Page 88

He planned on restraint. He’d not dishonor her by taking her virginity. And yet he found himself closing the door and crossing the room in just a few strides. Clara stood in front of the fire, the outline of her shift clearly defining every curve. When she turned, he was lost.

Alex pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and Clara immediately responded. Their tongues tangled together, his knee separating her legs so they could be even closer.

There were too many layers between them.

He tore off his tunic in one easy motion, then lifted the borrowed shift over her head. She didn’t stop him. If this continued, they would make an irreversible mistake.

Nay, not a mistake. He and Clara had been pulled together from the first by some unnamable force. She tried to cover herself, but he wouldn’t let her. Alex took both of her hands in his, memorizing the perfection in front of him. He’d seen her from afar, but now, standing so close, he was in awe.

“You’re perfect,” he said, and meant it.

She hadn’t appeared nervous until that moment. Her mouth lifted at the sides, but Alex reminded himself to slow down. He’d never wooed a virgin before, and this was no ordinary woman. It was Clara.

As for the consequences, they would face those later. Together.

He let go of her hands and began to remove the remainder of his clothing. She didn’t turn away this time. Indeed, she watched him so intently that he sprang to life immediately.

“Um, Alex.”

Her eyes were so wide, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Trust me, Clara,” he said.

“Can I. . .” She took a step toward him. God help him, Clara was going to touch him. He may have nodded but wasn’t sure. She reached out and tentatively placed her hand on him. Alex closed his eyes and prayed for the strength he’d need to do this right.

Gently. Slowly.

When she wrapped her hand around him, his eyes popped open.

“Clara.” He reached for her, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded. And while she was the first virgin he’d been with, Alex would wager she did not act like most women who hadn’t yet experienced the joy of lovemaking.

This was a woman who’d spent six years disguised as a boy. Afraid for her life. Living among men and camp followers in one of the most brutal settings on either side of the border. Tournaments offered gold and jeweled prizes, and their stands glittered from spectators in fancy clothes, but the reality of what went on behind the scenes was harsh and raw—and she’d been exposed to all of it.

“Show me,” she said, looking at him appreciatively.

He mistakenly looked down at her hand wrapped around him, and while he’d enjoy nothing more than for her to continue, he couldn’t do it. Not before he gave her pleasure.

He guided her hand away from him.

“Later,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

He pulled Clara toward him, their bodies slamming together, skin on skin, his column pressed against her. He kissed her deeply, their tongues melding together, as he ached from a need so powerful it terrified him.

He refused to think about that now and pressed against her, allowing her to grow accustomed to the feel and size of him. She returned the pressure, grasping at his back, trying to get even closer. He knew what she wanted, but he’d promised her something else first.

Without warning, Alex picked her up and carried her to the bed. He tore the covering completely off and tossed it onto the ground, laying her down as gently as possible. He shoved the trunk at the foot of the bed, standing in the place it had vacated.

“Come toward me,” he told her, no longer able to see her expression now that they were farther away from the fire.

“I don’t understand.” Her voice faltered, and Alex knew how she felt. The need to be inside her nearly consumed him, but he had vowed to make this night about her. She deserved pleasure after so much pain. And he was going to give it to her.

He pulled her toward him and toward the edge of the bed, where he knelt below her. Just a little closer.

“I made a promise that I intend to keep,” he murmured, lowering his head toward her.

And that’s when she nearly screamed.

21

At dinner, she’d thought he was surely jesting, but he really did intend to. . .