Some Enchanted Evening: The Lost Princesses #1 Read online

  The sweet and wicked poignancy bit deep into her soul, and in a sudden savage motion she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him onto his back. He resisted for a surprised moment, then yielded, sprawling onto the mattress, his arms and legs splayed wide.

  He was a feast to all her senses, tall, broad, hard…she trailed her fingers up his thigh and found the length of him beneath his trousers. The heat of his arousal burned like a brand, and she wanted that brand deep within her. Sliding her body along his, she eased her hands inside his open shirt and spread it wide. The muscles of his chest rippled and flexed as he fought to remain still. The rough hair along his breastbone curled into her palms, the simple pleasure almost more than she could bear. “Sit up,” she commanded. When he obeyed, she stripped the shirt from his shoulders and flung it away.

  In the stark moonlight he was as glorious as any of the statues in her palace. The shadows of his muscles played over his pale skin, luring her onward, enticing her to see if all of him matched the marble perfection of those immortalized Renaissance noblemen. Yet before she could reach for the button on his trousers, he caught her hands and pressed them flat against his stomach. He moved her palms over the ripples of his abdomen and onto his chest. There she resisted him, taking a moment to find his nipples in the nest of hair and stroke them with her fingertips.

  He made a rough sound of desire. His eyes half closed as she leaned forward and replaced one hand with her mouth. With her tongue she circled his nipple. It hardened and stabbed at her, and she experienced an identical reaction as her own nipples swelled and peaked. It was as if whatever she did to him echoed in herself. Whatever he did to her echoed in him. And each echo magnified like some magical connection between them.

  Lifting her head, she smiled into his face.

  He looked grim and cruel and impatient, but he didn’t scare her. He would never hurt her; she knew it in her bones.

  He placed her hands on his wide shoulders, opening her body to him. His gaze probed hers, then slid downward over her breasts, her waist, her hips, to her calves sprawled hoydenishly from beneath her skirt. Her first instinct was to cover her legs. Her second, and best, was to revel in the heat of his obsession. Slowly she stretched and flexed. Her hem inched up toward her thighs. Her bodice drooped over her bosom. She tossed her hair back over her shoulders, deliberately displaying the pale length of her neck.

  “You torment me.” His voice was low and intense. “Every moment since we met has been a long, slow tease where I imagined your body stretched under mine, atop of mine, beside mine, while I took you in every way possible.”

  His words made yearning curl through her loins. Her blood moved through her veins, slow and strong, beating with the rhythm of the ancient carnal dance. “You took me once. Will tonight be different?”

  His hands, as he reached for her, were broad and strong, long-fingered and capable. “Oh, yes. So different. Tonight there’ll be no pain, just unending pleasure.” His fingers stroked the hollow of her throat, slid along her collarbones, and outlined her silhouette down to her waist. Then in a slow sweep upward he cupped her breasts.

  The sensation of pleasure and surprise was so strong, she had to close her eyes to control herself. Yet that didn’t help. In the total darkness she felt more acutely the caress of his thumbs circling her nipples, imitating that motion she’d used on him. And if he put his mouth there…the sweetness of anticipation pierced her and she waited, breathless for his next move.

  Instead, he leaned closer, sliding his arms around her, and his fingers moved to open the buttons at the back of her dress. He was so close to her, she felt his breath on her face, and the heat of his body warmed her, but he made no move to kiss her or hold her close. He just slowly, deliberately, slid the buttons loose, one by one.

  Her lids felt heavy as she opened them. He was there, his head tilted down toward her, and he watched her with an expression of challenge. He wanted her to recognize each step she took on this long journey from almost innocent to experienced lover. Lifting her chin, she smiled at him, eased her hand down, and tucked her fingers into his waistband. “Did you think I would change my mind?”

  The gown grew looser as he freed ever more buttons. “I have heard that princesses are notoriously flighty.”

  “Not this princess. Not…not for a long, long time.” Not since she had realized there was no one to care for Amy except…her.

  She had dedicated her life to caring for Amy. Now she would have these moments for herself.

  Gathering her sleeves in his hands, he slipped the gown off her shoulders, taking her chemise, too, in the smooth motion. The material caught on her nipples, then slipped down to her waist. She found herself holding her breath. Would he find her beautiful? Other men, crude and obvious, ogled her breasts through her clothing. She cared nothing for their opinions. Robert was her lover. She cared everything for his.

  He didn’t know of her anxiety. She took care to show no expression. Yet he whispered, “Beautiful. Your body is beautiful.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss on the upper slope of her left breast.

  A pang of desperate desire shot through her, and she pulled her arms free of the sleeves. “You aren’t like other men.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers. Enigmatically he asked, “Other men?”

  “The women talk to me. They gossip, they giggle, sometimes they tell me their deepest secrets, and one and all they say that their men are fast and uncaring. But you…you’re too slow.” Taking his hand, she pressed it to her breast. “I’m dying of want, and you are a turtle.”

  He smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “In the end you’ll thank me, my princess.” He rotated his hand as he pressed a kiss on her other breast. “My darling.”

  She didn’t know what to believe, she knew only that deep within her, desire writhed with a life of its own. Every inch of her skin longed to rest against him. She wanted his hands on her hips. She wanted to seduce him, to kiss his lips and thrust her tongue into his mouth and taste him again.

  So she placed her hands on his jaw and held him still as she found his mouth with hers. Warm and smooth, his lips held her enthralled for endless moments while she explored the contours, and when he responded with a like pressure, she gave a murmur of enticement. His mouth opened under hers, following her lead as if she were the master of seduction. She tasted him with her lips, her teeth, her tongue, enjoying the now-familiar flavor of his passion. With deliberate inducement she cupped his shoulder blades and pressed her breasts against his chest.

  She hoped to stir his passion to haste. Instead, she discovered that the touch of this man’s skin against hers aroused in her overwhelming tenderness and frantic passion. Imperiously she opened the buttons on his trousers and put her hand inside.

  He filled her palm. The softest skin covered the rigid shaft, like velvet over steel, and she stroked down its length to the base, then back up to the rounded head. She hadn’t realized that a man would be so large. So insistent, and she swallowed, trying to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. To take him inside of herself…what had seemed eminently desirable a few moments before now seemed impossible.

  In a hoarse whisper she said, “If I were given to qualms, I would have them now.”

  “I pray you do not,” he whispered back. “For I will die if I don’t take you tonight, and I know you, my princess. You take your responsibilities seriously. You’d suffer to know that I died of love for you.”

  “Would you really?” She stroked him again, and that secret thrill once more ran like sparkling champagne along her veins. “Die for me?”

  “If you don’t take me soon, I’ll expire before your eyes.”

  Silliness, of course, to think that this strong, experienced man cared so much for her. Yet the words pleased her. “Then we should rid ourselves of these clothes so I may save your life.”

  “God, yes.” He lifted her out of the crush of her gown.

  She tugged at his trousers and underdrawers until he
was revealed to her. She caught only a glimpse of his erection before he tumbled her onto her back. The move surprised her, and with a soft laugh she wrestled with him for dominance. As if her strength were greater than his, he slowly gave way.

  Absurd fancy, but she liked to know he felt comfortable with her in charge. When at last he sprawled on his back, she leaned against his chest, held his arms above his head, and smiled into his face. “Do you surrender?”

  “I do.” He didn’t return her smile.

  Slowly her laughter faded. He was there, beneath her, naked from head to toe, and she…except for her stockings, she was naked too. The scent of him rose to her nostrils, heady and rich, like a sun-ripened burgundy or carefully tended leather.

  “What will you do with me now?” he asked.

  “Just what I want.” He was magnificent, the embodiment of all that was male and perfect in this world.

  She stroked him, seeking the ripple of his arm muscles and the contours of his chest. She enjoyed the resulting assurance that in a fight he would triumph. He was a warrior. He would always keep safe anything dear to him—and just then she felt dear to him.

  She slid down, and his belly tempted her. She kissed him, first one side, then the other, on the narrow concavity above his hipbones. The skin there was smooth and hairless, but just below, hair grew in abundance, and thrusting out of that, his manhood.

  She should be shy. She hadn’t seen it last night, had only felt its jagged thrust. And she had never before seen one on a living, breathing man, and this…this looked nothing like the occasionally draped statues in the palace. This was a shaft, pale, long, and thick, erect and fascinating.

  As she trailed one finger down his span, she marveled at its heat. It stirred at her touch, and the sudden harsh rasp of Robert’s breath broke her concentration and returned a margin of sense to her mind. “Robert,” she whispered. “I don’t think we can do this.”

  His fingers tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Because you’re a princess and I’m a mere lord?”

  “No. Because surely our sizes don’t match.”

  He rumbled. She thought it was a laugh, but he choked it off. “We matched last night. We will match again. I promise.” He smiled, that kind of knowing smile that reminded her of how ruthlessly he had forced her cooperation in this masquerade.

  A cold shiver drenched down her spine, and she started to back away.

  Then he stroked his hands across her breasts, and the gust of need made her forget about his smile and her sanity.

  As he caressed her, his hands provided the flame and passion that heated her skin. She’d sensed this the first time she’d seen him—that he knew how to drive a woman to the edge with skill and a deep inner blaze of passion hidden deep within him. That he could make her blood sing in her veins.

  His body glistened as the moon shone on each ripple of muscle and bone, and abruptly she remembered—she was in charge. While he caressed her arms, warming them with his touch, she rubbed his chest, his shoulders, his belly. Their hands twined and crossed, giving and receiving pleasure in a slow sensual dance. Again he stroked her breasts, cupping them, lifting them, circling the nipples with his thumbs. He looked into her face as he caressed her, a small smile on his lips as if he knew, and gauged, his effect on her.

  He didn’t know. No one knew her, knew the events that had formed her. He said he believed she was a princess, and this man, tough and cynical, wouldn’t bother to lie. But perhaps he thought her royal blood made her soft and weak, when in fact the opposite was true. Perhaps he thought she would lose her nerve, let him take the lead, or even try to back out completely.

  But no. She was bold and strong, and she acted on her valor. Firmly, gently, she rubbed her palms in small circles down his hips. She allowed her gaze to slither down his body, a smile on her own lips. Taking a sustaining breath, she clasped him in her hands and stroked his length…and he groaned deep in his chest. He reached his arms wide and clutched the sheets, and in a burst of exuberance she realized she held him helpless.

  Sliding her leg over his hips, she sat atop him as if he were her throne. She marveled at his shape: the broad shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist, and the thrust of his hipbones against his skin. She trailed her finger down the hair on his breastbone, down through where it narrowed on his belly, and into the nest of curly thatch on his groin.

  He watched her with narrowed eyes as his hips rolled beneath her. “Ah, princess, from here I can see eternity.”

  “And I feel…” She wanted to say something equally eloquent, something romantic, but truth to tell, what she felt was his shaft, long and hot, stretched between her legs. Her weight rested on it, and she sensed its caged power. For now it was quiescent, but she didn’t imagine it would be content to remain so. Soon it—and Robert—would make demands, and her task was to take charge and lead it where and when she wished. Her task was like taming the tiger—it surely could be done, but she would always know the tiger was unpredictable and wild. Yet for the short time they would be together, she would hold the whip hand. That was, after all, why she believed she could survive this encounter without harm.

  She moved on him, testing her own endurance, her own resolve.

  His eyes were half closed as he watched her. “I want you as I’ve never wanted anything before.”

  She pressed her palms against his stomach for balance. She liked this: sitting atop him, the sheets crumpled beneath her knees, moonlight and the freshening breeze streaming through the open windows. The encounter gave her a sense of freedom she’d never experienced. This night would have no repercussions. This night was a time set apart from reality, and she refused to consider how it would affect the fate of her dynastic marriage or whether it would alter the stream of history. In fact, she refused to wonder what her grandmother would say.

  Yet obedience to duty was a hard habit to break, and for one moment, she hesitated.

  Then he smoothed his hands down her sides, over her hips and down her thighs, and she forgot duty. He rubbed her with the flat of his palms as if the mere touch of her skin gave him pleasure—and heaven knew it gave her pleasure. She stretched like a cat and moaned as the gentle sensation gave way to a deeper feeling, one of need and heat and drive.

  His hands roamed down her belly into the inner sanctuary of her femininity. She caught her breath as his two fingers gathered her nether lips and squeezed them gently. Her eyes fluttered shut; all thought of duty fled her mind and pleasure flooded in to replace it. One of his fingers roamed more intimately, opening her to his touch, and she gave a hum of delight.

  “You like that.” His husky voice sounded deep and sure.

  “Oh, yes. Oh, yes.” That finger found her nub and rubbed in a circle around it. Around and around until she wanted to shriek for him to touch her. She felt swollen with need, and her hips moved without volition now, giving the ultimatums her female body demanded.

  And he obeyed. His finger pressed and rubbed directly on her, and she…she arched above him as the shock tore through her body. She no longer knew where she was, who she was; she was nothing more than a being composed of joy and desire.

  As her climax faded, her determination strengthened. She was a princess. She was on top. She was in charge.

  Shoving Robert’s hands aside, she took his shaft in her fingers and ran her fingers over the head, slick with a single pale drop of semen and the evidence of her own satisfaction. Lifting herself, she carefully placed him at the entrance to her body and, sitting up straight, she eased herself down. His thickness opened her wider than before; her tissues stretched to accommodate him, and she groaned as the fullness seemed more than she could stand.

  Then he groaned too, and she grew strong on a sense of triumph. And desire was always there, urging her to take more chances. This was what she had come for. To fulfill the promise of bliss once more.

  He held her hips, guiding her slowly downward.

  Rebelling against his direction, she took charge
of the rhythm, forcing Robert to go along with her. She reveled in the power of having a dynamic man between her legs, in riding him through the long hours of darkness until the sweat glistened on his brow and he writhed beneath her in a desperate submission. She wanted to stretch out the sensations, and she did, swirling her hips as she rose and fell, moving quickly, then slowly, teasing him with the feather of her fingers down his breastbone. She loved the look of him as he let her take him. The moonlight striped his skin, caressing him as she did. His eyes glinted, and his mouth curved in a half-smile as he watched her. He seemed to know without words that she wished to dominate him. Would dominate him.

  In the places where they touched, their skin burned. Sitting above him, she watched him through half-closed eyes, a small sliver of her mind taking pleasure in the comeliness of his countenance, the strength of his body. The other part of her brain was consumed with sensation. Her knees pushed against the mattress, lifting her over him again and again. Inside her, his penis filled her in grand surges. He touched the deepest part of her, setting sparks like fireworks through her womb, through her soul, into her heart.

  Now something greater than them both took over and commanded that she move more quickly, demand pleasure more rudely, gasp and moan in the grip of a need so reckless, it clouded her mind and drove her to desperation. Beneath her, Robert’s hips rose and fell. He groaned in the agony of need she brought forth from him. This was what she wanted. This was what she loved. This knowing that she had taken him. She pressed her hands against Robert’s belly, sitting up straight, moving on him and knowing that soon, climax would take her. The other climaxes would be forgotten in the heat of this one, this special one that she had brought forth with her strength and her control.

  She whimpered as deep within her the spasms started. She moved with an eager violence, demanding satisfaction, and more satisfaction. Below her, his groans escalated as he drove hard, his penis hot within her. He held her thighs in his palms, lifting her, shoving her, filling her. Their movements grew more frantic, yet he thrust and she took at the same rate, with the same need. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her breath rasped in her throat. She leaned over him, her hands on the mattress beside his head, wanting to be close to his warmth, to hear his gasps and be one with his orgasm. In the moonlight his features were outlines of ecstasy, while within her his shaft jerked, giving proof of his compulsion. Triumphant, she rode him all the way through his satisfaction until he collapsed beneath her.