Julie Garwood - The Prize

"Nicholaa, are you sorry you married me?"

"Oh, no, I'm not sorry," she answered. "You haven't listened to a word I've said, have you? You're the one who's sorry."

"I am?"

His sudden grin waylaid her concentration. She nodded, but couldn't remember why. She was overwrought, she decided. She put her arms around her husband's neck, drawing his full attention, then tugged on his hair to bring his head down to hers. When he complied with that command, she kissed him with all the love and passion inside her.

Royce had planned to sit down with her and straighten out all of her crooked conclusions, but the minute her mouth touched his, he decided to put that discussion aside until later. He only wanted to think about kissing her back.

He went a little wild when her tongue rubbed against his. He growled low in his throat to let her know how much he liked that boldness. His hands shook when he untied the ribbon holding her chemise together. He moved back just long enough to let the garment fall to the floor, then roughly pulled her up against him, his jaw clenching when he felt her soft full breasts press against his chest.

Nicholaa tore her mouth away from his and kissed a wet path down his throat. She pushed his hands away from her waist as she moved lower. Her tongue stroked a circle around first one and then the other nipple hidden beneath the mat of crisp hair covering his chest. Then she moved lower still until she'd reached his hard, flat stomach. His skin was so hot, so appealing to her. Her tongue flicked his navel. He inhaled sharply, telling her without words he liked that caress.

His reaction made her want to please him even more.

Royce's knees almost buckled when Nicholaa knelt in front of him. His hands turned into fists at his sides. He knew what she was going to do, but the agony of waiting for her to touch him, to feel himself inside her soft, wet mouth was almost unbearable.

And then the wait was over. Her hands stroked him until he was wild, and then her mouth closed around the tip of his arousal. Royce forgot to breathe. The growl deep in his throat turned into a low groan of surrender. He moved against her. Once. Twice. He had to stop her. Her tongue was making him crazed, and he knew if he didn't stop her now, it would be too late. "Enough," he commanded, his voice harsh with his need.

She didn't want to stop. He forced her to stand up, then wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the floor. He was out of control now, desperate to find fulfillment, and yet he wanted Nicholaa to surrender with him.

Somehow they got into bed. His mouth slanted over hers even as he was covering her body with his own. He stroked the fire of passion inside her with his tongue and his hands. His fingers thrust inside her and when he felt the moist heat there, his control completely snapped.

She arched up against him. "Royce, come to me now. I don't want to wait any longer."

He would have smiled over the demand in her voice if he'd had the strength. Nicholaa was wild now, as out of control as he was. She scraped his shoulders with her nails and moved restlessly against him.

Royce rolled onto his back, taking her with him, then forced her legs apart. She straddled his thighs, but still didn't understand what he wanted to do. She tried to get him to roll over again.

"Royce!" She shouted her demand this time.

He jerked her head down by pulling on her hair and sealed her protest with a long hot kiss. His thighs came up and the tip of his hard arousal brushed against her. She understood then. She pulled back and looked down into her husband's eyes. The passion she saw there made the warm knot of longing inside her burst into flames of pleasure.

"We can make love this way?" she asked in a ragged voice.

He didn't answer her. He showed her instead. He slowly eased into her. God, she was so tight, so hot. She felt so good. Royce closed his eyes in sheer ecstasy. He never wanted the feeling to end.

He wouldn't let her quicken the pace. He gripped her hips as he slowly penetrated her. Nicholaa's head fell back, and she let out a moan of pleasure. Her hands gripped Royce's upper arms.

"Lean back, Nicholaa."

She did as he ordered, then cried out. She'd taken all of him inside her. Her lower back was cushioned against his thighs now. Heat surrounded her, penetrated her.

"Am I hurting you? I don't want to hurt you."

She hushed his worry by taking his mind off the matter. She shifted, just a little and liked that wonderful feeling so much that she moved again.

He grunted with pleasure. He opened his eyes to find her staring down at him. Were his eyes as glazed with passion as hers were? He knew they must be. It seemed a miracle to him that such a beautiful woman would want him as much as he wanted her.

She loved him. The thought cut through his haze of passion and lust. Aye, she loved him.

Nicholaa could no longer ignore the pressure building inside her. She felt as if she might explode with her need to find release from this sweet torture. She wanted it all now. She wouldn't let Royce set the pace, couldn't stop herself from moving, ever so slowly at first, and then more forcefully until she was mindless to everything but finding release.

He helped her find fulfillment. He knew just what spots to touch, to caress, to drive her beyond the brink.

His fingers were as magical as the rest of him. Her whole body suddenly tightened around him. Royce couldn't hold back any longer. He poured his seed into her with a shout of surrender. Nicholaa's release was every bit as consuming, just as shattering. She didn't shout; she wept.

She collapsed against her husband and held him tight. She never wanted to let go. It took a long, long time for Royce to recover. He gently stroked Nicholaa's shoulders, her back, her arms. He couldn't stop touching her. She felt so good pressed up against him. Each time he made love to her, he was left feeling stunned by the beauty of her response to him. She never held a part of herself back from him. Royce had never experienced such bliss or felt such contentment.

It was a miracle, a gift. His wife could make him feel weak and powerful at the very same time. He knew that contradiction didn't make any sense, but neither did the fact that he was now married to such a gentle, beautiful woman.

He couldn't believe she could love him. He'd never expected such a thing could happen to him. On the day he was disfigured-Lord, was he only fifteen years old then?-he'd accepted his lot in life. The looks of revulsion on women's faces as they openly stared at him… yes, he'd learned to accept.

But Nicholaa loved him.

"Royce?"

"Yes?"

"Was it… all right?" Her voice was hesitant, filled with embarrassment. "What I did?"

He knew what she was talking about of course. "Oh, yes, it was all right," he answered. "What made you-"

"I wanted to," she interrupted.

A long minute passed before Royce spoke again. "Nicholaa, did you make love that way because you were trying to be the kind of wife you thought I wanted, or did you take me into your mouth because you wanted to?"

She was thankful he couldn't see her face. She was burning with embarrassment. "I already told you I wanted to," she whispered into the darkness. "And you said you liked it. My, I'm tired. I believe I'll go to sleep now."

He wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm. He took the hint, of course, that Nicholaa didn't want to discuss the intimacy.

She fell asleep minutes later. Royce stayed awake much longer. What an innocent charmer his wife was. He recounted her confession over and over again in his mind. She really believed she'd forced him to marry her.

Something else was bothering her, too. Something in the way she'd spoken told him she was harboring another worry or two. Nicholaa had looked so vulnerable, he remembered, and there had been a desperate edge in her voice.

Hell, he hoped she didn't have a couple more brothers she hadn't mentioned to him yet.

That possibility made him smile. He wondered how long it would take him to really understand his wife. Royce decided he'd have to sit down with her and discuss these concerns. He didn't want her to worry about anything. She was going to be happy, he vowed, and he wouldn't stop prodding her until she was.

Royce woke up in the middle of the night when Nicholaa rolled away from him in her sleep. He followed her. He would have fallen back to sleep if her backside hadn't rubbed up against his groin. That enticement was too much to ignore. He had to touch her then. One caress led to another and another, and before he was fully awake, he was making slow, sweet love to her.

Their mouths melted together in long, lazy kisses, and their lovemaking was filled with tenderness. And when they'd both found fulfillment, they fell asleep hugging each other.

Nicholaa's behavior underwent a radical change. It all started the morning after she promised to become the kind of wife Royce wanted.

She rose at the crack of dawn, dressed quietly, and went down to the great hall. She was giving directions to the servants for the day's activities before her husband had even opened his eyes.

Nicholaa missed Ulric so much she was aching inside. She was determined to keep busy so she wouldn't have time for self-pity. She was going to work until she dropped from exhaustion.

She was going to give her husband peace, too. The problem, of course, was figuring out how to accomplish that goal. She'd have to control her temper, keep her opinions to herself, and agree with her husband at all times.

She might as well be dead, she thought to herself. The changes would probably kill her. Still, she'd given her word to Royce, and she was going to keep it. She owed him her gratitude for everything he'd done for her family, too. Granted, she'd forced him to take on those responsibilities, and she'd ruined his life in the process. The very least she could do to make up for that was to give the man what he wanted.

In the back of her mind lurked the tiny hope that, once she'd made all these changes, Royce might start to love her. She didn't just want a place in his life. She wanted his heart, too.

Nicholaa was arranging flowers in the brown clay bowl on the table when Clarise and Alice hurried into the hall.

The two women took turns offering comfort to each other over the loss of their "precious little baggage," the affectionate term they'd given to Ulric.

The more they talked about the baby the more upset Nicholaa became. She shook her head and announced Ulric would be well loved.

"I've a list of chores to give you today," she said then. "Every morning I'll divide our duties and we'll get them done before nightfall. We're going to get organized, ladies."

"Why?" Clarise asked. "We've gotten everything done in the past without being organized."

"My husband doesn't like disorder," Nicholaa explained. "And I've given him my word I will become the kind of wife he wants. Therefore-"

Alice interrupted her. "But he likes you fine the way you are."

Clarise agreed. "You can't believe otherwise, mistress. Why, the baron's so kind and patient-"

"He's kind and patient with everyone," Nicholaa interjected.

"Well, then," Clarise asked, "why this need to change?"

"I'm after more," Nicholaa confessed in a whisper. "I would like Royce to…" She couldn't get the words out.

Clarise took sympathy on her. "You would like the baron to feel about you the same way your father felt about your mother? Is that what you're meaning to say?"

Nicholaa nodded.

Clarise snorted, then turned to Alice. "She thinks the baron doesn't love her."

"Oh, he must love her," Alice replied. "Of course he does."

Nicholaa let out a sigh. "You both love me," she announced, "just as I love you, and for that reason you can't imagine that someone else wouldn't."

Clarise scowled. Nicholaa held up her hand so neither servant would interrupt, then calmly outlined the changes she planned to make. The two women looked at her incredulously.

"You're never going to raise your voice?" Alice asked, latching on to the last change Nicholaa had explained.

Clarise shook her head. "You can't be serious," she said. "If the man can't love you for what you are-"