The Price of Freedom (4 page)

The night air was cool as Mischa stepped out of her sandals and shed the borrowed robe. She folded it with a care born of nervousness and laid it beside the entrance to the tent. When she lifted the tent flap, she’d be backlit by star and moonlight, visible to Rafe. If he was still angry about her earlier distrust of his actions and honor, he might dismiss her. The thought chilled.

On the other hand, standing naked out here debating her chances only emphasized her cowardice.

Mischa gripped the tent flap, raised it and stepped inside.

Rafe lay back on cushions, watching her. He’d lit oil lamps and sent away the uneaten feast. There was only him, her, and their desire.

She let the tent flap fall behind her. “Are you angry with me?”

“I was.” He lounged magnificently, one knee hooked up, a robe providing modesty but exposing his chest and some thigh. “But your nakedness disarms me. Is it an apology?”

“For misjudging you? No. For not having the courage to admit my own desire for you? Yes, it is an apology for that.” She paused to take a deep breath. Renewed confidence flowed through her as Rafe watched the lift of her breasts. She smiled tentatively. “Mostly, my nakedness is an invitation.”

His gaze moved from her breasts to her mouth.

Her breasts felt heavy and swollen, the nipples painfully tight. She touched her tongue to her tingling lips. She would spell out the invitation if she had to. “I want to make love with you.”

Triumph flared in his eyes. “Show me.”

“H-how?” She walked forward uncertainly.

“Listen to your body. It knows.” He stared again at her breasts, then lower.

Sudden wetness surprised her. Just his gaze was readying her for his possession. She was shocked and excited. Shy.

“I’ve never done this before.” She hesitated beside him. Quivers destroyed the strength of her thighs.

He reached out and took her hand. “I will be your journey of discovery.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles, stroked her hand along his face.

“Rafe?” She ran her thumb along his cheekbone. His breath was warm against her naked hip.

He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. “Mmm?”

She gasped as his tongue flicked against her skin.

“Cover me,” he whispered.

She looked down at the challenge of his hard male body. “Lie on you?” She knew the mechanics of sex but now she confronted its intimacy. She would be naked over him, open to him.

Awkwardly she knelt, and froze as his hands cupped her breasts.

“I’ve dreamed of touching these. Lush and tipped with pink, like rosebuds.” His thumbs brushed her nipples and she cried out. “And not just touch.” He teased the nipples, circling their sensitivity. “I want to taste them.”

She swayed, caught in the mesmerism of his desire.

“Should I taste them?” He stared at her, hands still.

The weight of her breasts rested in his care. She covered his hands with hers. “Yes.”

Holding her gaze, he leaned toward her. She watched his mouth draw near. Yet the sweep of his tongue surprised her. The wetness, the soft firmness excited her. Her lips parted on a quick breath.

“You like that?”

He had to have felt her response, and she had no words. Apparently, none were needed. He placed her hands on his shoulders and bent again, this time without hesitation or preliminaries. He took her breast deeply, sucking greedily.

The strong rhythm rippled through her body, contracting her stomach and making her thighs tremble. She held desperately to his shoulders as her head fell back and she arched up, seeking ease for a new ache.

Rafe knew it. His hand slid down her body and pressed her intimately. His fingers were warm, slightly callused, hard and sure.

She jerked against his touch, then froze as the pleasure of her attempted withdrawal flooded her body. She rocked experimentally.

“Good?”

“Yes.” She rode the pressure of his hand, driven wild as he changed breasts and cool air teased the wet, abandoned nipple. “Please, please.” She moaned as his hand parted her folds, driven by her own frenzied movement. “Yes. Harder.”

She screamed. Her world exploded, splintered by a pleasure so intense she lost control.

She opened her eyes to see Rafe stripping off his robe and returning to lie beside her. She realized she was reclining on silk cushions, her body wantonly asprawl. How had it happened? She had no memory of moving, only her dazzling response to Rafe.

Even now her muscles were limp. He must have arranged her, placing her to delight his sight, touch and possession. Later she would argue about his control of her body. For now, she’d enjoy it.

She licked her lower lip, remembering his taste. The sight of him hard and aroused created an urgent, melting reaction. She shifted and he crouched and parted her thighs.

“Don’t shut me out,” he growled.

“I’m not.”

A finger traced her folds, recalling the sensations that had shattered her. She lifted off the cushions gasping, and he eased between her thighs.

“Rafe.” His weight felt wonderful. His skin was smooth as she caressed the muscles of his back and trailed her fingertips over the taut curve of his buttocks.

He groaned. “Mischa, I’m trying to exercise some control.”

“It’s overrated,” she assured him.

She ran her hands up the bumpiness of his spine, luxuriating in the deep quiver that transferred itself from him to her. His erection nudged her, alien and wonderful. She twisted her hands in his hair and brought his mouth down to hers.

He kissed her feverishly, hot, hard and possessive. And slid into her in one unstoppable claiming.

He stretched her, filled her, transported her. She wrapped her legs around him. Never, never would she let him go. He slid deeper. She squeezed.

“Mischa.” He groaned and surrendered, thrusting, pounding and demanding more, demanding everything.

She broke first, quivering and tightening around him, and holding his final surge as he shouted her name.

Slick skin against slick skin, they rolled onto their sides. Their hearts drummed, their breathing tangled. Mischa hugged Rafe in exuberant delight. There were fireworks under her skin, still smoldering.

“Thank you.”

“I’d intended to be gentle.”

“You were, and fierce. You were perfect.”

He smoothed her hip with a large hand. “Perfect?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She nuzzled his damp skin. An exploratory lick found it salty. “Perfect.” She slithered lower. This lazy exploration was incredibly tantalizing. Her questing mouth found a flat male nipple. She suckled delicately, enjoying the pleasure of teasing with tongue and teeth.

“Feeling playful?” Rafe slid down and fitted his mouth to hers.

She investigated the warm cavern of his mouth with her tongue, while his hands combed through her hair and sent shivers along her spine. She murmured approval when his tongue dueled with hers. He filled her senses, taste, scent, touch.

He rubbed his torso lightly against her, re-sensitizing her breasts. In the tangle of lower limbs, his muscled thigh rode between hers.

“Friction is heaven.” She stretched in voluptuous enjoyment and glanced down their bodies. “You’re nudging me.”

“Consider it a compliment.”

“A big compliment?” She looked at him through her lashes, teasing.

“What do you think?”

She pretended seriousness. “I’ll have to measure it.”

He hardened further in her hand and groaned as she traced the length of him. He rolled onto his back, flagrantly flaunting his arousal.

“Measure me properly. Do I fit?” Green eyes challenged her.

“Let’s see.” She rose over him and settled his tip against her folds. “It feels like you might fit.” She held his gaze, watching the fires burn, and came down on him.

“You fit,” she gasped.

“Perfectly.”

She allowed him his smugness. She herself felt like purring.

He took her hands, kissed the palms and placed them on his shoulders. “Ready?”

“For what?”

His hips bucked once in answer.

“Oh.”

He loved her slowly, strongly, controlling their movements so that she shattered, recovered, then exploded with him in the devastation of mutual passion.

“It just gets better,” she said.

He was still inside her and she didn’t want to move. She had melted over him like chocolate, and the drift of his hand over her naked back added to her satisfied lethargy.

“Mmm.” Rafe didn’t feel the need to talk. More than he’d ever dreamed was in his arms. Mischa’s warm body held him. Her incredible responsiveness had carried them both to the stars. Her trust, the surrender of her body, stirred an unfamiliar tenderness in him.

He raised his head and kissed her shoulder. She was perfect, and she was his. He traced the line of her back and her soft curves and listened to her breathing.

It steadied, slowed, and she slept.

In the lamp-lit darkness he smiled, settled her more comfortably and followed her example into sleep. And for the first time in centuries, he slept without nightmares.

Mischa woke to the aroma of coffee and fresh baked bread, a welcome aroma since she was starving. Starving and smugly pleased with how she’d earned that hunger. Without opening her eyes, she smiled.

Firm, familiar lips touched hers, tasting her smile, then deepening into a passionate greeting.

She savored the coffee flavor of Rafe’s mouth and felt the brush of his robe along her skin as he bent over her. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him firmly to his task, reaffirming their desire.

“Good morning,” he said huskily, kissing a path along the curve of her throat.

“Good morning.” She shivered as his tongue teased the tender skin behind her ear.

He nipped her earlobe. “I have breakfast.”

“Coffee,” she whispered.

“Honey,” he answered.

Her stomach gurgled unromantically.

Rafe laughed and broke off kissing her. “First we’ll eat.” But his hands lingered, caressing her breasts as he watched her flushed face.

“Breakfast,” Mischa reminded him, smiling.

“I remember.” He helped her rise and found her discarded robe.

She wrapped it around herself, grateful he realized that despite the night’s abandoned loving, she wasn’t ready to breakfast naked.

A low table held the breakfast foods: flat bread, honey, soft cheeses, fruits and, most important, coffee.

“Wonderful.” Mischa sank cross-legged onto a floor cushion.

Rafe sat comfortably beside her. They ate simply, not teasing or speaking, just enjoying the flavors and the gentle surge of energy from being near one another.

“When we have finished breakfast I will show you the oasis. There are deer in a corner where the grass grows by a shallow spring. There are finches, and the eagle flies high above. Many birds nest among the fruit trees. They fill the silence. If there is anything missing, anything you want here, I will get it.”

“Because I can’t.”

Rafe went still.

Mischa sighed. “I know that wasn’t fair. You gentled Haya’s wish as much as you could, and you’ve stolen time for us. You’ve behaved well. It’s I who have kicked and screamed against necessity.” She gripped his hand. “I’m glad for this time with you. Glad. It’s only my pride taking a beating because I’m dependent on your kindness. I’m sorry I hurt you with my words.”

“Your complaint remains a true one,” he said solemnly. “You are my prisoner.”

“A willing prisoner.”

“Truly?” He studied her. “I know how bonds fetter the soul.”

She smiled into his fierce regard. “I want you, Rafe. I’m happy to be with you.” She stood and pulled him to his feet. “Show me your oasis, your home.”

He slid his hands inside her robe and dragged her hard against him. “Later.”

“Later I mightn’t have the strength,” she teased, wanting the darkness in his eyes to ease. She had hurt him, and that wasn’t fair. He had introduced her to joy last night, given her patience and tenderness as well as glory. Her guilt at ignoring duty to the people she’d been appointed to guard was not Rafe’s guilt. He deserved a return of joy.

“Do I weaken you, Mischa?” His hands traced patterns of pleasure over her skin.

“Yes.” She sighed her answer, undulating to the stroke of his hands. He was teaching her body a lover’s dance, the incitement of desire, the expression of it. She flowed against him.

“You weaken me,” he said. “I dream of you. Last night, for the first time, I had no nightmares.”

“What are your nightmares?” She rubbed her hips against his, explicit in her demand, teasing in her retreat. It was part of the dance. Her heartbeat provided the rhythm.

“I dream of the people hurt by the wishes I serve.” His shrug didn’t make the admission casual.

Mischa’s heart jolted. Such nightmares could tear a person apart. Although bound, Rafe’s conscience tortured him. However, if she expressed her pity, her anger, she’d lose him. He had his pride and he wasn’t accustomed to letting anyone close.

“Sometimes I dream of the people my guardianship can’t save, the people who choose to do wrong. I wake crying.” She saw the guarded suspicion in his eyes, the fear of pity.

Time for a distraction, if she dared.

“Comfort me, Rafe.” She traced the pattern of comfort she wanted on her own body, her hands curling over her stomach, shaping her breasts, plunging from her waist to the swell of her hips. She quivered, struck by painful darts of arousal, speared by her own touch. Her eyes widened, appealing to Rafe as to how she could feel this way.

“It’s because I’m watching, because I want you, because you remember my touch.”

“Touch me,” she pleaded.

“Show me where again.”

“Here.” She widened her stance, trying not to fall as her legs trembled. “And here.”

Her breasts were swollen, tender from last night, the nipples erect. She watched Rafe’s hot gaze and touched her nipples. An agony of desire flooded her. She needed his mouth on her, soothing the ache.

She abandoned the game and reached for him, dragging his head to her breast. He suckled with the urgency she felt, tipping her back over his arm, then tumbling them to the floor. She tore at his robe till it opened and fell to enclose them both. He was hard and full, and she was more than ready for him. She guided him home, arching up to take him deeply

He pushed a cushion under her hips, withdrew and thrust again.

The deeper penetration drove her wild. It was as if he could never be deep enough, never close enough. She held him with arms and legs and called him on. He caught her wildness, surging and matching her writhing body. They strained against one another and together in joint pursuit of union, completion.

“Heaven.” She lay exhausted beneath him, arms and legs around him, unwilling to let him go. Their chests heaved. In the frantic moments, they’d forgotten to breathe.

“You were right,” Rafe said. “I’m too tired to show you the oasis.”

A puff of laughter escaped her. She smoothed the sweat-dampened hair from his face. “Lie with me and recover. We’ll go later.”

Rafe began the tour at the pool. They discarded their robes and walked into the water to bathe. Standing on the pebbled beach, he soaped Mischa’s glorious body as she tilted her face to the sun and rested one hand lightly against his chest for balance.

“I am happy,” she said.

His own happiness swelled. It was such a rare feeling, he’d have feared to trust it, except he knew he could trust Mischa. The truth of her statement glowed in her eyes. It reassured and pleased him, and made him oddly humble. He who guarded his pride felt awe that Mischa could shatter in his arms or smile at him as she smiled now.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Her smile widened. “My turn to soap you.”

It wasn’t seduction or prelude to loving. Their enjoyment of each other’s bodies was a pleasure in itself.

Rafe closed his eyes on a shudder of feeling as Mischa’s hands smoothed over his body.

“All done.” She kissed his mouth briefly. “Time to duck.” She led him deeper into the pool and pushed him backward.

He splashed hugely, caught by surprise, and surfaced to her laughter. He wiped water from his lashes and lunged. She darted sideways but he caught an ankle and unchivalrously tugged.

Laughing and mock fighting, they played in the pool. Rafe had never frolicked, but he discovered it came naturally, spilling out of happiness. They wrestled, chased and teased.

“Pax,” Mischa gasped, and rested against him.

He stopped tickling her and let his hands settle on her waist.

“I know it’s not long since breakfast,” Mischa said. “But I’m starved.”

“Tormenting me is serious work.” The comment earned him a friendly shove. He kept his balance and they walked out of the pool hand in hand. He summoned towels and a tunic such as Mischa usually wore, as well as a clean robe for himself. Sandals were essential wear for walking over the hot sand and sharp-edged grasses.

“May I have a comb?” Mischa asked.

He glanced at her but saw no resentment at having to make the request.

“Thank you.” She accepted the comb and hummed as she untangled her hair and braided it.

Observing a woman’s beauty routine was a new, pleasant intimacy. He handed Mischa a ribbon and watched her tie it.

She clasped his hand. “Let’s eat.”

Eating together was another revelation. He’d given hospitality before, but this was for Mischa. It added a new dimension to the sharing of food. He wanted to give her the world and was unprepared for the piercing satisfaction of placing spiced meats and pastries against her lips and having her accept them.

She savored his food, while he ate without tasting. His own being was a bewilderment to him. Emotion thundered under his skin, energized rather than appeased by his care for Mischa. Empty words gained meaning. To love and to cherish…

“You’re spoiling me.” Mischa smiled.

“Cherishing,” he corrected seriously. He wanted her happy here, not resenting that his stolen time was also hers.

Her open smile changed, fading from her mouth to glow in her eyes. “I feel cherished.”

Simple words, but something in him eased. He had her acceptance of his right to care for her.

“Mint tea?” he offered, letting the mundane guard his emotions. As one of the djinn, he wasn’t accustomed to vulnerability.

Her smile acknowledged his retreat from emotion. She shook her head and lay back among the scatter of cushions.

He studied her relaxed pose and the length of leg exposed. She had given him the right to touch her. He could lean over, cup her breast, kiss her. She’d respond.

“Would you like a siesta?”

She opened her eyes. “You promised to show me your home.”

“It’s hot now.”

“Ah.” She read his desire and sat up straight. “I’d like to see your home.”

“Come then.” In truth, he wanted to share it with her. The desire between them would not die for being denied a few hours.

“It’s beautiful.” For all the luxuriant coolness of the palms and fruit trees, Mischa preferred the grass fading into the sand dunes. It rooted the oasis in the desert, making paradise part of life. She wanted that promise that joy could last.

She looked at Rafe. He was an integral part of the desert. He had its harshness, its strength and its habit of hiding its sweetness.

He had trusted her with his tenderness.

In a rush of emotion, she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.

“Why?” he asked.

“Just because.”

She remembered their last wild loving. For all their tumultuous desire, they hadn’t been close enough. She wanted annihilation in him. Angel loving. Not all angel lovers achieved it. Not all wanted it. Total surrender and openness was too much for them.

“Rafe, do I scare you?”

He didn’t laugh at the question. He rubbed the back of his hand against her face, eyes narrowing in thought. “You are strong, courageous, joyous. You have fierce emotions. But no, you don’t scare me.” He smiled. “I don’t scare easily.”

His smile captivated Mischa as much as his words. He shared her feeling of connection and well-being. All was right with the world in their particular heaven.

“I hope you don’t scare easily,” she said. “Because I’m going to love you as an angel.”

She changed without waiting for his answer. One moment she had a body with senses attuned to Rafe’s every move. The next moment she was pure energy. As effervescent as champagne, she sparkled and surrounded Rafe in a halo of light.

When he’d captured her in heaven and brought her down to the oasis, he had followed her in energy form, wrapping tight against her, atom against atom. But the intimacy hadn’t been sexual.

This time her energy form would be completely sexual. She would merge with Rafe’s body, learning the essence of him and giving a vibrating pleasure he’d feel in his bones. An angel could choose her form, choose how she gave herself. She would surrender her whole self to delighting Rafe. She would be her own outpouring of joy.

If she’d had a throat, she’d have groaned with bliss as her energy stroked along Rafe’s skin, stroked and shimmered and sank below to nerves and muscles, deeper to ligaments and bones, deeper yet to heart, lungs, soul.

He was beautiful, terrifyingly strong, pulsing with emotion. She felt her last secrets flower into openness, embrace him with all the love she’d been denying.

He exploded.

She hadn’t dared to hope. But he was spirit too. Like an angel, he changed his body form. As pure energy he met her.

They twined in open patterns of light and sound, color and harmony. They merged.

In their bodies, orgasm ended, but this went on forever. Pleasure crested, only to rise higher. Higher until they screamed, reaching the limits of existence. Anything more and they would break their natures and shatter into the auroras as dancing, mindless energy, their personalities consumed by the blaze of sensation.

They fell back to earth, bodies rematerializing, tangled and limp with consummation.

Rafe lay on the sand in the shade of a palm with Mischa cradled in his arms. He had never dreamed such power and union existed. His heart slammed in his chest. He now knew her with every atom of his being, and she knew him. She had opened to him with a generosity so astounding, she’d drawn his soul from his keeping and returned it to him with her own.

Love. He had thought it wasn’t for him. He’d walked alone like the leopard. But even leopards mated.

He tightened his arms around Mischa. He would never let her go. He’d brought her here as his captive, but now he was the one enchained. Despite his conscience, he would hold her forever because she was his heart.

“I love you,” she mumbled against his throat.

The exultation that swept through him felt as strong as their recent loving. It shook the foundations of his life.

“I love you,” he answered. “I love you, Mischa.”