The Lion's Lady

He was outnumbered, outweighed, outweaponed. The men now crouched in front of him all held knives in their hands. One of the bastards clutched a dagger in each hand.

  Someone started to snicker. Rhone smiled. The poor fool obviously didn't realize Lyon still had the advantage.

  The fat man in the center suddenly lashed out at Lyon with his blade. Lyon's boot caught him under his chin. The force of the blow lifted the man high enough in the air for Lyon to slam his fists into the man's groin. The attacker blacked out before he hit the floor.

  The other two attacked in unison just as another man came charging up the front steps. Rhone heard him coming, reached out, and kicked the door shut. The howl of pain radiating through the door told Rhone his timing had been excellent.

  Rhone never took his gaze off Lyon. Though he'd seen him in battles before, Lyon's strength continued to impress him. Lyon used his elbow to crack one man's jaw while he anchored the other man's arm away from him. He dealt with him next, and when Rhone heard the snap of bone he knew Lyon had broken the man's wrist.

  Bodies littered the entrance when Lyon was done. "Open the door, Rhone."

  "Hell, you're not even out of breath," Rhone muttered. He got the door open, then moved out of the way as Lyon, showing not the least amount of effort, lifted each man and threw him out into the street. "We work well together," Rhone commented. "We?"

  "I watch, you work," Rhone explained. "I see."

  "What happened to Splickler? Did he come in through the back door, or did he run away?"

  Lyon grinned at Rhone, then nodded toward the pyramid of bodies at the bottom of the steps. "Splickler's on the bottom. I think you probably broke his nose when you slammed the door in his face."

  "Then I did do my part," Rhone announced, puffing up like a cloud.

  Lyon began to laugh. He whacked Rhone on the shoulder, then turned to find Christina standing in the center of the doorway.

  She looked like she'd just seen a ghost. The color was gone from her cheeks, and her eyes were wide with fright. Lyon's heart lurched. God, she must have seen the fight. He took a step toward her but stopped when she took a step back.

  He felt defeated. She was afraid of him. Lord, he'd meant to protect her, not terrify her.

  Christina suddenly ran to him. She threw herself into his arms, very nearly knocking both of them to the floor. Lyon didn't understand what had caused the change in her attitude, yet he was thankful all the same. Relief washed the rigidity from his stance. He put his arms around her, rested his chin on the top of her head, and let out a long sigh. "I'm never going to understand you, am I?"

  "I'm so happy you aren't angry with me."

  Her voice was muffled against his chest, but he understood her. "Why would I be angry with you?"

  "Because I broke my promise," Christina reminded him. "I left the salon to let Rhone in the front door."

  Lyon looked over at his friend. "I specifically remember telling you to go home." He frowned at his friend, then suddenly noticed his appearance. "What happened to you? I don't recall you getting in the fight."

  "A little mishap," Rhone said.

  "He fell in the hedge," Christina explained, smiling over the embarrassment she could see in Rhone's face. Why, the man was actually blushing.

  "The hedge?" Lyon sounded incredulous.

  "I think I'll walk home. Your carriage is probably waiting in front of my townhouse, Lyon. I'll have your driver bring it along for you. Good evening, Princess Christina."

  "No, you really mustn't walk. Lyon, you should—"

  "Let him walk. It's only a short distance away," Lyon interjected.

  Christina didn't argue further. Someone was going to have to fetch the carriage, and she preferred that Rhone took care of the matter so that she could spend a few minutes alone with Lyon.

  "Thank you for your assistance, Rhone. Lyon, what are you going to do about those men cluttering my walkway? And am I mistaken, or are there one or two in the back of the house as well?"

  "There are two," Lyon said. "I threw them out back."

  "They'll wake up and crawl home," Rhone advised. "Unless, of course, you—"

  "I didn't," Lyon said.

  "Didn't what?" Christina asked.

  "Kill them," Rhone said.

  "Rhone, don't frighten her," Lyon said.

  "Goodness, I hope not. Think of the mess." Christina sounded appalled, but for all the wrong reasons. Both Lyon and Rhone started laughing.

  "Shouldn't you be crying or something?" Rhone asked.

  "Should I?"

  "No, Christina, you shouldn't," Lyon said. "Now quit frowning."

  "You aren't wearing any shoes, Christina," Rhone suddenly blurted out.

  "Do be careful walking home," Christina answered, ignoring his comment about her bare feet. "Don't let anyone see your bandage. They might begin to wonder."

  As soon as the door was bolted shut, Christina turned back to Lyon, only to find that he was already halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Where are you going?"

  "To wash," Lyon called back. "Wasn't there a pitcher of water in your room, Christina?"

  He was out of sight before she could give him a proper answer. Christina hurried up the steps after him.

  When she caught up with him she wished she'd waited below the stairs. Lyon had already stripped out of his shirt. He was bent over the basin, splashing water on his face and arms.

  Christina was suddenly overwhelmed by his size. She could see the sinewy strength in his upper arms, his shoulders; a pelt of golden hair covered his chest, narrowed to a line above the flat of his stomach, then disappeared below the waistband of his pants. She'd never seen the like. She was fascinated and wondered what it would be like to be held in his arms now.

  He reached for the cloth. Christina took the strip of linen from his hands and began to pat his face dry. "Your skin is so dark, Lyon. Have you been working in the sun without your shirt on?" she asked.

  "When I was on my ship I used to," Lyon answered.

  "You have a ship?" Christina answered, sounding quite pleased.

  "Had a ship," Lyon corrected. "Fire destroyed it, but I plan to build another."

  "With your own hands, Lyon?"

  Lyon smiled down at her. "No, love. I'll hire others to do the work."

  "I liked the ship I was on when I came to England. I didn't like it much below the deck though. It was too confining," she admitted with a shrug.

  Her voice trembled. So did her hands when she started to dry his shoulders. There were several glorious marks on him, and the sight of such handsome scars made her heartbeat quicken.

  For the first time in his life, Lyon was actually feeling a little awkward. Christina was such a beautiful woman, while he was covered with marks. They were reminders of his black past, Lyon thought, but the ugly scars hadn't bothered him until this moment

  "I promise to take you on my new ship," he heard himself say.

  "I would like that, Lyon," Christina answered. The towel dropped to the floor when she gently traced the long, curved scar on Lyon's chest. "You are so handsome," she whispered.

  "I'm covered with flaws," Lyon whispered back. His voice sounded hoarse to him.

  "Oh, no, they are marks of valor. They are beautiful."

  She was looking up at him, staring into his eyes, and Lyon thought he'd never get used to her beauty.

  "We should go back downstairs." Even as he said the words, he was pulling her into his arms. God help him, he couldn't stop himself. The realization that he was alone with her, that they were in fact in her bedroom, rocked all the gentlemanly thoughts out of his mind.

  "Will you kiss me before we go downstairs?" she asked.

  Lyon thought she looked as though she'd already been kissed. A faint blush covered her cheeks, and her eyes had turned a deep blue again.

  The woman obviously didn't understand her own jeopardy. And if she only knew the wild thoughts rambling through his mind, her face would turn as white as the sheets
.

  She trusted him. She wouldn't have asked him to kiss her if she didn't trust him. Lyon was going to have to control his baser instincts. Yes, he was going to be a gentleman.

  One kiss surely wouldn't hurt. He'd wanted to take her into his arms the moment the fight had ended. The anger had been flowing like lava through his veins. Oh, he'd wanted her then, with a primitive passion that had shaken him.

  And then she'd backed away from him. The sudden remembrance gave him a start.

  "Christina, are you afraid of me?"

  She could tell he was serious. The worry in his gaze said he was. The question was puzzling. "Why would you think I'd be afraid of you?" she asked, trying not to laugh. He did look terribly concerned.

  "After the fight, when you backed away from me…"

  She did smile then, couldn't help herself. "Lyon, the little skirmish I witnessed couldn't possibly be called a fight… and you actually thought I was afraid?"

  He was so surprised by her comment, he immediately defended himself. "Well, I'll admit that I didn't think it was much of a fight either, but when you stared at me with such a frightened look on your face I naturally assumed you were upset. Hell, Christina, most women would have been hysterical."

  By the time he'd finished his statement, he'd gone from sounding very matter-of-fact to muttering with irritation.

  "Was it my duty to weep, Lyon? I apologize if I've displeased you, but I've still to understand all your laws."

  "You could make a duck daft," Lyon announced.

  Because he was grinning down at her, Christina decided not to let her exasperation show. "You're the most confusing man," she remarked. "I have to keep reminding myself that you're English."

  The temptation was too compelling. Before she could stop her inclination, she reached out to touch his chest. The heat in his skin felt good against her fingertips, the mat of hair crisp yet soft.

  "I wasn't afraid of you, Lyon," Christina whispered, avoiding his eyes now. "I've never been afraid of you. How could I be? You're such a gentle, kind man."

  He didn't know how to answer her. She sounded almost in awe of him. She was wrong, of course. He'd never been kind or gentle. A man could change, though. Lyon determined to be anything and everything Christina wanted him to be. By God, if she thought him gentle, then gentle he'd be.

  "You really are a warrior, aren't you, Lyon?"

  "Do you want me to be?" he asked, sounding confused.

  "Oh, yes," Christina answered, daring a quick look up.

  "Warriors aren't gentle," he reminded her.

  She didn't want to press the issue because she knew he wouldn't understand. He was wrong, but it would be rude of her to set him straight. Her hands slipped around his neck, her fingers entwining in his soft, curly hair.

  She felt him shudder; his muscles tightened.

  Lyon would have spoken to her, but he was certain his voice would betray him. Her touch was driving him to distraction.

  Gentle, he cautioned himself, I have to be gentle with her. He placed a kiss on her forehead. Christina closed her eyes and sighed, encouraging him. He kissed her on the bridge of her freckled nose next and finally reached her soft lips.

  It was a very gentle kiss. Sweet. Undemanding.

  Until her tongue touched his. The hunger inside him seemed to ignite. The feeling was so intoxicating, so overpowering, he forgot all about gentleness. His tongue penetrated her warmth, tasting, probing, taking.

  When Christina pulled him closer, his demand increased until all he could think about was filling her… completely.

  She wasn't resisting. No, her soft moans told him she didn't want him to stop. Her hips cuddled his arousal. He knew her action was instinctive, yet the way she slowly arched against him made him wild. She felt so good, so right.

  Lyon dragged his mouth away from hers with a harsh groan. "I want to make love to you, Christina," he whispered against her ear. "If we're going to stop, it has to be now."

  Christina's head fell back as Lyon rained wet kisses along the column of her throat. Her hands, still entwined in his hair, clenched, pulled, begged.

  He knew he'd soon be past the caring point. Lyon tried to separate himself from the torment. "God, Christina, walk away from me. Now."

  Walk away? Dear Lord, she could barely stand up. Every part of her body responded to his touch. She could hear the anger in his voice, could feel the tension in his powerful hold. Her mind tried to make sense out of the confusion of his reaction. "I don't want to stop, Lyon."

  She knew he'd heard her. Lyon clasped her shoulders, squeezed until it was painful. Christina looked into his eyes, saw the desire there. The force of his passion overwhelmed her, robbed her of her own strength to think logically.

  "Do you know what you're saying to me?"

  She answered him the only way she knew how. Christina used her body to give him permission. She deliberately arched against him again, then pulled his head down toward her.

  She kissed him with a passion that sent his senses reeling. Lyon was at first too stunned to do more than react to her boldness, but he soon became the aggressor again.

  He wanted to pleasure her so completely that any memory of other men would be washed away. She would belong to him, now and forever.

  Lyon fumbled with the fastenings at the back of her gown, his mouth fastened on hers. Christina heard the sound of material being ripped away. He suddenly pulled her hands away from him, then tore the gown completely free. The dress fell to the floor.

  There were no undergarments to hinder his gaze. When he took a step back, Christina stood before him, her hands at her sides.

  Her body belonged to him. He was her lion. Christina accepted the truth, repeated it again and again inside her mind, trying to overcome her shyness, her fear.

  She couldn't shield her body from him… or her heart.

  Both belonged to Lyon.

  Lyon's gaze was ravenous as it swept over her. She was so perfectly formed, so very, very beautiful. Her skin was smooth, creamy-looking in the soft candlelight. Her breasts were high, full, taut. The nipples were erect, waiting for his touch. Her waist was so narrow, her stomach flat, her hips slender.

  She was irresistible.

  And she belonged to him.

  Lyon's hands shook when he reached for her, drew her back into his arms.

  Christina gasped from the initial contact of her bare breasts against his chest. His hair tickled her, his skin warmed her, and the way he controlled his strength as he held her close to him made her forget all her fears. She was innocent of men, yes, yet she knew with a certainty that made tears come to her eyes that Lyon would be gentle with her.

  She kissed his throat where she could see the throbbing of his pulse, then rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his wonderful masculine scent, waiting for him to show her what to do.

  Lyon slowly untied the ribbon from the bottom of Christina's braid, then unwound the silky curls until a blanket of sunlight covered her back. He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, pausing only to pull the covers back before placing her in the center.

  Christina tried to protest, to tell him it was her duty to undress him, but Lyon had already taken his shoes and socks off. Her voice became locked in her throat when he stripped out of the rest of his clothes, and all she could do was stare at him in wonder.

  He was the most magnificent warrior she'd ever seen. The power was there, in his arms and legs. His thighs were muscular, strong, beautiful. His arousal was full, hard, and when he came to lie on top of her Christina instinctively opened herself to him. He settled himself between her thighs. Christina had barely accepted his weight before he captured her mouth for another searing kiss.

  Christina wrapped her arms around his waist. His mouth had never felt so wonderful, his tongue never so exciting. His hands were never still, stroking, caressing, giving her shivers of pleasure. Their legs entwined, and when Lyon moved to take her breast into his mouth her t
oes brushed against his legs. Her moans of pleasure drove him wild. His hands fondled her breasts while his tongue swirled around one nipple and then the other. When he finally began to suckle, a white-hot knot of need started to burn inside her.

  Christina's hips moved restlessly, rubbing against his arousal. She wanted to touch him, to worship his body the way he was worshipping hers, but the sensations coursing through her body were too new, too raw. She could only cling to him and beg him with her whimpers.

  His hands settled between her thighs to tease her sensitive skin. His fingers soon made her wild with need, caressing the nub protected by her soft curls until she was moist with desire. His fingers penetrated her tight sheath just as his tongue thrust into her mouth.

  Lyon could feel the incredible heat of her. He was nearly out of control now, for Christina was so unashamedly responsive to his touch. He couldn't wait much longer, knew he'd soon lose his control. He cautioned himself against hurrying her even as his thigh pushed her legs further apart.

  "From this moment on you belong to me, Christina. Now and forever."

  He entered her with a swift, determined thrust, lifting her hips with his hands to penetrate her completely.

  She was a virgin. The realization came late. Lyon was fully embedded inside her now. He took a deep breath and tried not to move. The effort nearly killed him. Christina was so hot, so tight; she fit him perfectly.

  His heart was slamming against his chest. His breath was harsh, choppy. "Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asked her. He propped himself up on his elbows to look down into her face. God, she hadn't made a sound. Had he hurt her? "Why didn't you tell me you haven't been with a man before?" he asked again, capturing her face with his hands.

  "Please, Lyon, don't be angry," Christina whispered.

  She knew she was going to start weeping. The fierce light in his eyes frightened her. Her body was throbbing with pain from his invasion, and every muscle was tense, tingling. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you," she apologized in a ragged voice. "But I didn't want you to stop. Could you be disappointed later, please?"

  "I'm not disappointed," Lyon answered. "I'm very pleased." He was trying to keep his voice soft, gentle. It was an excruciating task, because his arousal was begging for release, and all he wanted to do was spill his seed into her.