as you stand there, I see something far different than that.”
Dumarest threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood before her. Looking down into her upturned face he was acutely aware of her femininity, his response to it, his need and desire. Aware, too, of the dilemma he faced.
He could be the subject of a test. Ifhe ignored the allure of the woman would it prove the strength of his detachment? To accept what she offered his lack of resolve? Or the very reverse? What did Shandaha hope to learn? What would be the wisest thing for him to do?
The room itself hinted at the answer. In any such place how would he have treated a woman who had come to him as Nada had done? If not to accept her then to make the rejection one which would cause no anger. To act with gentle courtesy. Above all to salvage her pride.
To gain time he turned and retrieved the robe Nada had discarded from where it lay in a sprawl of vibrant color. Rising he saw her face, her eyes, the subtle hardening of her lips and recognized the added dimension to his predicament. Awoman fully aware of her attributes. A creature of passion and pride who had come to him and offered herself as a willing diversion. An invitation it would be dangerous to reject. He was in no position to invite the fury of a woman scorned.
“Your robe.” He handed it to her. As she took it he added, “Beauty to add to beauty. That is what I see when I look at you. A beauty that is beyond description. One no painter could possibly chain to a canvas. Loveliness that is all too rare.”
Softly she said, “Do you mean that?”
“Any man would tell you the same. Any mirror will give you the truth of what you are.”
“I’m not interested in any man, Earl. Nor any mirror.”
She came closer, the scent of her perfume strong in his nostrils, the radiated heat of her flesh signaling her passion. “Prove you mean what you say. Show me how you really feel. How genuine you are. Do you honestly care for me? Want me? Need me?”
“Yes, Nada, I do.” His hands rose to caress her hair.
“I need you more than I can say.”
“Earl!”
The robe fell as she reached towards him, her arms closing about him, her lips seeking his own, finding them, pressing with an avid hunger as the heat of her naked flesh burned against his own.
“Earl! I want you! I need you! Take me! Earl! Earl!”
The room was the same but a subtle magic had touched the moldering plaster and stained woodwork so they seemed gifted with a new brightness; a shimmering patina as of things remade and reborn. As the bed was softer than he remembered, seeming larger, as the light was even moreenticing as it streamed through the window. At his side Nada moved a little, her hand caressing his torso, the fingers tracing the scars of old wounds.
“I love you, my darling,” she whispered. “I shall always love you.”
Her voice was a sleepy murmur, her face lax with satiated passion, her hair a sprawl on the pillow, her skin a softly yielding velvet delight. On her throat the wound he had made rested like the badge of another kind of passion. One that had given him the cicatrices he bore. The fruit of emotions she should never have known.
On impulse he stooped and kissed it.
“Darling.” Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Kiss me again. Heal me. Please, Earl.”
He obeyed and looked down at the unbroken skin of her throat. The wound he had made had vanished without trace.
“You have the power, darling.” Her hands moved, questing, her smile widening as she felt his response. “You will always have power over me. I am yours when you need me. Just need me. Never stop needing me. Earl! Please! Earl!”
Again they lost themselves in an ancient rite, Nada clinging to him with a desperate intensity as if afraid of losing a newly found pleasure. Only when they lay exhausted did she run her hands over his torso again her fingers following the pattern of his scars.
Fingers with the delicate impact of insect wings,
Dumarest threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood before her. Looking down into her upturned face he was acutely aware of her femininity, his response to it, his need and desire. Aware, too, of the dilemma he faced.
He could be the subject of a test. Ifhe ignored the allure of the woman would it prove the strength of his detachment? To accept what she offered his lack of resolve? Or the very reverse? What did Shandaha hope to learn? What would be the wisest thing for him to do?
The room itself hinted at the answer. In any such place how would he have treated a woman who had come to him as Nada had done? If not to accept her then to make the rejection one which would cause no anger. To act with gentle courtesy. Above all to salvage her pride.
To gain time he turned and retrieved the robe Nada had discarded from where it lay in a sprawl of vibrant color. Rising he saw her face, her eyes, the subtle hardening of her lips and recognized the added dimension to his predicament. Awoman fully aware of her attributes. A creature of passion and pride who had come to him and offered herself as a willing diversion. An invitation it would be dangerous to reject. He was in no position to invite the fury of a woman scorned.
“Your robe.” He handed it to her. As she took it he added, “Beauty to add to beauty. That is what I see when I look at you. A beauty that is beyond description. One no painter could possibly chain to a canvas. Loveliness that is all too rare.”
Softly she said, “Do you mean that?”
“Any man would tell you the same. Any mirror will give you the truth of what you are.”
“I’m not interested in any man, Earl. Nor any mirror.”
She came closer, the scent of her perfume strong in his nostrils, the radiated heat of her flesh signaling her passion. “Prove you mean what you say. Show me how you really feel. How genuine you are. Do you honestly care for me? Want me? Need me?”
“Yes, Nada, I do.” His hands rose to caress her hair.
“I need you more than I can say.”
“Earl!”
The robe fell as she reached towards him, her arms closing about him, her lips seeking his own, finding them, pressing with an avid hunger as the heat of her naked flesh burned against his own.
“Earl! I want you! I need you! Take me! Earl! Earl!”
The room was the same but a subtle magic had touched the moldering plaster and stained woodwork so they seemed gifted with a new brightness; a shimmering patina as of things remade and reborn. As the bed was softer than he remembered, seeming larger, as the light was even moreenticing as it streamed through the window. At his side Nada moved a little, her hand caressing his torso, the fingers tracing the scars of old wounds.
“I love you, my darling,” she whispered. “I shall always love you.”
Her voice was a sleepy murmur, her face lax with satiated passion, her hair a sprawl on the pillow, her skin a softly yielding velvet delight. On her throat the wound he had made rested like the badge of another kind of passion. One that had given him the cicatrices he bore. The fruit of emotions she should never have known.
On impulse he stooped and kissed it.
“Darling.” Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Kiss me again. Heal me. Please, Earl.”
He obeyed and looked down at the unbroken skin of her throat. The wound he had made had vanished without trace.
“You have the power, darling.” Her hands moved, questing, her smile widening as she felt his response. “You will always have power over me. I am yours when you need me. Just need me. Never stop needing me. Earl! Please! Earl!”
Again they lost themselves in an ancient rite, Nada clinging to him with a desperate intensity as if afraid of losing a newly found pleasure. Only when they lay exhausted did she run her hands over his torso again her fingers following the pattern of his scars.
Fingers with the delicate impact of insect wings,
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