Taming the Prince (9 page)

Sara seemed to notice the condition of his feet right about the time that last thought formed in his brain. “Oh my God,” she said, crawling around the fire to where Shane had propped his feet on a rock to catch some of its warmth. Gingerly, she lifted one foot in her hand, noting the blood-stained sock. “You told me your feet were all right.”

“They were all right when you asked,” he lied.

“They were not,” she countered. “They’ve been bleeding. That obviously didn’t start just now.”

“Yeah, but they were numb when you asked me, so I didn’t know they were hurt,” he qualified.

“Liar,” she replied succinctly. “You cut them to ribbons while we were running. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Well, gee, I was kinda busy at the time,” he pointed out. “There was somebody chasing me who probably would have killed me if he caught me, and that sorta took my attention away from other matters.” He reined in his irritation—though whether that irritation was for Sara or himself, he couldn’t quite say—and added, “Besides, what would we have done? Stop running? Go slower? Be more careful so I don’t hurt my widdle footsies? I don’t think so.”

She made a face at him. “You wear Fawn’s shoes tomorrow. As I said, her feet were on the elephantine side, so they might even fit you.”

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “You keep Fawn’s shoes.” He grinned at her. “They don’t match my belt at all.”

“They took your belt,” Sara pointed out, grinning back at him in spite of herself.

“All the more reason not to wear the shoes,” he replied. “I’d be a walking, talking fashion-don’t.”

Sara didn’t think Shane’s comment really commanded a reply, so she said nothing as she gently stripped away the
socks from both of his feet. Evidently, she wasn’t gentle enough, however, as she heard him wince a few times as she worked. Once she had the socks removed, the scant light provided by the shrinking fire revealed just how badly he had been lying about their condition. They were a mess, crisscrossed with scrapes and cuts and streaked with dried blood.

There was still a spot of tea left in the thermos, so she reached for it and unscrewed the top. She started to remove her sweater, thinking she’d soak a corner of it with the tepid liquid and clean his feet. Then she realized she’d be better off hanging on to the warmer garment and using her blouse for bandages.

“Be right back,” she said suddenly, standing.

Obviously confused by her action, Shane said, “Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

Sara thrust a thumb over her shoulder. “Behind the rock for a moment. I have something I need to do.”

She left him to interpret that as he would, then retreated into the darkness to remove a few things—her stockings were a mess, too, after all—and then don her sweater again. She buttoned the cardigan up to its top button at the crew neck, and returned with her shirt in her hands.

“One hundred percent silk,” she said as she ripped it in two. “
And
it’s Ralph Lauren. It should make excellent bandages.”

“But—”

She cut off whatever he had intended to add by ripping the shirt again, therefore making whatever objection he might utter a moot point. When she had a half-dozen strips of fabric for each foot, she balled up what was left of her blouse and used it as a washcloth. Very carefully, she bathed first one foot and then the other, doing her best to ignore Shane’s hisses and muttered grunts of discomfort.

When she finished her ablutions, she used the strips of fabric she’d torn to carefully wrap each of his feet. Then she propped both of them back atop the smooth rock he
had placed near the fire, as they had been before. But when she glanced up to see how he was faring, her breath caught suddenly in her throat. His face was half-cast in shadow, but even so, she could see that his eyes had grown darker and heavy-lidded. He was focused wholly on her face, and even through the faint light, she saw something in his expression that was both appealing and somehow menacing. Something that in fact seemed to be rather…arousing? And also perhaps…aroused?

Oh, dear…

“Ah…does that feel better?” she asked, her voice coming out as a bare squeak.

Shane nodded slowly in response. But he said nothing. He only continued to gaze at her in that arousing, aroused manner, something that had the effect on Sara of making her feel aroused, too.

Oh,
dear…

She swallowed with some difficulty and tried to tell herself she was only imagining things. She was only imagining the slow heat that had begun to wind through her the moment she looked up to find him staring at her. She was only imagining the way that heat seemed to be lighting little fires in its wake, all throughout her body. She was only imagining the way she wished she could touch him as intimately elsewhere as she had his feet. She was only imagining how much she wished he would take her into his arms and hold her. Kiss her. And also—

“Is there…is there anything…anything else I can do for you?” she stammered, putting a halt to her errant thoughts before they wandered too far into dangerous territory. “To…to make you more…more comfortable, I mean?”

Again Shane nodded slowly in response to her nervous question. But still he said nothing to clarify his, ah, needs.

“And, um…what might that, uh, be?” she made herself ask.

For a moment, he still didn’t reply, though he continued to gaze at her as if he were unable to look anywhere else.
And the longer he studied her, the more anxious and aroused Sara became. Good heavens, how could he make her feel so needy and wanton without even touching her? Without even saying a word? Other men had used far more sophisticated means in an attempt to seduce her, yet Shane Cordello didn’t even have to crook his little finger to make her want to capitulate to him completely. How could that be?

When he remained silent, she began to wonder if maybe her voice had grown as weak as her body felt, and she hadn’t even been able to project it the few feet necessary to reach his ears. She was about to utter the question again—if only she could remember now what it was she had asked him—when finally he spoke up.

But all he said was “Come here,” in a low, gravelly voice unlike any she had heard from him since their initial encounter. In fact, if she had thought he sounded aroused before, now he sounded like a man who was utterly intent on…

Good heavens. He sounded like a man who was intent on making love to the likeliest woman this very moment. Not that she had heaps of experience in recognizing how men sounded when they were intent on making love to the likeliest woman this very moment, but she wasn’t a trembling virgin. Just a regular virgin, that was all. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t been physical with a man. She just hadn’t been quite
that
physical with one. Nevertheless, she
did
recognize the sound of a man who was put on when she heard one. And Shane definitely sounded put on. Or something.

But how could a man get put on by having a woman wash his bloody feet? That wasn’t sexual by any stretch of the imagination. Not for a woman, anyway. But men? Well, she had seen them become randy over something as innocuous as the shape of a pudding dessert. Still, maybe she didn’t know that much about men after all.

“Wh-what did you say?” she asked, just in case maybe she
had
heard him incorrectly.

“Come here,” he repeated, more loudly this time. More insistently this time. More commandingly. More arousingly…

Oh,
dear.

Normally, when issued a command by someone other than her professors, Sara desisted. In fact, she often even desisted when her professors issued commands. She didn’t like it when people told her what to do, regardless of the situation. Which, now that she thought about it, might not be such a good trait for a person to have when she wanted to join the RII. But that was beside the point. The point was that when Shane Cordello murmured, “Come here,” every cell inside her leaped to respond. In the affirmative. Eagerly. It was as if there was an invisible string attached to both of them, and in speaking as he had, he had just tugged his end of that string. Hard. Because before she even realized what she was doing, she was crawling from her place at his feet up past the rest of him, toward his face.

“What?” she asked as she knelt by his right shoulder. “What is it you need me to do?”

He hesitated only a moment, then, in that same throaty, cajoling whisper, he said, “I need for you to lean down here closer.”

Sara swallowed hard at the way his eyes seemed to grow even darker as he spoke. “Wh-why?” she asked, the word coming out a little breathless. A little languid. A little needy.

Oh, dear.

“Ah…wh-why do you need for me to do that?” she asked again.

He held her gaze firmly with his as he told her, “Because, Sara, I very much need to kiss you.”

H
e very much needed to kiss her.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, dear.

Certain she must have misheard, Sara gazed steadily down into Shane’s face in an effort to see if maybe her hearing was going…or if her wits had been completely addled by her ordeal. But she could tell right away from his expression that he had said exactly what she thought he’d said. Even more important, he had
meant
it.

“You…you…you…” she began. But she couldn’t quite manage to do anything more than repeat that one little word, because her brain seemed to have shut down completely, even as other parts of her body were vaulting to life.

“I need to kiss you, Sara,” he said again, even more loudly, insistently, commandingly and arousingly than before. “I want to kiss you. Lean down here so that I can.”

And somehow, even as she told herself it was a bad idea, Sara did exactly as he asked…insisted…commanded…
whatever. Slowly, she bent forward, but she kept her palms flat on the ground, as if that might hold her anchored there—in reality, at safety. But as her face drew nearer to his, Shane reached up and curled his hand lightly over the nape of her neck, encouraging her closer still when she might have hesitated.

Ha, she thought as her mouth hovered over his. As if she would hesitate with something like this….

And then her mouth was on his, or perhaps his mouth was on hers, but really what difference did it make when such a wondrous sensation dashed through her body as a result? Had she felt cold before? she wondered vaguely. How odd. Because suddenly the most languorous warmth was winding throughout her body, from her mouth to her chest to her belly…and then to points beyond.

Shane kissed Sara in a way that she had never been kissed before, at once tentatively and tenaciously, both curiously and confidently. At first he seemed only to want a brief taste of her, because he only brushed his lips lightly across hers, once, twice, three times, before pulling slightly back again. When he broke contact, she opened her eyes, only to find him gazing enigmatically into her own. She felt herself smile, and then, instead of waiting for him to return to her, she dipped her head forward again and pressed her mouth to his.

The sensation that followed was quite exquisite.

The hand on her nape curled tighter, the fingers delving into her hair to weave through the errant strands and push her closer still. The rasp of his beard abraded her mouth, but his lips were soft…so soft and warm and inviting. Unable to help herself, Sara moved her hands from the ground and flattened her palms against his chest, marveling at the supple, solid musculature she felt beneath her fingertips. She had noticed right off how well built he was, thanks, presumably, to his line of work. And a number of times during the flight—and even after—she had felt her gaze wander toward him, to his bare arms and the flagrant biceps
straining against the sleeves of his T-shirt. The snug garment had let her know, too, how impressively the rest of him was fashioned. And she had wondered—too often—how it would feel to be the woman lying beside, even beneath, such a man.

Here was her chance, she thought.

And then, without even realizing she had done it, she found herself stretched out alongside him, her entire body fitted to his. Shane reacted instantly, roping his other arm around her waist and pulling her half atop himself, splaying his hand open at the small of her back, as if he feared she would move away and wanted to anchor her in place.

Oh, no worries there, she wanted to tell him. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not just yet…

She moved a hand to his hair and pushed her fingers through it, loving the feel of the silky tresses as they sifted over her flesh. Shane tilted his head and slanted his mouth over hers more possessively, intensifying the kiss as he pressed his mouth more intimately against hers. Again and again he kissed her, each kiss growing gradually more desperate than the one before, until his hunger for her seemed voracious. When Sara opened her mouth to gasp for breath, he thrust his tongue inside, tasting her tentatively at first, then with more passion. She was initially surprised by the invasion, and almost drew away. But there was something wholly erotic about the feel of him inside her that way, and she found herself opening to him more willingly, even venturing her own tongue inside his mouth, to enjoy a taste or two of him herself.

He groaned at her first penetration, moving the hand on her nape up to the crown of her head, to hold her in place for his own exploration. For long moments they warred for possession of the kiss, their tongues tangling and tantalizing, tasting and teasing. And then Sara felt herself spinning, landing on her back, and Shane crawling half atop her. The weight of him, bearing down on her breasts and pelvis and thighs, sent a zing of sensation pounding through her entire
body—never had she felt so utterly aroused. As she looped her arms around his waist, he insinuated one of his legs between hers and dropped a hand to her hip. He propped himself up on one elbow, his forearm cradling her neck and urging her head back up to his.

And then he was well and truly in charge of the kiss, penetrating her mouth deeply again and again and again. The hand at her hip skimmed down to her thigh and lifted her leg over his. Sara enthusiastically complied, hooking the back of her knee over his in an effort to bring him closer still. When she did, Shane thrust his own leg higher, harder, against that most intimate part of her, creating a delicious friction unlike anything she’d ever felt before. This time it was Sara who groaned in response, first to the frenetic shot of heat that exploded between her legs, and then to the way it moved outward, shuddering throughout her body.

And then she felt his hand creeping higher again, over her waist, to the hem of her sweater. Without warning, he freed the bottom button, then the one above it, and the one above that. When he had exposed her bare abdomen, he flattened a warm hand against it, skimming his open palm over her sensitive flesh from one side to another. Heat followed wherever he touched her, combining with that below her waist to generate an almost atomic reaction inside her. And still he kissed her, harder, deeper, faster, and all Sara could do was cling to him and hope he never stopped.

Then more buttons were being freed on her sweater, until the garment gaped wide over her bra. Shane tore his mouth from hers and, gasping, dragged damp, openmouthed kisses over her jaw, her throat, her neck. And then he was kissing the plump flesh above her bra, curving his hand over the lacy fabric beneath to make it plumper still. Sara tangled her fingers in his hair, feeling nearly insensate at the sensations firing through her. His thigh pressed against her again, generating another frantic combustion between her legs.

By now her skirt had ridden up well over her hips, to nearly her waist, and along with her gaping sweater, made her feel exposed and vulnerable. And somewhere at the back of her fevered brain, Sara slowly began to realize what was happening. What would happen if she allowed Shane’s exploration, and her own, to continue. And she knew she wasn’t ready for it to happen. Not yet.

“No!” she cried as she pulled herself away from him. She pressed both hands against his chest and pushed hard, then scrambled up from beneath him, moving quickly to the other side of the now nearly dead fire. She pulled her sweater around her and tried to quell her breathing, slowly tempering the rapid, ragged gasps. But her thoughts spun so riotously through her head that they lacked coherence and meaning. She honestly didn’t know what to say.

“We can’t,” she finally managed breathlessly. Because that realization, if no other, did become crystal clear. “We can’t do this, Shane. We can’t.”

“Why not?” he demanded, his own breathing every bit as rasping and uneven as her own.

She groped for the first thing that might make sense. “The Black Knights,” she said. “They could be anywhere.” Though she was confident they’d lost their pursuers some time ago. “We must keep our wits about us,” she added nonetheless—because that, at least, was true.

Oh, well-done, Sara,
she then congratulated herself when she finally got the words out.
Blame it on the Black Knights. Good girl. Don’t let him know it’s your own sorry, fearful self you’re really letting stand in the way.

For a moment, she heard nothing from the other side of the fire except Shane’s continued panting for breath. Then, very softly, “Right,” he said. “Right. I don’t guess it would be a good idea to let them catch us with our pants down.”

She closed her eyes and wished very, very hard that he hadn’t used that particular euphemism.

Evidently, he was rethinking it himself, because he quickly tried to backpedal. “I mean, uh…” he said.

But they both knew it was too late for that. Had their embrace gone much longer or much further, they would have been caught without considerably more than their pants. They would have been caught without their inhibitions, without their cares, without their good judgment. And the loss of those, Sara knew, would be infinitely worse than the loss of clothing.

“No harm done,” she said, knowing full well what a horrendous lie that was. “Tensions are running high for both of us. It was bound to happen eventually.”

Again, silence met her remarks for a moment, then, “Yeah, right,” Shane said sarcastically. “Bound to happen. Tensions high. Nothing more than that.”

“Right,” she agreed dismally. “Nothing more than that.”

She tried to button up her sweater, but it took longer than usual because her hands were trembling so ferociously. When she finally did turn to face Shane again, the fire was well and truly out—all of the fires, in fact, she couldn’t help thinking—so that all she could decipher of him was a scant profile in the darkness that told her nothing of what he might actually be feeling.

Disappointment, no doubt, she thought, which, along with a host of other things, was what she was feeling herself. She just wished she knew if they felt disappointed about the same things. For Shane, as it would be for any man, it was probably his missing out on the physical coupling to which their embrace was a prelude that frustrated him most. He probably didn’t care that it was Sara, specifically, with whom he’d be denied his coupling, only that his body told him to go for the most convenient available warm body, and suddenly that body wasn’t there.

For Sara, though, disappointment took many forms. Yes, she, too, was frustrated to miss out on that physical coupling, but not just because it was what her body com
manded her to do with the most readily accessible vessel. No, it was specifically Shane she wanted for that union, and no one else. She only wished she could tell if he felt the same way about her.

Not that she suspected for a moment that he was, like she, a virgin. But she would have liked to think that in making love to her, he would experience the same sort of “firstness” that she experienced herself. She wanted him to think making love with her was different from other women. She wanted him to think
she
was different from other women. She wanted him to think she was special to him. The way he was special to her.

Unfortunately, Sara just couldn’t convince herself that that was true. The two of them were just so very different. And they each had obligations that might very well be insurmountable. Sara had looked forward to a career with the RII since she was a child on her father’s knee, and that meant making a commitment unlike any she’d ever made before. Shane might very well be the new monarch of Penwyck, something that would require a massive commitment from him—if he accepted the position, and if indeed it was his to accept. They both had much to lose and much to sacrifice if they became involved. And Sara, for one, knew she had to give great thought to what lay ahead before she could surrender herself so completely—to Shane or any man.

Though, at the moment, she doubted there would ever be any man but Shane to whom she wanted to surrender.

She lifted a hand to rub her weary eyes. Sleep. She needed sleep. They both did. Neither could trust anything that happened when they were exhausted and running on adrenaline. It was no wonder they’d turned to each other the way they had. It
could
have happened to anyone. Really, it could. Truly.

“We should probably sleep in shifts,” Shane said, as if he’d read her mind. “I’m a little, ah…wired myself, so why don’t you go first?”

“All right,” Sara said reluctantly. Not that she thought she was any more inclined to sleep herself. Still, she did feel so very tired. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a bit…

She lay down where she stood—well away from Shane Cordello. She knew that with the night being so cool, it would make more sense for the two of them to lay side by side and collect each other’s body heat. But considering what other kind heat would no doubt be generated by such a position, she’d probably be better off sleeping over here, in the cold. So she made herself as comfortable as she could, folding one arm beneath her head to use as a pillow, clutching her sweater tightly around her.

Tomorrow, she thought, things would make more sense. Tomorrow, in the light of day, all would be much clearer. Tomorrow, they could find their way down the mountain and hopefully to some sort of village or settlement. And then…

She sighed heavily as her eyelids drooped. Well, she’d think about
and then
tomorrow.

Evidently by silent and mutual consent when they set off the following morning, neither Sara nor Shane spoke a word about what had happened. There were times when Shane thought he had dreamed the embrace they’d shared the night before, so elusive and unreal did it seem. And then there were other times when he knew it had happened—he could relive every touch and taste of Sara—but was forced to acknowledge that it had been a mistake. Only problem was, he couldn’t quite make himself believe it had been a mistake. Because how could something that felt so good, so right, so perfect, have ever been a mistake? In either event, he was relieved Sara seemed as unwilling to discuss it as he was himself. Because regardless of the circumstances, it shouldn’t have happened.