Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(30)

“Think of something else. Ask me a question.”

“Um.” Penelope traced the opening of his shirt. “Oh. Tell me a story.”

Damien’s racing heartbeat slowed a fraction. “A story?”

“Yes, a Nvengarian fairy tale. You told me you knew them, and that you’d tell me …”

“In bed. I remember.” Damien’s heartbeat sped again as he imagined her lying on his pillow, her hair tangled with their lovemaking, while he murmured into her ear. “Yes, I will tell you stories. Let me think.”

Shoving his mind down the road of childhood to the tales Damien’s old governess had told him in front of the nursery fire, did lessen the pain somewhat.

Damien remembered the high room in the Imperial Palace that was his nursery where wind moaned at the eaves. He remembered his creaking old governess—chosen because she was elderly, her family gone, and thus no threat to the Imperial Prince—spinning stories in her rasping voice. Sometimes the stories made no sense; sometimes she fell asleep in the middle of them, but Damien remembered how they’d enchanted him.

He sorted through the memories until he found something appropriate, and noted that his breathing had calmed somewhat.

Penelope gazed up at him, heavy-eyed.

No—Damien still wanted her with mindless intensity. But it felt more normal, the wanting of a strong man for a sweet, beautiful woman.

Damien climbed to his feet. He leaned down and scooped Penelope into his arms, sat himself on the dressing-table chair, and settled her on his lap.

“Once upon a time,” he began. “There was a beautiful princess.”





Chapter 9





Penelope snuggled into Damien and laid her head on his shoulder. Her limbs felt heavy and loose, as though she’d been held up by strings that had been suddenly released. Damien’s firm body supported her, and his arms kept her from falling. Safe. That was it—she felt safe.

She was very aware of Damien’s strong thighs beneath her backside and the heat of him surrounding her. But the madness had receded, settling down into warm comfort.

Damien had stopped shaking, as well. When she’d nearly said the naughty word that had sprung unbidden to her lips, his eyes had darkened with the sharp focus of a predator. Penelope realized he could take from her whatever he wanted, that she’d not be able to stop him doing anything he pleased.

Had she been afraid like a sensible woman? No. Penelope had wanted to be compromised, wanted Damien’s hard weight on her, wanted his hands and mouth on her body.

But he’d mastered himself. She’d watched his control return, an iron will that told her better than his words, his jewels, and his entourage, that Damien was a ruler. His ancestors had held Nvengaria against the outside world for eight centuries. Penelope had seen in Damien tonight the strength that could do such things.

This amazing man now held her, plain Penelope Trask, on his knee, while he told her a story.

“What did the princess look like?” she asked him.

Damien chuckled. She liked his true laugh—the low, silken one. She studied the gap of his shirt, enjoying the play of shadowed muscle beneath.

“She had long golden hair and beautiful green eyes.” Damien’s voice grew quieter still. “A woman a man would die for.”

Damien kept calling Penelope beautiful. He said it as though he believed it, with heat in his eyes.

“What happened to this princess?” Penelope asked, flustered.

“She was locked in a tower, far from civilization,” Damien said, settling into the tale. “’Twas a high tower, with no door and only one window. It was surrounded by a huge thicket in the middle of an impenetrable forest. The only person she ever saw was the hideous beast who guarded her.”

Penelope grew curious. “Why was she in the tower? What had she done?”

“Not a thing. Her parents locked her there for protection, along with boxes filled with treasure. Because she was so beautiful and so rich, you see, they feared that every man in the kingdom would try to snatch her away. So, she grew to womanhood there with only the hideous beast to guard her.” He paused, mock sorrow on his face.

“Until one day …” Penelope prompted, eager to hear more. “When you begin like that, something significant should happen to the princess very soon after.”

“Hush,” Damien growled. “I am telling this story.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness.” Penelope snuggled closer. “Please proceed.”

“Until one day a very handsome man approached,” Damien said. “He had a long rope, which he tossed to the tower window. The princess looked out and asked what he was doing. ‘Why, climbing the tower to rescue you,’ he answered. She was delighted, knowing she would leave the tower at last. While she watched him struggle the very long way up, she asked him how he’d gotten through the impenetrable forest. ‘Enchantment,’ he answered. She asked how he’d gotten through the terrible thicket alive. ‘Enchantment,’ he answered. She asked how he’d gotten past the hideous beast—”

“‘Enchantment,’” Penelope said with him.

Damien grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Now the princess worried that the beast had been hurt because, although he was hideous, he’d always been kind to her. But she saw no blood on the handsome man’s clothes and concluded the beast must have been put to sleep or some such thing.”