StoneHardPassion (10 page)

Vidar whispered something in his native tongue, but before
she could ask him what he’d said, his lips came down on hers and the question
flew from her mind. His kiss seared her, the plunging demand of his tongue
electrifying her already heated blood, making arousal spark and snap through
her body. Flattening and rubbing her breasts against his chest, Jasmina
whimpered into his mouth, inhaled his answering groan.

His fingers hadn’t moved, and she rolled her hips, trying to
urge him to give her the stimulation she craved, reveling in the sensation of
his cock rubbing against her belly. Vidar groaned again and, finally, moved his
hands the last necessary inch, fingers parting her labia in front, curling into
her ass behind. One fingertip rested on her clit, another found the entrance to
her pussy, slipped in just a little. Still another pressed against her asshole,
sending sharp stabs of pleasure out to the rest of her body. Breaking the kiss,
she arched back, cried out with bliss when he took the opportunity to capture a
nipple between his lips.

The combined sensations had her writhing in his arms, sent
her spiraling higher and higher toward orgasm. But she wanted him inside her,
tried to find the strength to say so. All that came from her lips were pleading
gasps, the touch of his fingers and mouth stealing her breath again and again.

Vidar lifted her slightly, the tip of his cock sliding
between her pussy lips.

“Will you take me, Jazz? Will you have me again?”

Her heart stumbled and she looked down into his heavy-lidded
gaze, trying to clear her mind enough to parse the true meaning of his
question. Was it just the physical joining he wanted, or more?

Then she realized it didn’t matter. She wanted it all, would
give all to him if he asked.

“Yes.” The affirmation burst from her lips and she pressed
down, leaving no doubt as to her answer. “Oh yes, Vidar. Please.”

With a moan so sweet it arrowed into her soul he breached
her entrance, stretching already tender flesh to the point of pain, but Jasmina
didn’t care. Gladly she took him, rocking her hips to help him go deeper,
wanting it all. Vidar wrapped his arms around her, curling them up to clutch
her shoulders from behind. His lips and teeth found her throat, and Jasmina
whimpered with each exhalation, her body shuddering, tight, on the very edge of
coming.

“Sweet Jazz.” He growled it against her neck, punctuated the
words with a rough, delicious scrape of his teeth. “You make me crazy.
Hokka
garresh, kelema. Hokka garresh.
”

As he spoke everything seemed to slow, each sensation grew
stronger. She felt every flex and clench of his body and hers, heard every
rasping breath, absorbed the rough pounding of their hearts. He’d said those
words before and she still didn’t know what they meant—her brain couldn’t make
the translation—but her body ached with pleasure and her heart recognized the
inflection. While a part of her tried to hold back, to counsel caution, her
core told her to take a chance. The biggest chance she’d ever taken in her
life, but really the only one worth the gamble.

Putting her lips close to his ear, she whispered, “I love
you too, Vidar.”

And she knew she’d been right when he thrust into her once
more, crying out her name with undisguised joy, his body pulsing its release
and taking her over the edge as well.

Chapter Ten

Vidar stood beside his bed, watching Jasmina sleep. She was
lying on her stomach, partially wrapped in the sheets, firelight turning her
golden skin bronze, the feather tattoos on her back seeming to flutter with
each breath. Her beauty still astounded him, even after knowing her for two
years—even after spending the last three days with her, making love, talking,
laughing.

Yet more astounding was her declaration of love. Just
remembering hearing the whispered words for the first time still had the
ability to cover him with goose pimples. If he had his way he would stay here
with her forever, but he knew that wasn’t a possibility. Eventually she’d go
back to her life, and whatever she saw in him would fade. She’d probably been
in love before. It wouldn’t be the same as it was for him—all-encompassing,
elating and frightening at once.

The thought of losing her made his stomach knot, but he
didn’t try to hide from the pain. He’d learned a long time ago that nothing
lasts forever, and it was better to accept and face the fact. What did worry
him was that she’d be going back to her normal life, never knowing when or if
Mahmud would turn up again. And if he did, to what lengths he might go to take
her back to the jinn city.

He’d tried to talk to her about it. While she’d finally
admitted to being saddened by her father’s death and hurt that her brother
hadn’t bothered to tell her about it himself, she’d steadfastly refused to
discuss Mahmud. They’d even talked about her father protecting her through the
years. She thought Mahmud had made the story up, for some nefarious reason.
Vidar had seen the set cast of her face and hadn’t bothered to argue, but he’d
wondered if she dismissed the idea too easily. If her father hadn’t been protecting
her, then why had Mahmud waited all this time to go after her?

As though hearing his thoughts, she murmured and rolled onto
her side, facing away from him. She curled into a ball, the movement causing
the sheet to slip, exposing the curve of her hip and an enticing, rounded
buttock. Immediately his libido, and his cock, stood up and took notice. The
urge to crawl back into bed with her, wake her and make love with her again was
almost too strong to resist, but he resolutely put on his clothes instead and
made his way out of the bedroom. He’d already woken her twice that day. It
would be cruel to deprive her of any more rest.

But he was edgy, had no desire to sleep. It would be another
few hours before the sun went down and he could get on with his sorely
neglected chores. Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, he chuckled. The
wolves had been giving him extremely baleful looks the last few days, as he
rushed through moving the sheep, feeding and watering the stock. They were used
to his company and weren’t amused by him hastening back to the house and
Jasmina. Rokk in particular seemed to take exception to it, but that was
probably because he wanted Jasmina’s attention for himself. The one night she’d
ventured out with him, the white wolf hardly paid any attention to his work.
All he wanted to do was loll at the jinn’s feet, begging to have his belly
rubbed.

Vidar knew exactly how he felt.

Wandering into the library, he ran his fingers over the
spines of the books on the nearest shelf. Reading had always been an escape, a
way to see the world outside, but even that held no appeal. His mind kept
circling back to the woman sleeping in his bed, the dilemma of loving her. He’d
never been happier or more afraid in his life, and the juxtaposition of those
emotions seemed determined to drive him a little insane.

He’d be fine when she left, as long as he knew she was safe.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he acknowledged that for the big, fat lie it
was. He’d never be fine without her, but he could take it,
survive
, if
she were safe. When he’d suggested she try to contact her brother, Ahmet, she’d
brushed the idea aside. She’d spoken so fondly of him Vidar couldn’t understand
her hesitance, and she refused to say why. It was incomprehensible to him that
her brother wouldn’t help if asked.

Someone else would have to do the asking if Jasmina
wouldn’t.

The idea took root, making Vidar sink down into an armchair,
his legs suddenly wobbly. It would mean figuring out where he was going, the
time difference, translocating there and back. The first part wouldn’t be hard.
For years he’d pretended he was going to take a trip, plotted his journey,
figured out the time he needed to leave home so as to reach his destination at
sundown. Of course he’d never actually gone anywhere, still too bound by his
fear of translocating to actually make any of the meticulously planned
excursions.

If ever there was a time to put his phobia aside again, this
was it.

For Jasmina.

For her safety and happiness, he’d dare anything.

Energized, he retrieved his book of world maps and
The
Faie Almanac
, taking them over to his desk. Fifteen minutes later he leaned
back in his chair and rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. According to the
almanac, it was just after sunset in Eldmar, the ideal time for him to go. And
while he had no idea how to find her family once he got there, at least it gave
him the entire night to make inquiries. Even if he had to go back another time,
he could make a start tonight.

But it was an effort to get up, to put away the books. Sweat
gathered on his brow and trickled down his spine despite the coolness of the
room, but he steeled himself.

For Jasmina.

With that thought he closed his eyes and brought to mind the
picture of the souk in Eldmar he’d just been looking at. With a deep breath he
gathered his courage and magic and translocated.

The noise hit him first, the cries of hawkers, blaring
music, laughter and swift, incomprehensible chatter. Then the scents bombarded
him—exotic spices and perfumes, overlaying the distinctive smell of a city. The
heat struck next, making him wish he’d worn something lighter than his usual
flannel and sheepskin. Opening his eyes, he stared. The colors and movement of
the marketplace, which was lit by sparkling orbs, was dazzling, as was the
incredible beauty of the people moving through the narrow street. Frightened,
he pressed back into the shadows of the building behind him, trying to get his
bearings, his mind spinning.

Someone caught sight of him despite his effort to be
inconspicuous, the woman touching her companion’s arm and pointing. Not
surprising, really. He stood head and shoulders above everyone, was as fair as
they all were dark and incredibly ugly in comparison to the amazingly and
almost uniformly beautiful beings drifting past.

In what seemed like an instant everyone in the vicinity was
staring at him, and Vidar had to force himself not to just translocate back to
the safety of his home.

For Jasmina.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the building,
looked around, hoping for a friendly face, someone he could ask for help.

“Hey, mister.” There was a tug at the hem of his vest, and
he looked down. Somewhere in the vicinity of his knees was a little boy, his
face split in a wide grin that belied the caution in his gaze. “You want a tour
of the souk? One gold piece.”

It was too much to hope the boy would be able to give him
the information he needed, but Vidar knew he had to start somewhere. At least
the urchin spoke the common tongue.

“I don’t want a tour, but I’ll give you the gold coin if you
can tell me where to find the Elalmadhoun family. Ahmet Elalmadhoun, to be
precise.”

The boy drew back, blinked his big, brown eyes at Vidar, as
though he thought him a bit touched. “You’re joking, right?”

“No.” Vidar frowned, saw the lad take a cautious step back.
“Why would I be?”

“Because everyone knows
that’s
where you’ll find
him.” Vidar followed the finger pointing across the tops of the shops, up a
nearby hill to the brilliantly lit castle at the top. “Where else would the
king be?”

King? Jasmina’s brother is king of the jinn? That makes
her…

“Oh Freyja.”

His heart dropped down into the space left by his stomach,
which had migrated with wrenching speed into his boots.

Jasmina was a princess.

Impossible.

And yet, apparently not.

Who knows how long he would have stood there, staring at the
palace, if his companion hadn’t courageously tugged at his vest again.

“You still going to give me the coin, mister? I told you
what you asked.”

Vidar forced his gaze back to the boy, who had once more
moved to a cautious distance. But he wasn’t really seeing him. Instead his mind
was whirling, trying to come to grips with what he now knew. How ridiculous was
he, a mountain troll, trying to appeal to a king on a princess’s behalf? Why
hadn’t she told him? Didn’t she trust him? She must find the entire situation
highly amusing. Even what he’d seen as Freyja’s approval of his love for
Jasmina now appeared to have been mockery.

The thought left a sour, nasty taste in the back of his
throat.

“Mister?”

He focused on the child, reached into his pocket for a coin,
but another thought made him hesitate.

Did it matter what she was? Did it make the danger she was
in any less? And could he walk away without at least trying to help?

Taking out two coins, he showed them to the boy. “There’s
another one for you, if you can tell me how to get into the palace to talk to
the king.”

The urchin’s eyes danced with glee, his grin widening.
“Follow me.”

* * * * *

Jasmina woke up and reached for Vidar, but all her hand encountered
was cool cotton sheets. Rolling over, she cracked one eye open and scanned the
room, but he was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t think it was night yet, but
being unable to see the sun for the last few days had been disorienting, so she
wasn’t sure.

“Vidar?”

Sitting up, she listened, but there was no response. In fact
the house seemed particularly quiet.

He was probably outside tending the sheep, but it felt weird
to wake up without him beside her or, more precisely, not to be woken up by
him. Tingling heat rushed through her groin and fanned out to the rest of her
body as she remembered waking up earlier to the slow, delicate caress of his
tongue. Damn, but the man loved to eat pussy, and she loved being on the
receiving end of that talented mouth. He was so sexually adventurous, willing
to try anything she suggested, just thinking about it made her get all hot and
bothered again. He was turning her into a complete sex maniac.

But she wasn’t complaining. Jasmina grinned and stretched.

Life was exceedingly good.

Her stomach rumbled, propelling her out of bed although she
really could have used a couple more hours of sleep. After a quick bath, she
threw on a robe and made her way to the kitchen. Standing at the counter,
munching on bread, figs and one of the sweet, ripe oranges they’d picked the
night before, she looked around. Vidar’s home both fascinated and soothed her.
There was a stark beauty to it, a simplicity she really loved. Although she’d
want to introduce a bit more color, it was easy to imagine herself living there
permanently.

Luckily she had no problem translocating wherever she wanted
to go, so she could continue working. Maybe she’d ask Hervé if she could take
the afternoon shift, juggle her hours a bit to make sure she spent as much time
with Vidar as possible. Loving a troll meant no daytime excursions with him,
but he didn’t seem to need a lot of sleep, despite how hard he worked. She’d
want the early part of the day with him, and part of the night. She shrugged to
herself. They’d work it all out.

But as she chewed slowly, she wondered if she was getting
ahead of herself. Vidar had said he loved her, had seemed as enthralled with
her as she was with him, but hadn’t said anything about making their
relationship permanent.

A sensation like cold water trickled down her spine and,
appetite deserting her, she put the last of the bread back on the plate. To be
fair, she hadn’t said anything to him either. Maybe it was just his natural
reticence holding him back. While he made love with firm decisiveness, in most
other matters he was more inclined to thoughtfulness and deliberation.

Lifting her chin, Jasmina decided she’d broach the subject
herself, since he didn’t seem disposed to do it. She needed to know what he was
thinking, and also let him know how she felt. Full disclosure.

Her stomach lurched at the thought.

That would also mean telling him everything about her
family, explaining about the whole being royal pain-in-the-ass.

By the stars, she hoped it wouldn’t make a difference to
him, hoped that by telling him about it in an abstract, “yeah, it’s no big
deal” way he’d just accept it. She hadn’t really been royalty in a very long
time, had no intention of ever going back to that stifling, formal way of life.
Not even if her family said they’d accept her back into the fold, although the
desert would turn into a sea before that happened. Thank the stars he’d never
seen where she came from. Shit, he’d be horrified by the phony, rarified
atmosphere, where everything had to be beautiful, perfect, embellished and
gilded to within an inch of existence.

She knew how much better a simple life was, but there were
few others who’d truly understand the way she felt. All she could do was hope
Vidar would, and that he’d forgive her for not telling him sooner.

Anxiety had her pacing out of the kitchen, wandering down
the corridor to the library, another of her favorite places in the house.
Vidar’s collection of books was astounding, covering every possible subject
imaginable, each category neatly grouped together. When he’d shyly admitted to
having read almost all of them, she’d realized just how insatiable his thirst
for knowledge was. Idly running a finger over some of the titles, she became
determined to one day coax him into seeing for himself some of what he’d only
read about. His fear of translocating notwithstanding. There was so much she
wanted to show him, share with him…