No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (26 page)

“Andre!” she cried, spasms of release overwhelming her. “Oh, Andre,” she whimpered as they finally began to subside and he took his hand away.

He kissed her, his breath coming hard and fast. “That, my sweet, was very nice, and you may do that as many times as you wish while we make love.”

“I may?” she said, dazed and limp and wondering how her body could possibly survive it more than once.

“Mm hmm,” he said, circling her ear with his tongue. “I, however, have to be more careful.”

“You do?” she murmured, shivering with pleasure as he moved his mouth down to her throat, lightly nipping.

“Mmm,” he said, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. “Once I reach that point, there’s no return, and then I can’t continue to pleasure you—at least not like this.”

He rose over her and moved her legs apart with his thigh, entering her in a smooth thrust. He stayed still inside her for a long moment, his face buried against her neck, and Ali relished his fullness, pushing her hips up, testing, slowly stretching around him until she had taken his full length into her.

Andre groaned again. “You,” he said, lifting his head and shifting his weight so that it rested fully on his forearms, “are unbelievable.”

“I am?” she said, smiling up at him happily, her face flushed with a renewed rush of desire.

“You … were … born for this,” he said, beginning to move in her, and Ali opened her legs wider to accommodate him. She quickly discovered that if she wrapped her legs around his back he could move even more deeply.

“Ali—sweet, sweet girl,” he whispered, increasing the rhythm of his thrusts until he had her pinned on the bed unable to do anything but moan as he pounded into her, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, pushing her closer to that precipice of oblivion.

He held her arms over her head, his fingers entwined in hers, his face taut, his eyes fixed on hers, and Ali felt as if his gaze burned into her very soul.

“My God,” he groaned, his face suddenly contorting as if in pain and he thrust deeply with a hoarse cry.

That final thrust threw Ali straight off the edge she’d been hovering on and she convulsed around him at the same time that he pulsed into her, fiercely milking the seed he poured into her, her cry like the long wail of a she-wolf in the night.

Andre’s entire body shook as another groan was tom from his throat and his fingers tightened painfully around hers. And then they gradually released, and he fell against her, his heart pounding slowly.

She wrapped her arms around his slick back, one hand stroking the damp hair at the nape of his neck, the other running lightly over the hollow of his spine down to the hard curve of his buttocks and up again.

He was quiet for many minutes, and she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But then he stirred in her arms. “Ali?” he murmured.

“What?” she said softly.

“I’m very glad I married you.”

A
ndre woke early the next morning to the extraordinary sensation of his toes being expertly licked. For a foggy moment he thought it was Ali, but that was impossible since he had her securely in his arms and any licking that she felt compelled to do would have occurred in the region of his neck.

Granted, it had been a long night and he hadn’t had much sleep, but he wasn’t that muddled. He gently disentangled Ali and sat up, lifting the covers.

Sherifay’s little face looked up at him, not a trace of guilt on it. She gave his big toe one last thorough lap, then inched her way up his side and poked her head out, looking very pleased with herself.

“If you think you’re sharing the marital bed, my friend, you have another think coming. I have plans for this morning.” He located his wrap, then hoisted Sherifay under one arm and marched her straight back through the open bedroom door and down the stairs, firmly putting her out the back door.

He made a fire, put two large pots of water on to heat, and went out to the well. He’d instructed Mrs. Lummus to stay well away from the house until dinnertime, so he knew he could strip and wash without the risk of sending her into strong hysterics.

When he returned to the bedroom, Ali was still asleep, curled up on her side in the manner in which she had always slept, her fist tucked under her chin. The only difference now was the hair that tangled around her arm—and the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the sheet.

Propping himself on the end of the bed, he watched her, the morning light playing softly over her features. Ali slept with the same enthusiasm that she brought to everything else. A slight smile curved up the corners of her ripe mouth, and her sooty lashes swept the curve of her finely drawn cheekbones.

It was the oddest thought that he’d spent a good portion of the night making love to the same person who had once served him intimately in other ways. And yet Ali wasn’t the same person.

Oh, she was still the same fiery, determined, quixotic soul she’d always been, but this Ali … this Ali was no child. No child at all.

He ran his eyes over her face, thinking of the fierce joy that Ali had brought to their lovemaking, her complete lack of inhibition, her generosity. Her love.

Andre squeezed his eyes shut as guilt stabbed sharply through him. Ali deserved so much better, so much more than a man whose heart would always belong to someone else.

Still. It was done and, selfishly, he could not be sorry. He could only hope that she would not eventually grow to regret their marriage. He also hoped that she didn’t ever learn about Genevieve, for the last thing Ali needed was to feel diminished in any way. But he intended to do everything in his power to see that didn’t happen.

The sound of water splashing penetrated Ali’s consciousness, and she opened her eyes to see Andre pouring a bucket of steaming water into the tub. She shivered at the sight of his broad, bare back, the play of muscles as he lifted another bucket and tipped it in. He truly was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and it didn’t make any difference whether he was in formal clothes or none at all; just the sight of him made her heart turn over.

She assumed the bath was for him until the scent of roses drifted across the room. Since Andre had never been inclined to smell of anything but himself, she realized he’d prepared it for her, and Ali’s throat tightened with love.

Everything he’d done from the moment she’d arrived at Sutherby had been so generous, down to the way he had loved her the night before, making sure she took as much pleasure in the act as he. Well,
that
hadn’t been any problem.

She sighed and sat up, stretching in contentment, and he turned.

“Good morning,” he said, looking deliciously like her Andre of old, a hint of beard on his cheeks, his hair tousled.

Ali smiled at him. “Hello,” she said, feeling a little shy considering some of the things they’d done to each other in the dark. But Andre didn’t look the least perturbed. If anything, he appeared more relaxed than she had ever seen him.

“Your bath is ready, madam,” he said, crossing the room and lightly kissing her. “I’ll leave you to it, shall I? I’m going down to make some tea and feed Sherifay. Your dog, by the way, is very forward. I found her taking her pleasure with my toes earlier.”

Ali’s smile widened. “Oh, dear. I suppose she knocked the door open. She’s very fond of feet, I’m afraid.”

Andre raised his eyebrow. “They have a name for that, you know,” he said with a wicked grin. “But I’ll explain later. Have a nice long soak. You could probably use it after last night.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “By the way, thank you,” he murmured, glancing down at her.

“For what?” she asked.

“For being you. For taking me on. For not asking for more than I can give.”

“Andre,” she said very quietly, “I meant what I said that horrible day in Izmir. I belong to you. That will never change. The only difference is that now I belong to you in body as well as in soul.”

A flash of pain came and went in his eyes. He didn’t answer her, just kissed her hand again and swiftly left.

Ali tucked her knees up and rested her chin on them, considering. She thought she’d done a good job with the first layer. But it was going to take a lot more wrapping herself around him before Genevieve was no longer an unspoken ghost hanging between them.

The bath was wonderful. She didn’t realize that she was sore until she climbed out of bed, but the bath took care of that. The hot water eased the ache from her muscles, the rose oil soothed her senses. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the tub, humming softly to herself, counting her many blessings.

She had a house of her very own, a husband who clearly cared for her, and a loving family. She had good friends, a wonderful little dog, and maybe even a child starting inside her.

Ali placed her hands on her belly, imagining a tiny seed growing inside. Goodness, with the amount Andre had put in her last night, she ought to have an entire army of babies in there.

She smiled blissfully.

A warm cloth slipped over her breasts and her eyes shot open in surprise. “Andre … what are you doing?”

“Bathing you,” he said, kneeling next to the tub and squeezing the washcloth out, dribbling silky water down her neck. “I think it’s time we establish some dominance in this relationship. I therefore am asserting my rights, or I’ll never have the upper hand. I learned my lesson in Turkey.”

Ali thought this over. “Do husbands generally bathe their wives?”

“Not generally, no, or at least I don’t believe so. But that is neither here nor there. I don’t know that we’ve ever done things the way other people do, and I don’t intend to start now.” He picked up her arm and stroked the cloth down it.

“Oh, good,” Ali said with a contented sigh, enjoying the sensuous feel of the cloth sliding over her skin, of Andre’s hand supporting her arm. “But don’t think that means that I don’t get to bathe you too.”

“Another time. I’ve already doused myself in cold water.”

“You hate cold water,” she said as he stroked her other arm.

“You’re right. But it has its purposes. It gained you an extra hour’s sleep.”

Ali opened one eye. Andre wore a broad smile that she was pleased to see, since it meant he’d put aside whatever had upset him. “You are insatiable,” she said.

“It’s looking that way,” he replied, slipping the cloth between her legs and moving it in a sensuous circle. She was sorry when he removed it. “You know, for a little Turkish lad, you’re surprisingly appealing,” he said.

Ali opened both eyes. “Are you finally admitting that you’re impressed with my magnificent breasts?” she said.

“Impressed is not the word I’d use,” he replied, lifting her leg and washing that. “I’d say I was more, ah … enthralled. Yes. Enthralled.”

He completed his tour of her body, then held out a large white towel. “Up you go.”

Ali let him wind her in it, and then he lifted her in his arms and carried her back over to the bed.

He’d spread another towel out on that, and he gently lowered her onto it, then rubbed her dry. “Roll over onto your front,” he commanded, taking the first towel away. “I’m going to give you a massage. This is part two of establishing dominance.”

Ali happily complied, thinking that marriage had its advantages. He produced a bottle of oil and moved her hair off her back and over her shoulder. And then his hand froze.

“Ali,” he whispered. “Dear God.”

“What?” she asked, wondering why he’d stopped. “These—these scars. What happened to you?”

Ali, who had forgotten all about them, looked up over her shoulder at his appalled face, feeling equally appalled. “They’re nothing,” she said, dismissing them. “They’re old.”

“I can see that. But what I’m asking is how you got them.”

Ali didn’t want to discuss it in the least. “I fell off a horse,” she said in a blatant lie.

“I don’t think so,” he said, frowning. “You don’t get a crisscrossed webbing like that from falling off a horse. Who whipped you, Ali?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, furious with herself. She should have remembered about the stupid scars, been prepared for his questions, for Andre always noticed everything. Something like that wasn’t likely to escape his attention.

“It damned well does matter.” He took her chin and pulled her face up to meet his furious gaze. “Was it Hadgi?”

“If you insist on knowing, yes, it was Hadgi,” she said tightly. “Now, please, can we talk about something else?”

“No,” Andre said, his voice rough. “Why? For God’s sake, why would he do something so brutal to a young girl?”

Ali pulled away from him and wrapped the towel around herself. “He was angry with me,” she said, slipping off the bed and crossing to the window as if she could walk away from the questions and the unwelcome memories they provoked.

But Andre came up directly behind her and took her by the shoulders, his hands gentle. “Ali. I’m not going to let it go. Please, tell me what happened.”

“You know my country. You know that punishment is often harsh.” She stared down at the floor, a hard knot forming in her throat. She hadn’t cried then, and she was not going to cry now. She was not. Not over Hadgi. Not ever.

“Yes, of course I know that,” he said. “But what did you do to provoke this kind of treatment? Did you steal something from him?”

Ali’s thin thread of control snapped. She spun around, her fists clenched by her sides, fury taking hold of her that he would even think such a thing.
“Steal
something? He was trying to steal from me!”

“What—what do you mean, he was trying to steal from you?” Andre said, his voice very low.

“Andre—please. Can’t you see I don’t want to speak of it? If I tell you the truth, you’ll only be angry and upset, and it’s long in the past. What difference can it make now?” She rubbed a shaking hand over her forehead.

“I’m already angry and upset,” he said. “And I’m getting more so by the minute. You know I’ll get it out of you one way or another, so you might as well tell me now. The truth, Ali.”

Ali closed her eyes for a moment, wishing God had made Andre a little less persistent. The truth. Very well. If he wanted the truth so badly, he could have it, but he wasn’t going to like it.

She looked him directly in the eye. “He tried to rape me.”

“Rape
you?” Andre whispered, his skin paling. “But you were no more than a child…”

“Oh, he wasn’t going to take my virginity—that was too valuable,” Ali said tightly. “I was worth far more to the Turkomen if I was a virgin, and he knew it. He went so far as to tell me that before he…” She swallowed hard. “He said he was going to teach me humility before he sold me.”

“Ali. Oh, God, Ali,” he said brokenly.

She shrugged. “He didn’t succeed. I had a knife under my pillow, and I came close enough to maiming him with it. The whipping was what I received in retaliation.”

Ali clenched her hands into fists, her knuckles turning white as the scene came back far too clearly— Hadgi’s attack in the night, the struggle and his enraged face as she fended him off, slashing his thigh. And after, when he’d tied her to the pole, her hands over her head, and torn her overtunic to her waist, stripping the skin from her back with a knotted whip as the villagers watched her humiliation…

She shuddered in memory. Well, at least Allah had made her faint after a time.

“Dear God in heaven,” Andre murmured, his face white and strained.

“Ten lashes was a small price to pay,” she said. “But I thought it wise to run away as soon as I was able. And also wise to dress as a boy so that I wouldn’t be in the same danger again.”

He pulled her fiercely into his arms, burying his face in her hair. “If I’d only known,” he whispered. “I swear I would have killed him that day.”

His words had the effect of bringing Ali back to the present, and she pulled slightly away from him, her face as pale as his.

“No,” she said. “You wouldn’t have—you don’t have it in you. It’s one of the reasons I love you so much, and why I loved you from the first. Because you are gentle.” A little smile crept onto her face. “But still, I was very pleased when you knocked him down.”

Andre stroked his hands over her back as if he could smooth the hurt away. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry. Not for knocking him down—I’m glad for that. God I’m glad for it. But I am deeply sorry for all the suffering he put you through.”

Her gaze searched his face. “I don’t mind so much about the suffering,” she said. “After all, it brought me to you. I don’t even mind about the scars. But do you, Andre? Do you find them ugly?”

His only answer was to pick her up. He carried her back to the bed and laid her down on her side. And then he came down next to her and lowered his head.

One by one he tenderly traced each pale, raised stripe with his mouth.

“I find them beautiful,” he said, lifting his head. “Each one is a mark of your courage, sweet Ali. And no one …
no one
will ever harm you again,” he added savagely. “If anyone should try, he will have me to answer to. This I swear to you.”