Dragon's Desire (2 page)

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Guy D’Alba prowled the fairgrounds in a Templar’s costume that was no costume. The chain mail hauberk, well-oiled and meticulously maintained, didn’t betray its age. Due to the muggy heat, he’d left off the mail coif and metal gauntlets. Less authentic, but more comfortable, he wore modern leather-studded bands around his wrists, dark trousers tucked into heeled boots, and a replica Templar’s tunic over his mail.

On a whim, he’d donned the clothing and armor, wanting to mingle among the folk garbed in clothing of mis-matched eras and pretend he was home.

For Guy, home wasn’t a place. Home had been a
time
when he’d known who he was, and deep in his soul, his purpose. Home certainly wasn’t here and now with canned Medieval-style music piped throughout the grounds to give the people paying at the gates an “authentic” experience.

Today, he walked through the castle’s bailey, which had been transformed into a Renaissance Faire—a one-day event to celebrate the completion of the castle. Those who’d labored to reassemble the large gray limestone keep and outer walls, painstakingly placing every stone exactly where it had lain when the edifice sat atop Drakkenberg, were being rewarded for their efforts. Their families were admitted for free, their meal tickets placed in envelopes for them to claim. The general public paid to enter.

All had free access to the grounds, but not the interior of the keep. Those were the private quarters of Guy’s overlord—an old-fashioned term perhaps, but appropriate for their relationship.

Long ago, he’d sworn his allegiance to the Lord of Drakkenberg. No matter how many centuries passed, he’d never break that vow. Others may have donned the Crusader’s tunic and helm intent on pillage, but Guy had travelled to Palestine to assure his place in heaven. Despite all the wealth he’d accumulated over the centuries, his most prized possession remained his honor.

However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t disgruntled at having to troll for his overlord, mail clanking as he strode stiff-legged through the bailey. The specifications were always the same. Young, virgin, malleable...blonde and attractive... but with a pleasing disposition. One didn’t want to spend decades living with a shrew.

Guy scanned the crowd swelling through the gates. Surely someone would pique his lordship’s interest while sating his appetite for virgin flesh...

“Do you mind if I take a picture?”

He turned and glanced down.

A young woman stood beside him, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She held up her long-lensed camera. “I’m taking pictures for the paper. Your costume is amazing.”

Annoyed, Guy snorted.
Costume.
Test the edge of my blade, little girl.
Only he wasn’t wearing his sword. The glint of humor in her hazel eyes pulled an unexpected reaction. He threw back his head. “Wench, think you I have time to for such mundane concerns?” he said, roughening his voice. “I’ve a dragon I must slay.”

“Nice.” Her lips twitched then stretched. “However, your accent needs some work.”

“My accent?” he asked, taken aback.

“It’s a little too garbled to be purely English.”

English!
Now completely insulted, Guy scowled. “I’m French.”

Her eyes squinted slyly upward. “Oh, that explains it, I guess. Although, I believe this humble keep hails from Germany. Maybe you should increase the gargling.” She grinned.

Guy grinned back. How long had it been since anyone had made him smile?

She tilted her head and sunlight reflected glints of gold, wheat, and oak in the shining straight strands that fell past her slender shoulders. “Are you a contract performer or a reenactor?”

“I live here.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? Are you Lord Dr—”

“No, he’s my employer.”
An employer who is likely bellowing for sustenance.
Guy’s smile tightened. Of course, she’d be more interested in the lord of the castle. Just as well, for she appeared to meet the
exterior
requirements. However, she was in her early twenties. No virgin by the bold way her gaze hungrily swept his frame.

“Do you think you could introduce me? I’d love an interview.”

Widening his stance, he rested his hands on his hips. “He’s already been interviewed by a reporter for the paper.”

“I know, but I thought if maybe I could get a different slant, I might graduate from the classifieds.”

“You have ambition?” he scoffed.

She raked a hand through her hair and sunlight glinted off the slender band she wore on her third finger. “Well, yeah.”

He eyed the slender band, recognizing its significance from his studies of American cultural mores. His interest grew keener. “Are you married?”

Her eyebrows drew together, forming the beginnings of a frown. “Are you hitting on me?”

“Forgive me if I seem rude, but I would want to know how to introduce you.”

The frown cleared. “It’s
Miss
Angela Bowman. There’s no mister.”

Wanting to be assured he’d correctly guessed at the band’s significance, he murmured, “The ring...”

A rosy blush crept across her cheek. “It’s a...purity ring. I’ve worn it for so long, I forget it’s there.”

Guy crossed his arms over his chest, and touched a finger to his chin as he regarded the girl. From her appearance she would do quite well, although she was petite. All curves were in proportion to her frame, her breasts were a gentle swell against her t-shirt, her hips nicely rounded beneath a narrow waist. Blonde hair, hazel eyes.

How did one ascertain a woman’s virtue without offending? If she’d forgotten she wore the ring, had it lost its meaning? This was a problematic era in a culture where virginity was no longer prized. One could no longer assume because a woman was single, or wore a special ring, that she’d remained pure.

Still, he had experience in determining a woman’s chasteness—centuries of it. “Can I invite you for a mug of ale while I consider your request?”

She blinked, and this time the blush appeared to be one of pleasure. “I’d like that.”

Guy bent an elbow and offered his left arm.

“You smile,” he murmured, ducking his head to speak.

His action increased the sense of intimacy she felt. Angela barely restrained herself from playing with her hair. She wasn’t a girlie-girl, had never really learned to flirt. She wished she had because she sensed she was out of her depth with this man. “It’s a lovely day,” she said, wincing inwardly because the comment sounded so inane.

His teeth were a flash of gleaming white. “And it’s almost over,” he said, gaze lifting to the sun sinking behind the edge of the rock wall.

At the ale tent, he held back the canvas flap and waved her inside. “Head to the back. It’s quieter.”

And darker. The late afternoon light peeking through the doorway barely brightened the entrance. Lights strung along the ceiling ended before the last of the bench tables. Candles in globes burned to chase away a little of the shadows.

A clinking of metal sounded, and he sat with his back to the crowd then signaled her to sit beside him.

She stepped over the bench and lowered to the seat, angling her body toward his as he did the same. This close, their knees touched. His hand settled on the table beside hers, and she marveled at the contrast. His large hand was tanned. Hers looked like a child’s beside it.

He touched a finger to her ring, but turned to catch her glance.

Embarrassed to have been caught studying him, she ducked her chin.

“Have you lived here always?” he asked, his voice a lazy drawl.

“Since my parents died when I was a teenager. My aunt took me in.” And Angela became her caretaker after her aunt was diagnosed with cancer.

“Then perhaps you would be willing to show me the sights.”

Angela laughed. “Did your boss really not research the area before you moved an entire castle to this mountain? Besides the river, which is good for fishing and rafting, there’s not a lot to see.”

“What do you do in your free time? Do you have a boyfriend?”

First the ring, then this. Was he angling to find out if she was available? The thought that he might be interested in her sent a warm wave of pleasure to her cheeks. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She refrained from telling him she’d never had a serious relationship. The last thing she wanted was to appear pathetic.

He leaned closer, his blue gaze intent. “But you’re very pretty. How have you managed to remain...single?”

Angela cleared her throat, but didn’t let her gaze veer from his, no matter how much she wished she could retreat. The man was a little overwhelming—something her rapidly melting body appreciated. “My aunt was diagnosed with cancer shortly after I moved here,” she said softly. “I spent most of my spare time tending her, taking her to appointments, sitting with her during chemo...”

An instant later, his hand cupped hers. “When did she pass?”

His question was quiet, with a touch of empathy that pleased her, thinking he must be a kind man. “A year ago.”

His finger traced the edge of her hair where it fell across her cheek, then pushed the strand behind her ear.

The gesture was tender, his eyes warm. Or was she reading more into this?

“Forgive me,” he murmured, “ but I hope you won’t think I’m too bold...” He leaned toward her, his eyes glittering fiercely.

Part of her wanted to pull away because of the intensity of that look. It seared, causing her blood to heat and speed through her veins. The other part, her curious, already infatuated heart, held still as his mouth took hers.

With just the soft press of his lips, she sighed, her body swaying toward him, her mind emptying of everything except the firmness of his lips. When his tongue tentatively probed between hers, she gasped and opened.

Only he didn’t surge inside. His tongue barely penetrated, touching the tip of hers, and she relaxed further, enjoying the slow, building pleasure of his kiss.

He drew back, and several seconds passed before she realized the kiss had ended. She blinked her eyes and blushed at the knowing look he gave her. “I will grant you your interview,” he whispered, then leaned away, straightening. “But I must warn you his lordship has some...eccentricities. He likes his privacy.”

His lordship.
Oh, the interview. She shook her head and wondered how he could so quickly change from ardent lover to brisk businessman. “I don’t want to intrude. I promise not to stay past a half an hour.”

“I will have to blindfold you. To assure his privacy. And you cannot bring your camera.”

“Blindfold me? Seriously?” she asked, excited because it seemed she’d get the interview she’d prized. “That’s really necessary?”

“Only if you want your interview.” He dipped his chin. “Like I said, his lordship has certain eccentricities.”

The interview was what she’d come for, but suddenly, she wasn’t so eager to achieve her goal. Instead, she’d enjoyed her time alone with this man.

She drew a deep sudden breath. Lord, she’d never even asked his name. She’d blurted hers, hoping to make a connection. But he hadn’t asked for it. Embarrassment flooded her. Her name wasn’t important. She wasn’t important. Not to the man staring so steadily. He wasn’t going to become her beau, wasn’t really interested in dating her.

Her aunt’s words about boys not buying the cow when they could get the milk for free echoed in her mind. Shame brought another flush of heat which washed down her neck.

She’d been easy. Let him walk her into a dark corner and kiss her silly. And now he expected her to let him blindfold her and lead her off somewhere they would be alone.

“You can ask any of the staff here who I am,” he murmured. “If you’re worried about your safety. But I promise nothing will happen. Nothing you won’t want.”

Almost as though he’d read her misgivings, he’d countered them. His body was so still, she knew her answer was important. She instinctively knew, the way a woman knows when a man is really interested, that they weren’t really talking about an interview anymore. “I don’t know you.”

“But you do. We’ve kissed,” he said, a smile stretching slowly across his full lips.

A smile that invited confidence, that enticed, teased...tempted. And lord, she was tempted to forget good sense, because, right this moment, she didn’t care whether he was taking her to interview his boss or leading her to his bed. She wanted everything his knowing expression promised. Years of celibacy had primed her imagination with fantasies of what her first time would be like. This man in shining armor far exceeded her wildest dreams.

She tilted her head and aimed a narrowed glance his way, telling him silently that if he expected an easy conquest, he was bound to be disappointed. No, she wanted more than a quick introduction to the carnal arts. Much more. “I agree to your terms. I want that interview.”