Royal Weddings. Joan Elliott Pickart
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at him made her want to throw herself into those huge arms of his. There was also an odd and lovely… comfortableness, between them. Or at least, there was whenever she let down her guard and stopped manufacturing anger to keep her feelings for him at bay.
Really, other than held tight in his arms, there was no place she’d rather be than right here, at the breakfast table, with Hauk sitting across from her.
How could that have happened, in little more than two days? How had he gone from a terrifying stranger, her kidnapper—to this? The man most likely to turn her knees to jelly, the man she wanted so much to kiss. The man who could clear her table and empty her dishwasher any time, no questions asked.
She set down her fork. ‘‘Hauk?’’
He allowed himself to look at her.
‘‘Why are we doing this?’’
‘‘Because you refuse to give up your stalling and pack your—’’
‘‘No.’’
He looked at her sideways, suspicious.
‘‘Hauk, I don’t mean that. I don’t mean my going or not going. I mean… you and me. I mean, well, that I care for you. A lot.’’ He stared—and he blinked. She waved a hand. ‘‘Oh, I know. It sounds crazy, to say that, considering why you came here in the first place, considering that it’s only been a couple of days since we met. But so what if it’s crazy? It’s also true. I do care for you. And I think you care for me.’’ He was gaping at her. He looked utterly stunned. She continued. ‘‘I don’t see why we can’t just—’’
‘‘Enough.’’ Hauk dropped his own fork. It clattered to his plate.
‘‘But I want you to—’’
His chair screeched across the floor tiles as he surged to his feet. ‘‘I have told you. I know you have heard. There can be nothing between us. Ever.’’
She looked up at him unblinking. ‘‘That is so ridiculous.’’
‘‘To you, perhaps.’’
‘‘No. Not only to me. To any… thinking individual.’’
‘‘Now you insult my intelligence.’’
‘‘No, I’m not. You know I’m not. And we both know what you’re doing now. You’re trying to drum up some fake reason to be angry with me—and I don’t blame you for doing that. I mean, it’s not as if I haven’t been doing it, too. But we both know it’s all just an act, just a hopeless attempt on both our parts to keep from admitting how we really feel about each other.’’
He fell back a step—as if he needed all the distance from her he could get, as if he feared she might actually reach out and touch him.
She did no such thing—she didn’t even move. ‘‘You think of me as a princess, as someone far above you, someone out of your reach. But that’s… all in your mind. I’m no princess. Not really. You’re always telling me that I think like an American. Well, that’s because, as I keep telling you, I am an American. I might have been born in Gullandria, but I’ve lived all but the first ten months of my life right here, in Sacramento. The laws and customs of Gullandria don’t apply to me. At heart, where it matters, I’m just Elli Thorson. And I think, honestly, that we might have something here, you and me. Something really powerful. Something so good…’’
Apparently, he didn’t agree with her. He stood to attention now. He was just waiting for her to be done with him. Waiting so that he could go.
‘‘Oh, Hauk,’’ she said in a low voice.
‘‘Are you finished?’’
She bit her lip, gave a small, hopeless shrug.
To get away from her, out of the kitchen, he had to go past her. It was his undoing.
She caught his wrist as he tried to get by. ‘‘Oh, Hauk. Please…’’
He froze. The air seemed to shimmer around them. Heat radiated from the point where her flesh touched his. That heat was spreading out, all through her body. Arrows of longing zinged straight through her heart.
She had a split second—even less than that—and he would shake her off. She didn’t give him time to do it. She swept upward, out of her chair, throwing her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his big, hard chest.
It was too much for him. His resistance broke. With a low moan he gathered her close.
Stunned that she’d gotten exactly what she’d yearned for, Elli stared upward, into his wonderful, square-jawed, determined face.
Oh, my. This was a lovely, lovely place to be, held so close against his heart, those huge, strong arms wrapped around her.
He whispered, ‘‘You should not have touched me.’’
‘‘Oh, right. Ask me not to breathe, while you’re at it.’’
‘‘You should not—’’
‘‘Shh.’’ She slid one hand up between their bodies, put two fingers against his mouth. ‘‘Stop that,’’ she chided, oh so tenderly.
His mouth moved. She felt his breath flow down her hand. His lips parted slightly and his lower teeth scraped her finger pads.
Elli shivered—with delight, with excitement. ‘‘Oh, see? See, this is how it ought to be….’’
His big hand was in her hair. He cupped the back of her head. ‘‘A mistake. This is all a dangerous mistake.’’
‘‘Stop that. You stop that right now. This is no mistake. I just told you what this is. This is how it ought to be.’’ She was pressed very close to him, close enough to feel his arousal—and to revel in it. In her own most intimate place, she felt… hollowed out, moist and needful and longing to be filled with him. She gasped. ‘‘Oh, Hauk. Kiss me. Kiss me, please.’’
Her eyes drifted closed.
Hauk looked down at that beautiful mouth, the mouth she offered, the mouth she wanted him to have.
Damned, he thought. I am damned to the bitter cold and unending night of Hel, to do this.
But right at that moment, he didn’t care. He thought, Just the taste of her. Why shouldn’t I have that? She wants me to have that. Only a taste….
Her head tipped back, her mouth tipped up. She loosed the sweetest, tiniest sigh.
He thought, Only that. One kiss. And that sigh, inside me, all the rest of my days.
He brought his mouth down over hers.
Her lips parted. The sweetness within nearly finished him—right there, in her kitchen, in the bright light of morning. He tasted the slick inner surface beyond her soft lips and he thought he was dying.
An acceptable sacrifice, the loss of his life. He was glad to go, though Valhalla would be lost to him—ah, the shame of it.
The king’s warrior, dead in a kitchen of a woman’s kiss…
He held her more tightly, his hands roaming her slim back, pressing that softness, that female warmth all the closer. Those full breasts of hers pushed against his chest. She moaned and her breath, sweet and hot and scented of coffee, flowed into his mouth. He sucked it in all the deeper, down into his soul. He would keep it forever, along with her sigh.
Her soft fingers danced at the nape of his neck, threading into his hair, caressing outward, across his shoulders, then sliding back to clasp around his neck again. Her tongue, shy at first, grew bolder, darting into his mouth, flicking along the top of his own tongue, pausing there, darting back.
She made a small, hungry sound, like a kitten seeking strokes. He groaned in response. And