The Barbarian Prince (17 page)

Ualan watched, quizzical, as the servant quickly left his home.

Unable to resist, he stepped into the doorway of his kitchen. To his infinite pleasure, Morrigan was bent over wiping crumbs off the floor. Her luscious backside was to him, straining beautifully against the soft gray material of her uniform. The passions of his dreams renewed themselves full force. He must have groaned because she jolted in surprise and spun around. Having been caught staring, he shrugged, grinning like a schoolboy.

Morrigan swallowed to see him. His eyes lit with fire as he unabashedly devoured her with his senses. For a long time she stood, breathless, unable to move away. He was dressed comfortably, looking so warm and inviting in the flowing material that hugged each curve just right when he moved. His hair was wet, brushed back away from his face and left to hang.

Ualan was the first to look away. Glancing around, he wondered what Mirox was so worried about. His kitchen was as spotless as when she started and it smelled of food.

"I put the food in there," she said needlessly. Her eyes wavered, nervously as she glanced away to throw the towel in the sink. Wiping her hands on her apron, she said with a shrug, "It’s done."

When Morrigan looked at Ualan, all half-baked plans in her head fell flat. She couldn’t scheme, couldn’t even think to remember her name, or that she was supposed to be breaking it off with him. Damned if he wasn’t a persistently handsome suitor. Only the fact that she had spent the last four hours cooking kept her from leaping forward and begging him to keep her. She would not spend the rest of her days feeding him for one night of mindless, world blowing, galaxy destroying pleasure.

Nope, it didn’t tempt her at all.

Liar! her brain scolded.

"Join me." The request came out like a command from his hoarse throat. He could see her mind working on her transparent face. If she kept eyeing him like he was the main course, he might just throw her down on the table and indulge her.

He pulled out a chair by the table, waiting for her to sit. Morrigan looked at him warily as if she expected he would pull it out from under her. He didn’t and she relaxed. Mirox has insisted on placing two plates on the table, but she wasn’t hungry. She found that seeing food in its raw form and smelling it for hours was more than enough to take away her appetite.

"You wouldn’t happen to have any liquor? Something that doesn’t require me to lose my complete free will?" she asked when he stepped away.

It took him a moment, but Ualan realized she was making a joke. He grinned.

"I could really use a drink," she said, unable to help a small smile in return. There was something to the way he was eyeing her. It was almost … gentle. She’d have to be careful. What was he up to now?

Ualan nodded. Going to the wall by the kitchen he ran his hand over an offset stone. The wall parted and opened, revealing a bar. Morrigan gasped. Hopefully, she asked, "Do you happen to have a food simulator hidden somewhere in here?"

His grin widened.

Morrigan’s breath was captured by the look and she had to turn away. If she wasn’t careful he would have her on the floor begging foolishly for his attentions like a lap dog. No thank you. A bit peevishly, she uttered, "You should consider it. Your next wife might want one."

Ualan’s grinned faded, but he didn’t rise to the challenge. He had decided he would kill her with kindness, even if it destroyed him. He never wanted to see fear in her face again, not directed at him. He glanced at her neck, remembering how he had nearly strangled her. Before Agro pointed out his treatment of the knife blades, he hadn’t given the incident much thought. However, now, he tried to picture it from her side. He had to turn away.

"What would you like?" he asked.

"Scotch," was the instant answer. "Tall glass, no ice."

Ualan grinned, not letting her see it.

Looking at his firm backside, as he reached forward, she insisted, "tall, tall glass."

Grabbing a bottle of Qurilixian wine, he turned, smirking to see her eyes on him. "How about this?"

Morrigan shrugged, rolling her eyes in tolerance, as she nodded. "Fine, so long as I don’t fall in your arms…."

She stopped, glowing pink with embarrassment. She really needed the scotch, a full bottle that could knock her unconscious so she would be free of him. Ualan took two goblets from the cabinet before motioning it closed once more. The goblets were of a simplistically carved silver metal. Morrigan chuckled inwardly to see that the carvings were of a dragon. Ualan was obviously obsessed with the design. Ah, trust a man to pick out such décor--not that her company spacecraft was much better.

"Mirox mentioned I might have a title," Morrigan said, trying to erase her last words. "What am I considered then? Besides a slave."

Ualan swallowed, hesitating. He didn’t look at her as he filled the goblets and set one before her. Taking a deep breath, he said, "A Princess."

Morrigan smirked and shook her head. She didn’t believe him for an instant. "All right, I deserved that."

Ualan became wary. Why she being so agreeable all of a sudden? He’d have to be careful.

After their plates were filled, Ualan looked at the thick slice of wilddeor. Its color was a little off, but he could contribute that to the low lighting. When he hesitated and looked up at Morrigan, her face was so open, so watchful that he couldn’t decline trying it.

Morrigan watched his face carefully for a reaction. His hair was drying into soft waves, framing his masculine features in the torchlight. She held her breath.

He cut a piece of meat and stuck it into his mouth. The first blast of flavor was the last. The piece came flying out, across the table, and over her shoulder. Morrigan jumped in alarm, instantly irritated.

Ualan didn’t care as he grabbed up the wine and began gulping. Not only was it not completely cooked, but also she had put a whole bottle of liquid Qurilixian pepper onto the meat. No one ever used more than a drop. Finishing his glass, he grabbed the wine bottle and began to chug it down. Red rivulets went down his neck, staining the cotton of his shirt.

Morrigan would have laughed if she weren’t so hurt. Staring at him, she hissed: "Stop it! You’re just being dramatic!"

A string of curses flew out in his native tongue as he stared at her. His mouth felt as if he ate flames. Panting, his accent was thick, as he accused, "You’re trying to poison me!"

Instantly, he was sorry for the accusation. The hurt that flooded her face at the words was palpable. Tears entered her gaze.

"I should poison you, you big baby! Fine thanks I get working my butt off all day to cook for you! I did everything Mirox told me to do--everything."

"Oh, yeah?" Holding up a forkful, he demanded, "Then, you try it."

Morrigan looked at his flushed face, then to the red wine trailing over his neck. Slowly, she backed up and shook her head in denial. Through stiff lips, she muttered, "No."

Taking a deep breath, he sat back down. Looking guardedly at the ruined main course that a moment before had seemed so promising, he turned to eye the bread. It was a little lumpy but didn’t appear so bad. Maybe that would take the flame from his throat. Taking a slice up, he sighed.

Morrigan sat down and watched him, almost flinching in horror as he bit into it.

Closing his eyes as the most flagrantly horrific combination of sweet and bitter rolled over his tongue, he stopped chewing and froze.

"Well?"

Ualan sighed. Taking up his napkin, he spit it out more politely than the last time and studied her.

"That bad?" Morrigan asked, growing dejected. She looked at her untouched food and pushed it away in despair. Weakly, she said, "I didn’t make all the salad."

Ualan wasn’t ready to chance it. When he saw her face, he knew she hadn’t done it to him on purpose. She looked a combination of horrified and dismayed. Standing, he threw his napkin down and held out his hand to her. Morrigan eyed it despairingly.

"Are you going to give me to the soldiers?" she asked, as she took his roughened palm in hers.

Ualan chuckled. Shaking his head, he uttered, "No. Come on. Let’s see what we can scavenge from the kitchen."

Chapter Twelve

"What do you want me to make now?" asked Morrigan in dejection, as he led her behind him to the kitchen. She thought of her failed cooking attempt with mortification. Well, in all fairness, she had warned him.

Ualan turned at the question to look at her. His expression declared an obvious, not on your life!

"You can keep me company," he answered more diplomatically.

Not touching her further, he stalked forward, forcing her to back around into the countertop. When she was trapped, Ualan grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up onto the counter. He held her like that for a spine-crackling instant. His hands massaged her skin, before releasing her and turning to the refrigerator.

Morrigan tilted her head to watch him lean over. She was like a parasite, dying to cling onto him at every turn. Ualan turned and winked at her, knowing she peeked at him. Morrigan sat up straight.

When he returned to the counter, he began slicing fruit with the expert hands of a knife handler. Morrigan suspiciously watched him working at her side for a long moment, before saying, "So are you a chef, then?"

"I will let you decide," was his only answer. When he finished, he quickly mixed a stiff dough with his pinching fingers and patted it into a flat bread. Turning on the stove, he lightly toasted it. Morrigan watched, amazed at his ease.

"Who taught you to do that?" she asked in wonder to see such a large man so apt at cooking.

"This is a planet of men," Ualan said, as if it was no big deal. "We have to learn to fend for ourselves."

Morrigan merely nodded, though she suspected there was more to his skill than that. He actually seemed to like cooking. She took her time studying him. His strong hands were so precise and sure in their movements.

His light brown hair held streaks of blonde, as if burnt by the sunlight. It fell forward over his shoulders while he worked. His bronzed skin tightened and pulled naturally with each movement of his neck. Not for the first time she thought that this was a man who was built by physical exercise, not created by expensive body-enhancing machines. There was a definite difference in the way he carried himself--so primitive and sure. His was the kind of body that would follow each and every one of his orders to perfection.

Ualan winked at her as he finished toasting the bread and went to retrieve a can of cream from the refrigerator. When he came back, he started heaping piles of fruit and cream onto the top of the bread.

Morrigan was lost. He amazed her. This was a side of him that she would never have guessed at. She expected him to yell at her for messing up his dinner, not turn around and cook for her instead.

Without thought, she lifted her fingers and brushed back a strand of his hair so she could see his face. "Ualan?"

His name was heaven to his ears. It was searching and tender all at the same time. Her face was vulnerable to him. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

"Here," he murmured, lifting up a piece of cream covered fruit. "Try it."

Morrigan blushed. He ignored her outstretched hand and fed her himself. Taking the fruit, he rubbed the cream sauce over her lips.

She held very still, watching his eyes as the fruit slid between her lips. His finger briefly followed, dipping beyond the edge of her teeth to pull out slowly. Morrigan chewed. It was delicious.

"Yeah?"

"Mm," she returned, her words muffled by the bite. She dipped her finger into the cream about to taste it again. "Really good. You should try some."

It was all the invitation Ualan needed. It took Morrigan several blinks to realize what she implied. However, when his mouth came to hers, she was glad for it. Her cream covered finger pointed up, falling to the side so as not to land on him. Smoothly, he licked her lips of the cream, trailing his tongue over them with a painfully unhurried speed, all the time staring into her eyes to see her reaction.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she gasped for air. After trailing the inside rim of her lips in the same fashion, he dipped forward to swipe a deeper taste. The exotic pleasure of the fruit came between them as he stole her breath. When he pulled away, his eyes sparkled with ancient mischief. "Delicious."

"Aah," came tumbling incoherently out of her softly battered, aching lips.

Ualan, seeing that her hand frozen in air was beginning to drip, treated her finger with the same careful exploration. His thumb moved to gauge her pulse as he stoked his tongue to her flesh. Instantly, it jumped beneath her skin. She couldn’t move. Her breath caught up in her throat. When had his kisses become so tender? When had his eyes begun looking at her in worship instead of dominance?

Something had happened to Ualan the moment he saw her vulnerability at the table. Agro was right. His vixen of a wife wasn’t as tough as she tried to be. She wasn’t immune to him. In fact, looking at her now with her trembling gaze full of unsure feelings, he would swear she had been very terrified by his actions in the past, though she had hid her fear amazingly well. Being a woman who claimed to have had many men, this surprised him. He would have thought her experience could handle his arduous onslaught. It wasn’t as if she had no idea of what she was getting herself into when she looked at him with her big, round eyes.

Were Earth men as inept as rumored?

Could it be she didn’t understand the game they played as well as he first thought?

"Ualan?" she asked when he stopped kissing her hand.

He waited, seeing what she would do if he didn’t prompt her. To his disappointment and further amazement, she shyly pulled her wet finger from his grasp.

Looking over his shoulder, she mumbled, "Please."

"Please?" Ualan whispered back, sure she was going to ask for him to continue. He knew she wanted it.

"Please, stop, I beg you. Don’t do this. If you do this to me again, it will kill me."

"You have the power to end it," he whispered. Neither one moved. Her hands pressed into the countertop, refusing to touch his silken hair that spilled temptingly over his shoulders in waves.