Cynda had one advantage. Her captor expected her to be a helpless female. And she didn’t plan to be that.
She waited until they were near the edge of the room, then pretended to stumble. As he tried to catch her, she wrapped one foot behind his leg and pulled. He fell, his grip loosening. Not giving him a chance to react, she thrust the heel of her slipper into his groin . . . and twisted. His cry of agony permeated the ballroom as he rolled into a ball, and everyone turned their way.
Cynda backed away, the damage done. He wasn’t going to move very fast for a while.
Hands came down on her shoulders, and she jumped, wresting free, then realized it was Dimitri. With a shudder, she let him pull her against his chest. “Are you all right?” he murmured.
She nodded. “He wanted to hurt you.”
“Me?” Dimitri’s surprise gave way to a frown as he watched the man writhe on the floor. “How? By hurting you?”
“He planned to kidnap me so you’d come after me. Then he had other plans for you.” She glanced up. “He didn’t say what, but I don’t think he wanted to shake your hand.”
Dimitri’s hold tightened. “It appears I do have an enemy.” He motioned toward the Major, who had just reached them. “Where is Chief Garrett? I want this man arrested.”
“I’m here.” Jess came up beside Dimitri, Corrie at his side. “What happened?”
Cynda quickly explained the situation, and Jess’s expression grew grave. “Are you hurt, Miss Madison?”
She shook her head. “I can take care of myself.” To her surprise, Corrie gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Cynda blinked.
A thumbs-up sign?
Jess yanked the man to his feet. “Come along, Mr. Johnson. I have a cell waiting for you.”
Still groaning, Johnson rose, then spat toward Cynda and Dimitri. “You’ll be sorry,” he shouted. “You’ll both be sorry.”
“Sweet guy,” Corrie said, her voice dry. She paused to squeeze Cynda’s arm. “Don’t worry. Jess will ensure he’s locked up. In fact, I plan to accompany Jess. He has this thing about not drawing his gun.” She grinned wickedly. “I don’t.”
“Thank you.” Dimitri nodded at Corrie before she hurried to join her husband. A crowd of people had gathered, and he addressed them in his most majestic voice. “There is nothing more to see here.”
“Move along,” the Major added. “Five minutes until midnight.”
The crowd dispersed, and Dimitri bent his head close to Cynda’s. “Do you wish to go now?”
“No.” She stepped out of his hold. That crazy old man wasn’t going to spoil her magical evening. “It’s almost time to unmask. I want to see that.”
He cupped the side of her face in one broad palm. “Are you certain? I felt you shaking.”
“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “More angry than anything else. Who does he think he is?”
“Again you amaze me, Cynda. You are a unique woman.”
“You won’t find another like me.” Except for, perhaps, Corrie Garrett.
He dropped his hand and placed it at the small of her back. “Let me get you a drink. Champagne, I think.”
“Champagne makes me lightheaded.”
“All the better. Whether you want to admit it or not, you have had a shock.”
She wasn’t the timid, fainting type, but after sipping a glass of champagne, she did feel better. In fact, with Dimitri offering such devotion and personal care, she felt downright good. “I guess I did need a drink.”
Before he could reply, the countdown began to midnight. “Four . . . three . . . two . . . one. Midnight.”
The crowd roared in approval and removed their masks. Dimitri reached out and gently took Cynda’s mask from her face, then smoothed her hair back in place. “You’re unmasked, Miss Madison.”
“Do I turn into a pumpkin now?” she quipped.
He stuffed his own mask beneath his belt. “No, I’m not about to let you get away that easily.” The orchestra started on another piece, and Dimitri pulled her onto the floor. “This is my dance, I believe.”
He kept his hand on her back, holding her close, but with Dimitri, she didn’t mind. It was heaven. His steps grew smaller, slower as he steered her toward a dark corner. Giving in, she rested her head against his shoulder as they moved together.
“I noticed you danced with nearly every other woman here,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “You noticed?”
“They were very proper, too.”
“Oh, very proper, very genteel, very adept at flirting with a prince. But they were not one thing.” He stopped in the shadows, and she glanced up at him.
“What’s that?” Surely they were everything Victorian women were supposed to be.
“You.” His dark gaze lit with amusement. “I do believe you have ruined the prim and proper woman for me. Not one of them told me I was arrogant and proud.”
Cynda grinned wryly. “Which probably meant you were behaving yourself.”
“I was.” He ran one hand over her hair, then cradled the back of her head. “Only with you do I want to misbehave.”
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Her throat wouldn’t allow words to pass through. Oh, Lord, did he know how much she wanted him to misbehave?
“I don’t know what to do with you, Cynda.” His voice grew husky. “I am going to be king. I have duties, responsibilities. And you are . . .”
“A servant,” she finished. He would never forget that. She tried to ease away, but he kept his hold firm.
“And more,” he added. “So much more that it frightens me.”
“I frighten you?” Wasn’t it her heart she heard pounding so rapidly?
“You make me want things I can’t have, imagine things that aren’t possible.”
“Anything is possible,” she said softly. Including time travel.
“Perhaps in your world, but not in mine.” He sighed, even as he brought his other hand up so he could capture her face between his palms. Tracing her lips with his thumb, he held her gaze, a fire banked low in his.
Cynda’s breath caught in her chest. Her stomach knotted. She slid her hands over his jerkin, the feel of his tight muscles beneath her palms adding to her inner tension. The music continued, but she barely heard it.
She existed for here. Now. The scent and feel of Dimitri.
He dipped his head toward hers, their breath mingling. Just as she angled her mouth to fit his, he released her with a groan and turned away. “I can’t.”
Why didn’t he slap her? It would hurt less. Cynda drew in a ragged breath, but didn’t speak until he swiveled to look at her. “I think I would like to return to my room now.”
He nodded. “Very well.” He offered her his arm, but she brushed past it and toward the doors. She didn’t dare touch him.
They remained silent on the journey to the tower suites. When they reached Cynda’s rooms, Dimitri unlocked the door, then gave her the key. “Good night,” he whispered.
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t, not with unshed tears clogging her throat. Giving him a brief nod, she entered her room and pushed the door shut.
Moonlight illuminated the main room, and she paused in the middle, wrapping her arms around herself. When would she learn? Dimitri might be attracted to her, but he would never do anything to endanger his coronation and his upcoming marriage. She had to remember that.
The muted light cast a glow on her semi-completed portrait, and she found her gaze drawn to Dimitri’s majestic figure. His eyes were warm, almost as if he were standing before her in life, and a hint of a smile played around his lips. Cynda blinked as a strong sense of déjà vu swept over her.
As realization dawned, she gasped and went closer to touch the face. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.
But hadn’t she just said anything was possible?
She had thought she was modeling this painting after the one she had restored, but that wasn’t true.
This was the painting she had restored.
Running her fingers lightly over the brush strokes she had so painstakingly uncovered, she stared at the canvas. This was the painting that kept her awake nights, that had called to her even in her own time.
A painting so full of vitality and life that she never would have believed she had painted it.
A painting of the man she loved.
“Oh, God.” Cynda groaned and turned away. It was true. She had fallen in love with this arrogant prince. How could she when she knew they had no future, when he had a kingdom to run and she a different time to which she must return?
Another thought crept up on her slowly, and she pivoted to face the portrait again.
The dented nameplate had sent her back in time. The dented nameplate belonged to this portrait. Somehow . . . someway, it played a part in Dimitri’s murder.
“No!” She couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to tell Dimitri, had to warn him and make him believe her.
Whirling around, she rushed for the suite door and yanked it open only to find Dimitri standing there, his hand poised to knock. She stared at him in surprise as he entered the room and closed the door.
“I need you, Cynda.” The roughness of his voice tugged at her. “Tonight I am a man and you are a woman and there is nothing else.”
Unable to believe her ears, she tried to speak. “Dimitri—”
He stopped her words with his lips as he pulled her into a firm embrace, one hand cradling her head, the other wrapping around her waist. He claimed, he sought, he gave, and Cynda forgot everything else as she responded to her rising passion.
His mouth seduced hers, his lips drinking of hers, his tongue delving inside to stroke hers. She moaned and gripped his jerkin to hold him near.
He tasted of champagne, adding to the headiness invading her body.
She wanted this, wanted him. He was right. There was nothing else.
He left her lips, his breath ragged, and nibbled his way down her neck, nipping slightly at her pounding pulse. Desire, fiery hot, shot through her. Her knees wobbled.
Locating the vee of his shirt, she slid her hands inside, over the dark curls and sculpted muscles. Heat radiated beneath her palms, the same heat that filled her.
Abruptly, Dimitri caught her hands in his and drew apart. “Tell me to stop now,” he said huskily, “or I won’t be able to later.”
She leaned forward to nip at his bearded chin. “Don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”
With a groan, he released her hands and swung her into his arms and headed for her bedroom. Cynda touched his chest again with one hand, the other weaving through the hair over his collar. She had never felt as alive as at this moment.
He placed her on her feet beside the bed, steadying her with his hands on her arms, his gaze so dark she could barely see it. “I can’t marry you,” he murmured.
“I know.” Holding his gaze, she reached down to undo his belt. It thudded to the floor, echoing in the silence.
A shudder shook his body, but he remained still as she loosened the lacings on his jerkin so that it hung loosely on his frame, allowing her easier access to the roughness of his chest. Leaning forward, she planted kisses over it, nipping at his erect nipple and reveling in his groan of pleasure. While she kissed along his throat to his chin, she ran her hands beneath the jerkin and shirt to the flat plane of his stomach, along the narrowing band of hair that led into his pants, and over the thick hardness of his erection.
“Make love to me, Dimitri,” she rasped.
With a growl, he seized her head between his hands and claimed her mouth as if branding her. He drank her moans and gasps, his lips molding to hers with a hungry fierceness . . . a fierceness she echoed.
He released her head to cup her buttocks and pull her firmly against his groin. His erection rubbed against her through her petticoats, but it wasn’t enough. Too many layers separated them.
Grasping the end of his jerkin and shirt, she tugged them over his head and dropped them to the floor. His chest gleamed in the moonlight, a dream come to life.
Dimitri chuckled. “You are not what I expected, Cynda.”
She answered with a slow grin. “Well, I’ve never been called prim and proper.”
“Good.” Holding her away from him, he proceeded to unlace the front bindings of her dress, then eased it off her shoulders and hips until it fell around her feet. He continued by untying her petticoats so that they joined her dress.
She stood before him in her chemise, pantalets, and corset, her breasts more revealed than covered. The tight corset threatened to rob her of the ability to breathe, and she almost sobbed with relief when he removed that next.
Cupping her breasts through the chemise, he ran his thumbs over her taut nipples, and she gasped with the arrow of desire that pierced her. Dimitri kissed her again as he continued to torment her breasts, making her squirm with frustration.
Finally, he left her lips and kissed his way to her breasts, easing her chemise down ahead of his path. When he drew her nipple into his mouth, she cried out in pleasure. Nothing . . . no one had ever been like this. With each touch, she felt as if they were melting into one.
She clasped his head to her, her fingers stroking his silky hair, even as her knees grew weak. He gave each breast equal attention, bringing her blood to a boil. When she could no longer endure it, she tugged at his hair to bring his lips back to hers.
Her chemise joined the pile of clothing on the floor as her insides clenched tighter, grew hotter. “I need you, Dimitri,” she whispered, running her hands over his back. She gently tickled his ear with her tongue. “I want you inside me.”
“Impatient, are we?” She could hear his smile before he dropped to one knee before her and lifted her foot to remove first one slipper, then the other, his gaze never leaving hers, the heat in it enough to surpass any summer day.
With deliberate slowness, he removed her stockings, leaving her clad in only her pantalets. Fire scorched her blood. She could barely draw a complete breath. Time stopped, waiting, as if her entire life until this moment had led to this.
She reached for the waist of her pantalets, but he covered her hands with his and removed them. “In time.”
Groaning with frustration, she swiped at his head. “Dimitri.” If he didn’t take her soon, she would be nothing more than a puddle on the floor.
To her surprise, he swung her into his arms again, cradling her against his chest, his flesh as hot as hers. Then, with a gentleness she hadn’t expected, he lowered her to the bed. “You are exquisite.” He ran his hands over her face, throat, and torso to her pantalets and drew them off with excruciating slowness. Finally, she was completely bare.
He stared at her, but she didn’t feel exposed. Rather, a rightness settled over her, as if she belonged with this man forever, as if this moment was destined.
“You’re still wearing too much,” she said, propping up on her elbows.
“That can be remedied.” In several swift movements, he removed the remainder of his clothing, and now Cynda stared.
He was magnificent, his erection jutting from between his muscular thighs. She grew even more damp, more uncomfortable with longing. “You are awesome,” she told him. “Prince or no prince.”
“There is no prince tonight.” Joining her on the bed with a swiftness that startled her, he sought her lips again as his body covered hers, her breasts tight against his chest, his erection teasing her cleft.
She rocked her hips, wanting more, wanting him. With her palms against his back, she tried to pull him even closer. His lips drew on hers as her softness melted against his hard body.
“There is only a man,” he whispered against her mouth, “desperate with wanting you.”
“And a woman equally desperate,” she added. “Be one with me, Dimitri.”
Another shudder shook his body. “I’m afraid it may be too late for that.”
“What?”
His answer was to ease their bodies apart until he could kneel between her thighs. She expected him to enter her, but instead he found her swollen nub with his hand and stroked it, watching her as she erupted in a shuddering orgasm.
Before her shudders finished, he dove into her as if claiming a new kingdom, his kingdom. Cynda cried out and lifted her hips to meet him, welcoming the feel of him inside her. Very well, let him conquer a kingdom. She would conquer the king.
He didn’t move, his erection pulsing within her womb. “Are you all right?”
“I’m very all right.” Clasping his back, she tugged him tighter against her, and he responded with pounding thrusts that filled her, claimed her, shattered her. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this.
As she exploded again, she bit back the words that threatened to escape. She loved him. Would always love him. But he didn’t need that complication in his already complicated life.
She kissed him thoroughly as he poured his seed into her with a groan. Collapsing atop her, he supported himself on his elbows. “Cynda, sweet, sweet, Cynda.”
For her, it had been a joining in every sense of the word. No matter how many decades separated them, this man would always be a part of her soul.
Easing to her side, he wrapped one arm around her to draw her close, her head on his shoulder, then smoothed her hair back from her face. “There will never be another woman like you.”
No, not like her. Only his wife.
Cynda blinked back the threatening tears and buried her face against his shoulder. He stroked her hair. “Rest now,” he murmured. “Rest, mon coeur.”
And eventually, she did.