22 Nights by Linda Winstead Jones Page B

took a step back. “No! Just because we danced, just because I let you brush my hair, just because . . . just because . . .”
    “Don’t you ever wonder, Bela, why all these other women of your village are so happy with their husbands? You are curious about other aspects of life, and yet you don’t seem to wonder why you are the only woman who runs from a man’s attentions as if he plans to slit your pretty throat at the first opportunity.”
    She pursed her lips. “Perhaps I am different from other women in some ways.”
    “You are different in many ways, Bela, some very good and some very bad. I feel rather responsible for your distaste for men, even though what happened six years ago was not entirely my fault.”
    “Let’s not discuss . . .”
    “Let’s,” he said. “I have a proposition for you. You let me show you what you’re missing, and if I’m wrong, if you still want nothing to do with men when I’m finished, then tomorrow I will do your work as well as my own. You can sit and watch, if you’d like, sipping water or wine and resting as comfortably as is possible, given the situation, while I labor away.”
    She smiled. “You will begin the day cleaning up the mess from tonight’s party.”
    He nodded his head, and still Bela felt a rush of panic. “This is a bad idea. I don’t want to be hurt, and we can’t take the chance of making a child. If there’s a baby, we can never dissolve this marriage. Never .”
    “There will be no baby,” Merin said confidently, “and I can and will stop what I’m doing at any time. All you have to do is tell me to stop, and it is done. I’m not a monster, Bela. I don’t plan to attack you and I won’t hurt you.”
    “You can’t know . . .”
    “I promise.” His voice was smooth as silk, and the sound caused her blood to do a little dance, and a little something somewhere tugged and fluttered. It was quite unusual.
    Bela could not say she was not curious. Jocylen was delighted with her marriage and her husband, and other brides seemed more than happy enough. Still, she could not help but remember the pain and invasion and horror of their first encounter. Was she hopelessly broken? Could Merin fix her? Was it possible that she was wrong ? “If I say stop . . .”
    “I stop.”
    “You swear.” She took a step closer to the bed.
    “On my honor.”
    A man like Tearlach Merin didn’t swear on his honor lightly. “What am I supposed to do?”
    He smiled at her. “Nothing.” He scooted over and made a place for her on the bed, beside him. She’d been attached to him for many days, and still it made her nervous to sit beside him now. They seemed so close .
    “Lie back.”
    “Turn out the lamp first,” she said. Their oil lamp didn’t cast a lot of light, but it would be enough for him to see her. Not that she was shy, but . . .
    “No.” Merin hovered over her for a moment. She expected a kiss would come next, so she closed her eyes and puckered her lips a little. He lowered his mouth to her throat instead of her mouth, and lingered there.
    Yes, it did feel good as his lips danced across her throat. Soft and warm and tingly good. She felt as if she were unraveling, as if she were melting beneath the attentions of those fine lips. Merin’s mouth dropped lower and he kissed the valley between her breasts, moving slowly, languidly. He stole her breath, and just like that it seemed her very blood changed. He raked his lips and his tongue there, seeming to be in no hurry. The tip of his tongue touched the swell of one breast and then slipped just inside the fabric to taste skin which had been hidden from view.
    Bela closed her eyes, as it seemed she could better enjoy the unexpected sensations this way, when all she had to do was feel.
    Then Merin, stubborn Merin, lifted his head. “Tell me about the colors. His fingers raked down a length of gathered fabric that just happened to cover a sensitive nipple. She jumped when his fingers brushed over it