Wicked Whispers. Tina Donahue
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evening.”
Both women glanced at Sancha.
Best he hide his interest in her. “I wish to remain alone unless my brother wants to visit with me. I should ask his lovely wife if she minds me stealing him away for a few minutes.”
Señora de Cortés eyed him. “Indeed you should.”
Ignoring her, he faced Sancha. “Excuse me.” He left the table.
At his approach, Isabella smiled slyly.
Fernando rolled his eyes. “What are you two plotting?”
His and Sancha’s future hopefully. “Nothing.” He leaned down to Isabella and told her where he and Sancha would meet.
“Never fear, she will be with you shortly.”
Fernando regarded them. “Bound and gagged if need be, no?”
Enrique clapped him on the shoulder. “She found you repulsive, dear brother, not me.”
“We shall see.”
Enrique turned to Isabella. “One last thing.”
She held up her hand. “You have naught to worry about. She already knows how magnificent you are. Nearly as much as my dear Fernando.”
Enrique smiled sweetly. “Keep an eye on Luscinda and her mother. If they make a move toward Sancha, fell them as you did the rogue who tried to take Fernando’s life.”
Isabella spoke through her teeth. “The dirty puto.”
“Wife.” Fernando pointed at her. “Must I keep warning you about your language?”
“Only this once.”
“And until next time,” Enrique said.
Fernando exchanged a glance with him, then bumped her arm with his. “He knows you too well.”
“Go.” She shooed Enrique away. “Sancha will come to no harm.”
He left the dining hall, grateful for the cooler air and silence. Although Fernando’s castle was half the size of Enrique’s, the rooms were enormous, the halls long, candles and lamps everywhere, lighting his way. Soon, the only sounds were his shoes ringing against the stone floors. Colorful mosaics decorated many of the walls, the patterns breathtaking in their intricacy. Polished stone columns, as white as milk, flanked graceful archways.
Fernando had done well as a warrior. The Crown had granted him this castle and conquered land for his many battles against the Moors and spying for Spain in Granada.
As the firstborn son, Enrique never had to serve in battle, as he alone would inherit their papá’s great estate. In the past, he’d envied Fernando and their brothers for the adventures they’d known. Not any longer. Isabella’s anguish had been hard to witness when Fernando had nearly died to protect her and Sancha from their murderous uncle. Enrique never wanted to bring Sancha such pain. He simply needed her love and would make his case tonight.
Upon reaching the balcony, he closed the doors and paced. A balmy breeze ruffled his hair, the scent of rich earth and vegetation surrounding him. An animal cried in the distance. The faint sound of horse hooves reached him, perhaps a late visitor arriving for the celebration.
He stopped pacing and listened for footfalls. None yet. Muttering an oath, he stalked from one end of the balcony to the other repeatedly. After an eternity of waiting, the handles rattled.
He strode forward, then stared, worried suddenly about Luscinda, her mamá, or both being here.
“Enrique,” Isabella called. “The doors are stuck.” She kicked the wood.
He pulled hard on the handles, opening them for her.
She stayed put. Although Sancha didn’t race to his side, she did join him on the balcony.
“Fernando needs me.” Isabella rocked on her heels. “When you two return, please do so at separate times so no one notices or discusses what might have gone on out here.”
Sancha colored in the moonlight.
He spoke to Isabella. “Rest assured, I will protect her honor.”
“You had better.” Isabella winked. “Enjoy yourselves.” She closed the doors and left.
Sancha turned to him, hands folded in front.
If he could have managed words, he would have told her how breathtaking she was, hair flaming in the gauzy light, skin looking softer than the finest velvet, her coloring as pale as a pearl. Her eyes filled with what he identified as wonder, the same as his.
Unable to help himself, he eased into her, cupping her face.
Her lips parted. She leaned into him rather than pull away.
Surprised and delighted, he brushed his lips over hers, astounded at their silky heat. Her breath smelled sweetly of orange, her usual rose fragrance mingling with a hint of musk. Her excitement as a woman.
He eased his tongue inside her mouth and waited for her response, praying she wouldn’t move away at his bold move.
A soft, wanting sound poured from her. Sagged against him, she gripped his doublet and used his garment for support.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to him, his thickened shaft snug against her mound. She stilled for a moment, then suckled his tongue, her need of him obvious.
This was heaven, the only reason to be alive. These moments would change everything between them. He’d claim her and she would be his for a lifetime.
Dizzy with joy, he deepened the kiss, working his fingers past her dark green caul and through her hair, caressing tresses softer than fur.
She clutched him more tightly, her mouth wanton and willing beneath his.
Exactly how he’d hoped their first moments alone would be, though still falling short of what he had to have. He cupped her breast, testing its weight and warmth, savoring her nipple pebbled against his palm.
She froze.
He tempered his passion and caressed her more gently.
She tore her mouth from his and pulled away.
He’d frightened her. Fool. He should have known better and did now. Despite his arousal, he remained where he was and dropped his hand to his side.
Sancha breathed as roughly as he did. She touched her mouth still damp from his lips on hers. He expected her to turn and run.
She cupped his face and claimed his mouth, driving her tongue inside.
He suckled her greedily. She returned his kiss, both of them pushing against each other to get closer. Unable to, Enrique wanted to howl in frustration. She moaned softly then pulled away again. This time she put out a shaky hand even though he hadn’t moved.
He pulled in a deep breath. She stepped back again.
Before she could leave the balcony altogether, he stopped breathing. “Are you all right?”
“No. Enough of this.”
Those weren’t the words he wanted to hear, though he had expected something unpleasant. “Enough of what?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You kissing me.”
He risked a smile. “When I stopped, you moved back into my arms and began again without me having to ask.”
Her face went slack, gaze turned inward. “Is this what you wanted to speak to me about?”
“Our kissing and enjoying these moments? Not entirely.”
“What then?” Fingers laced, she struck the same pose his mother had when he’d misbehaved as a child.
This wasn’t how he’d envisioned the most important moments of his life.