Distracted by the sight of her ankle, completely exposed now that she’d hiked her skirt up her calves, Dmitri could only hum noncommittedly. And then the second boot was on the grass beside the first, the stockings thrown over both, and he watched her sigh with pleasure as she made good on her claim by standing up and digging her toes into the grass.

He
knew
that’s what she was doing, because she was holding her purple skirt up almost to her knees, the long column of her throat speckled in the dabbled shade when she threw her head back in pleasure. Dragging his gaze away from that beckoning skin, he watched her toes wiggling, heard her sigh again, and marveled at her joy.

“Isn’t this just the best? Smell the flowers, Dmitri. The birds chirping, the sky is clear. The grass between your toes! Tell me this isn’t the most wonderful part of summer.”

He had to smile, then. She really was intoxicating, this best part of summer. “I’ll have to take your word for that last part, though.”

Chert
. She dropped her dress, blocking his view of limber and intriguingly tanned calves. “You mean to tell me you’ve never frolicked barefoot in the grass?”

Dmitri burst into laughter. “And I’ve never used ‘frolicked’ in a sentence, either.”

He was still laughing when she grabbed his foot and swung it upward, throwing him off-balance. She was muttering when she tugged at his boot, her bottom lip between her teeth in an erotically adorable display of pique. But then he stopped laughing when she turned away from him—still holding the boot—and swung one leg over his until she straddled his shin. The position meant that he could see even more of her calves than he had a moment ago, with her skirt and petticoat all bunched up by his leg. And without one of those
highly fashionable
bustles every other lady in America seemed to favor, her skirt was pulled tight against her backside.

At that moment, it really didn’t matter what she was doing to his foot. Not when her deliciously rounded backside was only inches from his face.

“Push!” Her words dragged him out of his pleasurable inspection, to discover that she was still busy tugging on his boot.

“What?”

She blew out an exasperated breath and twisted so that she could see him over one shoulder. “I can’t get the darned thing off. Obviously it’s a two-person job, so I’ll pull on the boot while you push.”

“Excuse me, you’re trying to take my
shoe
off?”

“Well, of course. So you can have some fun too. Now push!”

She must have learned that tone from her father, and Dmitri grinned at the arrogance in it, the surety of command. He’d better push, after all. Back home, he’d had a boot boy who would occasionally straddle his leg like this. Dmitri would put the other foot on the lad’s backside in an effort to help push the tight boot off. These boots weren’t nearly as tight—easy enough for him to remove himself—but there was no denying the lady when she used that tone…

Bracing himself, he planted one hand on each of the round cheeks right in front of him, and grinned at the way she suddenly stiffened. Her backside was warm and soft under his touch, and he couldn’t resist flexing his fingers just slightly. When she sucked in a surprised—affronted?—breath, he glanced up, but she remained turned away. He waited for the screech, for the slap, for the indication that she was offended by the way he took liberties.

But to his surprise, she just nodded. Her voice was strangled when she said, “Good. Now push.” So he pushed.

Zelle stumbled forward, her boot in his hand, and then picked up his other foot and straddled his leg once more. He saw her worrying her bottom lip, and almost laughed when he placed his hands firmly on her rear end once more. Then both of his boots were beside hers on the grass, and she was reaching for his stockings. He held up a hand to stop her, the laughter not far from his voice. “I concede, Miss Carpenter. You’ve bested me, and I’ll join you in your frolicking,” as he rolled his own stockings off.