The Rebel King

'Hush…' His voice sounded harsh, even angry. 'Can't miss what you've never had.'

They both knew it was a lie.

She started to say something-to tell him so, maybe-but his mouth came down and she let it take hers, so desperately, achingly glad to have him touching her that nothing else mattered. I'll have this, at least, she thought, and as she opened her mouth to him she gathered the memory up and tucked it away in her heart like a greedy child hiding candy.

Was it just her natural gift of empathy that made her respond to his kiss like dry tinder to a match, Nikolas wondered, or could she possibly be as hungry for him as he for her?

What did it matter? He only felt the burn of it, the heat of her body colliding with his as she turned in his arms and reached for him… the sting and sizzle of her fingers on his skin as she half lay across his lap, her mouth surging up to his, meeting the rhythmic thrusts of his tongue with little whimpering pulses of her own. Desire-his need of her-ripped through his body with cruel force, doubling him over like a bad cramp. A groan slipped unguarded from his throat.

Rhia tore her mouth from his and gasped, 'Nik, what-'

But he caught her to him, hid her face against his throat and whispered hoarsely, 'Nothing…nothing, my love. I just want you so badly…' It wasn't what he wanted to say.

She could feel his body shaking with silent, rueful laughter. 'I want you, too.' she whispered back, shaking, too. though not with laughter.

'This is insane…' But his hand dove under her jacket, plucked her shirt free from the waistband of her pants, and then his fingers were thrusting beneath it and spreading urgently over her flesh…and the abrasion felt so sweet and good it made her want to weep. 'I feel like a bloody teenager.'

'Nik, we're on the damn stairs. We'd prob'ly kill ourselves.' She was laughing now. clinging to him. spotting his shirtfront with her tears.

'And I, for one, would die blissfully happy.'

'And…Elliot's going to be back any minute.'

A heavy groan rumbled from his chest. 'Woman, you are entirely too practical-minded for my-' He stopped.

As tuned to his moods as she was. she felt the change in him instantly. She tensed and drew back to look at him. 'What? Nikolas?'

He was looking over her head. his expression a study in conflicting emotions. His eyes flicked down at her and he smiled, if somewhat crookedly. 'I don't think Elliot's going to be coming for a while.' He nodded toward the front of the hall.

She lay back in his arms and turned her head reluctantly to follow his gaze. 'What…'

'Look at the stained-glass window. The light's gone.'

'It can't be that late.' She was struggling to sit up.

'It isn't, dear heart. We appear to be fogbound.'

'You're kidding.' She was squirming in his embrace, trying to reach the cell phone on her belt.

'Trust me,' he said, 'if there's one thing I know about, it's fog.' There was a cryptic note of irony in his voice.

She paused…stared at him, thinking she should feel dismay, trying hard not to grin, understanding fully the ambiguous look on his face. 'So…' she said in a low voice, thoughtfully weighing the slender device in her hand, 'you're saying we're stuck here? As in…stranded?'

He gave her a sideways look and nodded. 'Uh-huh. For the night, at least.'

'Bummer,' she said somberly. And deliberately tucked the phone back into its case.

He caught her to him, taking her breath away, his laughter gusting into her hair. Then, for a few minutes they simply held each other, rocking slightly, laughing in wonder at the unexpected gift they'd been given. A gift of time, Rhia thought… like happening upon a lovely little tropical island in a sea of chaos.

When the laughter died, finally, they drew back and looked at each other. Just…looked. Nikolas let his fingers trail down the side of her face, tracing the curve of her cheek…the velvety line of her jaw…the incredibly, impossibly perfect shape of her mouth. And he shook his head, dazed to silence by the enormity of what he felt inside.

'What?' She was gazing at him, her eyes as guarded as he knew his must be.

'Nothing,' he murmured. 'It's just that you're so damned beautiful.'

She gave a tiny squeak of laughter, and laid her fingertips against his lips, reverently, the way people do when they petition a saint. 'I think you're beautiful, too.'

He closed his eyes and exhaled gustily. 'God, I want to kiss you so badly. But if I do, I'm absolutely certain I won't stop, and intriguing as the idea of making love to you on the stairs of Vladimir's castle might be… I think we'd better find a place to spend the night while we can still see our hands before our faces.'

There was a long pause during which neither of them moved. Nikolas kissed her nose and said tenderly. 'Rhee- my dearest-I need you to be strong and get up, because I don't think I can bring myself to let go of you otherwise.'

'Me! What makes you think I'm stronger than you are?' Her eyes narrowed. 'What about that legendary willpower of yours?'

He snorted. 'Evidently I have none whatsoever where you're concerned. All right, then-we'll do this together. Ready? One… two…'

Separating from him left her feeling cold, as if she'd gotten thoroughly chilled and would never be completely warm again. And shaky…hideously vulnerable-an appalling weakness she tried to hide from Nikolas by pretending not to notice the helping hand he offered, busying herself gathering up snack papers and brushing off cracker crumbs instead. Fooling no one. Wondering, as she handed him the unopened tin of shortbread cookies and the half-eaten bag of Cheese Doodles, what had happened to her appetite. Now, she was hungry for nothing at all except him.

It grew lighter as they climbed the stairs, pale gray light from curtainless windows spilling from open doorways all along the landing. In the large common rooms nearest the stairs. Rhia caught glimpses of stepladders and draping drop-cloths, and smelled the faint but unmistakable odor of fresh paint. Farther down the landing, though, shadowy hallways led to wings that housed the private rooms, where the work of renovation hadn't commenced yet. They poked their heads into all of them, while Nikolas provided commentary and hurried them from one to the next like a tour guide in desperate need of a bathroom break.

'Bedroom…bedroom…hmm, with adjoining sitting room. I see-and a dressing room as well… Lovely. This would be the nursery. I suppose. And a schoolroom-what fun. Hmm… bathrooms seem to be in rather short supply, don't they? Ah- what do we have here?'

He had opened the last door, which seemed to be wider than the rest. As Rhia caught up with him. he pushed it back and strode into the room like the returning lord of the manor. 'The master suite, I believe. What do you think, my love? Will this do?' He turned to smile at her, a strange tense smile that showed his teeth but didn't reach his eyes.

'Do? This room is bigger than my whole apartment.' Rhia muttered as she wandered past him. threading her way among the shrouded furniture shapes to the tall multipaned windows that graced two adjoining walls. A corner room, obviously. The view would be breathtaking, she thought, without the fog.

She heard a thump behind her, and turned to see that Nikolas had dropped the duffel bag onto a sheet-draped chair. Before she could stop him, he had energetically whisked the dust sheets off the bed-typical man!-sending a small dust blizzard into the air. They both erupted in laughing, coughing fits, and Rhia was about to choke out a teasing remark of some kind-Good job, Donovan!-when he suddenly went still. Simply froze, with the back of one hand touching his mouth and his eyes staring over it at something she couldn't see. Something near the foot of the bed.

'What is it?' She pushed her way back to him through the shapeless mounds of furniture, heart already quickening, nerves and senses snapping to full attention.

The shocked and frozen look on his face was the same one she'd seen there when the king's guard had carried in the chest that held the proof of his identity.

She touched his hand-not surprised to find it cold as ice-and said softly. 'Nik, what's wrong?'

Instead of answering, he moved slowly toward the foot of the bed. which was the old-fashioned kind, small in