FOREVER ENCHANTED Page 9

  She turned and fell into his embrace, returning his hungry kiss with all of her heart. When he lifted his head away, she whispered, "Are you certain they'll be away for a while?"

  "Certain," he replied. "Tristan has a full evening planned for his bride-to-be. Though I imagine he'll be grating his teeth all through it." He grinned at her. The dimpled, devilish grin that had won her heart ages ago.

  She took his hand in hers, and drew him across the floor. "Come along, then," she whispered, "and remind me why I took you as husband."

  He was a charming man. A handsome man. An interested man. She ought to be feeling more enthusiastic about all of this. After all, if she had to marry, then wasn't it good that at least her husband would be a pleasant companion?

  The answer should have been yes, but for some reason, it wasn't. She felt it would have been far easier if she'd hated the man on sight. She didn't like... liking him.

  He took her to a fine restaurant, escorted her to a private table near a bank of windows that overlooked the lake. He sat across from her and ordered expensive wine. Ah, at last, something she didn't like about him.

  She frowned as the waiter scurried away to do his bidding, and he met her gaze. "Something wrong?"

  "I do not drink wine," she told him.

  "Oh." He did not apologize.

  "You might have asked first," she said. And she saw a flare of anger appear in his eyes, and mentally added a short temper to his list of faults. And then she caught her breath, because those faults of his were so similar to Tristan's. Only... Tristan's list was much longer than this man's could possibly be.

  But the anger she'd managed to rouse in him was carefully banked. In less than a second, he was smiling again. "I'll send the wine back. Order whatever you want to drink."

  She nodded regally, and flipped open the menu the waiter had left her. But she wasn't really scanning the items listed. She was, instead, wondering if perhaps this man had other faults, things that would make him unsuitable to rule Rush at her side. She felt a little brighter, deciding tonight would be the perfect time to begin her task of trying to find out. He might have family he wouldn't be able to leave behind. Or other responsibilities. A job he couldn't give up. He might be stupid, or careless. He might lack the authoritative demeanor that was required in a king. He might be... she shuddered at the thought... a pacifist.

  The waiter returned with wine in a bucket of ice. And Bridin's date held up a hand before he could even place it on the table. "We've changed our minds," he said. "Take the wine back."

  "But, sir, I've already opened the bottle—"

  "Take the wine back." The look in his eyes seemed to be all the encouragement the waiter needed.

  "Of course, sir. What would you like instead?"

  There went her theory that he was lacking an authoritative demeanor. Bridin sighed heavily, then realized both men were looking at her. "Oh. Yes. I'll have a tall glass of cranberry juice with a splash of... that stuff you people are always . . . ginger ale. That's it. A splash of ginger ale."

  The waiter looked at her as if she had a third eye growing in the center of her forehead. Bridin lifted her chin and fixed him with an imperious glare, invoking her own authoritative demeanor. "Is there some problem with that?"

  "No. No, of course not." He gave his head a shake and turned to the mysterious Mr. Stone. "And for you, sir?"

  Keeping his eyes fixed to hers, Stone said, "Whiskey."

  "I don't blame you," the waiter muttered as he nodded and hurried away.

  Bridin had the feeling she'd just been insulted. But since the fellow returned in record time with their drinks, she decided to let it slide. She turned on her brightest smile, and devoted her attention to the man across from her. After all, it was her responsibility to see to it that the man who would be king of Rush was fit for the job, wasn't it? She owed it to her people.

  "Tell me about yourself, Stone," she said. "Do you have any... family here?"

  "Here in Ithaca?" he asked, then looked slightly amused as she searched her mind for the proper answer. He saved her from it, though, a moment later. "Actually, the only family I have is a brother. We... er... don't get along."

  So no family bonds tied him to the mortal realm. That was good. Wasn't it?

  "What do you do for a living?" she asked.

  He frowned a bit. "I'm independently wealthy," he returned. "Is this a date, dear Bridin, or a job interview?"

  She lifted her brows in surprise. Really, he wasn't being very cooperative. Then again, she supposed most women he dated were more interested in seducing him than in his personal background. She shrugged. "I'm only curious."

  He took a large gulp of his whiskey, and set the glass down. "Should I be flattered?"

  She lowered her eyes. "Of course."

  That seemed to please him. Or maybe it didn't. There appeared to be a mingling of emotions in his eyes when she looked up again.

  "Any other questions, my lady fair?"

  She blinked, taken aback by the form of address. But it must be coincidence. Of course it was. What else could it be? "Actually, yes," she said, and she traced the moisture on the rim of her glass with the tip of one finger. "I was wondering about your arm."

  "My arm?"

  "You tend to favor it, as if it's injured or weak," she pointed out. "Do you have some sort of physical infirmity?"

  "Infirmity?"

  She only nodded and waited for him to explain, lifting her glass to her lips and taking a long sip. He downed the remainder of his drink and signaled the waiter by holding up the empty glass. A full one was quickly brought to replace it. Then he stared at her, stared through her. "I think I know what you're trying to ask me," he said finally, and that glint of anger had returned to his eyes. "Don't worry yourself, Bridin. The injury that makes me favor my left arm didn't affect anything vital. I'm still perfectly capable of satisfying the needs of a woman."

  The glass she clutched in her hand gave under the pressure of her grip and shattered. Bits of glass and cranberry juice rained down on the table. Instinctively she turned her hand, palm up, and stared down at the pool of red liquid cupped in her palm.

  Stone came around the table and knelt beside her, snatching her hand with one of his, and yanking a white linen handkerchief from his pocket at the same time. He blotted the red from her palm. She yanked her hand away, clutching the hankie, and glared at him.

  "You are a pig," she whispered.

  He shrugged. "It was a logical conclusion. Look at it from my point of view, Bridin. First you wear a dress that barely conceals your... charms... and then you ask about my physical prowess—what was I supposed to think?"

  "You dare..."

  "Yes, I do. I dare just about anything."

  She narrowed her eyes on this man. Then slowly they widened. Hadn't she once heard Tristan use that same particular phrase? No. It had to be her imagination making him seem so... so achingly familiar.

  He took her hand again, cradling it in his with her palm turned up, and gently pried her fingers open so he could examine the wound. She let him this time. He peeled the hankie away. "There... there's no cut," he said, frowning.

  Bridin took the red-stained handkerchief from him with her free hand, held it over her palm, and squeezed until some of the liquid spilled back into her palm.

  "You rushed to my aid prematurely, Stone. It was only cranberry juice. You see?" She now cupped a few droplets of the juice in her palm, to show him his mistake.

  "I see," he said, and his eyes darkened so suddenly that she couldn't take hers away. "But perhaps I'd best make sure." And then he bent lower, and pressed his lips to the very center of her palm. With his lips and his tongue, he drank the droplets from her palm. White heat raced up her arm, eliciting a shudder of desire that nearly shocked her speechless. Gods, she hadn't expected that!

  The waiter hovered behind him, eagerly asking if she was all right, if he could do anything to help, if they'd like him to call for their car so they coul
d leave early.

  "No," she said softly, her eyes still fixed to the man kneeling before her. "No, I'm fine. Simply clean up this mess, and bring us our meal."

  The waiter looked intensely disappointed. But he did as she requested.

  When the glass was gone, and the table restored to order, their food was delivered. Far faster than she would have expected it. Stone didn't eat, though. He sat there drinking his whiskey and staring at her.

  "We got off the subject of our discussion," he said finally. "Tell me, Bridin, why is it you were asking about my arm?"

  "I told you," she whispered. "I was only curious."

  She was still shaken by her own unexpected reaction to the touch of his mouth on her skin. She only shrugged. She'd run out of questions, for the moment. She no longer cared whether the man would make a suitable king. She felt troubled, almost guilty, but she couldn't identify the reason for it.

  She picked at her food, having lost her normally ravenous appetite, and finally pushed her plate away.

  "Dessert?" he asked.

  "No, thank you."

  "Coffee, then?"

  She shook her head.

  "We didn't get off to a very good start tonight, did we, Bridin?" She licked her lips, not answering. "There is a spot above the lake where I'm told the young people go for midnight trysts," he said softly. "I'd like to take you."

  She looked up quickly, eyes wide. "Wh-what?"

  His smile was slow and dangerous. "Take you to see it. I've heard it's the most beautiful place for miles around." He reached across the table and closed his hand around hers. "I want to get to know you, Bridin. Really know you. I want to spend time alone with you, just the two of us."

  She knew the spot he referred to. She'd seen it once, when she and Brigit had taken little Jona thon there for a picnic. That had been by daylight, of course. She could picture it by night. Secluded. Bathed in moonlight. Waves crashing against the shore far below. She could picture the two of them there, together... alone. A tiny ball of need formed in the pit of her stomach, and she snatched her hand away.

  "I think... another time, perhaps. I... I'd like to go home now, if you don't mind."

  She peeked up at his face to gauge his reaction, saw disappointment in his eyes, yet again. But also a hint of relief. "I do mind," he said. "But if it's what you want..." He nodded to the waiter for the check, then looked at her again.

  "You are going to see me again, aren't you, Bridin?"

  She swallowed hard, and nodded. "Yes." He looked as if he'd been half hoping she'd say no.

  Chapter Seven

  The nerve of her. The very nerve! Questioning him as if he were some knave petitioning her for knighthood. It infuriated him to have to be interviewed for a position that was rightfully his. It enraged him that the decision as to whether or not he was fit to rule would be made by her. And it baffled him that he'd had such a strong reaction to seeing her palm filled with what he'd mistakenly thought to be blood. Why was he forever feeling the urge to protect her, anyway?

  Damn her with her haughty, arrogant ways, and her icy stare. Damn her. He was liking this plan of Tate's less and less with every moment he was forced to grovel for the affections of his enemy. Force would be far preferable to this nonsense. Hadn't he learned anything from his father? You didn't ask for what you wanted, you simply took it. By fair means or foul. And while he'd never agreed with his father's views in that regard, they were beginning to make more and more sense to him now.

  Damn, if only Tate weren't always right. If only he didn't trust the man so implicitly... but he did. And so he'd give the plan a little more time. Not much. But a little.

  He held the car door as Bridin emerged, and then walked beside her into the building and up the two short flights to the second floor. And then he stood there, outside her door, feeling ridiculous and ill tempered, and knowing he had to grovel just a little bit more.

  "I want to see you again, Bridin," he forced himself to say, and he hoped he sounded appropriately humble to suit her.

  "I know you do," she replied.

  Tristan grated his teeth. "Tomorrow is Saturday. If you're not working at the shop, perhaps we could—"

  "No. Not tomorrow."

  She was pushing him to his very limit. He would not beg. He held her gaze. "Why not?"

  She frowned. "I didn't realize I was required to provide a reason."

  "Humor me," he ground out.

  She smiled... at his frustration? Probably. But maybe not. Her smile grew a bit wistful, and her gaze turned inward. "Tomorrow is going to be my first carnival," she said, and her voice softened to match her expression. "I've always wanted to ride a roller coaster. And since my nephew's first birthday is tomorrow, I have the perfect excuse." She closed her eyes. "I won't have a lot of time to spend with him before I have to go back..." Her eyes popped open, and she cut herself off before she finished. But he knew fully well where it was she planned to be going back to. "Anyway, while his aunt is here, little Jonathon is going to do every single thing I dreamed about doing when I was a little girl... everything I wasn't allowed to do."

  He felt as if she'd kicked him. A blow seemed to land at his solar plexus and radiate out in waves of stunned awareness. "You... you dreamed of going to a carnival?"

  She nodded. "Doesn't every child?" Then she shrugged and shook her head. "I led a rather... sheltered life then. My... guardian didn't let me out much."

  He searched her face for signs of deceit, or some kind of trickery. But he saw only longing in her eyes. The childish longing for a ride on a roller coaster. Gods. She turned and reached for the doorknob. But he caught her arm, stopping her. She looked up, wide-eyed.

  "What else did you dream of doing, Bridin?" Frowning, she tilted her head. "Tell me," he said. "I really would like to know."

  Shrugging, sighing, she nodded. "The zoo," she said very softly. "I never set foot in a zoo, though that idea has lost some of its appeal now that I'm grown. I'm afraid now I'd be compelled to turn all the animals loose." She glanced at him, but he nodded for her to go on. "The circus," she said. "One of those fast-food restaurants where they put little toy treasures into the children's meals. A movie theater. A public school." Her voice wasn't hushed anymore. It was becoming just a little bit strained now, and she let her body go soft, and leaned back against the wall. "A junior prom. A slumber party. A..." She blinked rapidly, straightened, and averted her eyes.

  But not before he'd seen the sheen of unshed tears there. He'd done this to her. He'd denied her all of those things. He'd taken... Gods, he'd robbed her of her childhood. In very much the same manner he'd been robbed of his own. That he'd never thought of this before—it ate into his soul like acid now. He'd soothed his conscience by giving her everything a child could want or need. Or... he'd told himself that's what he'd given her. Dammit, he was only just seeing that he hadn't even come close.

  She'd grown into a woman who hated him. A woman who was his most deadly enemy. A woman who had cost him his throne. But perhaps he'd had more than a small part in creating the woman she'd become.

  It was a concept that shook him to the roots of his soul. It altered the way he saw everything. He wasn't even certain how it changed things, or to what extent, but he knew it did. He felt like a warrior too long at battle. Shocked and disoriented. Unsure.

  He hated feeling unsure.

  He moved closer to her and, catching her shoulders, turned her slowly to face him again.

  She'd dried her eyes, of course, but the signs of the momentary weakness were still there. She lifted her chin, caught his gaze. "Don't pity me, Stone. And don't think I'm one of those weak and weepy females who are comforted by a simple hug from a man."

  "I wasn't going to hug you."

  "No?" She glanced down at his hands on her shoulders, then looked at him again, brows lifting.

  "No. I don't know where you come from, Bridin, but I'm told that around here, it's customary to reward a man who takes you to an expensive dinner i
n a limousine, with some small token of gratitude."

  Her eyes narrowed. "A bit of a ludicrous custom, don't you think?"

  "Maybe, but it's the custom, all the same."

  "And just what sort of token were you expecting?"

  His gaze slid down to her lips. Full, and moist. And he remembered the last time he'd kissed her in the forest. Her reaction. If nothing else worked to entice her, the physical desire that flared between them when they kissed should do the trick. "Nothing so great. Only a good-night kiss."

  She tilted her head, thinking about it. He saw her eyes rest on his lips, saw her soft pink tongue dart out to moisten her own. Finally she shrugged. "All right, then. You may kiss me."

  She said it as if she expected him to fall on his knees in gratitude. Deprived childhood or no, the woman was a witch.

  He silently vowed that next time, she'd do the asking. And then he slipped his arms around her, very slowly, letting his hands slide down to her waist, and run around it, to settle at the small of her back. He pulled her closer, gently closer, until her body touched his, and then he lowered his head, holding her gaze until her eyes fell closed. He met her lips, tasted them, and shivered. Gods, what touching her did to him! He nuzzled her mouth until it parted, giving him more access to the sweetness he craved. And then he took that sweetness.

  He caught her tiny moan, inhaled it, and felt the response beginning to shiver through her body. She pressed closer, so slightly it was barely palpable, and she moved her mouth against his. He tasted her with his tongue, and she melted, letting him press her hips tight to his, letting him lick inside her mouth deeply, tilting her head back to invite more. Her hands clung to his shoulders, and her fingers splayed in his hair.

  And then she jerked herself out of his arms with such a sudden burst of strength that he almost lost his balance.

  Her eyes glistened. Her cheeks glowed. Her breaths came quick and short and shallow. Eyes darting over his face, wide with some kind of horror, she shook her head side to side slowly. Then she brought her hands up to press her fingertips to her lips, and she whispered, "How could I?"