“Not this time.” He set up the pieces, choosing white. Tapping one of the pawns, he considered his move.
“I want to make a wager on this game,” she said, removing her veil. With her fingers, she combed the long golden strands, letting the curls fall across her shoulders.
He wasn’t about to let that opportunity pass. “Done. If you lose, you’ll obey every command I give for a single day.”
She lifted her eyes skyward. “You truly are dreaming, if you believe you can beat me.” With her hands, she lifted her hair off the back of her neck, stretching sinuously.
“What do you want, if by some miracle of the fates, you happen to win?”
A softness came over her, her smile growing wistful. “I want you to stay with me. I want a night with my husband.”
Her words pierced a blade of desire below his waist. Somehow he managed to respond. “I can’t share your bed, Isabel.”
“It’s lonely spending the nights by myself,” she admitted. “You needn’t share my pallet. But I’d like to have your company.”
He moved his pawn forward two squares, feeling low. It had been a long time since he’d stayed a night alone with Isabel. To do so now was dangerous, especially since his body and mind had very different ideas about how he should live out his marriage. Even so, he murmured, “All right.”
Isabel let the shawl drop from her shoulders and reached out to cut another slice of bread. She leaned over the chess board, and he caught a tempting glimpse of her breasts. “Would you like some?”
“You’re cheating,” he said, accepting the bribe. The light bread was better than any he’d ever tasted.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she bit her lip as she pondered the next move. She worried it, twisting those delectable lips until he wanted to kiss her again.
Críost, she was doing this on purpose, using her body to tempt him from thinking about the game. Two could play this.
“It’s warm in here,” he remarked, unlacing his tunic and raising it over his head. Bare-chested, he reached out and captured her knight.
Isabel’s eyes widened, but a few moves later, she loosened the laces of her gown. When she moved her bishop out of his path, she bared a single shoulder.
“You’re not going to win that way.” He fully intended to conquer the black queen, and he wasn’t at all interested in what his wife planned to take off next.
“Check,” she replied.
Damn it, she had his queen cornered. He moved the piece out of her attack and a few moves later, he’d put her in check.
“Your move,” he reminded her.
Isabel stood. “I’m thirsty. Would you like a cup of mead?”
“I want you to finish this game. I’m about to win.”
She shrugged and poured herself a cup. Sipping it slowly, she knelt beside the chess board. With her fingers, she loosened the ties of the gown even more.
“Your gown stays on,” he gritted out.Concentrate on the game, he warned himself. But curse it all, he wasn’t all that interested in winning any more. He’d much rather spend this night with Isabel, kissing her again.
“Checkmate.” She leaned against her palm, smiling serenely at him.
How in the name of Lug had she managed that? But there was no escaping it. She’d won, without question. Again.
Patrick shoved the game board aside, letting the pieces fall where they would. Isabel had no time to react before he seized her waist and pulled her to him, devouring the mouth that had captivated him for the past hour. She tasted of honeyed sweetness, and carnal temptation.
Her hands moved across his chest, tracing the outline of his muscles. He jerked at the touch, then took her hands in his grip. For the thousandth time, he cursed the fact that she was a Norman. He wanted her in his bed, wanted to know her body intimately.
But it would only tangle matters further. If she were still a virgin, the archbishop could easily dissolve their marriage. If he gave into temptation, it would double the amount of gold needed to bribe the Church.
With regret, he broke away. “Good night,a stór.”
Her expression was dazed, a woman caught up in the same storm of desire he felt. But she managed a nod. “Good night.”
