The Challenge (20 page)

“What is this, woman?”

“Bubble bath.”

“Why would I want bubbles in my bath?”

She spread her fingers and let the crystals fall into the water. “Because they are fun.”

“The ritual bath isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“If you say so. You can sit there and frown at me if you like, but,” she chuckled, “
I
plan to have fun.”

He did not look pleased, but she caught a glimpse of interest in those arrogant eyes. “Are you defying me, woman?”

“Not everything needs to be a contest of wills. Can I not simply enjoy my wedding day and your Rystani ritual?” She evaded giving him a straight answer and swirled the crystals in the water with her hand, delighted as they frothed over the surface. She scooped white bubbles into her hand and blew them into the air.

Kahn simply stared at her, and she didn’t say one word when his black shirt disappeared and revealed luscious, bronzed skin. Built like a warrior, he had powerful shoulders, a thick chest dusted lightly with black hair, and he could have modeled for an exercise commercial for washboard abs. But more than all those gorgeous muscles what really captured her attention was that he seemed distinctly uneasy and she had no idea why.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she dipped a bucket of water to spill over his head before washing his hair.

“Nothing.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Now I
am
calling you a liar.” She hefted the bucket. “Close your eyes.” She poured the water over his head as he sputtered.

He shocked her when he didn’t chastise her for calling him a liar. And when he didn’t deny the lie, she was more confused than ever. Dipping her fingers into the shampoo, she lathered up both of her hands then threaded her fingers through his hair. She took her time, rubbing his temples, the sensitive spots around his ears and the back of his corded neck as well as shampooing all the hair between.

While she kneeled, something odd was going on between her legs. It was as if her suit had pulsed its way inside her and slowly expanded. “What’s happening to me?” she demanded.

“The suit is preparing your body to accept mine according to our rituals.”

Tessa tried to ignore the inner stretching, attempted to relax and think of this as a warm-up for the lovemaking to come. Instead, she focused on his massage. Kahn was as tense as a brick. After years of hard workouts, she knew how to release a tight muscle with pressure, how to ease soreness from a strain, but he wouldn’t relax.

“Am I doing this wrong?”

“No.” He practically growled at her.

“I guess you’re more tense than I realized. But I have strong hands, and we can do this until you relax,” she half-teased, half-taunted, testing a new theory, but surely she had to be wrong. This man who had touched every part of her body, invaded her most private places and had driven her beyond the brink of her sensual limits, couldn’t be so upset because
she
was touching
him
, could he? “Is it my right to take as much time as I wish?”

“Yes. But it is not . . . Our women insisted on keeping this part of the ritual, even after Rystani people learned to use their suits,” he said, his irritation apparent.

Never before had he failed to finish a sentence, which gave her another clue that although she was on her knees bathing him, he wanted this done quickly. Was he so anxious to get to the lovemaking? She didn’t think so. Earlier, he’d had her naked and begging him to make love, and he’d seemed to have no trouble resisting her.

And that’s when she figured it out. To allow her to bathe him, he’d had to let down his suit’s defenses. When he’d had her so helpless over his lap, the suit had somehow prevented him from revealing if he wanted her sexually. Now the tables were turned. No wonder he was uptight, every muscle straining. Interesting.

So what was she going to do about it? She rubbed her fingers through his hair, savoring the silky texture. She’d been so captivated by all that contained power of his body in her hands that she’d failed to realize he was submitting to her at this moment. However, once he got out of the tub, the tables would again turn. She couldn’t exactly forget that salient fact, not with the suit opening her wider, pressing deeper.

She’d always believed marriage should be built upon trust, and there was none between them. Perhaps she should use this time to bridge that gap—and yet, revenge would taste so sweet. But it would also be a huge mistake.

Picking up the soft washcloth, she began to lather it with spicy scented soap, but then she tossed the cloth aside. “I will use my hands.”

He sucked in a breath.

“Lean forward, please, so I can do your back.”

He did as she asked, but when he felt her hands on him, he flinched. Behind him, she grinned and caressed her fingers over his shoulders, dug her thumbs into his taut muscles, smoothed her palms over hard flesh that possessed several old scars.

“Does this feel good?” She kept her tone soft, her hands busy.

“Umm.”

“I’ll take that for a ‘yes.’” She restrained a chuckle and kept her tone business-like as she asked him to rise out of the water and give her access to more of him. “Kneel, please.”

“That’s not necessary.”

She forced reluctance into her tone and thought she should have won an Oscar for her performance. “I promised to follow Rystani customs. I will not go back on my word.”

With his spine to her, he kneeled, coming out of the water and allowing her to see his bronzed waist tapering to slim hips and powerful buttocks. Oh, yes. He had terrific buns. “Your body pleases me.”

He didn’t say a word, but she caught a hint of a blush beneath those tanned cheekbones. She ignored his obvious pique. Still using her hands, she slathered soap onto his waist and hips, savoring the fact that she was making him wait for a change. Despite the fullness between her legs and the pressure to hurry, she took her time, smoothing her palms over his warm buttocks, biting down another chuckle as a muscle strained under her caresses.

“Stand, please.”

He stood slowly, his legs together and braced. She took particular pleasure in washing the backs of his thighs. “Please, part your legs.”

“Woman, you should well remember that I will not be at your mercy forever.”

“I am simply giving you a bath according to your customs, am I not?” she tried to keep her voice even, but when he snorted, she failed to prevent another grin of enjoyment.

She let him stand with his legs parted and continued to wash the backs of his knees, his powerful calves and ankles, before once again working her way up, this time paying particular attention to the insides of his legs.

“Woman, I’m warning you . . .”

“Relax. I don’t bite. Or at least not hard,” she teased as she cupped his balls, gratified to find them high and tight, heavy and full. “Besides, I have yet to wash your front.”

He groaned, and this time she laughed. “You have some very pleasant customs on your world. How often do these ritual baths occur?”

“On the wedding anniversary. This was our wives way of ensuring that their husbands will never forget the date.” He spoke as though he was enduring torture at the thought of allowing her to caress him as she liked.

“Sounds like you have some wise women on Rystan. If you will kneel again, I will rinse you.” She dipped the bucket and sluiced warm water over his back, buttocks and legs. “Now please turn around and kneel.”

She busied herself with the soap, not quite daring to meet his eyes or look at his jutting erection. “How often is a wedding anniversary on Rystan?”

“Yearly. That’s every 380 of your days.”

Too bad it wasn’t weekly or daily. However, she didn’t dare utter the thought aloud. “Close your eyes so I don’t get soap in them,” she told him.

He did as she asked, and then she took the opportunity to really look at him. With a body like his, he could have posed for Michelangelo, but not even the master sculptor could have captured the glistening tension in him.

Since he expected her to wash his face, she didn’t. Instead she closed her fingers around his sex and enjoyed hearing him grunt, enjoyed the muscles quivering in those tree-trunk thighs, enjoyed having him leap to her caress.

His eyes, full of pent-up sensuality, flared open. “Woman, you go too far. No Rystani virgin would dare such boldness.”

“Ah, but I am not a
Rystani
virgin. I’m from Earth.” She allowed her thumb to explore the tip, watched his eyes turn molten. Heard a guttural moan and released him.

She washed his face, his neck, his chest, taking her time, tweaking his nipples, despite the ever-constant stretching that made her part her own thighs. Although he tried to keep his face stoic as she washed him, his eyes blazed with need, his lips pressed tightly together, and a muscle throbbed in his jaw all the way down his thick, stubborn neck.

“Please, stand.”

She skipped over his sex and washed his hips and his legs. Again she asked him to sit and rinsed him. She thought she saw a measure of relief in his eyes and decided to push him further, longer.

“There is one spot that I have not thoroughly washed.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he held her gaze with a burning ferocity that told her to take care what she did next. “Please turn around in the tub. I would have you on your hands and knees.”

“Warriors do not—”

“They do . . . when a woman is under them.”

She thought he might refuse, but he didn’t. She let her hand trail over his buttocks for the sheer pleasure of touching him then slid her hand down his leg to his foot. “Please straighten your leg.”

She washed his foot between his toes and arches and then repeated with the other. After she finished, she made him wait a full minute on his hands and knees before she lightly slapped his buttocks. “The bath is done.”

Her words were the equivalent of letting loose a chained, angry tiger. One moment he was in the tub and the next he was completely dry and looming naked in front of her. His hands clasped her waist, lifting her. Then his fierce mouth slanted down on hers, taking, demanding, commanding.

His kiss sucked all the oxygen out of her lungs, and she realized that despite her warning to herself, she’d pushed him too far, or perhaps, just far enough. She couldn’t help reveling in his hot, out-of-control kiss that left her breathless and clinging to him for more.

She clasped her hands around his neck to draw him closer—but he pulled back and practically growled, “We need to finalize this marriage. Now.”

He set her on her feet and tugged her toward a wall. With the suit’s expansion, she walked with difficulty after him. He opened a compartment, handed her a piece of paper, and took one himself and licked it, then slid it into a slot. “We must register DNA samples, supply our identities for the Federation records.”

“Surely you do not mean for me to get pregnant?”

“Not before the Challenge. I will alter your suit to prevent impregnation.”

She handed him her paper and submitted to a thumb print and retina scan. “Are we married now?”

“Almost.” His eyes warned her she would not like what he said next. He withdrew five silver bands that glittered like Christmas tree tinsel but were as fine as embroidery thread. “I must band you and vice versa.”

“These are symbolic?”

He placed one band around her head, parting her hair, so the band touched her skin and forehead. He twisted another band around the fingers of her right hand and the third band on her left. The gleaming silver reminded her of rings or a tattoo, a permanent mark to all who saw her that she was a Rystani wife. Then he kneeled and twisted a circlet around each toe. Satisfied he stood. “Now even after you have fully mastered your psi, I will still control your suit in the areas between the bands. As pretty as I find that dress, I miss the sight of your bare skin.”