Medieval 03 - Enchanted

find his body
appealing sent a shudder of raw desire through Simon.
    “Are you warm enough?” Ariane asked
instantly.
    “Wherever you touch me, I am warm
enough.”
    Ariane thought that over for a time.
    “I cannot cover your back,” she said
seriously, “and I barely cover half of your chest.”
    “The mantle serves for my back.”
    “And your front?”
    “You could rub me with your hands.”
    Ariane lifted her hands to chafe warmth into
Simon’s skin, but found that her position crosswise on his
lap madegiving him a thorough rubdown
difficult. She squirmed about, trying to lever herself into a
better position.
    Simon’s breath came in swiftly when
Ariane’s soft bottom moved over his own hardened flesh.
    “Sorry,” Ariane said in a low voice.
“Sitting thus, I can reach you with only one hand.”
    Common sense told Simon that he shouldn’t do
what he was about to do, but the temptation was too great.
    “Allow me,” he murmured.
    Ariane made a startled sound as Simon’s arms
closed around her body, lifting and turning her in the same swift
motion. When she settled once more, she found herself astride his
lap.
    “Comfortable?” he asked blandly.
    “Er…”
    “Think of me as your mount.”
    Ariane bit her lip against a nervous smile. The
part of her that was still chained to nightmare was screaming that
she wasn’t safe. The part of her that had known the healing
enchantment of balm and Simon’s caressing hands was more than
ready to rise to the sensual lure.
    “Er…you lack a saddle,” Ariane
pointed out.
    “I wear leather,” Simon countered.
“Think of that as your saddle.”
    “But where are the stirrups to keep me
upright?”
    There was more amusement than reluctance in
Ariane’s tone. The realization increased Simon’s
heartbeat, which further quickened the flesh straining against his
supple breeches.
    “I will not let you fall,” Simon said.
Then he added softly, “And I promise to heed your hand on the
reins.”
    When Ariane realized what Simon meant, her eyes
widened.
    “Simon?”
    “I had a chance to learn your body while I
cared for you,” he whispered. “Will you care for me
just a little now that you are well?”
    “I…” Ariane’s voice
died.
    The hands that Ariane put against Simon’s
chest were cold. They trembled between fear and yearning.
    “Am I so disgusting to you?” he asked
evenly.
    “Nay! ’Tis only that…”
    Simon waited, his jaw clenched against the hunger
to have just one caress freely given by his wife.
    “I am nervous,” Ariane confessed in a
whisper.
    Her hands moved from Simon’s breastbone
across the width of his chest to his arms.
    “And there is so much of you,” she
added under her breath.
    Smiling a bit fiercely, Simon fought against the
need to bury himself in the softness that now lay open to him
between Ariane’s widespread thighs.
    “Duncan and Dominic are larger than I
am,” Simon pointed out in a low, reasonable tone.
    “You would make two of me.”
    “I would rather make a meal of you. And you
of me.”
    We tasted each
other .
    Ariane’s breath caught as a curious shudder
unfolded deep within her body.
    Simon felt his wife’s trembling and swore
silently.
    “You misunderstand my meaning,” he
whispered. “There would be no pain in such a
‘meal.’ You would feel only pleasure.”
    “Said the wolf to the lambkin.”
    Surprised, Simon gave a crack of laughter.
    Tentatively Ariane smiled.
    “Where is the balm?” she asked.
    He blinked. “Balm?”
    “For healing. That is, if I am to learn you
as you learned me?”
    When Simon remembered the way he had learned Ariane
that last night before she awakened, he thought he might burst.
    She doesn’t know what
she is saying. She couldn’t have been awake .
    Could she ?

20
    T he possibility that Ariane might
actually have shared his dream made Simon’s blood run so
hotly that he was afraid to speak. With one hand he felt along the
bedding for the embroidered bag of medicines that Cassandra had
sent with him. His fingers quickly found the familiar shape of the
pot of balm.
    “Here,” Simon said huskily, holding out
his hand to Ariane. “Use this.”
    Ariane opened the pot and dipped two fingertips
into the creamy balm.
    “What a lovely fragrance,” she
murmured.
    “It smells of you. Moonrise and roses and a
distant storm.”
    Ariane smiled slightly and shook her head. “I
don’t smell like that.”
    “You smell more beautiful than I can say. I
could