The Ice Princess
Chapter 8
After many long days and nights of travel, the soldier stood before the Ice Princess herself. He bowed low, for he'd been taught proper manners by his mother, and said, "Good day to you, madam!"
The Ice Princess opened her icy eyes and said in a voice as cold as an iceberg, "Come kiss me."
"I thank you, no," the soldier replied. "Though I do appreciate the offer."
"Then why have you come?" she asked.
"To bring my brother Tom home," he said, "and I'll not leave without him." . . .
--from The Ice Princess
# # #
 "Damnation!" Isaac threw the official letter down.
Lieutenant Cranston, sitting across the tavern table from him, looked startled. "Something amiss, Captain?"
"It's as we feared—we've been called back to sea early. We set sail in less than a week." He stared down at the congealing plate of beef before him, his appetite lost. There had been a time once, immediately after his wife had died, when he would not have minded the abrupt summons back to duty. Then there had been no one waiting for his return to land and home. Now . . .
"Damnation," he growled again under his breath. "The men will be barely rested. They'll be resentful and surly and there's bound to be fighting." He glanced up at Cranston. "Better make sure our supply of grog is in order."
Cranston nodded. "Aye, sir."
"And tell the other officers that discipline will be tight—no looking the other way over minor incidents. Better a flogging or a stay in the brig than one of my men maimed or killed in stupid fisticuffs."
"Aye, sir." Cranston stood. "With your permission, I'll begin preparations."
"Good man." Isaac watched the lieutenant weave his way through the tavern crowd. He had preparations to make as well—accounts to be settled, business to be transacted before he sailed again. The list was never-ending when one spent the majority of time at sea. But tonight he wouldn't do any of that.
Tonight he'd visit Coral once again.
He glared at his piece of beef, his mood foul as he remembered how she'd used him the night before. He'd known making love to Coral wouldn't be easy, but the woman had used him like a goddamned whore. And then she'd somehow expected him not to notice that she'd never been engaged in the act at all. He'd left her before he said or did something he'd regret later.
"Will ye be wantin' more ale, sir?" the tavern wench asked flirtatiously at his elbow.
He looked up and unconsciously transferred his glare to the poor woman. Her pretty blue eyes widened in fright.
Isaac smoothed his expression and made his voice gentle. "Nay, lass, I'm done here."
Outside, the sun was beginning to set, taking her warmth with her. Isaac pulled his cloak about his body as he walked to Aphrodite's Grotto. All the way he brooded on Coral and her deceptions and the kind of fool who would return to a woman such as she. But when he at last stood before her little door and watched it open he forgot all that.
Coral's chin was lifted, her mouth stretched in a faintly mocking smile, but he could see the uncertainty that lurked in her exotic green eyes.
Isaac sighed. "Invite me in, love."
He saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes before she stepped back. "Please come in, Captain Wargate."
He nodded. "Thank you."
Her small concession soothed him a bit. He entered the room and turned to study her. She didn't seem to know quite what to do, now that he was here.
Well, that made two of them.
"I don't know what you want," she said, sounding accusing.
"I know," he replied drily.
She looked hurt.
Oh, Christ. He rubbed his jaw, realizing absently that he needed a shave. "Do you have any wine?"
"Yes." She glided to the table and poured him a glass, bringing it to him. She offered the wineglass to him silently, holding it in both hands.
He took it, meeting her gaze. She wasn't the type of woman to apologize, even if she'd known—and admitted—what she'd done wrong. The very first captain he'd served under—a wise old seadog—had told him that happy men accepted what was real and under their nose. Chasing after impossible wishes only drove a man to melancholy and excessive drink.
Isaac sipped his wine, then walked to the table and set the glass down, feeling suddenly lighter. He looked at Coral. "Come here."
Her expression was clearly wary, but her curiosity must've won out over her reticence. She crept closer, stopping just out of arm's reach.
He sat on a chair and spread his legs, patting one knee. "Come."
Her look was almost resentful, but she came nonetheless, perching uneasily on his thigh. He wrapped an arm around her, but held her back when she tried to kiss him.
"What do you want from me?" she exclaimed irritably.
"Let me explain," he said soothingly as he drew her skirts up with his free hand. "You and I have a confusion as to terms."
She glanced down distractedly as he slid his palm under her skirts, along her bare thigh. "What?"
"Making love," he stated and traced a gentle circle against her warm skin. She was so soft, it was like petting a kitten. "To you the phrase means an exchange of money, a business transaction with only one of the parties deriving pleasure. To me making love is a mutual thing of benefit to both."
She caught his wrist, stilling the hand on her thigh. Her eyes were a little desperate. "What do you mean to do?"
"I'd like to show you my way of making love," he said gently.
She hesitated, clearly thinking it over. He let her, patiently waiting. She had to agree to the act—he'd not make her.
Finally she let his wrist go.
"Good girl," he breathed, and traced the fine line of her leg up until he touched maiden hair.
She bit her lip.
His cock jumped at the sight, but this wasn't for him tonight. He threaded his fingers through the springy hair, letting her get used to his touch. When she began to relax he moved lower, finding soft, damp flesh.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Making love to you." He bent his head to hers and touched his mouth gently against her lips, parting them as he parted the lips below. It had always amazed him, how delicate a woman was here. How sweet and soft. His wife had been ashamed of her sex, refusing to let him explore her as he'd like. He opened his eyes as he kissed Coral and wondered if she'd let him spread her naked on her bed one day. Let him look and touch and kiss.
That thought had his balls tightening, the blood pounding through his veins. He wanted to put himself inside her, to feel that lush, wet heat again. Instead he gently stroked, seeking and finding that special place.
She jerked, her eyes flying open.
He watched her. Surely she'd been touched here before? But maybe she didn't allow her lovers this intimacy. He felt a surge of possession at the idea—that she'd let no other man play with her.
Give her pleasure.
Because she was pleasured, he could see it in the pink flush rising in her cheeks, in the dazed expression in her eyes. His fingers were becoming slippery with her desire. He circled that little bud, felt it stiffen and come erect.
"Don't," she whispered suddenly, her legs clamping together so his hand couldn't move.
"Coral," he said sternly. "Let me."
She looked at him, and at the sight of her eyes he nearly let her go--they swam with tears. But if he backed down now they might never reach this place again.
He held her gaze. "Please."
She closed her eyes and her thighs eased apart.
He leaned close and kissed her temple lightly. "You're so beautiful I am awe-struck. I want to lay beside you and simply watch you sleep. I want to hold you in my arms and make you tremble."
She gasped and he smiled against her ear. "I want to touch you until you forget yourself, forget where you are, forget the world."
He could feel her fine tremors now and his fingers were drenched. She was so close! The animal part of him wanted to lay her flat, pound himself into her until he felt his own release. He grit his teeth and reined himself in, keeping his fingers gentle, trying to ignore the soft hip pressed into his erection.
"Come for me, Coral," he whispered, and circled her nub. "Come for me."
She jerked suddenly and he thrust a finger into her heat, groaning at the tightness, the slippery wet. This was his woman, the primitive whispered, and he'd bring her joy no matter what cost.
Her hands were wrapped about his wrist now, but not to stop him. He watched her eyes close, watched as her teeth worried her lip, and even if he couldn't be joined with her when she climaxed, he could take a small sip. So he kissed her—savagely and open-mouthed, thrusting another finger into the place his cock wanted to be, using her roughly now.
And she came apart in his arms, moaning under his mouth, jerking against him, her cream flooding his fingers.
He continued to pet her, his strokes becoming softer as she descended from her peak until he finally broke their kiss and laid his forehead against hers.
"That," he whispered in a voice he struggled to contain, "is making love."
She swallowed, opening her magnificent green eyes, looking almost shy. "Thank you."
He wanted to smile, but damn it, he was too near the edge.
She framed his face with her small, cool palms, and kissed him chastely on the mouth. "Now can we make love together?" |
