Cale’s words rang in Narcise’s head, and now that the agonizing feather had been removed from the back of her dress, she could actually feel. And breathe. Her strength came rushing back, the numbness deserted her. She wanted him to have her. Her fingers shook, her belly fluttered and leaped, she wanted him so badly. He directed her out of the parlor, the door closing behind them and shutting off the voices and revelry—and Cezar’s watchful eyes. They were walking rapidly down a corridor furnished with an occasional painting, as well as several tables with statuary, vases and other items. Cale led her past several closed doors, and she was certain he meant to take her to his bedchamber. Once you’re in my bed, my chamber, you’ll never leave it. Her heart slammed behind her ribs, and she nearly pushed it all away: Cezar, the worries, the children…and gave in. For she knew he was right. Once she was in his bed, safe and sated, loved, she would never be able to make herself leave.
