Broken Dove
Page 45

“I think you’re right,” I agreed quietly and took another bite of sandwich.
At this point, I saw his used piece of muslin fly through the air and land in the opened basket.
I turned my eyes to him and saw him reaching for the wineskin of water hanging from another hook on the front of the sleigh. Stupidly, I watched him sit back, tip his head and drink from it. And even more stupidly, since I could see his throat above his turtleneck working as he drank, and I’d had my lips (and tongue) on that throat and I’d liked it, I became fascinated.
His turtleneck today was a forest green, no less spectacular than the one the day before, except for the fact that the color did amazing things to his eyes.
His breeches, I’d noticed that morning, were another dark brown but this pair had a wide, darker brown swatch of leather stitched to the entirety of the inseam, even the crotch.
Which, at the thought, brought to mind a part of him I paid a good deal of attention to last night, and that part wasn’t his throat. And he’d used that part brilliantly on me multiple times.
All these thoughts made my br**sts swell, my breathing turned shallow and my mind blanked of everything but him.
Which meant, when he dipped his chin and his gaze moved to me, he caught the look on my face. A look I knew communicated thoughts I wasn’t hiding when his eyes instantly grew dark and his hand flashed out to hook around the back of my neck and pull me to him.
His darkened eyes and his hand on me pulling me close made my cl*t throb and I was so focused on that heady feeling, as he leaned into me, his lips brushing mine then his cheek sliding against mine so his mouth was at my ear, I didn’t move a muscle.
Then in my ear, he growled, “You must cease looking at me this way, poppy. If you don’t, I’ll cover the floor of this sleigh with this fur and take you in the cold.”
Oh God.
I wanted that.
Oh God, what was happening?
“And out of necessity, it would be hurried,” he continued. “I’m much looking forward to reacquainting myself with your taste and that beautiful arse of yours tonight, and taking my time doing it. So the sooner we get to Vasterhague, the more time we’ll have.”
Okay.
What was happening?
He lifted away from me and the heat had not left his eyes so I continued to stare stupidly into them.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Uh…yes,” I forced out. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he whispered, leaned in, touched his mouth first to one eye, then the other, and that was so sweet, my belly melted. He pulled back and went on. “Finish your sandwich, poppy. I’ll see to the horses and we’ll be away.”
At that, I forced myself to nod.
He smiled at me.
I bit my lip.
Then I watched his shoulders as he exited the sleigh.
He had great shoulders. Broad. Powerful. And I knew, under all those clothes, exquisitely muscled.
Oh God.
I turned my attention to my sandwich and found after a couple of bites, my dry mouth couldn’t take more. I wrapped it up in the muslin, tossed it in and closed the basket. By this time, Apollo was done with the horses and moving back to the sleigh so I situated myself further across the seat so I wouldn’t be sitting too close to him.
Distance was good. I could get my head sorted if he wasn’t close. Cuddling was bad. I mean, in many circumstances, it was good, way good. But, at this juncture, it was also bad. Way bad.
He got in the sleigh, grabbed the reins and sat, pulling the furs over his lap. He clicked his teeth, snapped the reins and off we went.
Okay, getting my head together…apparently Apollo thought last night we’d broken the seal. So instead of it happening and him being way cool about it and putting it behind us, he thought our relationship had changed.
And I could not say I wasn’t down with that.
In fact, after last night and the way he’d been today, I was so down with that.
But I knew I shouldn’t be.
Things with us were weird and complicated. He told me he’d made love to me last night, not his dead wife, and I believed him. I believed him because the way he said it, the way he was behaving with me made me believe him. But more, I remembered every minute of last night and he’d not once slipped and called me Ilsa or “my beauty.”
He’d only used the names he had for me.
So it was just me for him.
And as for him, not once, not even once did I think of Pol.
So it was just him for me.
But still.
We’d been in each other’s presence—I counted—six times. And if you counted our uncomfortable meal last night, we’d only had one semi-kind-of-date and that date went far from well.
This shift wasn’t right.
Or, if not exactly right, it was too fast.
The sleigh slid over the snow and I worried my lip as it did. Then I pressed my lips together when his arm moved along the back of my seat, curled around me and pulled me across the seat and into him. Without delay, once he got me close, he curved me closer.
Oh boy.
“Apollo?” I called.
“Yes, dove,” he muttered.
God, really, him calling me “dove” was all kinds of lovely.
“Um…are we, have we…”
Just suck it up and talk to him about it, Ils…fuck, Madeleine!
I took in a deep breath and asked, “Has the state of play between us changed?”
His deep voice sounded puzzled when he asked back, “The state of play?”
I pulled up courage and tipped my head back to look at him to see him already looking down at me.
Yes, puzzled.
“You seem, I mean…” I drew in breath. “You’re being very affectionate.”
His head tipped to the side. “This troubles you?”
“We were, uh…kind of fighting yesterday and, of course, the day before, and, well, dinner wasn’t all that—”
His eyes started dancing so I shut up and thus he could say, “We weren’t fighting last night.”
We absolutely weren’t.
“No,” I agreed breathily.
“And I much enjoyed last night.”
I’d got that. Still, it felt nice him confirming it.
“Good.” I was still talking breathily.
He pulled me closer and up a bit so we were nearly face-to-face. That was, nearly face-to-face with our faces about an inch away.
“Adela tea,” he began, his voice deeper than normal and warmer than normal and that was a double whammy. “Comes from adela trees. Have the gods of my world been explained to you?”