The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance Read online

  “We ought to put on our clothes and get down to business,” he said. He was still half-dressed. He got up and adjusted his tunic, then helped the lovely naked woman to her feet. “Sorry about soaking your dress.”

  “It needs a spring wash anyway,” she answered. She picked up the sodden lump of cloth on the edge of the pool and began wringing it out into the bath water. “Give me a hand,” she said, and together they managed to wind the dress tight enough to squeeze out most of the water. The whole time they worked Bern couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  “You’ve got great tits,” he told her. They were large and round and just as pale as the rest of her fine skin, but for the lovely dark circles of her large nipples. Nipples that grew peaked and hard when she noticed him looking at her. He grinned as a flush spread across her chest and throat. It wasn’t only a smile that rose as he watched her.

  “Ginger White, stop making me hard,” he ordered teasingly.

  She snatched her dress out of his hands. “I think maybe you’d better help me on with this.”

  He stepped close and ran his hands over her on the pretext of helping her manoeuvre the wet dress. She was cool to the touch, but she went warm where he touched.

  “You feel like satin,” he told her.

  She smiled, and the blush spread to her cheeks, but she moved away from him and quickly finished dressing.

  When she was done, she said, “Now that we’re wet as drowned rats I suppose I should point out that what we did was a very un-Roman way of taking a bath.”

  “We weren’t bathing, darlin’,” he reminded her. “We were fucking.”

  “Yes, well – is your name really Bern?” she asked, suddenly anxious. “When are you from? Do you know what happened to the rest of my team? How did you find me? Where’s the nexus? When can we go home?”

  Bern held up his hands to halt her rush of words. “I’ll answer yours if you’ll answer mine.” He spotted a stone bench against the wall and led her over to it. Once seated, he held her hands in his as they sat facing each other. “My team was sent out six months after yours, specifically to search for your team. When we came in through the Tintagel nexus it crashed behind us.”

  “Now your team is missing as well?”

  He nodded. “At least the team all came through together. The theory is that some kind of hiccup in the time/dimensional energy field scattered eam in transit—”

  “So that we all came through at different nexus points,” she finished. “I’m no physicist but I’ve managed to figure that out on my own.” She gave his hands a sympathetic squeeze. “So your team’s as lost here as we are.”

  “Yeah. But we still had our mission. Along with hunting for your people we’ve been searching for a working exit point, but no luck yet with that. It hasn’t been easy, since the energy hiccup shorted out most of your team’s ID transponders. So far you’re only the second team member we’ve found alive.”

  “Who else have you found?”

  “Sergeant Kaye.”

  “Thank goodness! I’ve been so worried about them.” Then she blanched. “You’ve found others – dead?”

  He nodded. “We found Dr Bohrs’ grave outside a village near Aquae Sulis. Gwayne had been enslaved on a Saxon farmstead on the coast. We got him out of the place alive, but he caught an arrow in the throat when we ran into a raiding party the next day.”

  “Damned Saxon invaders,” she muttered.

  “You’ve been hanging with the indigenous folks too long. Remember that the Saxons are supposed to have taken over the island after the Romans left.”

  “Yes, but the incursion seems to be happening far quicker than historians always supposed. There should be some factor slowing them down, giving the Roman influences that have overlaid the Celtic base culture time to fade. If the Saxons aren’t halted soon the world we come from won’t get a chance to develop. I’ve been starting to believe that maybe I’d transported into one of those alternate worlds the theorists worry about.”

  “I didn’t think you were your team’s historian.”

  “Nah, I’m just an Anglophile.”

  “Me, I just go where I’m sent and do what I’m told to do. And how is it you ended up as the local priestess?”

  She looked down sheepishly, before looking him in the eye again. “I know such direct involvement with the locals is against the rules, but sometimes fate gets in the way of perfectly good intentions. I’m lucky that the holy spring’s point of origin is in the woods behind the shrine and that’s the nexus where I came through. The Romans channelled the spring into the sanctuary pool when they built the villa. So it was easier for the inhabitants to believe that I was the only survivor of a band of pilgrims attacked by bandits when I wandered bloody and burned out of the woods than it would have been if I’d appeared out of a blaze of light in the fountain.”

  She paused to take a deep breath, and Bern jumped in. “I understand how you arrived here, but how did you end up working for the chieftain?”

  She shrugged. “A girl’s got to eat.”

  “So, you decided to save yourself instead of searching for the rest of your team?”

  She pulled her hands from his, and tapped a finger on her forehead. “How would I do that without any computer equipment? I’m too high level on the psi chart for any implant but the wrist chip.”

  “Right. Sorry,”

  “I’ve tried scrying to hunt for them, but I’ve never seen anything.”

  “Because seers don’t see things connected with themselves.”

  “At least not often. I thought about striking out on my own after they nursed me back to health, but it was the dead of winter, and there are plenty of bandits and barbarians outside Lord Ched’s rather flimsy walls. Since this was the only safe place, I set about proving my usefulness so I could stay. The sanctuary hadn’t had a resident seer for a long time, so I used my scrying abilities and got the job. Having a real fortune-teller at the holy spring increases the prestige and fame lace. Which means a larger gathering of pilgrims bringing rich offerings for the goddess, and greater wealth for Lord Ched, at this year’s fertility festival. Unfortunately, he’s decided that the fertility part of the festivities needs a bit of rearranging, and that’s where you come in.”

  Bern thought about what he knew of the local customs, politics and religious practices, and concluded, “The chieftain wants a warrior to challenge the year king at tonight’s ceremony.”

  She nodded.

  He grimaced. “Ah, crap, he wants me to kill some kid for the right to fuck his daughter.”

  “And become the local war leader. He wants you to stop the Saxons.” Ginger cleared her throat, and gave him an embarrassed smile. “This is my fault, really – I told him I saw you in the water when he asked who would be the next year king.”

  Bern shot to his feet. “Oh, for crying out loud, woman! I’ve got better things to do than interfere in local problems!” He pointed at her. “Rescuing you, for example, is more important.”

  She jumped up to face him. “Hey, I just report what the water shows me.”

  “You couldn’t lie sometimes?”

  “It’s not like I knew who you were when I saw you. It’s not my fault you’re fated to be king! And sleep with Morga,” she added.

  He heard the jealousy in her voice, and he liked it. He noticed that they’d moved close together while they argued, and that arguing with her was arousing him all over again. The attraction between them was strong and hot, and driving him crazy. Being crazy was no way to run an op. Knowing that didn’t stop him from putting his hands on her hips.

  “There you are!” Lord Ched’s voice boomed behind them before he could pull Ginger into his arms.

  They turned to face the chieftain, and the trio of men that followed him into the bathhouse. Ched had a smile plastered on his face, but there was anger in his eyes. His hand was on the pommel of a dagger on his belt. Bern had been prepared to tell the man he had no interest in his game of kings an
d priestesses, but decided this might not be the right time to assert his opinions in the matter.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked instead. He put his arm protectively around Ginger’s shoulders. He was aware of the way she leaned into him all down the length of his body.

  “You’re a clever one,” Ched said, nodding approvingly.

  “I know trouble when I see it.”

  His impulse was to gather his squad and see what was going on for himself, but he waited for an explanation. Even if the Saxons were attacking the gates it wasn’t his problem unless the team he’d been sent to save was in immediate danger. He was not in charge of the indigenous situation here, and wasn’t going to be despite the chieftain’s plans or Ginger’s visions.

  Ched cleared his throat, and Bern realized he was embarrassed. “It’s something to do with your daughter, isn’t it?”

  “Morga’s run off,” Ched blurted out. “And the year king ran with her.”

  “But she’s the Mother’s priestess!” Ginger gasped. “And he’s—”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with the locals,” Bern whispered to her in English. “A pair of runaways is not our problem.”

  “But the ceremony is tonight.”

  Ched might not have understood what Ginger said, but he obviously recognized the desperation in her tone. “You see the problem, don’t you, Lady of the Spring? Oh, we could raise the hue and cry and go after those foolish children. But if we drag them back I’ll have to execute my own daughter to appease the crowd gathered for the festival. If the lad’s not man enough to face you, it would “Md your honour to hunt him down,” he said to Bern. “Besides, you have more important things to concern you than a coward who doesn’t deserve even to lose a fight to you.”

  “But what about the ceremony?” a one-eyed man asked. “Tradition—”

  “We’ve changed tradition before,” Ched said, cutting him off. He looked at one of the other men, a wizened, white-bearded fellow in rough brown robes. “Haven’t we, Bishop Myrdyn?”

  The old man was carrying a gnarled staff, and reminded Bern of Gandalf.

  “You’re not thinking of giving up your heathen fertility festival, are you?” the old man asked.

  “Of course not!” Ched answered. “The people would riot for sure if we changed custom that far.”

  “There you go again – you promise to change your pagan ways, but you always find a way out of your promises.”

  “Didn’t I say I’d let you baptize as many folk as wanted it tomorrow morning? And in our own sacred pool?”

  “That you did,” the Christian cleric conceded. He tugged thoughtfully on his ear lobe. “Once the people are sated and sore from the sex, and their heads are splitting from too much drink, I’ll preach a sermon that will lure them to save their souls from the great sins they’re going to commit this night. You’ll make a fine year king,” he added, looking Bern over. “I’ll give my blessing to that.”

  “But we need a priestess for the king to mate with,” the one-eyed man insisted. “The crops will wither without the spring mating.”

  “Well, if I’m going to turn the pool into a baptismal fount, it won’t need a priestess any more, will it?” the bishop said, eyeing Ginger critically. He pointed at her. “Use this priestess instead of the one that’s run off.”

  “Good idea,” Lord Ched said, clapping Myrdyn on the shoulder. “One priestess is as good as another in the eyes of the goddess.”

  “But I’m not a virgin,” Ginger blurted. “The priestess of the Mother must be a virgin when she lies with her first year king.”

  “Don’t encourage them,” Bern complained. Then he realized where she was going with this and spoke loudly. “We can’t offend the goddess. I’m no virgin, either.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Lord Ched dismissed them. “The goddess won’t mind.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You were both virgins, once, after all. It’s virility and fertility that matter most. You’ll both do. I’m glad that’s settled.” He began to turn away.

  “But I don’t want to be king,” Bern pointed out.

  “What man doesn’t want to be king?” Ched said, turning back. His expression turned hard. “Especially when the choice is between becoming king or going to the goddess with the priestess and all of your men sacrificed inside the burning belly of the wicker man?”

  “Sex or death,” Myrdyn said. “Either way, the crowd will be entertained.”

  Bern had seen the piles of kindling and a crudely woven straw statue in a field on his way into the stockade. He knew that criminals were often burned alive inside such structures during the spring fire festival. Lord Ched could probably get the mob angry enough at missing out on the orgy to attack his team. The ensuing massacre wouldn’t look good on Bern’s record. And there was the chance that some of his people could get hurt. He wasn’t ready to risk any of them, especially Ginger, when there was another solution.

  It wasn’t like he minded having sex with Ginger White.

  Besides, they could sneak off among the departing pilgrims after the festival, and get on with searching for a working nexus without any muss or fuss.

  “King it is then,” said with a grin.

  “Good,” Lord Ched said, and he and his people marched away.

  When they were gone, the horrified Ginger asked, “Now what are we going to do?”

  Bern was still grinning as he took her in his arms. “Why, rehearse for the fertility ceremony, of course.”

  She took him to her room, and firmly closed the door behind them. “You can’t really mean to go through with this,” she said once they were alone. “Not that I have anything against public displays of fornication, per se – it’s just that I don’t think I’m up to being the star attraction in the local spring pageant.”

  “Sex show,” he interpreted. “Do we really have a choice?”

  She put her hands over her face. “Don’t be so pragmatic.” She peered at him between her fingers. “You’ll have to wear a pair of stag horns, you know.”

  He grimaced. “And what will you be wearing?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  The grimace turned into a grin. “I can live with that.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “My name’s Andrew.” He picked her up and carried her towards the narrow bed. “Colonel Andrew Bern. Just Bern to everybody.” He kissed her before adding, “I thought we ought to be formally introduced.”

  She twined her arms around his neck. “Nice name. Kiss me again.”

  “All over,” he promised, and set her down.

  They took a few moments to help each other take off their damp clothing, then fell together on to the bed.

  “You make me so horny I can’t stand it,” he told her as she pushed him on to his back and straddled him. He reached up to stroke her breasts.

  Her back arched at the touch. Unbelievable heat rushed through her. For a moment everything but sensation went away. She could do this forever. But could she do it with anyone else looking?

  The thought brought her back to reality.

  “Oh, crap,” she said. “I can’t do this in public!”

  When she tried to bolt off of him he grasped her waist and held on tight. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Just look at me and we can do anything – together.”

  She’d just met this man. Why should she believe in him? But when she looked into his eyes, she did.

  Those eyes were full of fire and passion that was just for her.

  He took his hands away from her, and she moaned at the loss of his touch.

  He responded with a deep, arrogant chuckle, and she responded to that by leaning forwards and nipping him lightly on the shoulder.

  “Mean woman,” he murmured, and ran his hands through her tangled hair.

  Then she licked the spot she’d bitten, tasting the tang of fresh sweat. She breathed deeply, and kissed and licked her way across his throat while revelling in the male scent and heat of his naked bo
dy as he caressed her back and butt. His muscles were gloriously hard and sculpted. She sat up and ran her hands across his wide chest and down his flat belly.

  “Look at me,” he said again. This time his voice was rough with need.

  When she did he turned her on to her back. His gaze never left hers as he urged her legs wide and guided his cock deep inside her. She rose to meet him, inner muscles closing around the hard, hot length that filled her. Soon his eyes, and the fire growing as they moved together was all there was in the world. Then even they were gone and only the fire remained.

  “They’ve changed the rules because of the growing Christian influence. You won’t have to kill anyone if you’re challed sh” Ginger explained. “We’re in luck, because one of the local boys might fight you for Morga, but not over me.”

  “What? You don’t want to have two knights fighting a tourney for my lady’s hand?”

  “Hell, no.” She snorted. “And it’s not my hand that’s up for grabs.” The part of her she referred to was still thrumming from what they’d been doing – for the third time – but hadn’t had a chance to finish when they were called from her room for the ceremony.

  “The only person that’s going to be grabbing you anywhere is me.”

  She sighed and batted her eyelashes at him. “You’re so romantic, Colonel Bern.”

  “It’s not about romance, darlin’, it’s about sex.” He squeezed her hand. “Are you sure you can go through with this?”

  “No. You?”

  “Me neither. Remember, all you have to do is look into my eyes and we’ll be alone,” he reminded her, sounding more confident after confessing he was as nervous as she was.

  “And you look into mine.”

  “Good plan.”

  Night had fallen, sacred fires were lit, and hundreds of pilgrims were waiting within their glow just outside the front of the estate. The ceremony was ready to begin,