The Lion's Daughter (35 page)

Her
head bent closer. The scent of the sea yet clung to her hair. It was
sweet and fresh, like her silken skin. “You're so beautiful,”
he said softly. “It's not fair.”

She
murmured in her own tongue.

Varian
told himself to leave. Simply stand up and
walk
away.
Instead, he caught her by the
waist and drew her to him.

He
gazed into eyes dark and deep as an evergreen forest. “One
kiss,” he breathed. “Just one.”

Her
slender arms wrapped about his shoulders. “Yes. Just one.”

He
wanted only one sweet taste of his fierce, innocent nymph. He'd
nearly lost her. A kiss was all he asked. It would be enough. It must
be, he told himself as his mouth gently covered hers.

Her
body swiftly melted against him. Her taut breasts pressed against the
silk of his robe. Her mouth was parting for him, so warm, calling him
into her depths.

All
the world he knew became fragrant with the sea, sweet with the taste
of her. She was young and fiercely alive as he'd never been. He
tasted the rushing river and the evergreen forest in her kiss, and
the turbulence, too, of the mountains where the gods yet lived. He
wanted to possess that vibrant spirit and be renewed
...
and he knew he was wrong. It
wouldn't be that way. He'd taint and weaken her.

He
broke free of her mouth, only to find he was too base to break free
entirely. Her scent, irresistible, called him back. He trailed hot,
needy kisses to her throat and felt her body yearn toward his,
promising rapture. He heard muslin whisper coax-ingly against silk,
and he answered, yes, because he was weak.

He
found the ribbons of her gown, swiftly loosened them and pressed his
mouth to the fragrant warmth of her breast. She gasped softly, then
twined her fingers in his hair and pressed him closer. He trailed his
tongue lingeringly along the taut flesh, to the hard, trembling peak,
where he tasted and teased, letting the heat build in him as he felt
it build in her. Her breath came faster, uneven.

He
was hungry, and the wicked heat within urged him to haste, but he
wanted to burn forever. He was aware he must stop soon, too soon. But
not yet. He'd make this too-brief moment feel like forever. He'd make
her forget her grief and anger, and for that short time he'd forget,
too: fear and shame and the dreary haze of tomorrows stretching out
before him.

“Only
you,” he whispered against her skin. “Only
now.”

“Yes.”

Varian
looked up. Her eyes were dark, lost. Her hair streamed over her
shoulders, garnet gleaming against the pearl of her skin. The gown
had slipped down past her waist.

He'd
seen her so before, and the memory had taunted him

ever
since: slight and pale and so achingly fragile outside, so strong and
passionate inside. She was wild and young and shatteringly beautiful.
How could he not hold her close, possess her just for this moment,
when at any moment she might slip through his hands? Yet everything
precious he'd ever held had slipped through his hands
...
to lay shattered, forgotten as he
raced heedlessly on to the next moment. The next and the next
...
tomorrow.

“I
don't want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“You
won't.” Her full mouth curved into a hint of a smile. “Try.
See if you can.”

“No.
Tell me 'no' instead.”

“Yes.”
Esme kissed his forehead, then his cheek. He turned his head to
capture her mouth. She eluded him, and he gasped when he felt her
warm lips at the nape of his neck. She pushed his robe aside and made
a tantalizing path to his shoulders, then down. Her fingers strayed
to his chest, teasing where his heart beat crazily, and her touch
sent heat roaring to his vitals. He tore her hands away and swiftly
bore her down.

In
an instant the night rail lay upon the floor by the bed. His robe
speedily followed.

Outside,
the plaintive melody rose in aching cries, subsided, and cried again.
Inside, he cried out for the woman he crushed in his embrace. Life
was her soft flesh against his, her supple limbs entwined with his.
Here the world was warm and rich with her drugging scent. Here it
called him in her low, breathless voice. She spoke his name, and all
his being answered, desperate to be lost inside her and kept safe,
where he belonged.

He
knew it was only lust's madness. He knew he didn't belong. He was an
intruder, seeking only for himself. He heard the faint, shrill
warning at the farthest edges of consciousness.

I
need her,
Varian
answered silently, while he murmured love against her mouth, her
neck, her breast. She answered with urgent caresses. They claimed him
instantly, and the warning voice sank and died.

His
hungry hands found her silky nest of curls and the damp softness they
sheltered. She tensed, gripping his shoulders, but this time he
didn't pause. It was beyond him. His conscience shrilled again,
weakly and unheeded, because her

damp
innocence was too sweet. Gentle despite his ravening need, he stroked
arid coaxed and urged, and she moved restlessly against his hand. He
felt the tremors run through her, each stronger than the one before,
felt her fighting them
...
and the rush of warmth as they
overcame her.

“
Varian.”
A small, ragged cry. “Oh,
peren
...
d
i.
”

She
clawed at his shoulders and pulled him toward her, demanding his
mouth. He gave what she commanded while his fingers stole deeper. She
groaned and jerked away from his driving kiss, frantic and impatient
in the storm wracking her body. She turned her face into the pillow
and moaned helplessly, while her body surged and shuddered against
him, wildly seeking release.

His
own frame vibrated with impatience, urging him to the place he'd
readied and into the storm of ecstasy he'd meant to give only her
...
selflessly
...
for once in his life. To give the
one joy he could without taking as well. To give lovingly, only to
her, his wild beautiful girl. He'd meant only that, truly, minutes,
years ago. But he found he couldn't give her release, not as he'd
meant. Her ferocious hunger would not yield to his hands.

She
groaned and cursed, then caught at his wrist and pulled him away.
“Hajde,”
she
ordered. She raked her strong fingers down his rigid torso, down,
inexorably, to the swollen betrayal below.

“Don't.”
he gasped. Too late.

A
lightning bolt shot through him, blasting reason and will into
scorched nothingness.

He
pushed her full onto her back and quickly thrust himself between her
thighs. Esme lay trembling beneath him, her breath coming in shallow
pants. He stared for one desperate moment into the wild green depths
of her eyes. Then his hands dragged possessively down her body, over
her tight belly, and on to the hot, dark passage.

He
poised himself at the entrance, then thrust inward. She was swollen,
wet, but her innocence tightened against him, and he grasped her hips
as she recoiled instinctively.

Though
all his being throbbed to conquer, possess, Varian willed himself to
slow down. Yet even as he felt the way easing for him, he felt her
pleasure fading and knew the rest

would
be no joy to her, only pain. Not all his arts could make that fragile
shield of innocence vanish, magically, without pain. Then worse:
corruption, dishonor
...
her destruction. He could stop.
It would kill him, but he could do it.

As
Varian bent to kiss her, her hands caught in his hair. “I want
you,” she said, her voice low, fierce.

“Don't,”
he whispered. “I don't want to hurt you any more.”

“I
want you,” she repeated. “My body will not heed me. Make
it obey you. Make me
yours,
Varian.”

Don't
listen to her. She doesn't understand. She's innocent.

But
his corrupt self wanted to heed her command. It was the beast in him,
the lowest of his nature, frantic to conclude what had begun. Varian
ordered himself to draw away. He couldn't. Sweat trickled down his
back.

“I'll
hurt you,” he said hoarsely, as he gazed despairingly into her
great, stormy eyes.

Her
nails dug into his scalp. “Someone must. You, this night,
Varian
...
or
another.”

He
tried to tell himself she didn't know what she was saying, yet the
words tore through him, taunting, unbearable. Ismal's image flashed
before him.

“
No,”
Varian growled. “You're mine,
damn you.”

She
shook her head.

He
answered with his hands and mouth, rousing her more ruthlessly than
before. He was beyond patience or gentleness, and her quick, hot
response told him she wanted none. She was as fierce and fearless in
passion as in all else. Wild and sweet and beautiful
...
his.

“Mine,”
he said savagely. In one mindless instant, he drove himself into her.
An instant of animal triumph
...
possession
...
conquest. He heard her gasp, felt
her tense against the pain. Then remorse knifed through him. Too
late.

“I'm
sorry,” he gasped. “Oh, love, I'm sorry.” Blood
pounded in his temples as it thundered in his veins, urging him to
release, but he willed himself to pause. His hands moved soothingly
over her shocked, stiffened frame. “Let me love you, sweet.
Forgive me, and let me love you. I need you, Esme.”

Her
eyes flew open. “There is more?” she asked shakily.

Oh,
Lord, she'd had enough. She wanted it to be over, poor darling.
Varian drew his hand longingly over her taut breast, and his flesh
stirred, moving him within her. Yes, his body wanted it to be done as
well, brute that it was. But he needed more. He wanted her entirely,
soul and body, for himself. Selfish. But so he was.

“More,”
he said. “As much as you'll give me;” He let himself move
again, slowly, while he stroked her belly.

She
caught her breath.
“Varian.”

But
it wasn't pain, not now. Surprise, perhaps, and then, as she moved
cautiously in response, a soft sound of pleasure.

“Yes,”
he whispered. “Like this, sweet. All the world goes away,
doesn't it?”

He
felt it, felt the world leaving her, as it did him. He felt her
pleasure growing as her body yielded to him, learning to match his
rhythm. Her pain was forgotten, like his regret. He could feel no
remorse now, not while he was surging back to life within her. There
was only this moment, and Esme, and sweet, dark rapture as she
yielded to the storm.

His
body pounded with her life, her being. He was lost inside her, racing
with her on a furious torrent that clawed and pulled him into
eternity. He felt her shattering around him and heard the cry rising
in her throat. He sank down to her, caught her tight in his arms, and
covered her mouth with his.

Chapter
20

ESME
KNEW HE WAS GONE BEFORE SHE OPENED her eyes to the bright morning
light. She had felt the chill of his absence in her last dream. Other
dreams had preceded it, but those had been filled with warmth and a
delirious gladness.

She
could never have dreamed such joy before. She could never have
imagined what happened when a man joined his body to a woman's. She'd
understood there must be pleasure in it. She'd tasted pleasure weeks
before, in Poshnja, when Varian had kissed and caressed her so
intimately. But last night's pleasure was darker, more turbulent. It
was as though a powerful demon became trapped inside one's body,
where it made a terrible but beautiful struggle, like an unearthly
thunderstorm, until at last it was released. And with release came
the sweetest peace.

But
not for long, Esme discovered. She touched the pillow where Varian'
s
head had been and remembered how
tenderly he'd smiled as he held her in his arms in that rapturous
peace.

Still,
he'd surely smiled at all his women so. He'd know how to drive away
every doubt and twinge of conscience. He'd know how to keep his women
quiet. He didn't like turmoil. He'd leave them, and that must cause
unpleasantness, but later. He'd prefer to leave them to be unpleasant
all by themselves.

Certainly
it was better he had left, Esme told herself. She hoped he was
already on his way to Corfu. She didn't know how she could ever look
him in the eye again. She'd begged him to take her, and then
—
oh,
how clumsy she'd been. Her childish body had been so awkward, inept.
No wonder he'd tried to stop, repeatedly. What a chore it must have
been to appease her lust.