Page 33 of WarBride

“I’m not ignorant either.”

“In this matter you are,” he persists. “You have neither the knowledge nor the experience to understand of what I speak. So, if you do not care forinnocence,you must accept yourignorance. And allow me to instruct you.”

The fire at my back seems suddenly much too hot, and the pressure of his hand gripping mine too firm. But his fingers trace the line of my jaw, so unlike any touch I’ve ever felt from a man. Artoris was all hard grasping, painful and hot. This is gentle, and I find I am keenly aware of the texture of his calloused fingertips, the warmth of his skin. The awareness is so acute, I don’t know if it’s pleasant, only that . . . I don’t hate it.

“Very well.” My breath catches on the words, but I force them out regardless. “Instruct me then. Teach me what my own pleasure means.”

His smile flashes once more. “It is very simple,” he says. “I will touch you. You will tell me if you like it. If you do, I will continue. If you do not, I will try something else. Agreed?”

I can’t quite find words to answer, for his touch has strayed from my jaw to my throat. His fingers could encircle my neck quite easily. There’s so much raw power in that hand, so much brutality barely contained. Little pinprick sparks break out across my skin. I draw a shuddering breath.

“Do you like that?” he asks, his voice low.

“Well . . .” I whisper, determined not to be easily won. “I don’t dislike it.”

He nods. “We have our beginning.” His fingers trail up and down my throat several times, his thumb pressing gently into the hollow of my collarbone. My heart gallops. “And that,zylnala?How does that feel?”

“I . . . I’m not sure.”

“Fair enough.” He continues to trace my collarbone, featherlight touches that seem to awaken my trembling skin. He lets his fingers play along the thin shoulder strap of the gown, then runs a line of fire along my shoulder blade. His eyes, however, remain on my face even as his hand performs this delicate tracery. He studies me, reading any information my expression may offer. Is he enjoying himself? I don’t know. I don’t understand what he’s gaining from any of this—no physical pleasure, no power, no advantage. And if he knew who I am, if he knew I am King Larongar’s daughter? He would probably kill me on the spot.

“Now, now,” he says abruptly withdrawing his hand from my skin. “I see fear creeping into your eyes. What is it?”

I blink, snapped out of a semi-daze, and struggle to focus on his face. “I’m . . . I’m just . . .”

“Tell me,” he says. “You’re slipping away from me. I should like to draw you back again.”

I flush and glance off to one side, focusing on the wafting silk of the canopy. I need something to look at, anywhere other than his face. “I don’t understand why. Why you’re here, why you’re doing this. If you don’t mean to . . . to exercise your husbandly rights, as it were, why go through with it at all?”

He does not answer right away. Other than my hand, which he holds, he does not touch me. He simply looks at me, considering what I have asked. “I have never cared to treat a woman’s body like a receptacle for my passion,” he says at long last, as though it’s the first time he’s tried to articulate the concept in words. “There are men who do, but that is not who I am. If the enjoyment is not mutual, it is not enjoyable for me.”

I nod, pressing my lips together. Then: “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I know.” He shakes his head, his brow puckering slightly. “The truth is, I’m not certain what answer I can give. None of this was my plan or intention, and yet . . . I do know that right here, right now, I’m glad to be in this place. With you.”

“Glad?” I bite out the word.

“Forgive me,” he says. “That was poorly spoken. Let me try again. It is my honor to offer you whatever assistance I may. I expect nothing of you, neither payment nor gratitude. I certainly do not expect you to give me more of your body than you will. If you ask it of me this moment, I will never touch you again.” He takes hold of my chin then, pulling my face up so that I must look once more into his eyes. “But if you choose to continue, I should like to keep you here. Focused on my touch and your own responses. Do not let your thoughts wander. Stay here with me.”

My breath is so tight, my chest seems ready to cave in. “I’m not sure I can.”

He nods, understanding in his gaze. “But will you try?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Good. Now let us try something else.”

He slips his hand around the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. My heart kicks up a notch. He’s going to kiss me. And, gods spare me, but I don’t know if I like kissing! How mad is that? But when I remember how recently Artoris mashed his lips against mine, assaulting my mouth with his tongue, the muscles in my shoulders start to lock up tight. I brace myself, preparing for the worst.

“There’s so much tension in your body,” Taar says softly. “Will you give me permission to proceed?”

What choice do I have? I nod.

He looks me in the eye. “I won’t if you do not wish it.”

“No. Do.” The words come out in little bursts, and only when I hear them do I realize how contradictory they sound. I clear my throat and try again. “Do what you must.”

He nods. Then he leans forward, closes his eyes, and plants a kiss on my brow.

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