Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(27)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"What, what is it!" Stefan was suddenly at her side his body a blur as he hit the flames with his bare feet before turning to her and examining her face. "Are you hurt? Did you get burned?"

"No, I’m not — Oh my—"

Stefan gave her a peculiar look and then glanced at himself. All of himself. For the man was standing in front of her sans any clothing covering his gloriously sculpted body.

"I—I—uh…" Rosalind began to speak but found no words. Nothing, to describe the longing she felt all over her body. The fascination she found in gazing upon his. Hard muscled plans over his stomach, broad shoulders fit for a king. And skin so smooth she wanted to reach out and touch it.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what she did, and immediately regretted it as fire seemed to burst into Stefan’s eyes.

"Don’t," he said grabbing her hand forcefully within his. The grip he had on her was strong.

Her hand shook under the pressure of his. Eyes black with desire he pulled her flush against all of him. "I mean to propose to you, to be a romantic. Not to take you and force a marriage upon you in that way."

Rosalind could only nod and watch as his eyes took their fill of her lips. With a curse, he crushed his lips against hers, savagely, passionately pulling more and more of her until she thought she would die. Stefan’s body was still wet from the bath, warm water only seemed to ignite her skin as it soaked through her robe. His arms braced tightly around her, one hand stroked her neck then dove lower. Her robe was haphazardly thrown on and she hadn’t worn a chemise underneath. Now she was grateful for it as Stefan’s hand easily plunged into the opening, pulling it half off in the process. His mouth pressed against hers harder as he sucked and nipped, and then abruptly as it started, he ended the kiss.

"No!" He released her quickly and stomped back to the bath spilling water everywhere as he jumped in and giving her quite a glorious view of his backside as he did so.

"Leave." Voice shaking he closed his eyes and sank back against the tub. "Rose, please, just… go downstairs and ask the innkeeper’s wife for some more wine. Can you do that?"

Rosalind couldn’t answer, and it wasn’t as if she was wearing a traveling dress. "I’m not dressed to—"

"—then turn around and cease from making any sort of feminine noise or sigh or moan. In fact, if you could suddenly pick up the art of not breathing for a few moments, I would be much obliged."

"You want me to stop breathing?"

"Just… be still," he whispered.

Rosalind quickly sat in the chair and closed her eyes. Truly, she did try to focus on keeping her breathing even but she found the more she tried the harder it became. And images of Stefan’s magnificent body seemed imprinted into her mind so vividly that she found her breathing picked up!

His bath continued, and she only knew this because she heard splashing and after several minutes, a different tune.

Stefan cursed in French, German, and his very own made up language — all in his head of course for he didn’t want to alarm Rosalind. No, the poor girl was probably at this moment contemplating ways to wear all her clothing in hopes to battle untoward advances from him.

What the devil did she think he would do? He was a man! When a woman screams, a man is there to protect! And Rosalind, curse the woman. She was everything to him. Protecting her was like breathing, so when he heard her scream a panic like none other enveloped him. Obviously without thinking, he ran to her aid. Only to find, too late, that he was grossly unprepared for a lust filled battle as her eyes boldly scanned his naked body.

Never had he felt a more screaming desire to take a woman to bed. To fully consume a woman. His hands ached to reach out and touch her. His body pounded with the desire. As the blood roared through his ears, as the lust blinded his sound mind making everything he was about to do justifiable. He looked into her eyes and paused.

Trust.

He had finally gained it. And was in no position to lose it. The kiss was a gut instinct, a mistake. A way to capture a taste of what he had become so addicted to over the past few days. Instead, it nearly ruined everything, and he wasn’t at all sure how to go about the night. Perhaps pretend that he wasn’t fearful of ravishing her? His semi-foxed state did nothing to help circumstances.

With a sigh, he finished his bath and donned his breeches and shirtsleeves, in hopes to cover himself up more than before. Stefan took a seat next to the small table with the food.

"You may open your eyes now, Rose."

She opened her eyes and tentatively rose from the chair and sat opposite him.

"May I be bold, Your Grace?" Rosalind’s eyes were downcast as if she was thinking very carefully on something.

"Always," Stefan grinned trying to lighten the passion-filled mood.

"I find a man beautiful. I find you beautiful. And I cannot imagine my eyes ever seeing something that is your equal."

Stunned into silence, Stefan’s mouth could only drop open as Rosalind blushed profusely and poured them wine.

He reached out and touched her shaking hand. "Perhaps no equal, but a beauty far surpasses my own. You need not but look in the mirror my Rose, to see my meaning."

They ate and drank in silence. Rosalind continued to look down. After the meal was finished she finally raised her eyes to meet his.

It was akin to getting punched in the stomach. He had to make this angel, this beautifully strong woman, his.

"Your song." She tilted her head. "It changed tunes."

"Ah, so you noticed." Amused, he leaned back against the chair and crossed his arms. "Another one of Dominique’s beautiful piano fortes. Can you guess what it is about?"

"Death?" Rosalind joked.

Stefan scowled. "Try again."

"Horses?"

"Wrong, and I don’t believe any songs have been written about Samson yet, but I wouldn’t completely cross that probability from happening."

"Lust?" she squeaked.

"Close…" He leaned forward. "It’s about desire."

"Oh."

"Yes." Stefan laughed. "Oh." He held out his hand to her. "Tell me, Rose. What do you know of desire?"

Her eyes darted to his outstretched hand and back to his face. "Women do not desire, or at least we are told not to."

"It will be a sad day for everyone if women listened to society’s restrictions. Don’t you think? Did you know that when I touch you, you blush? For such a strong independent woman, it pleases me immensely to see a chink in your confident attitude."