Read In Stone's Clasp for Free Online Page B

she whispered.
    “A heartbeat,” he said, his voice also dropping into a hushed tone. His lips were dry and he spread his fingers, trying to press his palm to her heart, feeling it fluttering in her tiny rib cage like a small bird. As he did so, he suddenly became aware of how dirty his hand was. Ashamed, he tried to pull back.
    “I’m sorry, my hands—”
    “No,” she whispered. “Your hands are beautiful. And mine are dirty, too.”
    He wanted to look into her amazing eyes again, but the moon’s light only seemed to cast shadows on her face.
    “I can’t feel what you feel,” she said, “but I know your ability means more to you than just controlling when the spring and autumn come. More than providing good crops. Do you know what’s in this pouch around my neck, Jareth?”
    Blood hammered in his ears, raced through his body, made him ache for her. He shook his head.
    “The flower you gave me this summer,” Taya said. “I saw you wince when you plucked it. I know you felt it die, yet you were willing to do that in order to give it to me. Of course I cherished it.”
    She knew. She understood. She couldn’t share it with him—he now reluctantly realized that no one could—but she understood what this power meant to him.
    “I fell in love with you at that moment,” she whispered, leaning in to him. Slowly, as if drawn, he bent forward. His hand still on her heart, their lips met.
    He kissed her gently, tenderly, exploring, savoring. Her lips were as soft as the petals of the flower that had given up its life for her, as sweet as honey from the comb. He moved his hand from her heart to run his fingers through her hair, trail them along the back of her neck. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her into his lap.
    “You’re so little,” he whispered, marveling. “I can hold all of you just like this.”
    “Keep holding me,” Taya whispered, and reached up to touch his face. He pressed a kiss against her questing hand, then tangled his fingers in her long, soft blond hair and pulled her mouth to his. How long they stayed together, locked in that kiss, Jareth neither knew nor cared. When they broke apart, he was trembling and breathing heavily.
    He could see her eyes now; they caught and held the moonlight, like twin lakes. She gazed up at him rapturously, one little hand reaching to stroke his cheek, his lips.
    “You’re so beautiful,” Taya said, amazement in her voice.
    Jareth chuckled. “I’m supposed to say that.”
    “Then say it.”
    Her finger ran across his lower lip. He opened his mouth and caught the finger, biting very gently. She gasped softly. He let it go.
    “You are beautiful, Taya. Since the day we met, I’ve done nothing but think about you. Dream about you. I don’t want to be without you ever again.”
    “You don’t have to.”
    He reached for her and she closed her eyes, anticipating another kiss, but instead he removed the little pouch from around her neck. She had spoken truly; the flower, carefully preserved, was contained within. With gentle fingers he withdrew it. As he touched it, the brown, dried leaves uncurled and became green again, the petals swelling with new life.
    “What are you—”
    “Shhh,” he said, easing her down onto the blanket she had woven for him. Gently, he began to stroke her with the blossom, following each delicate brush of petal or leaf with a soft kiss. Taya closed her eyes and whimpered softly.
    Taking his time, Jareth stroked and kissed her face, her ears, the hollow of her throat; her hands, the sensitive insides of her wrists and elbows; trailed flower and lips along ankle, calf and thigh, over covered belly and breasts. Gods, how he wanted this woman. Wanted her here, under the moon, on the good earth covered with the last of the wheat’s harvest. Wanted her in his bed, wrapped in the blanket she had made, their bodies warm and supple and heedless of the winter’s chill. Wanted her in the shadowed, scented forest, in the sunlit