Princess Annie by Linda Lael Miller Page B

great many things, he thought fancifully, as long as he could summon that distinct bouquet and remember Annie as she was at that moment in time.
    Annie cherished the sensation of being safe within the circle of Rafael’s arms. She knew she would regret her shameless behavior soon enough, but that time had not yet come. In fact, she was still responding to Rafael’s lovemaking, feeling delicious little spasms of pleasure deep in her most womanly regions. Her nipples were hard beneath her damp camisole and blouse, wanting the touch of his tongue and the excruciatingly sweet tug of his lips. If she could have lain with him then, in the wet and fragrant grass, and taken him inside her, she would have done just that.
    Too soon, they reached the stables, and Rafael swung out of the saddle and reached up to lift Annie down. She allowed it, though she could have dismounted on her own with no difficulty at all, simply because she wanted to feel his hands touching her again.
    The rain had turned to a slight drizzle, and the keep and stables were glowing with lantern light. Rafael curved his finger under Annie’s chin and raised it, once Barrett and the others had left them, taking the gelding with them.
    Annie ached to hear him say he loved her, even though she knew he wouldn’t. The events of that afternoon had been a dalliance to Rafael, an hour’s amusement, that was the truth of it, and she would forget that at her peril.
    “Don’t tell me you’re sorry!” she pleaded, before Rafael had a chance to say anything at all. She hadn’t planned the words, and was wretchedly embarrassed that she’d blurted them out that way. Still, she meant them with every fiber of her being. “Please, Rafael, don’t ruin the best afternoon of my life by apologizing.”
    He pulled her against him, not passionately, but in an effort to lend comfort, burying one hand in her mussed and tangled hair. “All right,” he said hoarsely, his breath whispering, warm, across her ear. “I won’t. But I want you to keep in mind that there are many such afternoons, and long, wonderful nights as well, in your future. Only the man will be different.”
    No, Annie mourned inwardly, her face buried in the prince’s strong shoulder, shuddering at the prospect of another man—no matter how kind and handsome and honorable he might be—touching her the way Rafael had. She understood Phaedra’s trepidation at taking a husband she didn’t love as she couldn’t possibly have done before.
    “Here, now,” Rafael protested gruffly, when she began to cry. “None of that. What you need now is a warm bath, something to eat and a good night’s sleep.” He was already ushering her toward the castle, and she didn’t want to go because she knew it meant they would have to part.
    The great hall was empty and, at the bottom of the staircase, Rafael swatted Annie lightly on the bottom. “Go on,” he ordered, and though his lips were curved into a smile, his eyes expressed some other, darker emotion. “Get to your room. I’ll send a maid up immediately.”
    She lingered for a moment, memorizing his face, terribly afraid that this one interlude was all she would ever have of him, wondering how she could go on with her life, knowing what might have been. God in heaven, she’d been better off with her virginal fantasies, never guessing at the things a man and woman could do to bring ecstasy to each other.
    “Good night,” she said brokenly. Then she turne and hurried up the stairs and through the dimly lighted passageways to her own chamber.
    True to his word, Rafael dispatched a servant right away. Annie was cosseted and fussed over—brandy and hot food were brought to her room and an enormous bathtub was promptly filled with steaming water.
    For all those luxuries, Annie was miserable. Like a true gentleman, Rafael had seen that every comfort was provided—she could not doubt that he felt tremendous guilt for the things he’d done to her in that cottage.