The Lion And The Rose
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THE LION AND THE ROSE
by
ADRIANNA DANE
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
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The Lion And The Rose
An Amber Quill Press Book
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
http://www.amberheat.com
http://www.amber-allure.com
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
Copyright © 2007 by Dream Romantic Unlimited LLC
ISBN 978-1-60272-132-6
Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting
Provided by: Elemental Alchemy
Published in the United States of America
Also by Adrianna Dane
Achilles' Charm
The Argadian Heart Trilogy
The Boy Next Door
Breathless Peaks
Carnal Carnivale
Closing Time
Come Into My Parlor
The Diary Of Lillian Manchester, Book I: The Stranger
Esmerelda's Secret
The Exile: A Seductive Tale
Fertility Rite
Graphic Liaisons
If You Dare...
I Want
Images Of Desire
Immortal Treasure
Jebediah's Promise
Jewel Of Niveka
As Well As...
No Choice
Primal Magic: Scent
Primal Magic: Swan's Lake
Realm Of The Ice God
Ruthless Acts
Sequestered Passion
Smooth Finish
Sylvie's Gift
Tempt Me Not
Therapy
Train Me
A View To Possession
Whisper
Legend Of The Beesinger
Mariposa Soul
The Midas Bride
Nights In White Satin
Dedication
My never-ending thanks to
my parents who gifted me with my first book of fairytales .
I shall never forget the magic
contained within those pages nor the love with which
it was presented.
Chapter 1
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My name is Rosemarie Edwards. I won't forget it again.
Rosemarie took each day slowly, one step at a time. There was no rush, she tried to remind herself. She'd only been released from the hospital a few months ago, and it would take time to get back in the swing of things. The rush of people swarmed around her as she tried to make her way along the street.
People kept bumping into her, and it was like fighting an ocean tide to get through the mass of bodies. Flashes of memories, of screams and moans, shot through her. The panic began to rise, as it always did these days. She needed somewhere quiet in order to get herself back together.
She saw the entrance to the subway station and hurried across the street toward it, stepped onto the escalator, and descended to the cool, subterranean depths. She could hear her heart pounding against her chest, her stomach clenched tight. She hated this feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed her time and time again. She felt the heat of panic flood up along her neck, into her cheeks, chasing her, like the spread of spilled blood saturating a white linen sheet.
Stop it! Stop it right now.
Her fingers bit into the black rubber handrail of the escalator. Would it never end? The memories, the ones she had locked away because of the pain, flashed in rapid succession through her mind. Horrible images that never faded. And then, like a helpless animal fleeing from a stalking predator, she raced down the remainder of the steps, rummaged for change in the bottom of her purse as she hurried toward the entrance, shoved through the turnstile, and sprinted across the platform as though she were a fox attempting to outdistance a hoard of crazed hunters. She just needed a place to hide until the edge of panic receded.
She stood at the edge of the platform, looked up to see which train she was waiting for on this particular platform, where it would take her, and some of the panic began to subside. She couldn't go on this way. It didn't seem to matter how many times she walked out the door of her small apartment and tried to face the world, it always ended this way. She was tired of running, of feeling like a coward.
She was too scarred, too broken, to be able to relate to the world as a normal person any longer. Her time in the hospital hadn't helped one bit.
The train screeched to a stop, the doors slid open, and she quickly stepped inside and found a seat, keeping to herself as much as possible. This train would take her downtown, and she would be able to exit close to the street where one of her favorite museums was located. At least it used to be. Before...it had happened. The museum was always so peaceful and she enjoyed looking at the paintings, pretending she was somewhere else. Somewhere beautiful.
And safe.
No one bothered her in the exhibition halls. There was the echo of footsteps, the murmur of voices, but she would be left alone.
She didn't know how much longer she could continue to try to fight her instincts to flee the city. But where would she go? She had no family left--they were all...gone. She shuddered at the speck of memory, and fled from that as well.
My name is Rosemarie Edwards.
It was a mantra that kept her rooted to the real world, not allowing her to fade back into the empty blackness that would just end up sending her back to the hospital.
The doctors kept telling her that in time she would be able to face the reality of what had happened and to move on, but to take it slowly because it couldn't be rushed. At least now she was out of that dark place she had retreated to. They had forced her out, though she had fought them. There were the baths and the shock treatments. She shuddered at those memories as well. If only she could have stayed in the silent darkness where she didn't feel anything, want anything, remember anything.
Not possible.
So she was back, trying to re-enter what passed for a civilized world. It was so hard, and she still wasn't certain she wanted this, even though the doctors said it was the best way. That it was time. But she wasn't so certain.
The train squealed to a halt, and she looked out the window. This was her stop. She stepped through the open doors and headed toward an escalator which dragged her up into the dreary light of the surface. Gray clouds billowed above, bloated and ready to explode. She could smell the rain in the air. She should have thought to bring an umbrella with her. She hurried along the pavement and toward the large museum that was still three blocks away, hoping she would reach it before the clouds ripped apart.
There was something inside her that pushed her toward the white-washed building, some sense of urgency she didn't quite understand. But she kept pace with the instinct, rushing past pedestrians, ignoring them. Somewhere inside her lurked a goal, a need to be somewhere, to meet someone. A spark of interest flared to life, like a narrow beam of sunlight peaking through a pinhole in a thick covering of rain clouds. In a moment, as she stared up at the imposing Grecian structure, she felt an element of excitement bloom in her breast. It was an alien feeling. For so long her life had been filled with a
bleak, frightening subsistence and nothing more. She didn't understand its source, nor this sense of urgency that now filled her so intensely.
Mounting the steps to the museum, she passed through the doors, her footsteps echoing on the granite surface as she strode across the foyer. Something guided her and for once, she didn't fight the feeling. She walked down the corridor, rejecting doorways leading into exhibition rooms, following the instinct, until she reached the last room.
She spun to the left and walked inside the room. Slowly she made her way around the perimeter, studying the beautiful works of art. Pausing, but not stopping.
And then she saw it. The one she was searching for. Her breath caught, some emotion being drawn from her as she gazed at the golden landscape, the majestic white lions with their tawny, thick manes roaming the lush countryside, and then her gaze was caught by a flower. She peered closer. It looked like a bush of golden roses sparkling in the bright, clean sunlight.
A warmth pervaded her, a feeling so different, so...full...she had to sit on the padded bench. She felt the tears begin to well, and her chest tightened as though a fist clutched around her heart. But it wasn't sadness; it didn't hold the gray feeling she expected. This was a sense of happiness she'd never experienced before. A homesickness for a place she'd never been before. And a need to be there.
She gasped as a flower appeared in front of her held in a large, masculine hand. Her gaze widened, and she looked up to encounter the stare of a fierce-looking, attractive man who was attached to the arm holding out the gold rose in front of her. His golden eyes were intent on her as he offered the gift.
"This is for you," he said in a deep, raspy voice.
Tentatively she reached out to accept the offering and she couldn't help but draw on the unusual scent. Her gaze widened. She let out a sigh at the heady fragrance.
"It's beautiful." Heat swamped her, but it most certainly wasn't the fever of panic. This was the heat of desire, and her pussy flooded with her juices, her stomach churning, tightening like a coil. She placed a hand over her abdomen at the unexpected sensations. She hadn't felt desire for a very long time, what had brought this on now?
She looked up at the handsome stranger. She saw something in his eyes, some secret knowledge. It was a look that scared her and she thrust the rose back at him.
"I can't take this. I don't even know you."
He simply nodded and accepted the rose from her shaking hand. But he didn't go away. Instead, he pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his expensive charcoal jacket and held it out to her.
"This is for you."
"No--"
He turned to look at the painting and for an instant she thought he looked a great deal like the lions depicted there, with his thick shoulder-length hair and aristocratic profile. She shook her head as though trying to clear it of her vivid imagination.
"The painting...you like it?"
"Yes...yes, I do."
"It is the island of Midian, located off the coast of Greece, in the Mediterranean Sea." He turned back to her. "I am here to offer an invitation from Her Royal Highness Princess Tira DeJon for you to visit the island." He again held out the envelope. "Inside is her personal request for your company."
This has to be a dream, possibly brought on by the pills. "You don't even know who I am."
"But I do. Your name is Rosemarie Edwards."
She reared back. "How do you know that? Have you been following me? Are you from the hospital? What is this all about?" The panic which had receded for a time, now rushed back with full force. Rosemarie shot up from the bench every instinct on alert, ready to run.
A firm, yet gentle, hand reached out to stop her. It wasn't a savage touch, but there was certainly strength in it. Enough to make her hesitate.
"I didn't mean to frighten you, Ms. Edwards. Princess Tira is very eager for you to visit her on Midian."
"But why? I have no idea who she is?"
"If you agree to go, a car will come for you tomorrow at ten o'clock in the morning. Inside the envelope is a commercial return ticket so you will be free to return whenever you desire. If you wish to bring a friend, you may do so, if it will make you feel safer. A private jet will be waiting and the princess wishes you to be at ease in your journey. No one wishes you harm, but the princess will explain everything when you arrive."
"This is crazy." She shook her head. She thought she'd left all that behind her in the hospital.
"Please take the envelope. Think about it. The car will arrive at your apartment building to pick you up in the morning. Princess Tira hopes you will accept her offer."
He laid the envelope on the bench beside her--along with the perfect gold rose--and then he pivoted around and left her.
Tentatively, she picked up the envelope and the rose. Again, she inhaled the scent of the flower, and her glance shifted to the painting. She noted the plaque below it. "On loan from the Principality of Midian."
As she sat there, looking at the painting, it seemed to come alive. She inhaled the fragrance of the rose. Its scent curled into every corner of her body, bringing each nerve ending alive. She thought she could even feel the brush of air from the air conditioning as it feathered across her skin, coaxing her body into a state of heightened recognition.
She shifted in the seat, her body suddenly restless with hot need. Her fingers stroked the petals of the silky rose. As she looked at the painting the scene shifted. She could feel the heat of the sun on her skin and it was as though she was drawn into the scene unfolding before her.
She gasped as she looked around, as the sunlight beat down on her. The lions circled her, studying her, and then one of them rose up on his haunches. To her shock he transformed into a gorgeous, naked man, with a thick head of black and caramel hair. He dropped his head back and let out a roar.
He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And frightening. He stalked toward her, a fierce expression on his face. She found herself rooted to the spot, unable to move. Lions to the side and behind her, and this stunning man in front of her.
He stopped in front of her, gazing down at her with his brilliant, angry eyes.
"What took you so long? Why didn't you come when I sent the coin? It is too late now, far too late." He started to reach out for her, but she felt herself spinning away, yanked from inside the painting.
Dizzy and lightheaded, Rosemarie blinked, focused on the diamond-patterned floor, then back up at the painting. It was just a painting, and the lions were only pictures of lions. Inanimate and they could not hurt her. Her heart thundered against her breast. Her nipples were tight and sensitive, her pussy pulsing with...what? How could she be so turned on by a mere painting?
The thought lurked at the back of her mind that it wasn't just a painting. She picked up the envelope and the rose, got up from the bench, and hurried out of the room.
Was she losing her mind again? None of this could be real. Had she forgotten to take her pills this morning? Or had she taken too many? Fresh panic surged through her once again.
She stuffed the envelope into her large purse, along with the rose. She should just throw them away in the nearest trash can and that would be the end of the matter. But something stopped her, and she refused to think about what it might be. At least for right now. Her mind simply could not grasp that any of this might be real.
My name is Rosemarie Edwards. And I am alive.
CHAPTER 2
She felt hands on her, all over her naked body. At first they were soft and furry, then rough and callused. There was more than one pair of hands--they seemed like many--stroking over her body. They lifted her high in the air, spreading her legs. Hands on her breasts, in her hair, stroking her slick thighs.
She arched her back, pressing into the hands. It was like floating on a gently surging ocean, the sea lapping at her body, and she, undulating with the waves, allowing it to carry her away.
The hands lowered her, and she lay on the warmed surface of a flat rock. Sl
owly she opened her eyes and looked around her. The golden sun blazed brightly overhead, its rays stroking over her skin, warming it thoroughly as the hands continued to tempt her flesh, smoothing over the peaks and valleys.
She saw them. So many. Men and women with tawny eyes of curiosity and desire. Brilliant and beautiful. The women smiling, their hands gentle and coaxing. Long fingers delving into each crevice, surmounting each peak.
Rosemarie knew raw hunger. A mouth fastened onto her nipple, drawing deeply, and she hissed at the sensation that drove through the heart of her pussy. Another mouth, a male, fastened onto her other breast, laving and nipping.
More hands petted her hair, muscular thighs cushioned her head and she could smell the heightened sexual arousal in the air. Hands spread her legs and she felt the presence of two long fingers slipping into her slick vagina. Deep, so very deep.
Oh, God, she was going to come. She needed to orgasm.
Then the hands were gone, like wisps of early morning fog. Again she opened her eyes and looked around. She saw him. It was the same man from the painting rising over her. His eyes glittered, his lips drawn back in a snarl. A hard, muscled body, deeply tanned to caramel delicious, taut flesh. His cock jutted thickly from a nest of golden hair that matched the pelt arrowing down his chest, dipping to the nest of hair surrounding his thick erection.
She clenched her hands, wanted to sift her way downward, to wrap her fingers around the immense width, and press his cock inside her. She'd never wanted to be fucked so badly in her life. Not like this. Never with this intensity.
She looked around and saw white lions in every direction. Beautiful, regal creatures, watching her from a distance. Some with thick manes rippling in the sunlight, their gazes on the man hovering over her.