Salome at Sunrise (10 page)

The cheap muslin of her skirt rasped on the wool of his blanket. That was wrong. She should be wearing her silk, the vibrant, living color of flame, not the drab trappings of some lightskirt. She was too innocent to wear a whore’s garb. Salome. His peacemaker. She’d donned a barmaid’s gown to comfort him.

No, she needed to be rid of the dress, to cast off the ugliness of this world so she could remain untouched, untarnished. His hand reached for her blouse and touched breast instead. The adrenaline in his body shifted course, surging south at painful speed. His honor lay shredded in the mists of dreams and shadows. Salome’s fingers trailed over his jaw, her touch a soothing balm for a burn that screamed too raw.

Her breath tickled his chin like the wings of a hummingbird. She would be a beautiful hummingbird. The image was filled with joy and color and sweetness. He held it tight for one long second, his eyes closing to lock it into his mind, and then he took her mouth. Warm, petal-soft lips stilled at his touch then gave back his kiss. One gentle touch and his bones rattled. Her whispered gasp sucked the breath from his mouth when he parted her lips, stroking her tongue with his. She stroked back without hesitation and a grip squeezed deep in his belly. Something nudged him, reminding him he had no right to touch her, yet he couldn’t pull away.

She tasted of dewy honeysuckle and fresh summer mornings. Purity tinged the flavor with a clean briskness that washed over him. He craved more, took more. She gave more, nipping back. Slow, inquisitive fingertips glided over his jaw then slipped into the back of his hair. They tightened, pulling him to her. A faint noise whimpered from her throat and a burst of need rushed through him. That move, that small sound, was his undoing. Hunger, thirst, longing exploded with a volcanic rush of heat. One hand strayed around her waist, his mouth seizing hers, and he lowered her to his bedroll.

Salome was lost. This was a kiss but like none she had seen. This was needy, made her needy. Pleasure akin to soaring toward the clouds sharpened her senses to a fine edge. His tongue licked into her mouth and she licked back, tasting the spicy flavor of desire. Pure instinct wound her arms around his shoulders and parted her thighs. Strength and power pounded in his blood, heated his flesh, warmed her body beneath his. Something primitive in her responded as he settled his weight between her spread knees.

How could she who did not require drink grow drunk on his kiss? Food did not sustain her, yet a fluttering in her stomach grew, a craving for his mouth, the taste of his skin. He was a feast to ease the famine yawning in her belly. She sought to give peace and comfort and now a furious yearning ignited in her marrow.

Her whispered name fanned the flames along her bones until they dissolved. Fires of longing raged hotly as his mouth ravaged hers and hers fought back. Her palms learned the solid contour of his shoulders, neck and chest. Her hands pulled at his hair, pulled him against her mouth, pulled him into her. The hard evidence of his arousal nudged into her and she intuitively arched to him.

So many sensations flooded her. Rough palms cupped her shoulders and the thin material of her blouse slid down. Far softer than the cloth, his silken tongue followed, tracing a wet path from her jaw to her neck to the swell of her breast. A gasp ripped from her lungs when his fingers rolled her peaked nipple. The crest drew tighter and an exquisite fire blossomed.

Her fingers laced deeper in his hair. The gossamer strands bunched in her grip as she bowed closer to his touch. Liquid heat gathered between her legs, to that spot he rocked against. A deep ache formed. She needed more. More of whatever magic he cast. She felt empty. Only Bryton could ease the throb. His tongue plunged into her open, waiting mouth, drinking in her lust. Craving more, though she only had a vague idea of what, she let her hands stroke down his chest, past his stomach, around his waist. His hips met hers and their moans mingled like smoke above a blaze.

The muslin skirt held her, pinned beneath his knee. A growl rippled across her neck as he fisted it, yanked it up and plunged his hand beneath the layers. She sucked in a moan at the graze of his fingers along her quivering thigh. The emptiness increased. His touch slid higher, slicking over satin-drenched flesh. A shudder flowed through his frame.

“Salome,” he groaned into her open mouth. “Stop me.”

“Why?”

Bryton stilled. He tugged the skirt down and shifted, rolling away from her. With an arm across his eyes, he lay flat on his back, gulping air as if he’d run a race. Confusion twisted her brows. The night’s damp air blew soft and cool but the loss of his attention chilled her. She rose to one elbow and reached for him. Her palm landed on his chest. His heart drummed with a frantic beat and his voice rumbled beneath her hand.

“That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

“Did I displease you?”

Her question brought his fast snort. “No. I just…It’s wrong. You have no idea what…Just forget the whole damn thing. I’m sorry I kissed you, okay? You tried to comfort me or whatever and I overreacted. I shouldn’t have touched you. You’re supposed to bring me peace, not be a piece of ass.”

Salome worried her lip between her teeth. Peace might have been her original reason for reaching for him, but all thoughts of serenity had fled when his lips touched her. Calm was not what brewed in her now. Slicking her tongue across her swollen lips, a taste of him spiraled deeper into her belly. “Is a piece of ass a bad thing?”

Her hand shook with his chuckle. “You’re such an innocent.”

“That bothers you? That I am a virgin.”

“Yeah. Look, let’s jus—”

“But I do not have to remain as such.” An idea bloomed in her mind and she grasped it, clutching tight to the desire to rekindle the fire he’d sparked in her blood. “If that is what took you from my arms, then I shall find another man to cast off that virginity so that I might please you.”

“What?” Jerking to sit, he gaped at her. Dim shadows cast his face in planes of gray, darkening the harsh lines furrowed between his brows.

She fluttered her hand in the direction of his pallet, struggling to find words. “What occurred between us…I meant to comfort you but your touch…your kiss…provokes things, feelings, emotions in me that I do not understand. I liked that feeling and would like more. Is it not logical to then remove the blot which disgusts you?”

Bryton’s mouth snapped shut and his face hardened. He grabbed her hand, jerking her palm to the stiff ridge in his leggings. Between her thighs, her ache returned. A growl vibrated from his throat. “Does that feel like I’m disgusted, Salome?”

“No, but you will not allow nature to take its course. Wildlife does not have this issue. You are confusing me.”

“I’m not an animal ruled by instinct to mount any female I see. I choose my bed partners.”

“Then I have that right as well.”

Bryton snarled. “You are not fucking some stranger!”

Lust roared to irritation in an instant and churned in her belly. She jerked her hand from his grip. He was selfish. He would not take her virginity and yet wanted no one else to rid her of it so that she might then come to him unencumbered.

“Well, you are not fucking me, either, by your own choice,” she spat.

The edge of her full skirt caught on her heel as she pushed to a stand and he reached out to catch her. She thrust his hands away, righting herself and ducking out of the tent.

Night had full fallen, the air damp and cool. The trees wept intermittent drops but the rain had passed. Wet patches shimmered in a faint moonlight that peeked through heavy clouds. Water seeped into her sandal and splattered up her calves. The night was quiet, still and serene.

Until Bryton burst from the tent. His boots splashed through the silvered puddles. Hard fingers bit into her elbow as he jerked her to face him. An angry tic leaped in his jaw. “I mean it, Salome. Do not go whoring.”

Cool mist seared her lungs but she sucked air noisily and shrugged away from him. “You are my charge. I am not a horse which you may own, Bryton. I shall choose my bed partners as well.”

“You’re bound to me. Me. Not any other man. I forbid you to leave.”

Salome arched one brow. Forbid? Oh, her charge had much to learn. “Then stop me, if you can, Sir Bryton, for I tire of your irritation.”

His hand lashed out and grasped nothing but wind. Her blistering, frigid blast slapped at him as she rushed through the air, away from his camp. The rain-soaked night split with her screamed name. Hurt and resentment pushed her farther until his voice was lost beneath the rustle of the leaves. Anger tinged her essence until the wisps of cracking wind glowed a fluorescent amethyst.

Bitterness charged through her, lightning spiking in a streak of lavender. He infuriated her. He tempted her. He enthralled her. He’d hurt her.

Forbid her? Oh, no, he could forbid her nothing. She might not know the ways of men, be an innocent as he so dispassionately stated, but she knew nature. He could argue with his mount all he liked but he could not hide the evidence of his arousal. All males in nature grew thick and hard when the mating urge struck.

In wildlife, males preened for female attention, with bright plumes and spread tails, engorged necks and displays of prowess. The races, the arm wrestling, the dagger throw had all been pure masculine strutting. Males did not strut unless the prize, the female, was primed and ready, her subtle lure enflaming warm blood to heated need. Instinct fueled the animal, and man was not much more than an animal who walked upright. She’d find another to experience that enthralling haze.

And she knew just where to go to find such a man.

By air, it took her less than ten minutes to travel what had taken Jester over two hours to traverse. Penna’s tavern house shone with light on the darkened street. Music and boisterous laughter rang through the damp night. Salome swirled to a stop just outside the tavern, in the shadows of the still town. The building pulsed like a frantic heart, each beat filled with gaiety and celebration. She searched through the open window until she spotted the serving wench who’d placed bread before Bryton, the one whose gown she’d mimicked. She sat atop a burly man’s lap and smiled as his hands traversed her body. One beefy hand squeezed her behind and a feline-like grin appeared on painted lips. She pulled the man to his feet and up the stairwell.

“What are you doing out here, dearling?”

A sharp jolt slammed her temporal heart into her chest and Salome spun, her hand wrapped around her throat. She’d not heard the man approach. He noticed her fright and his hand went immediately to a large hunting knife at his hip, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

“Are you all right? Did someone hurt you?”

“No.” She wet her lips and drew a slowing breath. “I am unharmed.”

“Well, it’s not safe out here for a woman alone. Last week should have proven that to you.” A kind smile tilted his mouth. “I don’t remember seeing you here before. What’s your name?”

“Salome.”

“Salome? That’s different. I like it. I’m Roric. Are you new here?”

“I—I have been here only once.” She motioned toward the tavern. “It is very loud in the tavern.”

“It can be. Men just need to blow off steam, relax a little. Don’t worry. Penna keeps a close watch on her girls. No one will hurt you here.”

Roric seemed nice. He had thick hair the color of walnut cropped close to his head, and the sun had weathered his skin to a polished oak. There was a gentleness in his eyes that soothed her. Simple cotton, his tunic and leggings were clean and stretched across a body used to grueling farm work. He would do nicely. But how did she proceed? If he were sitting, she could climb into his lap as the serving wench had done.

“Would you like me to take you back inside? I mean, you seem a little lost.”

“No, I am not lost. I found you.”

His left eye twitched and a small smile grooved lines around his mouth. “I’m flattered but, um, I’ve no more coin for the night.”

“I require no coin. I simply wish to…” Gathering her nerve, Salome stepped close. He carried the scents of earth and grain, natural familiar smells spiced with a sudden burst of male essence. His jaw was clean and smooth under her palm. The bite of Bryton’s beard shadow leaped to her mind and she shoved it away. He wasn’t as tall as Bryton and she had no trouble reaching his mouth when she went to her toes. His lips fell to hers.

The hand that slid along her hips rasped calluses against the muslin skirt. There was strength in him and she waited for the flood of sensation to come. She waited. His mouth moved along hers, his palm creeping lower, closer to the swell of her behind. Nothing. Her eyes opened. Roric nibbled at her lips, soft sweet movements that felt…nice. Just nice. She did not resist when his tongue slid to hers, touching in timid strokes. Where was the rush of excitement, the tingle of fire along her marrow?

Perhaps it didn’t occur when standing. The hulking black shadow of a wagon lurked behind her. He offered no protest when she pulled her mouth away and tucked her hand into his, tugging him toward the wagon bed. He lifted her to the bed, his hands on her waist firm and powerful. She reclined against feed sacks and bundles and drew him closer.

“You are so pretty, Salome.”

A warm tongue glided along her neck. The hand at her breast kneaded gently and she tightened her embrace. Why didn’t her emotions fly into a tailspin? What was wrong? He kissed her deeper, firmer, and she did not fight him. Nothing. It was just two bodies entwined with no need blazing, no hunger. His hands slid under her skirt and Salome corrected her thinking. Roric’s growing firmness pressed hard into her thigh. He was reacting naturally, why wasn’t she? She felt no need, no longing, as she had with Bryton.

His name in her mind brought a swift hot flame to her chest and shame exploded within her. What was she doing with this stranger? She pushed him away and scrambled from the wagon bed.

“Salome? What’s wrong?”

“I am sorry. I cannot…I’m sorry.” She shot into the shadows of the tavern, a lilac swirl unfolding around her. Her name called out again but her breeze blew harsh, drowning out the questioning cry.