Anne Bishop - The Pillars of the World

All of those things had weight. And there was one other thing: Her only experience with a man had been painful and disappointing. How different might it be with someone like Lucian? If she didn’t take the chance now, would another chance ever come? Even if it was no better than it had been with Royce, could it be any worse?

And he’s alone. I don’t know why that’s so, but he is alone. Like me.

When there was nothing left to do in the kitchen, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Have courage, Ari, and trust the Mother’s wisdom. Sometimes things are meant to be .

She approached the hearth slowly, then stood there, uncertain, until he finally looked at her.

“There’s something you need to understand, Lord,” she said, feeling her face heat. “I’ve only done this once.”

“Done what? Offered a fancy?”

“No,” she said hurriedly. “I’ve never done that before. I meant the other part.”

He looked puzzled for a moment, then his expression cleared. “Once?”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

He studied her. “And it wasn’t pleasant.”

She shook her head.

He drained his glass and set it beside the rocker. “It has to be your choice, Ari.”

“I made my choice when I offered the fancy.”

“You didn’t know who you were offering it to.”

“I keep my promises, Lord.” A witch does .

He stood up, approached her slowly. His hands framed her face. “Be sure.”

“I’m sure, Lord.”

He brushed his lips against hers. “Lucian,” he murmured.

“Lucian,” she said obediently.

She braced for a hard kiss and an invading tongue, but his mouth and hands remained gentle, producing a fluttering sensation inside her, as if she were being brushed by delicate wings. Soft. So soft.

His hands left her face and traveled down her back lightly enough she could barely feel them through the nightgown and snug.

His lips explored her face and throat. His hands slipped under the snug. More sensation, but the nightgown still made his touch elusive enough to make her crave more. She wanted to raise her arms and explore his body, but they were too heavy to lift, and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the journey his hands were taking over her body.

She was like wax being softened by a quiet flame.

“Come,” he said quietly, leading her into the bedroom. As they reached the door, the candle by the bed began to burn.

Lucian pulled back the bedcovers, then removed her shrug. Unable to resist the light pressure of his hands on her shoulders, she sat on the bed while he removed her slippers and socks.

“Get under the covers,” he said. “It’s cold tonight.”

Shivering a little, she obeyed. Before she was completely settled, he had shed his clothes and was stretching out beside her.

His hands circled her wrists, bringing them up beside her head.

He was warm. So wonderfully warm.

“Shouldn’t I—”

He brushed his lips against hers, silencing her. “Shh.”

Wherever he touched, she melted. By the time he coaxed her to remove her nightgown, she couldn’t raise herself up without his help.

Warm. So warm.

“Ari.”

It was so hard to open her eyes. Her body was answering his commands far better than it was answering hers.

“Ari.”

When she finally opened her eyes, his face was above hers. He studied her for a moment, then smiled. She felt him shift, felt the pressure of his legs opening hers. He filled her slowly, then seemed content to remain still while he kissed her.

It was his balls that finally changed the melting feeling into something sharper and hungry. They rested against her, brushing sensitive skin every time his muscles flexed. The weight of them where nothing had touched her before made her squirm.

“Lucian,” she moaned, trying to find some way to ease that soft torment. Her fingers clamped on his buttocks, urging him to move. “ Lucian .”

His lips curved in a smile against her cheek. Then he moved, and with every stroke, he fed passion’s fire until she burned.

Lucian eased himself out of Ari’s bed. As quietly as he could, he pushed back the drapes and opened the shutters. The gray light that would soon yield to sunrise was enough to see by, so he dressed in the clothes he could find, then slipped out of the bedroom.

Drawing back the bolts, he opened the front door. The storm had long passed. Had, in fact, barely lasted through the meal, but he doubted Ari had realized that.

Where had she put the rest of his clothes? he wondered as he closed the door and moved to the back of the cottage. He studied the clean kitchen. And where had she put the rest of the food?

When a quick rummage through various cupboards didn’t yield a pot of hot tea, bowls of stew, or cheese, he opened the large wooden box sitting on the work-table and found the bread as well as the biscuits he had brought. He took a biscuit and bit into it, then made a face. For some reason, they didn’t taste as good here as they did in Tir Alainn. He rummaged a bit more in the box, hoping he’d find something more than was apparently there. Like some of those cakes Ari had brought to the beach.

He could wake her. She would want tea if she was awake, wouldn’t she? And if she was awake, she wouldn’t mind fixing something for him to eat.

He was standing outside the bedroom door when it occurred to him that he still had the custom of gifting to deal with. A satisfied lover may want something very different from a sleepy, disgruntled woman who was expected to cook breakfast. It would be wiser to settle the gift before mentioning food.

He suspected the rules regarding the fancy gave him every right to ignore the custom of gifting, but he had enjoyed Ari far more than he’d expected to, and a gift would make her more eager for his return. Because he was going to return. She was his from the full moon to the dark, and he intended to enjoy her while he could.

And he wanted breakfast.

Entering the bedroom, he sat on the bed. She still slept, snuggled under the covers. He reached out to touch her shoulder and give her a little shake into wakefulness, but his hand kept going until it could stroke her hair.

“Mmmmff,” she said sleepily. “Did the birds tell you it was time?”

Time for what? “The birds?”

Her nods pressed her face deeper into the pillows, and he wondered if she’d slip back into a deep sleep before he could talk to her.

“Birds always know when it’s time,” Ari said after a minute of silence. “As soon as the light begins to change, you can hear the soft chirps, as if they’re encouraging the sun to rise.” With a sigh, she snuggled deeper under the covers. “Or maybe they’re encouraging you.”

“I don’t need help from the birds in order to rise,” Lucian said dryly. There was too much temptation to get back into bed and show her another kind of sunrise. But what she was saying bothered him. Surely she didn’t think . . . “You do know that I don’t really lift the sun above the horizon, don’t you? It can do that just fine by itself.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Ari mumbled. “I’d always wondered what would happen if you overslept. But the birds would wake you.”

Lucian studied her for a moment, then shook his head. Either she was too sleepy or he was too awake for this conversation to make sense.

“Ari?”

“Mmmmff.”

“It is the custom that when a man enjoys a woman’s company, he gives her a gift to show his appreciation.”

“Gift?” She frowned for a moment, then smiled. “A present?”

“Yes,” Lucian said, his patience strained. “A present.”

Ari sighed. “No one’s given me a present since my mother died.”