Cynda joined the group of women preparing food and drink for the men as they fought the fire. Corrie directed the effort, heedless of the shocked glances at her pants and coolie-style jacket, and Cynda had to admire her. She had obviously made her place in this time.
But Cynda was in love with a man slated to marry another and groomed to be king of his country. There was no place for her in his life or in this time. She would be better off back in the future.
But no matter how many times she told herself that, she still couldn’t make her heart believe it.
Night had fallen by the time the fire was extinguished, and with the darkness came the first flakes of snow.
“That will help,” Dimitri said as he came to her side. His face, hands, and shirt were streaked with soot and dirt, but his grin sent Cynda’s heart into cartwheels. How could she not love him?
“I’m proud of you,” she said, meeting his gaze.
Spotting Alexi behind him, she amended it. “I’m proud of both of you. You must be exhausted.”
“Thirsty.” Dimitri took a mug from the makeshift table set up in the road and downed its contents in one swallow. Alexi followed suit.
They reached for another mug, then grinning at each other, clanked them together before again draining the ale. Alexi swiped his hand over his mouth. “Now that was good.” Replacing his mug, he clapped Dimitri on the back. “I’m off to the hotel.”
“You’re welcome to ride with us,” Dimitri offered. “I brought a buggy.”
Alexi’s teeth gleamed white in his sooty face. “So did I.” His eyes glimmered with mischief. “Want to race?”
For a moment Dimitri looked as though he might accept, then he glanced at Cynda and shook his head. “I am transporting a lady. Perhaps another time.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Cynda said. A race sounded like fun.
“Perhaps not, but I cannot put you in danger.”
“Even if I trust your driving?” She grinned at him and was rewarded with a smiling shake of his head.
“No, Cynda.” He took his jacket, which she still had over her arm. “Let us return as well.” He glanced at the smoldering remains of the boardinghouse. “Tomorrow, work will begin to clean this up.”
“I feel so sorry for Mrs. Zimmerman,” Cynda said as they fell into step together. “She has no money and no family to rebuild it for her.”
“She will not need them. She has the good people of this town and a prince who is good with his hands.”
Dimitri spoke in his imperious manner, so it took Cynda a moment to realize what he had said. She squealed with delight. “You’ll pay for her to rebuild?”
“I plan to discuss it with Chief Garrett. I believe we can get a new building in place before winter is completely upon us.” Reaching the buggy, he assisted Cynda up, then released the horses and swung onto the seat beside her.
She snuggled next to him despite the smoky smell. “Have I ever told you what a wonderful man you are?”
“Not that I can recall.” He directed the buggy onto the road leading to The Chesterfield. “Arrogant, rude, but never wonderful.”
Heat filled her cheeks. Well, he was arrogant, but she couldn’t imagine him any other way. “Then, let me say it again—you are a wonderful man, Dimitri Karakov.” Leaning forward, she pressed a light kiss on his cheek, then made a face at the sooty taste.
Dimitri chuckled. “Wait until I bathe and you can tell me properly.” Releasing one hand from the reins, he captured hers within it, his thumb gently stroking her pulse, smearing ashy streaks on her wrist.
Had he noticed how that pulse increased at his touch? Cynda inhaled deeply. “I would think you’d want to go straight to bed.”
“Excellent idea.” He didn’t look at her as he continued. “However, there is only one bed I want to be in.”
Heat flooded her veins, and her breasts swelled in response. She wanted that as well, but couldn’t. “You know we can’t.”
“I know we can.” His voice deepened. “And I know it would be heaven on earth. But you refuse me. You refuse a prince.”
“And you know why.” Though she had to struggle to remember that point herself.
He sighed and tightened his hold on her hand. “Yes, I know why, but I am not king yet. I am not in my country. I have no wife, no children.”
“Not now, but you will.” If he survives through December. Though she hated to do it, she tugged her hand free of his. “One day, you will thank me for being strong.”
“I would thank you even more if you weren’t.” She glanced at him in surprise, and he gave her a half smile, but the need in his eyes caught at her throat, robbing her of the ability to speak. Looking away, she closed her eyes before she weakened.
Why, when she finally found a man she could love, did it have to be this one?
After reaching the hotel, Dimitri left Cynda at her suite and proceeded to his own. Once inside her room, she sighed and sank onto the bed. It felt like days instead of hours since they had left for town.
She pulled the pins from her hair, then frowned at the aroma of smoke that surrounded her. Obviously, she needed a bath as well. Thank goodness she didn’t have to go to the bathhouse; she had her own personal tub complete with hot water.
As she went to run the water, she grinned. At least now she had true appreciation for the simple things in life—like hot water and flush toilets. She stripped down to her chemise and was checking the depth of the water in the large iron tub when a knock sounded at the door.
Drat. She pulled on a robe and held it around her as she inched the door open.
Dimitri pushed his way inside, then kicked the door shut behind him. “Alexi is encamped in our tub with no sign of leaving,” he said. Crossing the main room, he left clothing in his path—tie, shirt, trousers—until he stood in the bathroom doorway in nothing but his magnificent nudity. Cynda stared at him, stunned. “Ah, you’ve already started the water. Excellent.”
He had settled himself in the tub by the time Cynda reached the doorway. “That’s my bath.”
“And you would deny me a chance for cleanliness?” His apologetic tone didn’t match the mischief in his eyes.
“There is a bathhouse, you know.”
“But why should I go all that way when I can be here with you?” He grabbed a bar of soap and proceeded to wash his hair and face while Cynda gaped at him, her insides humming with desire, while her mind struggled for reason.
After a moment, he paused and held out the soap, humor dancing in his eyes. “Would you mind doing my back?”
She released an exasperated breath but moved forward to take the soap. No sooner had she touched it, than he grabbed her waist and pulled her into the tub with him. “Why not share the bath?”
Water sloshed onto the floor as she gasped, her robe becoming heavy with water. “Are you insane?”
“Frugal,” he replied with a grin. “Why waste hot water?”
“You are devious.” She struggled to free herself, but the robe held her in place. Muttering beneath her breath, she tugged her arms free and dumped the sodden mess on the floor.
Pushing her hair back, she sat up, straddling his hips.
“Much better.” The huskiness of his voice made her follow his gaze to her now transparent chemise, which easily revealed her pebbled nipples. He ran his hands over her back, grasping her bare buttocks to pull her forward so he could capture her breast with his mouth.
Hot need flooded Cynda, threatening the last bits of her protests. She wound her hands into his hair, holding him close, her insides clenching in time with the draw of his mouth. “D . . . Dimitri . . .” She struggled for words, to stop him, to restore rational thought, but he found her other breast as his hands kneaded her bottom and his erection pulsed against her open cleft.
Oh, Lord, she wanted him. Needed him.
Giving in to desire, she reached into the water to find his swollen erection, reveling in his groan of pleasure. She raised up slightly, then lowered herself onto him, sharing Dimitri’s moan as he filled her. More water spilled to the floor.
He kept his grip on her hips, assisting her as she rode him, but the slippery tub made it difficult. When her knee banged the side for the third time, he let out a bellow and stood up, holding her against him so that she was forced to wrap her legs around his waist and cling to his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, his movements adding to the tension building inside her.
“Making you mine,” he growled. Holding her hips, he placed her against the cold tile wall and proceeded to finish what she had started. As she gasped, he captured her mouth, his tongue delving inside to mimic his actions.
Cynda matched his thrusts with equal passion. Each movement brought him deeper and swelled her need until she almost sobbed with desire. She climaxed once, then again, rising to meet him until finally he erupted, crying out her name.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their ragged breathing echoed in the small room. Dimitri leaned his forehead against Cynda’s. “That was . . .”
“Incredible,” she finished. A definite first for her and the most passionate sex of her life. Her insides still pulsed with the final vestiges of her climax. She started to unlock her legs, but Dimitri caught them and held her in place.
“No, not yet.” He gently nipped at her lips. “I should like to spend the rest of my life buried inside you.”
Her insides knotted again, the banked fires rekindling. “But won’t it make it difficult to get anything done?” she asked, biting his chin.
“Nothing that matters.” Holding her firmly in place, he left the bathroom and went to sit on the edge of the bed. As she brought her legs down into a kneeling position on the bed, he expertly removed her chemise, then cradled her breasts in his hands. “Now you may begin again.”
“Oh, I may?” At his imperious order, she sat back to bring him more firmly inside her and grinned at the darkening of his eyes and his sharp inhale. He grew more firm, regaining new life as she wiggled her hips. “Do you think you can handle it?”
He drew his thumbs over her sensitive nipples, and she arched back, the lightest touch triggering an onslaught of need.
“Do your worst,” he murmured.
She tried, but bringing him to torturous ecstasy also did the same for herself. He kept his hands busy on her breasts as she rode him, made love to him, became one with him.
When her climax began, he surprised her by flipping her onto her back and plunging harder, deeper, extending her release until she cried out. Then before she could drift to earth again, he increased his rhythm, willing her body to follow, and she did. They were one. Now. Always.
He was made for her.
This was more than a blending of bodies, a sharing of pleasure so intense it rippled along her nerves. When he reached his final glory, burrowing deep within her, she knew she was lost. Her soul was his.
God help her.
You’re weak, Cynda. Weak, weak, weak. Cynda berated herself yet again as she worked on Dimitri’s portrait. Over a week had passed, and she had managed to avoid Dimitri, but mostly because he was so exhausted each night after spending the day rebuilding Mrs. Zimmerman’s boardinghouse.
She had agreed to concentrate her efforts on his portrait while he worked in town. It provided one way she could be with him without the constant temptation of the real thing.
How could she have given in to him so easily? She eyed the portrait and pointed her brush at it “No,” she said firmly. “No, no, no.” Much easier to do when he wasn’t kissing her, wasn’t touching her.
Just remembering those delicious moments of extreme lovemaking sent streams of liquid fire through her veins. Cynda shook her head. Be strong. Get over him.
Ha, easier said than done.
If she didn’t remain firm in her convictions, she was in real danger of becoming his mistress, and she couldn’t do that. No matter how much she loved him, she wouldn’t accept just a piece of his life or risk ruining his future with Anya and their potential children.
He was going to be king, and Cynda was . . . what, a struggling artist? A woman out of time? Whatever. She most definitely wasn’t royal nor likely to be. Not in any century.
She paused and set down her brush in order to examine the portrait critically. This was her best work ever. Perhaps because her love for Dimitri entered into every brush stroke, the blending of the colors, the attention to detail. He appeared almost alive, with desire glimmering in his eyes, a hint of a smile on his lips and a touch of arrogance in his stance. Very impressive and too handsome to be true.
A fairy tale prince.
With a sigh Cynda pushed back the loose strands of her hair. She would never get the knack of securing the bun on her head.
Abruptly, she glanced back at the portrait. Oh, no. She was nearly finished.
She had been so caught up in her dreams over the past several days, she had worked without conscious thought, letting her emotions guide the brush. Well, her emotions had just about completed the thing. The small bit left would only require a couple of days.
Smart, Cynda. This wasn’t in her plan.
She cleaned up quickly. No more painting for a while . . . a long while. She didn’t dare complete this before the twelfth of December. Dimitri’s life depended on it.
Left with time to spend, she headed for town . . . to check on the progress of the boardinghouse. Certainly not to see Dimitri.
The site was a flurry of activity with several men busy on the structure. The exterior was already in place, and Cynda heard hammering from inside. They had made good progress.
To her surprise, Alexi was acting as the coordinator for the project. She approached him with a smile, waiting while he gave directions to two men.
Once they left, he grinned at her. “I believe we’ll be done before the end of the month.”
“I should think so at this rate.” She glanced again at the building. “I didn’t realize you knew construction.”
He shrugged. “In truth, I don’t, but I’ve helped villagers in my country with similar ventures and quickly discovered I don’t have Dimitri’s talent with a hammer and saw.” Mischief danced in his gaze. “However, I can organize.”
“A fine talent.” With the new boardinghouse progressing so fast, he obviously organized well. “How many are working on it?”
“I cannot name an exact number as men come and go as they have time available. Perhaps twenty, maybe more. Each contributes whatever skill he can.”
“That’s wonderful.” Would folks in her time be so giving of their time and talents?
At hearing the distant sound of a train whistle, Alexi jerked his head around. “Train’s coming.”
“That’s not the Chesterfield train. It won’t be here for another hour.”
“I know.” Merriment danced in his eyes. “It’s the train from New York, which means it’s four o’clock.”
She laughed. “Now that’s a unique way to tell time.” She looked toward the building. “Can I take a look?”
“If you’re careful.” Alexi turned to answer a man’s question, and Cynda slipped away.
As she drew closer to the structure, she recognized Dimitri’s voice inside, but none of the words. She found him exchanging fluent German with Mrs. Zimmerman, who was fawning over him big time.
Not that Cynda could blame her. Dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt, Dimitri looked even better than in his official uniform. Strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead, and a streak of dirt highlighted one cheekbone. For once, he appeared as a normal man and was all the more enticing because of it.
His slow smile when he spotted her tangled Cynda’s stomach into knots. No. She was determined to be strict with herself. Behave. But her pulse leapt despite her admonishment.
“Mrs. Zimmerman, have you met Miss Madison?” Dimitri waved Cynda to his side. “She’s the one I told you about.”
The woman grasped Cynda’s hands in hers, tears welling in her eyes. “You are one to tell Prince Karakov about me.”
Cynda hesitated. “Well, I did mention it, but he—”
“You are saint.” Mrs. Zimmerman squeezed Cynda’s hands so tightly Cynda fought back a wince. “I cook you dinner when I am in my house again.”
“I would like that.” Cynda extracted her hands while she still had feeling left in them and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” She bobbed her head at Dimitri, patted the package in his hands, then rushed from the structure.
Cynda raised her eyebrows. “Are you telling tales?”
“Only truth.”
“Nonsense. You were here fighting the fire. I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t know.”
He tapped her chin with one finger. “Ah, but you cared enough to ensure I knew.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. Cynda quickly pointed to the package he held. “What’s that?”
“Fresh cinnamon rolls. Mrs. Zimmerman is staying with Mrs. Warshoski for the present and helping out in her restaurant.” His grin held an impishness that wound around Cynda’s heart. “She’s been bringing wonderful baked goods every day. I shall soon be as big as the house itself.”
“I think you’re working it off.” Cynda examined the interior. The floor for the second story was nearly completed, and the main level had walls clearly laid out. “This is impressive.”
Dimitri beamed. “I’d forgotten how good it felt to do this type of thing.”
“Once you’re king, you’ll have to create a workshop so you can do more of it.”
His smile faded. “Once I am king, I will no longer have time for such frivolities.”
“It’s not a frivolity.” Cynda touched his arm. He had to believe that. If he didn’t find some kind of outlet for pleasure, he would be miserable for the rest of his life. “It’s a craft. It’s a gift.”
“It is not necessary for a king.” He looked away, surveying the building. His head lifted, his stance proud. Taking Cynda’s arm, he steered her beneath some boards. “Come, let me show you what we have done.”
If Cynda hadn’t been impressed before, his tour confirmed her first thoughts. He was a wonderful carpenter. Boards meshed perfectly, the craftsmanship evident. Mrs. Zimmerman’s boardinghouse would be even better than the original by the time it was completed.
He paused at the rear of the structure by a half-completed chimney, his gaze on Cynda as if her reaction was important.
“This is fantastic, Dimitri.” Her enthusiasm was real. “I’m proud of you.”
His gaze darkened. “Proud enough to reward me with a kiss?”
“Oh, no.” Cynda glanced around, hoping to see other workers. Sounds of hammering reached them, but she saw no one. She put out her hand to keep him away, though he hadn’t moved. “No more. I will not give in again.”
“You must.” As usual when he wanted his way, he spoke with imperiousness. “Memories of you intrude on all my waking moments.” He displayed his hand, one fingernail half purple. “I did that when I remembered how good it felt to be inside you and the small whimpers of pleasure you made.”
Desire knifed through Cynda, and she stepped back, afraid that if she didn’t, she would end up in his arms. “No more, Dimitri. I mean it.”
His smile was condescending. “Time will tell.” He set his package on a nearby stack of boards, then approached her slowly. If he touched her . . . if he kissed her . . .
Cynda panicked. Hiking her skirt, she ran.
He caught her just outside the building, seizing her shoulders and forcing her to face him. “You cannot escape the inevitable.”
“I can’t do this.” A sob caught in her throat, and his expression grew concerned.
“Do I not pleasure you?” He drew her closer. “Does my touch repel you?”
“You’re wonderful,” she admitted, “but it’s wrong. Each time only makes it worse for when we have to part.”
He frowned. “I have not said we will part.”
“I have.” She struggled to maintain control. “On the solstice, I am going back to my . . . to where I belong.”
“What if you belong with me?” His voice grew cold.
“I don’t.” She searched his face, desperate for him to understand. “You’re going to be king. You’re going to marry another woman. There’s no place for me in your life, and you know that, Dimitri. You know that.”
He could have been a statue for the next few moments. His face revealed nothing. He didn’t move.
Finally, he closed his eyes as if in pain and dropped his hands. “We may have no future, but that does not stop me from wanting you now.”
“Di—”
The shattering sound of a gunshot cut her off, and Dimitri thrust her behind him as they both turned to see Alexi throwing himself on a man with a rifle.
“Ow.” A splinter dug into Cynda’s arm, and she glanced over to see a hole in the boards beside her. “Oh, my God.” Another couple of inches and that bullet would have hit her or Dimitri.
Dimitri faced her, trying to touch her everywhere at once. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m okay. Just a splinter.” She showed him her arm, and he plucked the sharp piece of wood from her flesh, then wrapped his handkerchief around her arm when it began to bleed slightly.
He glanced at the bullet hole, and his expression darkened even further. He swiftly covered the distance to where Alexi held the man on the ground. “Who are you?” he demanded.
The man spat on Dimitri’s boots, and Alexi twisted the man’s arm even tighter, his gaze blazing.
Cynda came to Dimitri’s side. “He must be one of Johnson’s friends.” How could someone hate another person that much . . . enough to kill? “I suspect they set fire to Mrs. Zimmerman’s place, too.”
“We don’t need no furriners here,” the man declared.
Cynda curled her fists, fighting the urge to kick the man. “What we don’t need is your kind,” she retorted.
“All right, what’s going on here?” Chief Garrett approached, his manner brisk, his gaze encompassing the entire scene.
“A friend of Johnson’s, I believe.” Dimitri motioned to Alexi to let the man stand. “And an attempt on my life.” His tone was cold, hard. “I believe you will find a bullet in the exterior wall of Mrs. Zimmerman’s boardinghouse.”
”I was afraid of that. Johnson’s been as communicative as a dead possum.” The chief grasped the man’s arm. “Come on. Maybe you’ll be better at talking than your friend.” He paused to nod at Dimitri. “You must lead a charmed life, Your Highness.”
Dimitri released a tight smile. “I believe I do.” He squeezed Cynda’s hand briefly.
Now that her blood was flowing again, she frowned at him. “Now do you believe me?”
He spread his arms wide. “I am alive, Cynda.”
“What if the third time does the trick?” She seized the front of his shirt. “I don’t want you to die.”
He dropped his hands to her back, holding her close. “I won’t die.” His voice grew husky. “I have far better plans than that.”
She sighed. “Di—”
“Dimitri.”
At Alexi’s sharp tone, they both looked around. Cynda cringed. She had forgotten he was there.
Dimitri dropped his hands at once and muttered an exclamation in his native language, but his gaze went past Alexi to a woman standing nearby, accompanied by an older man and woman. He went to her, still speaking in a language Cynda didn’t understand.
But his meaning was clear.
The woman was young, perhaps Alexi’s age, with chestnut brown hair coiled neatly atop her head. She wore a velvet cloak trimmed with fur over a gown of obvious elegance. She was lovely, her features aristocratic, her nose slender, her cheekbones clearly defined. She greeted Dimitri with a forced smile, her face revealing little, though the hand she put on his arm indicated possession.
Cynda glanced at Alexi, her chest tight, wishing she could melt into the ground. “Is that . . . ?”
He nodded, his expression grim. “That is Anya.”