Dimitri led Cynda into a smaller adjoining room. “This must be the dining room.” A large wooden table with legs as big as small trees dominated the room. This was a small, intimate hideaway? Cynda shook her head. The table easily sat ten.
“Are we expecting company?” she asked with a grin.
Dimitri answered with a sensuous glance. “No one will bother us for a week.” He squeezed her fingers and led her into the next room, which spanned the rear of the cottage.
The black stove hinted at the room’s use. “The kitchen,” Cynda said.
He nodded. “I already had provisions delivered.”
Cynda examined the stove and box of wood beside it with a grimace. “I hope you’re not expecting me to cook on that thing.”
“It is the only stove available.” Dimitri leaned against the door frame. “Why? Don’t you know how to cook?”
“Not on a woodstove.” She peeked inside it. “I wasn’t even a Girl Scout. I’m a firm believer in gas or electric.”
“An electric stove?”
She grinned at Dimitri’s incredulity. “Yep. You do have electricity now, don’t you?”
“It exists, but is more used in places like New York City and then, only for lighting.” He came to stand beside her. “Are you saying this electricity will run stoves? Is this another of your fantasies?”
“Give it fifty years or so.” She rattled the stove door. “In the meantime, we’re stuck with this. Do you know how to cook on it?”
“Me?”
His astonishment made her laugh. “Yes, you, Prince Dimitri.”
“I have never cooked a meal in my life.”
Cynda sighed. “I was afraid of that. You’d better not expect to eat much, then.”
He drew her into his embrace, humor in his eyes. “I will survive. If I become hungry, I will just nibble on you.”
Suiting his actions to his words, he nibbled along her throat, lingering at her pulse which tripled its rate in a matter of seconds. He rested his lips over hers as he spoke, the movement of his mouth teasing hers. “For you satisfy my hunger far better than any food.”
He seized her mouth then, taking possession, delving inside to tease her desire into full blaze.
Heat raced through her blood, her nipples hardening, and moisture pooling between her thighs.
She clung to him, wanting more, and rubbed against the hard length in his trousers. When he raised his head and clutched her shoulders to hold her away from him, she moaned in protest.
Her body needed him, wanted him, ached for fulfillment only he could provide.
His hungry gaze burned with equal fire, but he only took her hand again. “Let me show you upstairs.”
He led her to a narrow staircase and up to a room that encompassed the length and width of the entire cottage. On the far end was a sitting room with chairs placed before a large window that offered a spectacular view of the evergreens and mountains. On the other end was a tub, easily large enough for three people.
Cynda stared at it, hope rising. “Does that have hot water?”
Dimitri nuzzled her ear. “Yes. I hope to try it. Perhaps we will not flood the floor this time.”
Heat filled her cheeks as she recalled their last encounter in the tub. She resisted the urge to squirm, wanting to try it again now.
Standing behind her, Dimitri held her shoulders and turned her to face the room’s centerpiece—a massive four-poster bed perched on a platform with steps surrounding it. Another huge fireplace filled the wall opposite it.
Cynda inhaled sharply. The only things missing were mirrors . . . thank goodness.
“If not for food, we would never have to leave here,” Dimitri murmured, sliding his hands down to cup her breasts as he bent to kiss a path along her neck and shoulders.
Her earlier desire still hummed in her veins and needed little to revive it. Cynda melted against him, sensing his erection through her petticoats, giving in to his caresses.
He left her breasts to undo her buttons and remove her dress with an expertise that thrilled rather than alarmed her. He unlaced her petticoats and corset just as quickly and pulled them off.
“I forbid you to wear that contraption during the remainder of our stay.”
Cynda turned to throw her arms around his neck. “Thank you. That thing is a torture device devised by a man, I’m sure.”
He grinned. “I can’t imagine a man being foolish enough to bar the way to a woman’s breasts.” Cradling the back of her head with one hand, he devoured her mouth as a man who had not eaten for a month. He teased, seduced and claimed her with lips that could easily be labeled hot and dangerous.
Cynda met him kiss for kiss, barely breathing, her hunger as ravenous as his. Her body was his, responding with passion to his touch, eager for him to fill her.
As they broke apart, gasping, she sought the buttons on his shirt and blazed a path with her lips as she peeled it back to reveal his chest. She lingered over his flat nipple, teasing it with her tongue until he shuddered.
The knowledge that she could affect him as much as he did her brought her satisfaction. Pushing his shirt aside, she followed the trail of dark hair on his chest to where it narrowed and disappeared beneath his trousers.
Unfastening his pants, she grinned. It was time Prince Dimitri learned this claiming went two ways.
She freed his rigid length and stared for a moment in awe. He gave new meaning to the word king-size.
“What are you doing?” he demanded in a voice not quite steady.
In reply Cynda took him in her mouth, teasing his velvet shaft with her tongue. Dimitri’s groan empowered her, and she drew on him, clutching his firm buttocks with her hands.
He wove his hands in her hair, whether to pull her away or hold her fast she wasn’t sure, for she chose that moment to gently scrape him with her teeth, and his entire body trembled.
If possible, he swelled even more, and Cynda suckled him with enthusiasm. He was soft yet hard with a salty masculinity that was uniquely Dimitri.
“Enough.” His voice was hoarse as he yanked her to her feet. “Would you unman me, woman?”
She grinned at him. “Could I?”
With a growl, he seized the neck of her chemise and tore it off.
Cynda gasped even as moist heat pulsed within her. “I only have a couple of those.”
“I’ll buy you more.” Wrapping his arm behind her, he bent her back until he could draw her breast into his mouth. His fierceness added to Cynda’s rising passion. She clutched his hair to hold him close.
He teased her breast with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, until Cynda couldn’t speak, her body alive with need, small moans escaping her throat.
Yet he held her firm, releasing one sensitive peak to claim the other until Cynda could barely stand.
When he finally raised his head, triumph glittered in his eyes. Before Cynda could do more than gasp, he had them both naked and on the bed. He knelt over her, wild possession on his face, then entered her, filling her completely.
Cynda raised her hips to meet his, matching each pounding thrust with wild passion. It had never been like this before—the hunger all-consuming, the passion driving her higher to a plane she had never known existed.
Their mouths met, dueled, then moved onto each other’s skin, nipping, licking, kissing. He tasted of sweat, of pure maleness, of Dimitri.
“You are mine,” he murmured against her lips. “You were made for me.”
He drove even deeper, taking Cynda higher. She couldn’t breathe. She was dying from a pleasure so intense that every cell in her body exploded with the intensity of her climax.
She screamed his name, contracting around him, closer to fainting than she had ever been in her life.
“Cynda, mon coeur.” He kissed her, his body so hot against hers, she was convinced they sizzled. He pumped deep, deeper, trembling within her until he groaned and collapsed.
Cynda couldn’t speak. Only ragged breaths tore from her throat. That hadn’t been just sex. What they had shared surpassed that and defied words. She felt claimed, bonded, mated in an act more binding than a ceremony of words. Dear Lord, how could she ever leave him?
Dimitri rose on his elbows and kissed her with such gentleness she had to blink back tears. “Much more of that and you will kill me far quicker than any bullet.”
She smiled. “I think you’re tough enough to take it.”
“We will find out.” He brushed over her lips, then drew back, his expression serious. “I thank whatever fates brought us together. If we hadn’t met, I never would have known this ecstasy, never known that a person existed who fit me so perfectly as to be a part of me.”
It was a very unDimitri-like speech, and now Cynda did cry, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I only wish circumstances were different, that I didn’t have to leave.”
“You don’t. You won’t.”
She didn’t reply. As difficult as it would be, she knew what she had to do when the time came.
“You won’t,” he repeated more firmly as if sensing her response in her silence.
She caressed his cheek, memorizing his features—his mercurial eyes, aristocratic nose and full sensual mouth. “I’m hungry,” she said in an attempt to change the subject. “How about we tackle that stove?”
Dimitri remained silent, studying her, then smiled. “Very well. I will light it if you cook the meal.”
Cynda managed to prepare steaks that were burnt on one side and raw on the other, but Dimitri choked down his meal without complaint.
Later, with a blazing fire set and snowflakes falling gently outside, he made love to her with such tenderness that again Cynda cried.
The next morning, following a burned breakfast, Dimitri brought out the wrapped packages, eager to see Cynda’s expression as they opened them. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
“What is it?” Her excitement fed his. “How did you have time to prepare anything?”
“Ah, I am a prince.” Actually, he had relied on Rupert to procure the necessary items. The bellhop was quite adept at such services, especially when a large tip was included.
Dimitri cut the twine, then gave the package to Cynda. She tore into the brown paper with all the enthusiasm of a child, then cried out with glee at seeing the items. “You know me better than I thought you did.” She clutched the sketch pad and pencils to her chest.
Her obvious pleasure warmed Dimitri. How could he not notice that she became more alive when she was sketching or painting . . . or in his bed? “I don’t intend to keep you in bed all the time,” he said.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You could’ve fooled me.”
He grinned. Waking with her in his arms this morning had generated not only desire but a soul-stirring warmth. To know she was with him and he did not have to leave brought an overwhelming sense of rightness and possession—a possession he had soon confirmed with his body.
“I also procured something for myself,” he continued.
“What?” She came to his side as he tore away the paper on a large package. It was as he had ordered—four pieces of wood and a set of carving tools.
When Cynda looked at him, a question in her eyes, he touched her cheek. “I believe I was commissioned to make a portrait frame?”
A huge smile spread across her face. “Well, it’s about time. I was hoping you’d get to it before I . . .” She turned away, not finishing the sentence, and Dimitri frowned.
Hadn’t she yet learned that he would not let her leave him? No matter where she went he would find her. Her story about being from the future was just that—a story. Soon she would realize she belonged with him and forget her foolish fantasies.
“The light in the sitting room will be perfect.” She moved toward the stairs, and Dimitri gathered his supplies together.
“Then, I will work there as well.” He did not intend to let her out of sight for long. Besides, the sitting room was much closer to the bed.
But once he began working with the wood, he shifted his focus, losing track of everything but the oak beneath his hands. He knew the dimensions of the painting; however, the wood itself would determine the design.
He could not explain it, but the wood spoke to him as he worked, guided his actions to bring out the hidden beauty. Contentment swept over him. All his worries about being king faded away until all that existed was the design coming to life beneath his hands.
When he finally leaned back to ease the knots in his shoulders, he noticed the sun’s angle through the large window. Was it already mid-afternoon?
He looked for Cynda, but she was gone, her sketch pad lying on the chair where she had been sitting. Panic rose within him, then ebbed when he heard her down in the kitchen muttering vile threats at the stove.
Hot need replaced panic, racing through his blood. Even a few hours were too long since he had kissed her, held her, touched her.
He headed for the staircase, then stopped beside her chair. She had left her sketch pad face-up to reveal a drawing of Dimitri as he worked.
Her talent was unmistakable. She had managed to capture every nuance of emotion in his expression. His joy with what he was doing came through clearly and made him pause.
A particularly violent threat drifted up the stairs, and Dimitri grinned. Maybe Cynda would be happier when he delayed the meal even more.
Later, as night fell, he sat beside her in the large tub, his passion momentarily sated, though he enjoyed the teasing glimpses of her breasts in the water as she breathed. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to his side. With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder.
Here with Cynda, life was perfect. But in a few short months, he would have to return to his country and take his position as king. “I wonder if I will be a good king.” He stopped abruptly, stunned to have spoken the words aloud.
Cynda sat up to meet his gaze. “I expect you will be a very good king,” she replied with a sincerity that touched his heart. “You care about your people, you want to do what’s best for them.” She grinned. “Once you give up being stuffy and arrogant, you’ll be wonderful.”
“Stuffy and arrogant?” Was that how she saw him still?
She bent forward to kiss him. “Only with those who let you get away with it.”
“Which you will never do?”
“Never.” She returned her head to his shoulder. “What plans do you have for your country?”
“We are in desperate need of modernization, but my people are resistant to change. I will have to go slowly and allow time for acceptance before I proceed.” Dimitri sighed, envisioning years of frustration. “And there is so much to be done that it will probably take more than my lifetime.”
“You can do it.” She drew lazy circles on his chest “I believe in you.”
He tightened his hold. Yet another reason why he couldn’t let her go. “I will buy you a house near the castle where I can visit you often.”
She ceased the circles and grew still, yet he continued. He had to make her understand he would not abandon her. “If there are children, I will acknowledge them and educate them with my own.”
“What do you mean by my own?” Tension layered her quiet words.
“The children I will have with Anya. She is obligated to provide me an heir.”
“And would not any children we have be your own as well?”
“Certainly, but . . .” He stopped as he realized to say more was not wise, but Cynda jumped in to fill the void.
She pushed away from him and faced him from across the tub. “But they would not be legal, would they? They’d be the king’s bastards.”
Bleakness filled her face, reminding Dimitri of how he had treated his father’s illegitimate children. He had ignored them, treated them as dirt beneath his feet. A mistake, and his attitude had determined that of the other townspeople as well. They resented his father’s mistresses and their children. Dimitri did not want that for Cynda.
But what choice did he have? He was heir to the throne, his wife determined by a contract signed over a decade earlier.
He might be able to convince his father to change the contract, but not so he could marry someone like Cynda. She had no nobility in her background. She didn’t even know her father. Besides, she was a waitress and an artist . . . entirely unsuitable to be queen.
No matter how much Dimitri wished it otherwise.
His future would not be as he had envisioned, but the pleasure he garnered with Cynda made the sacrifice worthwhile.
She raised one leg to step out of the tub, but he caught her wrist and pulled her back to him. The light had gone from her eyes, adding to the ache in his chest.
“I will make it work, Cynda. Somehow.” He would be king. He would order the people to accept her.
Wanting now to erase her despair, he sought her lips, trying to convey how much he needed her, how important she had become in his life. Slowly, her lips softened beneath his, and he slid his hand down to cup her derriere and bring her closer.
He hardened against her belly as passion ignited, and he drew deeper on her mouth.
Perhaps he wasn’t quite so sated after all.
Cynda set aside her pencil and studied Dimitri as he worked on the frame. She was wanton. She couldn’t help it, though she never would have suspected it of herself. All he had to do was kiss her, touch her, and she burned with desire, wanting him with a desperation that frightened her.
The more he talked of keeping her forever, the more she weakened, wanting to stay with him. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She could not exist in the future he described.
Dark clouds moved in, blotting out the mountain she had been drawing, so she set down her pad and walked over to stand behind Dimitri.
He had nearly completed the frame, the wood gleaming with an intricate design that awed her. Was he aware of his skill?
She massaged the stiffness in his shoulders. “This is incredible, Dimitri. You have such talented hands.”
He brought her head down for a kiss that left her breathless. “Would you like me to demonstrate how talented?”
She stepped back, laughing. “You, Your Highness, are a dirty old man.”
He looked momentarily puzzled, then glanced down at his hands. “Dirty, perhaps. Old, not yet. But certainly a man.” His eyes darkened with passion.
“You stay.” She pointed a finger at him. “I’m going to start dinner.”
She scampered down the stairs. Most of their meals had been late or nonexistent due to Dimitri’s raging hormones. She smiled. Not that she was complaining.
She managed to get the stove lit on the first try. After four days, she was finally getting the hang of this monstrosity. Maybe by the end of the week she would be able to make a decent meal.
As she gathered ingredients for supper, she paused to place her hand over her abdomen. Dimitri’s mention of children had made her wonder. With the lack of birth control in this time, she had resigned herself to fate.
What if she was carrying his child? It was too soon to know for sure, but if she wasn’t pregnant, it certainly wouldn’t be for lack of trying.
She smiled sadly. At least if she were, she would have something of Dimitri to take back to her time . . . which seemed a fair trade for the heart she would leave behind.
She gasped as Dimitri rested his hands on her shoulders, breaking into her train of thought. He chuckled. “Did you think you could escape me?”
Running his fingers through her hair, he nuzzled her throat. She had taken to leaving her hair long—a state she much preferred and one that pleased Dimitri as well.
He slid his hands lower to cup her unencumbered breasts, then quickly unfastened the buttons on her bodice. After he had ripped her only remaining chemise, she had ceased to wear one and her petticoats as well.
Today, she had left off her pantalets as well, wondering how long it would take him to notice. Half the day was gone, which surprised her. She had been in a low boil all morning, feeling risqué and sinfully sexy in her nudity beneath her dress.
As he opened her bodice and bared her breasts to his very skillful hands, she moaned and leaned back against his rock-hard erection. He paused, then slid one hand over her bottom.
“Are you wearing anything under your dress?” He sounded hoarse.
“Not a thing.”
He reacted as she had hoped with a passionate growl, whirling her around to find her mouth. His lips promised passion, hunger and fulfillment. She wanted all that and more.
He ground his hips against her, pushing her into the sideboard until the potatoes rolled to the floor. Cynda could barely speak. “I was . . . I was trying to make dinner.”
He scooped her into his arms. “You, mon coeur, are dinner.” Taking her into the dining room, he set her on the edge of the massive table.
With his lips sealed to hers, he gently pushed her shoulders back until she lay flat and his solid length pressed between her thighs. But her skirt was still in the way.
She rocked her hips against him. She wanted him now. But he only left her mouth and proceeded to drop kisses along her throat and exposed chest, flicking his tongue over her firm nipple, sending lightning through her.
She squirmed, aching for him, but he held her shoulders down and took her breast in his mouth, drawing on it with a fierceness that tugged at her lower muscles.
“Dimitri, please.” She had been waiting for him all morning. Every touch now escalated the fever inside her.
He nipped at her taut peak, then met her gaze, a mischievous light gleaming with the passion. “Would you deny a starving man his dinner?”
Drawing on her other breast, he feasted, suckling, then teased her nipple with his tongue before scraping his teeth over it. Cynda arched within his hold, beyond reason, only wanting, needing.
When he finally stood back and lifted her skirt to her waist, she raised her hips. Now he would fill her.
Instead, he lifted first one foot, then the other to the table edge and spread her knees wide. He parted her swollen lower lips with his thumbs, then brushed one over her throbbing nub. She reacted with a strangled cry, the tension unbearable.
Before she could predict his actions, he put his mouth and tongue to work—nuzzling, nipping, delving inside her moist heat.
She erupted, her entire body shattering, but he continued until she could not draw a breath, one orgasm melting into the next. Just when she thought she could no longer endure, he thrust into her, his male hardness giving her what she had sought.
He lifted her hips, holding her to him as he moved with long, even strokes until the passion she had thought exhausted renewed itself. When she climaxed again, he exploded with her, burying himself deep.
Cynda remained still, gasping. When Dimitri lightly brushed her nipple, she slapped his hand away. “Stop. You’ve killed me.”
He laughed, and it rumbled through her. “Not completely.” He stole a kiss.
“You are insatiable.”
“Only where you’re concerned.” The warmth in his eyes touched her heart.
Though he would probably never admit it, he did care about her for more than good sex. The times they had snuggled together, just talking, had proven that.
An abrupt knock startled them both, and Dimitri frowned. He withdrew from her and turned toward the main room, fastening his pants. “Stay here.”
Cynda slid off the table, buttoning her dress. “As if.” They still had three days left in their week. Who could it be?
The driver from the hotel stood in the doorway, his expression grave. “Prince Alexi sent me, Your Highness. Said your grandmother is pretty ill and that you’ll want to be there if . . . well, if . . .” He trailed off, clearly not wishing to finish the sentence.
Dimitri looked back at Cynda, stark fear in his eyes. Sophie had been the one stabilizing influence in his life. If anything happened to her . . .
Cynda touched Dimitri’s arm as she addressed the driver. “Give us a few minutes and we’ll be ready to leave.”