Free A Flame Run Wild by Christine Monson Page A

Alexandre was staring down at her. She had not yet used enough soap to cloud the water, and she had to force herself to lie still under his brilliant gaze. His eyes held a fierce hunger and he seemed to be holding his breath. He was poised between flight and fascination as if he had been surprised by some danger.
    Alexandre was her husband and she must make him so in feet, thus they might make a beginning. That they should live separately was wrong. If she could seduce him, soften him with womanly wiles, they might have a fruitful life together, if not the passion of chosen lovers. They might have children . . . and hope. She must lure him into forgetting his reservations. Strangely, the intensity of his blue eyes disturbed her as Jean's had done, made her feel that she was looking at Jean. She wished fervently that he was Jean so that he might take her, wet and slippery, up into his arms and kiss her with that velvet mouth and make her forget . . . that she had married Alexandre.
    Alexandre wondered what Liliane was thinking as she lay mere so still and silent, her hair hanging in damp strands to the floor. He wanted to wind it around his fingers, kiss her soft, blooming mouth and watch her eyes change, their smoky fires shimmer and flare. The water surrounding her pale body was glinting in the setting sun's long shafts of rusty rose and gold. She was softly rounded, blue-shadowed, mysteriously enticing. The peaks of her breasts glimmered just beneath the amber water. You are mine, he thought: by law, by your own consent and by your heart whose warmth I have known, whose racing pulse I have kissed when I made love to you. You are mine, mine. But even when he started to reach out to her, he knew she irrevocably belonged to Jean.
    Alexandre's jaw tightened as he tore his gaze from her, searched for some distraction to block his mind from his body's urgent demand. His attention was caught by her small pile of clothing. "A fair long ride you had today," he commented tersely. "As you do no know the land, I had thought of sending out searchers."
    Although Liliane yearned to wrap herself in the towels nearby, she managed to remain still and shrug casually. "There was no need. I am accustomed to finding my way in unfamiliar terrain."
    Alexandre fidgeted, still not looking at her. "Apparently. I should not have thought the Andalusian Moors so forgiving of ladies wandering unattended. Do the women there not go in veils?" Somewhat perturbed that she had made no effort to cover herself, he gave her body a thorough perusal, a mocking glint in his eyes,
    "In veils," she replied evenly, "and often accompanied by eunuchs."
    Alexandre flushed at her inference. "You will find few eunuchs in King Philip's France, milady," he shot back. "While my fief is fairly safe, you would be wise not to go without escort." Glancing at her piled clothes he added, "Also, I do not know your habit in Spain, but in France, ladies of birth do not flaunt their charms in male dress."
    Liliane sidestepped the challenge. "So you think me charming, milord? I confess I had begun to wonder." With a deliberately arch glance, she rose from the bath and held out her hand. "As my ladies are unavailable, would you mind giving me my robe? The silk one, over the chair."
    He was sorely tempted to catch her hand, throw her over his shoulder, haul her to bed and tame her impudence. Was she trying to seduce him, to bait him into bed and whatever snares she could devise? "You do well enough, Madame, but do not take on airs." He tossed her the robe. "I may have married you, but I have no reason at all to trust you, only to end some night with your poignard in my gullet."
    Liliane slowly stepped, into the gold-embroidered violet robe and wound it securely about her. "Blunt words, sir. Do you propose to evade my wicked schemes by celibacy till death do us part? Surely, a more congenial arrangement might be devised."
    "Celibacy?" His eyes full of her, Alexandre laughed without mirth.