Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales 2) (12 page)

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Since his ears were obviously playing tricks on him, Dominique had no reason for his hands to still be placed across Isabelle’s luscious waist, or for his body to react so violently, so possessively, to her admission. Merciful heavens, he was actually perspiring over the simple word.
“Yours.”

Clearing his throat, he walked away and mounted the horse he thought Isabelle would choose.

“You’re an idiot.” Isabelle’s voice disturbed his dream-like state.

Dominique turned his horse to face her. “Excuse me?”

“If you truly think I would pick that horse over this one, you’re an idiot.” She flashed him a brilliant smile and kicked her heels into Horse so hard that Dominique’s sides hurt.

“Race you to the forest?”

Dominique swore as she took off, but forced his horse to gallop after her, and then felt foolish for even trying.

The impetuous girl was a sure judge of horseflesh. For he had assumed she would choose the oldest, most docile creature in the stables like the one he currently rode. Instead she chose the most dangerous one of the bunch. It was a good five minutes before he reached her. And the horse’s sides were heaving.

“That was not even a race, Isabelle.”

Brown hair spilled from her coiffure onto her shoulders, a bright crimson stained her cheeks. “No, it wasn’t.” Her teeth bit down on her lower lip as her mouth spread into a smile.

Dominique irritated with his own arousal at seeing her bite her lip, dismounted and gruffly pulled her from her horse making sure to tie them to the nearest tree. “Now, for the surprise.”

“I thought the horse was the surprise?”

Dominique grasped her hand. “You thought wrong. Now, try to keep up.” He pulled her closer into his embrace and led her through the edge of the forest, into the tiny clearing he used to retreat to as a boy.

The only happy memory of playing at all had been when his father demanded he take riding lessons to have an hour of respite from playing the piano. But this particular memory was something he knew would forever be etched in his mind.

His mother had told him that elves lived in the forest and often made ice sculptures during the night, casting magical enchantments around the land. Of course, he was always such a sober little boy, he never believed her. Until one day, when he took his daily ride, the only hour he had to himself; he went into the clearing and discovered two ice sculptures as if they had been erected out of pure magic.

Later he discovered it was the doing of Cuppins Port. Apparently he had felt sorry for Dominique as a young lad not being able to experience adventure of his own, so he had created magic for him. He never told his father, for surely he would get into trouble if he was caught doing something other than training to be the leader his father wanted him to be.

It had been his sanctuary.

Until the night his father followed him and destroyed the magical sculptures. Dominique cried himself to sleep that night. A week later, out of sheer habit, he led his horse into the clearing and noticed a small sculpture, resting beneath a tree. The scene was a boy playing the piano. It was him. And ever since then, every winter, there was a sculpture waiting for him.

Perhaps it was foolish, but if he could share just a tiny bit of himself with Isabelle, this was what he wanted to share. The one happy memory he could think of. The only memory of his childhood that wasn’t stained with blood, pride, or betrayal.

“Where are we?” Isabelle asked. Her hand was still firmly clenched within his.

“You’ll see.” Dominique’s breath danced out in front of him, the temperatures were getting colder, and he only hoped Isabelle wouldn’t freeze during their little adventure. Of course, he could always pull her closer and share body heat, but that would mean touching her, and touching any more of her body would surely lead to things he had no business doing, considering they were in a snow-covered clearing. Though, it would keep
him
quite warm.

Isabelle gasped, releasing his hand and covering her mouth. He smiled at her response. For it was truly something taken straight from a fairy tale book. Crystalline icicles hung from the branches of the trees, glittering like diamonds, the poetic rhythm of the melting ice dripping into the pristine snow drifts. Everywhere one looked was a reflection of the icy cold of winter, yet strangely warm and intimate. Trees encircled the small area; it appeared untouched by anything. Isabelle's dark hair was a vivid chocolate against the white snow and her eyes sparkling sapphires as she smiled at him with appreciation. “It’s so beautiful! It feels like magic!” She ran into the middle of the clearing and twirled around in a circle. Pieces of snow fell from the trees onto her eyelashes as if they too wanted to touch her and add to the enchanting beauty she was.

Transfixed, Dominique watched, a smile spreading across his lips as Isabelle laughed and then stopped twirling. “What is this place?”

Suddenly feeling exposed, Dominique turned away from her burning gaze. “It was my sanctuary when I was a small boy. If you look just there—” he pointed beneath the largest of the trees— “You’ll find something I’m sure you’ve never seen before.”

Isabelle laughed and ran to the tree. “What is it? I don’t understand.”

Dominique was going to kill Cuppins Port, slowly… The sculpture beneath the tree was that of a beautiful young girl who looked exactly like Isabelle. But that wasn’t the most mortifying part. No, the worst part was that the girl was in a man's arms. Dominique’s arms to be precise, and they were sharing a passionate embrace.

His face heated as he struggled for words. Isabelle bent down and touched the sculpture. “It’s beautiful. Is it us?”

“I assure you, Isabelle, my intention was not to—”

She reached out her hand and lightly touched his arm. Rising to her feet, she stepped toward him. Time stood still, as if nothing existed but her eyes, her lips, and the vision of icicles glittering her hair. Frozen in place, he closed his eyes, as her hand traveled slowly up his arm and cupped his face.

Tender, she was tender and achingly slow in her examination of him. She removed her gloves and then her hands caressed his cheeks, skin-on-skin contact that singed him all the way to his frozen toes. Thawing much more than his body, but his mind. His heart. In that moment he believed in magic.

The magic of touch.

His eyes flickered open as he watched her examine him, and then her eyes closed as her cheek pressed against his and then he felt her plump, wet lips touch the side of his mouth. The words, his thoughts, everything was lost and forgotten in the beauty of her warmth.

He kissed her. It was as simple as that. Different than the other times because this particular moment was theirs, and only theirs. With nothing to prove, no pride in the way, and no hurt feelings.

It was them.

Gradually, she parted her lips. But he didn’t push the kiss any further than paying special attention to each corner of her mouth, as if a treasure was hidden behind the curves of her lips. Dominique reached out and touched her hair, smoothing it back behind her ear as he laid lazy kisses across her mouth and finally tasted her tongue. Slow, erotic movements made it absolute torture to keep his hands from traveling down the expanse of her body. He brought his hands around her waist and pulled her tighter against him, their breaths mingling in the air in front of them.

Heat spread through his body at their contact. Feminine curves fit perfectly into his arms, and he found himself needing to be closer to her, needing that completion that only comes with intimacy.

Oddly, this innocent kiss had turned into him wanting sex. Horrified, because it completely shattered this beautiful moment, he abruptly pulled back. Sex had always been identified with using women, never something so intimate as what he was experiencing with Isabelle. It was hard to fuse the two acts together. One was out of necessity and selfishness, whereas this, well it would be out of wanting to give all of himself to the one woman he knew he shouldn’t.

Never had his body been so aroused, so completely ready to give of itself, to take and take until nothing was left of the woman peering at him through thick lashes.

“I can’t…” Dominique swallowed and took a few deep breaths. Clearly Isabelle didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. Had she any idea how close he was to utterly ravishing her on the purest of snow? He closed his eyes against the ugliness of his thoughts: Isabelle’s dark hair spread across the white covered ground, her cherry red lips swollen with kisses and then his blasted hands
sans
gloves caressing her body. Red, ugly scars ruined the picture of perfection, just as he ruined everything he touched.

He winced, and stepped completely back from Isabelle.

She stepped toward him, trapping him between her body and the tree.

“Don’t.”

“Pardon?” His breath was coming out in short gasps.

“Don’t hide anymore.” Her voice was soft, angelic, sensual. He blinked several times trying to break the illusion of the compassion in her face.

“I think it’s time for a music lesson,” she said taking his hand.

The idea of her teaching him anything musical made him laugh aloud. Isabelle gave him a pointed look. “Never fear. I know where my strengths lie. I sometimes wonder, Dominique…”

“What?” His voice was hoarse with arousal. “What do you wonder?”

She stopped in the middle of the clearing and let go of his hand. “I wonder if all you know is music. I wonder if you understand things only in musical terms, but fail to comprehend emotions. It seems to me that you lack something important.”

He shuddered, unable to help it. This was the moment, the time when she would point out every insecurity, every single thing wrong with him. Just as his father had, and his mother and—

“You do not follow your heart.” She interrupted his thoughts. “So I’m going to teach
you
how to listen.”

Stunned, he merely stood there as Isabelle began to circle him. “Listen, Dominique, listen to the drops of water falling from the trees. Listen to your breathing, just as you showed me with the music. Listen.”

Satisfying her, he closed his eyes and did just that. He listened.

And then, sultry feminine hands wrapped around him from behind. The smell of lavender overwhelmed his senses. How the devil was he to listen when all he wanted to do was turn around and lay the woman flat on her back, possessing every inch of her body?

Her voice, so quiet and steady, whispered in his ear, tickling the side of his neck. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” She then put her hand on his chest and lightly tapped it in cadence with the same rhythm he previously taught her. Leisurely, she continued her tapping until finally he was facing her.

“You took a girl without knowing anything about her, saving her, at least you claim as much,” she whispered. “What does your heart say about that?”

“My heart—”

“And before you answer,” she interrupted. "Remember your head is not your heart. What does your heart say?”

Dominique exhaled. Truly, his head told him he was the worst sort of human being, that taking her defied all logic. Selfishness drove him to do what he did. Yet as he was thinking on it and as she corrected him, it was as if his heart burst forth with the correct answer—the real answer.

“My heart says there was no other way. It says the moment I laid eyes on you, the rhythm of my heart forever changed…and aligned itself with yours.”

If his response shocked her, it was impossible to tell, as she continued in the same fashion. “Relax, listen to your breathing, forget your thoughts, listen to the music of the trees. The music I know you hear. It sings to you, pulls you. Dominique, what does your mind say about me?”

“You said to listen to my heart.”

“Answer the question.”

Dominique sighed and hung his head. Eyes still closed, he answered. “My mind says I don’t deserve you. That you’ll run away screaming the minute you see me for who I really am. My mind cannot separate my need to have you and my selfishness for doing so.”

“And your heart?”

With a shudder Dominique turned to face her. “It sings your name.”

Chapter Fifteen

I fear losing control. I fear the day when I hold nothing back and there is nobody there to catch me when I fall. But most of all, I fear that someone will be there, they will catch me, and in the end will know all of my secrets, all of my lies. In the end I would rather fall, for then I would feel no shame in my lies.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Isabelle felt tears well in the corners of her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to remove the desperate urge she felt to weep for the man in her arms. For the vulnerability he had just shown.

She reached out to grab his hand. He pulled back, but she pursued, finally able to grasp at his gloves. She prayed her eyes said trust me, when she gazed into his. Fear was marked on his every feature, from the grim set of his lips, to the pale color of his face. Gradually his eyes closed. Black lashes against the perfect lines of his cheekbones. He exhaled, Isabelle pulled and then a branch snapped in the distance.

“Get down!” Dominique hissed, pulling her behind one of the trees between two large bushes.

Two French soldiers meandered into the clearing. They were armed, but discussing a recent fight that had broken out amongst the soldiers, nothing important was said. Isabelle’s heart slammed in her chest. Surely they were safe! After all, they were at least a few days' ride from Brussels. And Dominique would never knowingly put them in danger. She glanced at Dominique, he was frozen in place, did he too understand French? He had to, for the minute the Frenchman cursed the English, Dominique’s hand tightened on her waist.

Swallowing the dryness in her throat, she glanced at Dominique. He looked ready to attack, ready to kill. His eyes darkened as the men neared the tree where they hid, and then they were gone.