Part 8 (1/2)

”Really? What were they?”

He hesitates, evidently reluctant to tell me but finally he says, ”Something about not overloading you with information too quickly and the importance of establis.h.i.+ng authority.” His smile is wry. ”I'd say I failed on both counts. Wouldn't you?”

Establis.h.i.+ng authority? What the heck! Was I supposed to beg for a treat, fetch a ball, roll over for him?

I sit up, aware suddenly that I'm still naked, as is he. Surely, there's a robe to be had somewhere?

Rising, I glance around quickly. ”On the other hand perhaps what you said before is true. Something went wrong.”

”When did I say that--?” He breaks off, remembering his exasperation when he brought me back to the palazzo. ”I was more frustrated than serious. So far as I've been able to discover, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

He's still reclining on the pillows--rather sultan-like, I think. As his eyes drift over my body in leisurely appraisal, my blush deepens.

Ian chuckles and stands with coiled grace. I can't help but be aware of how comfortable he is with his nudity and his body in general. But then why shouldn't he be? He is quite simply magnificent.

He steps close to me, takes my chin between his fingers, and says, ”On the contrary, you're dangerously perfect.”

Before I can respond, his other hand slides down to squeeze my bottom. ”This part of you, for instance, is perfect for spanking, which I also recall starting to do before being distracted by your smart mouth and your refusal to wear that collar.”

Starting to do? Whoa. I try to take a step back but that just gets me another squeeze, harder this time, as he pulls me to him. Against the sensitive skin of my abdomen, I can feel his growing arousal. Before I can let myself think about the delights to be had by Round Two--or would this be Round Three--I say, ”You may be happy to lie around here all day but I have other plans.”

Ian laughs and chucks me under the chin. ”You're fun to tease.”

I'm mulling over his apparent pleasure in that discovery when he takes a pair of plain white robes from a nearby chest and tosses me one. His eyes glitter as I catch it and hold it in front of myself in a belated effort at modesty.

”Much as I'd rather you didn't cover up,” he says, ”I think this will make you more comfortable. I've ordered lunch for us. Before you do anything else, you're going to eat.”

He shrugs into the other robe and leaves the secluded tent. I have to wrap mine all the way around myself and tie it with the attached belt to keep it closed. I'm dragging my fingers through my hair, trying to restore some order to it, when Ian reappears. He's carrying a tray that he sets on a low round table near the pile of pillows.

”I don't know about you,” he says with a grin, ”but I'm starving.”

I have a sudden memory of the dinner I denied him that first night and feel myself flush yet again. It's getting to be a habit.

”Sit,” he says as he begins laying out the food on the low table.

I do so only to stiffen when I notice what he's taking from the pocket of his robe. ”What's that?”

”This?” He holds up a length of black silk. ”It's a blindfold.”

Warily, I ask, ”What do we need that for?”

”I want to try an experiment. Like everyone else, Susannah had certain foods she liked and others she didn't. Let's find out if your tastes are the same.”

That actually sounds like something I'd want to do but I'm still cautious. ”Why do I have to be blindfolded?”

”Because not being able to see will heighten your other senses, including taste. Plus, I don't want you to see and prejudge whatever is about to go into your mouth.”

A flush seeps over my cheeks as I consider what I think I'd like in there.

Ian looks at me speculatively. ”Why, Amelia, whatever do you think I mean?”

I refuse to answer him and shrug. ”Let's just do this.”

”Very well, turn around.”

I hesitate but do so only to gasp as a strip of dark, silken material appears before me.

”Close your eyes,” he says. His voice is low, dark, compelling. The cloth tightens around me as he ties it securely.

At the sudden loss of sight, my breathing quickens. Instinctively, I raise my hands to the silk but I don't try to remove it. I can hear Ian moving nearby but I have no idea what he's doing. Twice he brushes against me and both times I jump a little.

”Steady,” he soothes. The thought occurs to me that he sounds as though he's calming a fractious filly. I frown but hold myself very still.

Minutes pa.s.s, too many. My antic.i.p.ation mounts and with it so does my anxiety. What exactly is he planning?

Finally, just when I think I can't bear to wait any longer, he says, ”Open your mouth.”

I do so but slowly, wondering what I've gotten myself into. The touch of metal against my lips makes me start but an instant later I feel a cool liquid tipped from what must be a spoon. I swallow, tasting sweet, slightly tangy smoothness.

”Hmmm, what is that?”

”Red pepper and pear soup, serve chilled. What do you think of it?”

”It's good. More, please.”

He laughs and obliges, feeding me several more spoonfuls before he says, ”Enough. Let's try this.”

Something smooth, round, and firm slides between my lips. ”Bite,” Ian directs. ”And chew.”

I do and experience an explosion of sweetness deepened by a touch of grainy earthiness.

”Fresh fig,” he says before I can ask. ”Ready for something a little more adventurous?”

At my nod, he says, ”Tip your head back. This is going straight down your throat. Swallow it whole.”

I squirm a little but do as he says and am rewarded when I taste the sea, lightly salty with a tang of citrus and a hint of heat slipping over my tongue.

”Oh, that's delicious!”

”You don't say?” Ian replies. ”Another?”

I nod and swallow several more before I've finally had enough. ”What were those?”

”Oysters with lemon and a splash of hot sauce. Let's move on to the main course.”

I'm getting into this now, looking forward to what's next but when it comes, I'm puzzled. I know that I like the hot, tangy something that Ian puts in my mouth but I can't identify any of the flavors. Still, I want more.

”Lamb curry,” he says when I ask. His voice sounds husky. ”Good?”

I nod and accept another bite. I've finished my fourth when something occurs to me. ”If Susannah ate any of these foods, wouldn't I recognize them?”