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Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
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sure." His tongue lightly flicked her ear. "Wouldn't you like to test the truth of Aristophanes's theory?" he coaxed.
"How?" Her voice was barely audible.
"Open your mouth to me and I'll prove that we are two halves who have found each other."
Her lips parted slightly and Deveryn, like a connoisseur savouring the bouquet of a rare vintage wine, brought his lips to hers and inhaled deeply. He wrinkled his nose. "You smell like . . . what is that scent? I can't quite place it?"
"Apples," she answered, and he thought he heard a challenge in her voice.
"Of course," he replied blandly. "I should have known that no ordinary scent would do for you. Tell me, do you drink it or sprinkle it?"
She smiled at this last, and said in a more natural tone, "Actually, I store it, or Janet does—the apples from our orchard, I mean. The clothes press in my chamber is the driest place in the house. Janet wraps the apples in paper and lays them down for the winter."
He chuckled. "Do you know what an extraordinary girl you are?"
It was her turn to laugh. "I like your choice of words. 'Extraordinary' has a nice ring to it. I'm used to thinking of myself as, well, slightly eccentric. Janet would tell you that I was fey."
"You don't have to explain what she means. I think I knew it from the moment you walked into my arms. We have such a lot to learn about each other. Still, we have a whole lifetime ahead of us to make our discoveries."
Her jaw dropped.
"That's better," he breathed and his mouth, gentle yet unyielding, closed over hers. Deliberately, by slow degrees, he patiently fed the first small flame of her awakening desire. Even so, the sudden flare of his own passion surprised him. He checked it ruthlessly, but not before he had betrayed himself.
She made a weak attempt to evade his embrace, but he would not permit it. One hand moved to her nape and stilled her head. The other slipped the front fastenings of her cloak, easing it back so that only the thin fabric of his shirt and her gown was between the heat of their skin. He ignored her soft gasp of protest, and eased her breasts against the hard wall of his chest.
"I want to feel your heart beating against mine," he soothed, and his lips followed the path of his gently caressing fingers from her eyes to her chin. His thumb slid under the collar of her frock. "Your pulse is throbbing madly in the hollow of your throat," he murmured. He loosened the top buttons of her gown and he opened the bodice. "Feel your pulse," and he captured her fingers and pressed them against her throat. His lips followed and he brushed them over the exposed skin. Her head fell back on his shoulder. He could feel her body shudder as her breath caught in her throat. Every pore in his own body told him that he could easily bring her to the point of surrender. His own checked passion exploded through him.
One hand closed over a softly heaving breast, moulding it with voluptuous pleasure. Her feeble movement to drag his hand away was easily parried. He wondered at the primitive drive throbbing at every pulse in his body, urging him relentlessly to make this woman his. His need to convince her that he was fated to be her mate surprised him as much as it delighted him. He had never thought to commit himself so totally to any woman. In spite of a string of past mistresses and so called "love" affairs, he felt, in that moment, that he was less knowledgeable of the mysteries of love as the girl in his arms.-He longed for her to initiate him into them.
When his head came up to take her lips again, he deliberately allowed her to taste the blatant urgency of his hunger. When she began to return his kiss with equal ardour, he forced himself to drag his lips away.
For a long moment he held her close as he fought for control. It would be only too easy to carry her off to some private place and complete what he had begun. The girl was in no condition to deny him anything. But that would defeat the purpose of the
"How?" Her voice was barely audible.
"Open your mouth to me and I'll prove that we are two halves who have found each other."
Her lips parted slightly and Deveryn, like a connoisseur savouring the bouquet of a rare vintage wine, brought his lips to hers and inhaled deeply. He wrinkled his nose. "You smell like . . . what is that scent? I can't quite place it?"
"Apples," she answered, and he thought he heard a challenge in her voice.
"Of course," he replied blandly. "I should have known that no ordinary scent would do for you. Tell me, do you drink it or sprinkle it?"
She smiled at this last, and said in a more natural tone, "Actually, I store it, or Janet does—the apples from our orchard, I mean. The clothes press in my chamber is the driest place in the house. Janet wraps the apples in paper and lays them down for the winter."
He chuckled. "Do you know what an extraordinary girl you are?"
It was her turn to laugh. "I like your choice of words. 'Extraordinary' has a nice ring to it. I'm used to thinking of myself as, well, slightly eccentric. Janet would tell you that I was fey."
"You don't have to explain what she means. I think I knew it from the moment you walked into my arms. We have such a lot to learn about each other. Still, we have a whole lifetime ahead of us to make our discoveries."
Her jaw dropped.
"That's better," he breathed and his mouth, gentle yet unyielding, closed over hers. Deliberately, by slow degrees, he patiently fed the first small flame of her awakening desire. Even so, the sudden flare of his own passion surprised him. He checked it ruthlessly, but not before he had betrayed himself.
She made a weak attempt to evade his embrace, but he would not permit it. One hand moved to her nape and stilled her head. The other slipped the front fastenings of her cloak, easing it back so that only the thin fabric of his shirt and her gown was between the heat of their skin. He ignored her soft gasp of protest, and eased her breasts against the hard wall of his chest.
"I want to feel your heart beating against mine," he soothed, and his lips followed the path of his gently caressing fingers from her eyes to her chin. His thumb slid under the collar of her frock. "Your pulse is throbbing madly in the hollow of your throat," he murmured. He loosened the top buttons of her gown and he opened the bodice. "Feel your pulse," and he captured her fingers and pressed them against her throat. His lips followed and he brushed them over the exposed skin. Her head fell back on his shoulder. He could feel her body shudder as her breath caught in her throat. Every pore in his own body told him that he could easily bring her to the point of surrender. His own checked passion exploded through him.
One hand closed over a softly heaving breast, moulding it with voluptuous pleasure. Her feeble movement to drag his hand away was easily parried. He wondered at the primitive drive throbbing at every pulse in his body, urging him relentlessly to make this woman his. His need to convince her that he was fated to be her mate surprised him as much as it delighted him. He had never thought to commit himself so totally to any woman. In spite of a string of past mistresses and so called "love" affairs, he felt, in that moment, that he was less knowledgeable of the mysteries of love as the girl in his arms.-He longed for her to initiate him into them.
When his head came up to take her lips again, he deliberately allowed her to taste the blatant urgency of his hunger. When she began to return his kiss with equal ardour, he forced himself to drag his lips away.
For a long moment he held her close as he fought for control. It would be only too easy to carry her off to some private place and complete what he had begun. The girl was in no condition to deny him anything. But that would defeat the purpose of the
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