Fantastical
Page 37

And the nightgown and robe were to-die-for. A soft peach silk, thin straps, fitted simple bodice and a flowing skirt that went to my ankles. Luckily the skirt was flowing but, as with the panties, the bodice and h*ps of the gown fit snug (clearly, the other Cora was also a cup size smaller than me too). The robe was a matching sheer chiffon with a wide satin sash.
They felt great and even snug looked great and were relatively comfortable.
So there I stood, brushing my hair with the silver-handled brush Cora had left behind, the scent of gardenia in my nose, the lamps and candles flickering behind me in Tor’s bedroom (which was awesome too, decorated in royal blue, silver, black and charcoal gray, it had a mammoth, curtained four-poster sitting smack in the middle of the colossal room, handsome dark-wood furniture, comfortable looking, plush sofas and chairs scattered around, gleaming ivory marbled floors that were made less cold by thick, intricately woven rugs littering them and warm blue-painted walls) and I stared at the view. There was incense one of the maids set to burning that smelled of sandalwood which mingled nicely with the gardenia.
I was brushing my hair, taking all of this in and I was thinking Princess Cora Goode Hawthorne was a total, freaking idiot.
Sure, her house and the area surrounding it were gorgeous but this, all of it, including the man that came with it…
Total. Freaking. Idiot.
I heard a noise, turned to face the room and stopped dead.
Tor was walking through the room completely na**d except for a black bathsheet fastened loose around his hips.
Holy freaking crap!
With an unsteady hand, I set the brush on the balustrade and stared.
I’d seen his chest but that was it. I knew he had great thighs and he was hard everywhere but now I saw he had great calves and the indentations around his hips, the definition of his abs, the veins drifting up his belly and down his forearms and biceps, his jaw cleanly shaven, his long-ish, black hair wet and slicked back.
Yowza!
I tore my eyes from him to see he’d come through one of the many doors that led off his bedroom (I hadn’t explored because I thought it was rude and I should ask but by the time I could, I was alone).
What I knew was, it was not the bathroom door.
Where had he bathed?
In his bathsheet he walked right out onto the patio and, honest to God, he looked straight out of the movie with the candlelit room behind him, the wispy, royal blue curtains blowing in the light breeze and him being so damned hawt.
I struggled to find my voice, found it and asked, “Where did you bathe?”
His head jerked and I belatedly noticed he’d been staring, quite intently, at my body and my words startled him out of a reverie.
His eyes cut to my face and he answered, “My bath.”
“You have a bath?” I asked as he got closer.
“Yes.”
“Is it somewhere else in the castle?” I enquired, thinking that was weird and also thinking of him walking the vast halls of his home in a towel and leaving swooning maids in his wake.
“No,” he replied, stopping in front of me, his big hands going to my waist. “I have a private bath and you have a private bath. They’re separate. I used mine…” his eyes slid over my wet hair, “and apparently you used yours.”
We both had our own bathrooms?
Whoa. Cool!
“Cool,” I smiled up at him.
His hands slid up to my ribs. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, have you?”
“Yes.”
“The food was really good,” I informed him.
“Excellent,” he replied. “Now get in my bed.”
I blinked. “What?”
“If you don’t want me to take you on the balcony, you need, right now, to get that beautiful arse of yours in my bed.”
My belly dipped and my knees went weak.
Uh-oh.
“Tor,” I whispered and his fingers bit into my ribs as his body edged an inch closer.
“Now, Cora,” he ordered low.
“Um…”
“I said now.”
I placed my hands lightly on his biceps and suggested, “I think maybe we should take a few moments to discuss where this is going, um… between you and me and all of the ramifications of that, um… considering, you know, that I might be catapulted back to my world at any time.”
“And, sweets, I think you should decide how much you like those charming garments you’re wearing for, if you don’t move toward my bed in three seconds while discarding them, I’ll be ripping them off you.”
Heat hit my cheeks and between my legs.
Uh-oh!
“Tor,” I whispered, “this is getting complicated. We need to talk.”
“One.”
Oh dear.
“Honey, we might be making a huge –”
“Two.”
I stared up at him and I knew by the determined look on his handsome face that he was, well… determined.
And I had a strong suspicion that when Prince Noctorno was determined to get something, he got it.
And that would include me.
And try as I might, in that instant, after the last four days, I couldn’t find it in me not to give it to him.
Therefore I begged, “Please don’t rip my clothes. I like them a lot.”
“Three,” he replied, I braced but he didn’t rip my clothes off. He dipped a shoulder and then I was up and he was stalking to the bed.
Oh God. Now what did I do?
I had to stall in order to set some ground rules.
I didn’t struggle but wrapped my fingers around his waist.
God, his skin was soft but his muscles were hard and he was warm all over.
Shit!
“I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” I told his back.
“Don’t worry, love, I’ll get you ready.”
Oh boy.
“I think we should… oh!”
I cried out because he tossed me over his shoulder and I landed on my back on the downy covers of his soft bed.
He towered over me, still as a statue except his eyes which travelled the length of me, their path burning my skin like it was a physical thing.
Oh God, I was in trouble.
“Tor –”
“Take off your dressing gown,” he ordered.
My brows drew together. “My –?” I started to ask.
“Take it off, Cora, or I will and I won’t be gentle.”
Holy crap.
I got up on my elbows. “Tor!”
He pulled off his bathsheet.
I started hyperventilating.
I was not wrong. He had great thighs. And there was something else about him that was great too. So great, just looking at him in all his glory, I forgot to be nervous, scared or wonder what future lay ahead of me.