The Princess Read online

  She served Mrs. Humphreys’s cold lobster salad, then on impulse, she arched her back, thrust her chest forward, and said in a southern drawl, “Would you rather have that little ol’ lobster or little ol’ me?”

  Her excellent imitation of Dolly made him smile.

  She sat down across from him. “What do American couples do when they’re alone?”

  “Outside of bed I have no idea.”

  She blinked a few times at that. “Don’t American women find this life somewhat boring? Do they really enjoy cleaning even if it is for their families?”

  J.T. smiled again. “Maybe ‘enjoy’ isn’t the right word. What did you do as a princess?”

  “I always got a great deal of exercise. My sister and I rode horses, fenced, had dancing classes.”

  “That’s why you look—” He broke off.

  “I look what?”

  He grinned. “Look so good in a bathing suit.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “The first time I’ve heard those words.”

  “The first time you’ve deserved them,” she shot back.

  “Oh? Saving your life didn’t rate a thank-you?”

  “For all I knew you were worse than the kidnappers. ‘Breathe for Daddy Montgomery,’ ” she mocked.

  He started to say something then stopped. “Maybe you’d like to see the blueprints for the new distillation ship. Maybe that’ll help relieve the boredom.”

  “Yes, please,” she said.

  It was very pleasant sitting on the couch together leaning over the blueprints. The war needed ships that could distill fresh water from seawater and deliver it to troops. J.T. was in charge of converting the first of these ships.

  Her mind was hungry for something of interest, something of the present instead of the past.

  “Could a plant like this be made on land?” she asked.

  “It would be easier on land than on a ship. Why?”

  “At home in Lanconia our major crop is grapes for wine, but in the last five years we’ve had a drought. We are losing our grapes. But seeing this I wonder if such a plant could be made and we could irrigate the grapes. The young people are leaving my country because we are losing a major source of income.”

  “You’d have to have some engineers look at it but I imagine something could be done.”

  “You’d look at it? I mean, when we go home, you’d help my country?”

  “I don’t know what I can do but I’ll try.”

  She smiled at him. “It would mean a great deal to my people if you did. Dolly says you know as much about shipbuilding as anyone alive today.”

  J.T. laughed. “Not by a long shot, but my family knows a lot.” He looked at his watch. “You ready to go to bed, baby?” He caught himself. “I mean—”

  She smiled at him. “I’m beginning to like the ‘honeys’ and ‘babies,’ although I’m not sure about ‘Princess.’ ”

  “It fits you,” he said, yawning. “Cool, stiff, unbending, not quite human. The name means someone untouchable and that’s what you are.”

  “Oh,” she said softly, and turned away. “Someone not quite human.” She went upstairs, and as she was creaming her face and putting a net over her hair she thought about his words. Was she like he described? Two nights ago he had kissed her and she had felt such passion that she had been afraid. Hadn’t he felt anything? Maybe when he kissed Heather she was warmer. Maybe Heather knew a great deal about kissing.

  Aria went to her narrow bed on the other side of the partition from J.T. and lay awake. It was hot, as always, and she wore a thin peach-colored nylon nightgown, more a slip than a gown. “Rita Hayworth style,” Dolly had said when they bought it.

  It began to storm around midnight and the wind lashed at the thin-walled little house. The thunder cracked and the lightning lit the room. Aria threw off the covers, the nightgown feeling heavy and confining. It grew hotter and closer in the room and she began to perspire.

  Another crack of thunder made the windows pop. Aria tried to get comfortable but she couldn’t. Images floated through her mind: J.T. on the island standing over her, his big body nearly nude; J.T. in his swim trunks. She remembered the look in his eyes as he had entered the clearing and seen her bathing in the pool. She remembered his two kisses.

  She started and pulled the sheet over her body as she heard the floor creak behind her. In the dim light she saw J.T. walk past her bed and close a window.

  He turned back, glanced at her, then stopped. “Are you awake?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  He came closer to the bed. “The storm wake you?”

  She shook her head.

  Frowning, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are you all right?” He put his hand on her forehead.

  Aria caught his hand and held it in both of hers.

  “What’s wrong, baby, have a bad dream?” He pulled her into his arms as if she were a child who needed comforting.

  But what Aria needed wasn’t comfort. She held on to him, pressed her body against his, feeling her breasts against his bare chest.

  J.T. understood instantly. “I am lost,” he murmured in the tone of a man going down for the third time, then he pulled her face to his and began to kiss her hungrily. “Oh, baby,” he said, “my sweet beautiful princess. You’re mine, you know that?” He was kissing her neck as a man who was dying of hunger. “I saved your life and you’re mine. You wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for me.”

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes. Make me alive. Make me glad to be alive.” She said more but it was in Lanconian and J.T. didn’t understand her, but words weren’t needed.

  He hadn’t realized how much he had been wanting her. Ever since he had seen her nude on the island, her big-breasted, slim-hipped body had haunted him. And seeing her every day, her back straight, her chest thrust forward, made him sweat.

  He tore the nightgown off of her, hungry to get at those breasts he had dreamed of so many times. He buried his face in them, made them cover his ears while his hands held them.

  Aria groaned, her head back.

  J.T. tried to tell himself to go slowly, that she was a virgin and probably frightened, but he couldn’t control himself any more than he could have stopped a freight train.

  He began kissing her body, her arms, her breasts, her shoulders, back up again to her neck, briefly touching her lips, then down again. It was as if in the past few weeks he had memorized her skin. There was a mole on her collarbone and he kissed it.

  His head moved downward, kissing whatever he came in contact with: her hips, her belly, her thighs. She made not a sound but her skin grew hotter and hotter as if her temperature were rising by degrees.

  “Jarl,” she whispered.

  “Right here, baby,” he answered, and climbed on top of her.

  He had to guide her since she had no idea what to do, but she was a quick learner. Oh, heavens yes, she was quick. And after his first slow entry, he was beginning to believe she was possessed of a very natural talent.

  He kissed her lips and he kissed her breasts as he made long, slow strokes. She was right: she had exercised a great deal in her life and her body was strong and agile and she followed his lead easily. Once he even had to hold her back, but then he could no longer hold himself back.

  He finished in a satisfying explosion that shuddered through his body and he collapsed on her, pulling her into a tight little roll in the tangle of his arms and legs.

  It took him quite a while to recover. “Are you okay?”

  He felt her nod under his chest and he smiled. “Can you breathe?”

  She shook her head and he chuckled, then moved just a bit so she could get some air. He held their sweaty bodies close together as outside the rain began to fall.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked softly.

  “A little sore,” she said, “but not terribly. I…I liked that.”

  He had been a little afraid to look at her, afraid of what would be in her eyes