His gorgeous eyes were laced with desire, his thumb caressing the curve of her jaw. “Who are you?”
“A princess,” she whispered. “But you may call me Sarani. In private.”
Fraught with emotion, his gaze captured hers. She’d said it on purpose. It’d been the exact words she’d said to him when they’d met for the very first time. In a way, this was a glimpse into what could have been. And that was all she wanted to take with her when she left—one memory of what they might have been.
“I’m Rhystan,” he replied huskily.
She kissed him then, fitting her mouth to his. “I want you.”
“I am yours to command, Princess.”
Sarani’s eyes widened as he lifted a wicked brow with a slanted glance to their bodies. She blinked in confusion. Did he mean right here? Or for her to mount him as one would a horse? Or both? Some of the erotic sculptures she’d seen in various temples of couples threaded together came back to her, and she felt heat fill her cheeks.
Rhystan answered her unspoken questions when he took her lips in a hungry kiss and lifted her over him so that she was straddling his hips with hers. The intimacy of the position and the slickness of her wet body against his made her gasp. Her legs dangled into the hot bathwater behind him before she wrapped them around his waist.
“Here?” she asked.
“Here.” His voice was as tight as hers, his fingers palming her breasts. “Ride, Sarani.”
His filthy command went straight to her core. She moved then, lifting slightly to notch him at her entrance and then letting gravity do the work. They groaned in unison when she was fully seated, her muscles clenching around him. The upright position added to the heightened sensations, making her breath hitch as he stroked her on the inside.
He placed his large hands over her hips and eased her up before guiding her down again. The slow erotic slide nearly had her eyes rolling back in her head with pleasure.
“You feel so good.”
“So do you, my apsara.”
The endearment, his love, filled her with sorrow-tinged bliss, and she tucked it away deep inside her heart. He might not truly love her or be willing to make her his duchess, but at least she would always have this part of him and this memory. In this moment, he was hers forever. In this moment, she felt cherished. Maybe even a little loved.
Sarani closed her eyes and quickened her movements, letting the glorious sensations build inside her until they were nearly impossible to bear, until she could only whimper as her body repeatedly impaled itself on his, taking everything he could give.
“Rhystan…”
His hand slid between their writhing bodies, his thumb circling the pearl of her sex where everything coalesced, and then her vision went to white as everything detonated. Pleasure shivered through her veins as she clenched around him. With a growl, Rhystan sped up his thrusts until he, too, was on the brink of eruption before yanking himself from her and roaring his release.
Sarani collapsed onto him, breathing hard and listening to his pounding heartbeat as it slowed. Her skin grew chilled as the heat dissipated, but nothing short of a miracle would incite her to move.
Tonight, something profound had shifted between them. An understanding. A release of past hurts. An acknowledgment of what they’d been and what they were now.
Friends. Enemies. Shipmates. Lovers.
“What are you thinking?” he asked after he’d caught his breath, fingers trailing down her back.
Her smile felt bittersweet. “That I wish we could stay here forever…and that we probably both need a bath.”
Rhystan gave a chuckle as he stood, scooping her up into those strong arms, and then stepped into the still warm water. He sighed, once she was propped against him, her back to his chest. “I know the situation isn’t perfect. Once things are settled with Ravenna, I’ll free you from our agreement and see you settled anywhere of your choosing.” He paused, and Sarani’s heart squeezed, predicting what was coming. “Perhaps we can still find a way to see each other? I could…visit you.”
Like a paramour.
Sarani didn’t answer. He didn’t have to say the words, though they hung between them like a cloud. A tiny part of her screamed that she would do anything to see him, even for a few stolen moments, and even if she was hidden away like something to be ashamed of. But the rest of her railed. She could never be anyone’s mistress…not even the man she loved.
She deserved more.
But Sarani understood all too well about the demands of duty and the bonds of family. She would never begrudge Ravenna, whom she adored, a good match. And the dowager duchess… Well, she’d lost nearly everything—a husband and two sons. Sarani did not blame her for wanting to protect the family she had left. If she were a mother, she’d do the same thing.
Logic did not make the thought of what she had to do hurt any less. She let out a breath. She would start fresh, store away her memories, and treasure the time she’d had. Sarani felt a tear trek down her cheek and was grateful for the humidity of the chamber and the bathwater to disguise it. How would she ever be able to leave?
How would her body survive without its heart?
Twenty-Four
“Good gracious, this is the worst kind of crush,” Ravenna complained sotto voce. “I can barely move, and have you ever noticed how much it stinks? Underneath the oils and the perfumes, you’d think people would smell pleasant, but no, it’s sweat and grime and goodness knows what else. Honestly, if I breathe in this putrid air much longer, I might die.”
Rhystan frowned at his sister’s diatribe, but Sarani hid her smile behind her fan. “Surely, you must love Eau de Smelly Sirs by now?” she teased and then winked at Ravenna.
His sister, the very soul of indiscretion, threw back her head and laughed, drawing the attention of many in the ballroom, including their mother. He resisted the urge to tug on his collar. Being in this sweltering ballroom was torture, but it had to be done for Ravenna’s sake. The sooner she married, the quicker he could leave.
The hypocrisy weighed on him, but he shoved it down.
He cleared his throat. “Then be sure to set your attentions on the least smelly suitor. I wouldn’t want my only sister to perish because of sensitive nostrils.”
Both ladies stared at him in astonishment, Sarani pinning her lips to stop from grinning and Ravenna gaping, but their responses disappeared as his mother neared with her usual entourage. Lady Penelope, rather surprisingly, was on the arm of Lord Talbot. Rhystan did not miss the earl’s lustful stare trailing over Sarani, and he fought a spike of anger. He frowned, scanning the crowd. Would Markham dare to show his face as well?