He lifted his head, and hers lifted, too. following his mouth, not wanting to let it go. His chuckle stopped her-and the fact that his hands were holding her captive, pressed into the pillow above her head. She collapsed back into the pillow, panting slightly, trying to focus her eyes, and finally mumbled. "What in the hell was that?"
His lips pressed a smile to hers. "What, haven't you ever been kissed awake before?"
"Not by a prince." She smiled lazily at him through the curtain of her lashes…knowing she shouldn't. Knowing full well she was flirting with a smiling tiger.
She became aware, all at once, of the strength in the hands that imprisoned hers. She squirmed in a testing way and murmured. "Do I smell coffee?"
His eyes rested on her, dark and benign…and so close she could see the twin images of her own tiny self reflected in them. "You do. I've brought you a tray-breakfast, actually."
She watched him narrowly, while her heartbeat rocked her breasts against his chest, against the crisp white shirt he wore. "You didn't have to do that. I need to get up anyway."
"Well, luv, that's not quite true. You see-" he lowered his mouth to hers, and she responded to him as she had before, opened to him even as her mind's sleeping sentinels were finally waking up and sounding the first confused alarms "-you aren't going to be going anywhere for a while, I'm afraid."
She uttered a muffled howl of outrage and began to squirm and writhe in earnest, but the alarms had come too late. Helpless against his greater strength, she felt cold steel around her wrist, and heard a sound she knew all too well-the click of handcuffs locking. She gave her imprisoned arm one furious yank, an entirely futile move, since the other end of the handcuffs was securely fastened to the iron framework of the bed. She lay still, then, seething and glaring up at Nikolas, who was sitting beside her now, placidly smiling-though still holding her uncuffed wrist as a precaution, she surmised, in case she tried to claw his eyes out.
"Please tell me," she said through tightly clenched teeth, "those aren't my handcuffs?"
He shrugged, grinned-had the nerve to try to look endearing. And almost pulled it off. having that unmistakable just-showered and -shaved look she normally found irresistible. And dammit, he did smell so good…
"Well, they were there, you see-that's quite an interesting belt you have, by the way-most enlightening, really- and since it didn't seem likely you'd be using them in the near future…well, how could I resist?"
"Fine," she said, glowering at him as she twisted her un-cuffed wrist experimentally in his grasp, "you've had your fun, now get this thing off me."
His smile would have been devastatingly attractive if ithadn't been so damn-there was no other word for it-smug. He made scolding noises with his tongue. "Now, now, clever girl that you are. I'm quite certain you know that isn't going to happen. Not right away, at any rate. I did try to tell you I needed a bit more time before I'd be ready to go back to Silvershire. I know you have your job to do as well. This seemed the best way to solve the problem-from my perspective, at least."
"You can't seriously be thinking of just leaving me here. Like this. You wouldn't." Sheer disbelief kept any traces of fear out of her voice. The implications, the possibilities didn't bear thinking about.
Nikolas looked genuinely shocked. "No, of course I wouldn't. Well-not indefinitely. Not even for very long, actually. Just until the cleaning lady shows up." He shot the shirtsleeve cuff on his free arm and glanced at his watch. "Should be here in about…two hours. I imagine. When she arrives, tell her the key to the handcuffs is on the kitchen table. That should give me enough of a headstart, I think. Well, sorry, luv, but I must be off."
He started to get up-then, almost as an afterthought, leaned down and kissed her instead. Not a quick farewell smack, either, but a long…leisurely…lingering…completely devastating reminder of how lovely his lips felt, how talented his tongue was, how completely powerless she was to prevent her body from responding to their touch. She tingled and tickled and burned in all her most vulnerable places. She wanted to sob with frustration, to scream with fury. But when he released her from that terrible torture and rose at last, she was so shaken that for a moment she couldn't utter a sound.
"Au revoir-enjoy your breakfast." he said softly, and left.
She sucked in air and found her voice. "Nikolas-damn you!" She held her breath and listened so hard her head hummed, but all she heard was his retreating footsteps. "Okay, I'm not allowed to kill you." she screamed after him. "but I promise you I will find a hundred ways to make your life a bloody living hell!"
The only reply she heard was the soft closing of the door.
Nikolas dropped a heavy bunch of dusty red grapes into his bucket and straightened up, removing the wide-brimmed hat he was wearing and wiping away sweat with a forearm. "What?" he asked in response to the voice from the next row over that was now swearing softly in French.
"Here comes another bloody tourist," his friend Phillipe replied in English. "Wanting to help with the vendange, I expect, like it's an entertainment we put on for them. More trouble than they're worth, most of them, but good for business in the long run, I suppose. The winery benefits a little, anyway."
Nikolas turned his head to follow the progress of the tall figure striding briskly up the dusty lane between vineyards already beginning to shimmer with the heat of the rapidly climbing sun. A woman, he saw now, wearing a backpack and carrying a black oblong case of some kind. As she walked, he could see her head moving from side to side, and he wondered if her eyes, shielded by the dark glasses she wore, were searching among the heads bobbing up and down between the rows-all that was visible of the army of hardworking pickers-searching for one head in particular.
He couldn't help himself, a wry smile tugged at his lips and he chuckled. "That's no tourist, I'm afraid."
There was a rustling sound and Phillipe's dark, interested eyes peered at him through the bronze-tipped leaves of the grapevine separating them. "It is her, then, the woman who chased you out of my apartment in Paris? The one who wants to take you back to Silvershire to become a king? And she has found you so quickly? Mon dieu, my friend, you must be losing your touch."
"So it would appear," Nikolas said absently. He was trying to decide whether the odd sensation quivering up through his belly and into his chest was indicative of dismay or delight.
"Would you like to hide under here? She'll never find you among all these vines." Phillipe's teeth gleamed white among the grape leaves. "How is this? I will go and tell her you've gone away to…I don't know where. I'll make up something- something far away. Brazil, maybe?"
"Very funny. You don't know this woman. She wouldn't be fooled for a second. And besides-it would be much too undignified to be discovered crouching under a bush. Here- take my bucket, will you? I suppose I'd better go and face the music-sooner rather than later."
"I'm coming, too-it is, after all, my vineyard. I think I should give a personal welcome to the woman who brought Nik Donovan to his knees, don't you think?" Grinning unforgivably, Phillipe stuck his hand in the air and shouted "La hutte!"
A moment later a large cone-shaped basket came bobbing down the row, borne on the back of a wizened fellow with a face like ancient parchment and a grin that displayed several missing teeth. Phillipe bantered jovially with the man in French as he emptied his bucket into the basket, then took the bucket Nik passed over to him and emptied it as well. After waving la hutte and its carrier on their way, the two men set off down their respective rows on a course to rendezvous with the visitor coming up the road.