She was dragged to the bank of the tarn and held while her body rejected the water it had swallowed. Then she sank into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twenty-four
She was lying naked on her stomach. Everything was soft and safe. Hot, orange flames flickered on the other side of her eyelids. Bit by bit, part by part, an encompassing warmth was stealing the ice from her body.
Something soft, like a towel, slid along her naked spine. Up. Down. Along her arms, shoulders, down her spine again, across her hips, caressing each smooth buttock, stroking her long, slender legs.
So soft, so warm. The icy core inside her began to thaw as warm, warmer, each limb absorbed the delicious soft stroking.
Then, warm flesh, warmer than hers, cupped her shoulders and gently turned her so that her front was offered up. The textured softness brushed her face, her neck, then her chest. It circled the globes of her breasts, touched her nipples, then moved onto her flat stomach, kneading it with softness. Again, the warmer flesh touched her, this time on her thighs, moving one limb a fraction apart from the other so the softness could caress her thighs, knees, calves, every toe.
In her delicious warm languor, she lifted up one arm and then the other, delighting in their lightness, the way they responded to her wishes. She stretched them out above her head, arching her back like a contented cat in the hot summer sun.
Abruptly, cruelly, the stroking stopped. She muttered an incoherent sound, not really words, just a throaty, quiet protest. There was a soft chuckle, and then it was no longer the softness stroking her but warm breath, teasing her nipples into aching hardness; warm flesh rubbing the hollow cave of her stomach, brushing the soft fleece that marked her womanliness.
Then nothing.
Again she moaned, arching her back, seeking the warm flesh, protesting.
The soft chuckle. A blanket slid up over her nakedness. "Oh, no you don't. Highness. You'll have to open your eyes first. I want you awake when I make love to you."
His arm slid behind her bare shoulders, lifting them. A burning liquid hit her lips, her tongue. She coughed as it slid, molten, down her throat. He put her head back on the pillow, and her eyes opened.
Lying next to her, Quinn was propped up on one arm, his bare chest glowing bronze in the firelight. The towel with which he had dried her lay discarded in front of him. He took a slow sip from the remaining brandy and then gazed down at her, a lazy smile lurking at the corners of his mobile mouth.
"Welcome back."
Noelle turned her head to the side and looked around her. They were lying on a soft pallet in front of the fireplace. Quinn was naked; only his hips were covered by the corner of a blanket.
Memory washed over her-the storm, the tarn, her desperate struggle reaching for her horse's leg only to have it slip away…
"Is Chestnut safe?"she managed.
Xxx hell of a lot safer than you. That damned nag almost got you killed. That and my stupidity. I should never have let you go off alone." He shifted his weight and the curious silver disk he wore reflected the flames. "I tried to follow you, but I lost you in the mist. I knew you were headed roughly in the direction of the tarn. It was just luck that I got there in time."
"It was my own fault. You warned me, but I didn't pay attention to where I was going. And then the storm frightened Chestnut, and she bolted."
Quinn saw Noelle shiver. "Here, drink some more brandy."
Once again he raised her head. As he held the glass to her lips some of the liquid trickled out the side. She drank, and then he lowered her back to the pillow, enjoying the play of the firelight on her hair. A small amber droplet clung to the corner of her moist mouth. Slowly he lowered his head and captured it in his kiss.
Almost instantly he felt her stiffen under him. He pulled back, placing a quieting finger over her lips before she could voice her protest.
"Your time has run out, Highness," he said huskily. "I'm going to make love to you now."
Little golden pinpoints of fear flecked her eyes, and he could see by the way her fingers convulsed around the edge of the blanket that she had just realized she was naked and completely vulnerable to him.
Her eyes darted to the brandy bottle sitting a few feet away.
"Not this time. Tonight it will be just the two of us in this bed. A man and a woman who want each other."
"No," she whispered, "I-I don't want you."
With firelight dancing in his eyes, he eased the blanket from her clenched fist and slid it down to her feet. Then he touched her face and began lightly stroking away the fear-etched ridges. His mouth followed his fingers, and, finally, with gentle urgency, he claimed her parted lips.
Noelle breathed in the virile scent of him, tasted the hint of brandy on his tongue, felt the roughness of his beard against her cheek. She wanted to protest her nakedness, his invasion of her mouth, but the sweetness of it stole her words.
Then his mouth traveled from her lips to the curve of her shoulder. His hand crept up her naked side to her breast, thumbing delicious circles around the coral areola and then lightly brushing the tiny bud at the tip.
She moaned at the sensations that his touch generated and heard a muffled exclamation, low and deep in his throat. He lifted his head so that he was staring deeply into her eyes, promising with his own what was to follow. And then his mouth descended to a tender coral bud, tonguing it and then sucking deeply, teasing first one, then the other-relentlessly persistent until her head thrashed from side to side on the pillow.
Again the muffled exclamation, low and triumphant. Was it laughter? Passion?
His mouth possessed her once more. His hand moved down her body, brushing the silken fleece but not stopping this time, going on to touch private places. No need to part legs already open.
His body covered hers, and she accepted its weight, her traitorous arms locking around his shoulders. Her flesh was on fire, waiting, yearning, eager when his rigid manhood probed at the entrance of her secret core.
"Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice suddenly hard and ugly. "I want to see you when I take you."
Afraid he would stop if she disobeyed, she did as he ordered, opened her eyes and locked them with his. She hated him then as she saw his triumph. Hated herself more for having obeyed. He was not making love to her, he was conquering her. This was his revenge. It had all been a calculated seduction.
He laughed harshly. "I told you I'd claim what was mine." And then he filled her.
"No," she sobbed, wanting to fight him. But it was too late. He moved inside her slowly, relentlessly. Watching her. Boring her with his eyes and his manhood. She felt her body climbing, overcoming her will. She reached. Toward what? Ached. Release. Please. Whatever. Sweet, blessed.
The crescendo of her passion captured her and carried her to shattering, humiliating fulfillment. She was barely aware of his shudder as he finally allowed, himself his own hot, liquid release.
Long after he had moved her from their place in front of the fire to the bed and fallen asleep beside her, Noelle lay awake, shamed by her body's unrestrained response to someone she detested. The nagging fears about her own nature that she had tried so hard to dismiss had borne ugly, bitter fruit.
Quinn had forced her to acknowledge his complete domination of her body. He had threatened her at her most primitive level, and she hated him for it. Even more tragically, she hated her own healthy body.
The next morning when she slipped out of bed, she was careful not to touch him, knowing now that the slightest graze of skin upon skin might ignite a fire over which she would have no control. She washed and dressed quickly, dispassionately studying his sleeping form the whole time. He slept as aggressively as he lived, throwing the span of an arm over the place where she had been lying, angling his long frame across the bed to keep his feet from dangling off the end, encompassing the bed, making it his own just as he did everything else.