Waiting For You Read online

Zebual could smell her fresh sweet scent across the room. She was busy fixing him a plate yet she knew he was watching her ... she always knew. She had already showered and was dressed in a long black nightgown with a matching robe covering her. For over a month she had been spending her evenings with him and he knew that usually she bathed and dressed for bed after she left his room. So why the change, he wondered silently? Another thing he had noticed was that there was something different about her tonight, he hadn't yet put his finger on just what it was, but it was there.

  "Come sit down and eat, Zebual." Arysa raised her head and met his stare. She was tempted to smile at his expression of mistrust, but she didn't. "You can see me much better from here."

  Zebual grunted as he turned to refill his glass. On leaden feet he approached the table and took his seat. The aroma of food made his stomach quiver in disgust. He was beginning to hate this time of day. He shook his head over that ridiculous thought. In truth, he loved the evening hours for it was the only time he could spend with Arysa.

  "Just eat what you can," she murmured with a soft smile.

  "What game do you play?"

  Arysa was mildly surprised by his harsh tone. "Game? I don't believe I know what you're talking about."

  "Blast it! Don't play the innocent with me."

  Arysa lowered her glass. "Please explain what I've done to anger you."

  "Look at you!" he grounded out, as he gestured to her clothing with a sweep of his hand.

  Her eyes lowered to the black silky material that covered her almost completely from neck to toe. "What about it? Is there something wrong with it?"

  "You look like you are ready to be bedded."

  Comprehension hit her like a stone being cast from above. Her face turned hot with embarrassment. "I'm sorry if my night clothes offend you," she whispered. "It's usually so late by the time I get back to my room ... I just thought to save some time. Excuse me ... "

  Zebual watched as she ran from the room. He felt like the jackass he had behaved like. He had taken his ill humor out on her. It wasn't like she knew or understood just what it was she did to him. Instead of controlling his lust, he had lashed out at her tender feelings.

  Just as he made it to her doorway, he saw the naked back she was presenting and lost all reasonable thoughts. The contours of her body were covered in pure rich peach colored skin. His mouth grew dry, as he silently crossed to stand behind her. The stiffening of her spine alerted him that she knew he was there. His hands gently cupped her shoulders as his world began turning red and hazy.

  "I'm sorry for my cruelty, Arysa. I'm not in the best of humor tonight."

  She nodded her head, but she couldn't speak through the silent tears that clogged her throat.

  "Come back to the table and we shall pretend that I didn't use my bad manners on you."

  Again she nodded and lowered her head.

  Zebual moved around in front of her. He noticed how she held the nightgown to her breasts. With a will he didn't know he possessed, he managed to get her nightgown back on her. Next he helped her on with her robe. A wet droplet splashed against his hand as he tied the belt. He stared at it for a second and then raised his hand to her chin. Gently, he lifted her face and saw the large tears rolling down her cheeks. He had truly hurt her feelings with his crassness. Using the pads of his thumb he brushed the tears away and offered her a slight smile.

  "I'm a bigger ass than I thought. Please forgive me, Arysa."

  Instead of nodding her head, she moved closer to him and lowered her head to his chest. With only the slightest hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her. She fit so perfectly against him, he thought, tucking her head beneath his chin. Her body trembled and he knew she was crying. Hell, he couldn't blame her. She had been through so much. Then to wake and find herself in a world she doesn't remember and to a man who pronounces himself her husband ... a husband that abuses her tender feelings.

  "Shhh, don't cry," he whispered.

  By the time Arysa was done, the front of Zebual's shirt was soaked. She felt awful that she had lost control of her emotions and yet it felt so good to have all the built up pressure inside her released.

  "I'm sorry," she murmured.

  "Don't be," he replied, as he continued to hold her. "It was my fault. I was in a wretched mood and I took it out on you."

  "Yes, you did."

  He gave a soft laugh. "You could have hesitated for a moment before agreeing with me."

  "I could have ... "

  "Now, shall we return to my room and eat our cold supper?"

  "I can take it down and have it heated."

  Zebual shook his head. "No, I don't mind if you don't."

  Arysa knew that she should move away, but she liked where she was. It was strange, she felt safe with him and yet she knew that in truth he was too weak to defend her or protect if the need arose. He could just barely take care of himself. But when she was next to him like this she felt as though she were safe from all the unknowns of the world.

  "I don't mind," she finally whispered. "Let me change and then I'll join you."

  "No, you look too beautiful to change. It was my own ill-humor and worry that made me lash out at you."

  She raised her head, to look at him. "Worry, over what?"

  He could lose himself in the emerald green of her eyes, he thought. "Worry, as in lust," he told her bluntly.

  Lust, for her? She was again surprised by his answer.

  "Don't look at me like that. I will be the first to admit that I'm sick, but that's neither here nor there. I would have to be dead not to lust for you ... and dead I'm not as of yet."

  She clutched at the material of his shirt. "Don't say that," she whispered. "You're not going to die."

  He smiled slightly at the sound of her determination. "I'll not argue the matter with you."

  "There'll be no arguing because we won't talk of this."

  "Yes, you're right. Now come, let's eat."

  With her arm firmly around his waist, she helped him back to his room. She had been very selfish in letting him comfort her while he was in need of sitting and reserving his strength. It was up to her to see to his care and from here on out she would do exactly that. He hadn't thought of himself as he gifted her with his concern and compassion. Though weak as a babe, he had seen to her first. Suddenly, she felt her feelings toward him grow within her breast. Oh, she had a care for him before, but now the feelings that stirred inside her were something more than just caring.

  Her cheeks heated and she worried that Zebual would know her thoughts. The silence between them stretched as they each stared at their plates. Frantically, she tried to think of something to say.

  "You're not eating," she said, when he pushed his plate away.

  "I've eaten my fill."

  "Your fill is nothing more than a couple of bites. Could you not try to at least eat the buttered roll? We'll never get you stronger if you don't eat better."

  Zebual looked at it and then with a sigh he lifted it to his mouth. Taking small bites he managed to get at least half of the roll down. Now his biggest worry was whether he could keep it down. "That's enough," he mumbled, dropping the roll onto his plate.

  "You did very well."

  For a reply, he grunted.

  Placing their plates on the cart, she pushed it out into the hall. Turning she found Zebual struggling to his feet. "What's wrong?" she asked hurrying over to him. The ashen color of his skin told her exactly what was wrong. "Zebual, listen to me. Take slow breaths and try to get your mind off the upset in your stomach."

  "Right," he muttered.

  Doing the best she could, Arysa helped him to his feet and led him toward his room. "Lie down here and let me help you," she whispered.

  "I'm more likely to get sick all over you if I don't get to the bathing chamber."

  "Trust me."

  He was tempted to tell her that it was easier said than done, but he didn't. Instead he laid back and fought against the strong
trembling that was trying to control his body. Then he felt her crawl up on the bed beside him. "What in blazes do you think you're doing?" he mumbled out.

  "Helping you," Arysa said, moving closer. "Right beside you is a pail should you need to get ill. Now, turn on your side."

  With her assistance, he did as she asked. Then he felt her hands moving over his back. She was caressing him or at least that's what it felt like. Her words began softly at first, almost a whisper, then gained in tone as she sang to him. He would have laughed, but he was afraid that if he did he would get sick and humiliate himself in front of her ... or worse yet, that she would stop.

  Slowly the trembling and rolling of his stomach quieted. He laid perfectly still absorbing her touch, her presence and her soft musical voice. The heat in his eyes intensified and the life within him seemed to grow with each note. Humming, vibrating, soaring through time and time and time and centering on the very thing that would save him.

  Arysa had her eyes closed as she sang the song. At first she was startled, she knew this song, and she had sung it before ... it was part of her past. But she put her shock aside and concentrated on Zebual. Her hands moved over the soft material of his shirt, feeling the frail bones beneath her palms. The shaking in his body slowed and then finally stopped and still she sang on, wanting to comfort him until the ill feeling had passed.

  A tingling warmth quivered through her fingers and ran up her arms. She opened her eyes. Tipping her head, as she continued singing. She studied the rise and fall of this back as he breathed. Her gaze moved to the back of his head where his white/black hair was spread out on the bed. Her singing faded to a stop. "Are you feeling better?" she asked, keeping her voice soft in case he had fallen asleep.

  "Yes," he whispered. "Please, continue."

  It was then that she realized where she was sitting. But it wasn't just that knowledge that gave her pause, it was the unknown feeling churning to life inside her. "I think it would be better if I didn't."

  "Have I given you reason to be frightened of me?" he murmured, turning slightly so that he could look at her. He saw her cheeks were red with embarrassment.

  "I've never been frightened of you. Where do you get this notion at?"

  "I've seen your fear," he whispered. "On your face."

  Arysa shook her head. "Fear maybe, but not for you. I have feared never knowing who I am and I have feared recalling things that are perhaps left unrecalled. But, I've never feared you."

  "Why are you embarrassed?"

  "I wasn't thinking when I climbed up here beside you."

  Her words were soft, so soft he could just barely hear them. "That's not true. You thought to aid me and you have."

  "Still ... "

  Zebual interrupted. "Will this work each time I eat?"

  "I don't know," she answered.

  "If it did ... if you knew for certain ... would you administer to me in such a way after each meal?"

  Arysa thought over his words for only a second. "I would."

  "Because you feel you have to?"

  "I don't believe I have to do anything. In part, I would feel that it's my duty."

  "Your duty?"

  "If you are my husband, I have a duty to you."

  "And in respects to the other part?"

  "To have you well," she said, without hesitation. "Your stomach isn't used to food, so it will take time for it to get accustomed to the feel of it."

  "And would you help me through this time, with the same assistance?"

  Arysa nodded her head. "Yes."

  "Then we shall continue and see if it works the next time I eat."

  "If you're feeling better, I will leave so that you may rest."

  Zebual was loath to let her go, yet he agreed.

  Arysa hurried to her room and closed the door, leaning heavily back against it. She glanced down at her hands. She could still feel the warmth in her palms. Shaking slightly, she climbed into bed and lay staring at the dark ceiling. There was something about Zebual that pulled at some deep spot in the center of her being. The scent of him seemed so familiar, yet it didn't. She was making perfect sense, she thought with a sigh. Perfect sense to someone that was crazy. He was most unusual in many ways, yet when his sickness took its toll on him, he was like a wounded animal shying away from a helping hand.

  At first, when she told him to lie upon the bed, he had been shy and somewhat fearful. The fear was simple ... he didn't want to get sick in front of her. But as she began to rub his back and sing to him the wounded animal in him had calmed along with the sickness in his stomach.

  It was strange yet it was sad to watch him struggle with himself. She could tell that his lack of strength infuriated him. And he thought so little of himself and his looks that it tore at her heart. How hard it must have been for him to watch his health and body decline and to realize that he had no way to stop it. She still didn't know exactly what his sickness was, but it didn't matter.

  Another thing she had noticed about Zebual ... he was lonely. With a heavy sigh, she rolled over and stared at the closed door between them. She was going to start building her future and her first step was to make Zebual her friend. She smiled and closed her eyes. He could use a friend and so could she. Besides, it would make things much easier and more comfortable between them.

  The soft yet rough texture of his tongue ran over her neck, causing her to shiver. Her hands were again pinned above her head ... preventing her from touching him. Over and over he licked her neck, working his way down to the breasts that awaited his touch and then back up to the opposite side of her neck.

  "Can you feel my hunger for you?" he whispered next to her ear, before licking the skin just below her jaw.

  "Yes." And she could ... it scented the air around them and shimmered through her veins, bringing her body and soul to an answering quiver.

  "You and only you make me hungry."

  She shivered and tried to free her hands when she felt the butterfly caress of his teeth softly scraping against her skin.

  "And what of you? Whom do you hunger for?" he purred.

  "You," she whispered frantically.

  "Do you feel the passion inside you rising?"

  She nodded her head and whimpered.

  "I awakened your hunger and only I can feed it. Only I can satisfy you. Do you understand me?"

  "I want no one but you."

  "Good. Now open your soul and let me quench your hunger for now."

  "I want more than quenching," she cried out and then moaned as her body hummed to life at an alarming speed.

  "Soon ... soon I will feed and quench you in every way."

  "Now," she begged.

  "Not yet."

  Suddenly she was being drenched in brilliant moonbeams that devoured her in whole, taking her upward into a spiraling world and then spewing her out to gently float upon the wings of night.

  Zebual stood in the dark doorway that connected their rooms. He took a step closer as he watched her movements. She was a woman caught in passion. It had been so long since he had seen such a look, but it was one that haunted him.

  Lifting his head, he inhaled sharply. Her arousal scented the air. Here was yet another thing that haunted and tormented him. His gaze on her, he moved backwards until he was in his own room. He stopped when he saw her body tense with her climax and then the door closed, shutting her from his view.

  Chapter Nine

  One day turned into two and two led to three and soon the weeks passed and with each passing she felt as though she and Zebual were growing closer and that they had finally reached a plateau of friendship. The only times she was away from him was the few hours each day before he awoke. During those hours she found things to occupy her time. One day a week she would venture up to the third floor to clean and dust. And then there were the hours she slept and dreamed.

  She had left the mauve gown on the bed in Connor's bedchamber, for no matter how many times she put it back where it belonged it always en
ded up on Connor's bed. From time to time she still heard noises coming from the rooms above, but she never went up to investigate again. A few times she thought she heard Zebual up there, but again, she never ventured upstairs to see if her suspicions were correct. It did no good for her to tell him that he should not be up there. He never acknowledged her words and would change the subject.

  "You're lost in thought." Zebual commented from his place beside her on his bed. It had become a routine for her to rub his back and sing to him as he fought to keep his food down. It was getting easier, but it didn't take the place of what he needed most. His stomach growled as if begging for the substance it craved.

  "And you're stomach is still bothering you," she countered. "Roll over and let me rub your back some more."

  "It's fine. What were you thinking of?"

  Arysa smiled and scooted back against the pillows of his bed. "That I need to go upstairs tomorrow and clean. I should have done it today, but instead I helped Mrs. Reed with the rolls."

  "A worthwhile way to spend time. They were very good."

  She laughed. "You took maybe two bites of yours."

  "It was enough."

  "I worry that you're not getting enough. You still haven't gained weight and you tire so easily. Perhaps I'm not doing something right?"

  Zebual took her hand in his and watched as her fingers curled around his own. "Believe me, Arysa, you are doing fine. I might not look like a picture of health, but I feel better than I have in a long time."

  "How can I believe you when your skin is still pale and the bones are so prominent." Raising their joined hands she compared hers and his. "What of the medicine? Do you take any?"

  "Stop worrying," he said, smiling. "I have what I need."

  She shook her head at him and returned his smile. "Another riddle? Someday perhaps you'll explain all these riddles to me."

  "With pleasure."

  It was the slight twinkle in his light blue eyes that made her laugh. Though he was indeed a sick and weak man, neither stopped him from making her blush with his words or looks at any given opportunity. He had made it quite clear that he wanted her, but then he also liked to remind her that she was his and that his desire for her was only reasonable.