by Kate Hewitt
She blushed at that, which Mateo liked. He might have been trying to keep Rachel at arm’s length, but the memory of that kiss was scorched onto his brain. And after several days of having her much farther away than his arm, he was enjoying her company far too much to put up the usual barriers.
‘I know, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have had much to command my attention.’
‘You don’t have to apologise.’ She perched on the edge of his desk, giving him a small smile. ‘You were up north?’
‘Trying to set up some peace talks, yes.’
‘And were you successful?’
‘I believe so.’
‘And now?’ She nodded towards the stack of files on his desk. ‘What are you working on now?’
He paused, because he had already developed the instinct to keep his royal work private, and yet this was the woman he’d hashed out every potential problem with for a decade. They’d wrangled and wrestled with countless theorems and difficulties, had debated the best way forward on countless experiments, had worked side by side most days. He’d wanted to marry her for just those reasons, and yet sharing this work did not come naturally to him.
‘Mateo?’
‘I’m trying to decide who to place in my cabinet of ministers,’ he said at last. ‘When a new king ascends to the throne, it is his privilege and right to choose his own cabinet.’
‘Is it? That’s a lot of power to hand to one person.’
‘Indeed, but his choices must be ratified by sixty per cent of parliament, which helps to keep things balanced.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
Mateo gestured to the stack of files, each one containing information on potential ministers. ‘I don’t actually know any of these people. I’ve been away from Kallyria for too long.’ He could not keep the recrimination from his voice. This was his fault.
‘Then you can get to know them, surely.’ Rachel edged closer, so her hip was brushing Mateo’s hand. She leaned over so she could glance at the files, and gave him a delightful view down the front of her dressing gown.
‘I can, but it’s a matter of time. I need things settled and stabilised as quickly as possible.’ With what was surely a herculean effort, he dragged his gaze away from Rachel’s front.
‘You must have some top contenders.’ She reached for the first file, her narrowed gaze scanning it quickly. Mateo leaned back and watched her work, enjoying the sight—her hair spilling over her shoulders, her breasts nearly spilling out of her nightgown. He could practically hear her brain ticking over. Smart and sexy.
‘You’re looking at one of them.’
‘Mm.’ She continued to read the file before tossing it aside. ‘No.’
‘No?’ Mateo repeated in surprise. ‘Why not?’
‘Look at his voting pattern.’ She gestured to the third sheet of the file. ‘Entirely inconsistent. He can’t be trusted.’
Mateo leaned forward to glance at the relevant part of the document. ‘I wouldn’t say it’s entirely inconsistent. I think it was more of knowing which way the wind was blowing.’
‘You want people with principles. Otherwise they will be swayed—sometimes by you, and sometimes not.’
‘True,’ Mateo acknowledged. He realised how much he appreciated her input, and how much he was enjoying the sight of her. ‘What about the next one?’
Over the next few hours, they went through every single file, creating piles of yes, maybe, and definitely not. Mateo was grateful for Rachel’s input, and as they discussed the different candidates they fell into a familiar pattern of bouncing ideas off one another, along with the banter between them that he’d always enjoyed.
‘You just like him because he went to Cambridge,’ Rachel scoffed. ‘You are so biased.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘Of course not.’ She smiled at him, chocolate eyes glinting, and quite suddenly as well as quite absolutely, Mateo found he had to kiss her.
‘Come here,’ he said softly, and Rachel’s eyes widened as he reached for the sash of her robe and tugged on it.
‘I’m afraid that’s not going to do it,’ she said with a husky laugh. ‘Silk isn’t strong enough.’
‘But I am.’ He anchored his hands on her hips as he pulled her towards him—and she came, a little breathlessly, a little nervously, but she came.
Mateo settled her on his lap, enjoying the soft, silky armful of her. Her hair brushed his jaw as she placed her hands tentatively on his shoulders.
‘This feels a bit weird,’ she whispered.
He chuckled. ‘Good weird or bad weird?’
‘Oh, definitely good.’ Her anxious gaze scanned his face. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘I definitely think,’ Mateo murmured, ‘that we should stop talking.’
Rachel’s mouth snapped shut and Mateo angled his head so his lips were a breath away from hers. He could feel her tremble. ‘Don’t you think?’ he whispered.
‘Oh, um, yes.’
That was all he needed to settle his mouth on hers, her lips parting softly as a sigh of pleasure escaped her. Her hands clenched on his shoulders and he drew her closer so he could feel the delicious press of her breasts against his chest.
He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside the velvet softness of her mouth. She let out a little mewl, which enflamed his senses all the more. The need to kiss her became the need to possess her, with an urgency that raced through his veins and turned his insides to fire.
He slid his hand along the silky length of her thigh, spreading her legs so she was straddling him, the softest part of her pressed hard against his arousal. He flexed his hips instinctively, and she moaned against his mouth and pressed back.
He was going to explode. Literally. Figuratively. In every way possible. Mateo pressed against her once more as his brain blurred. Her hands were like claws on his shoulders, her breasts flattened against his chest. He slid his hands under her robe to fill them with those generous curves, everything in him short-circuiting.
If he didn’t stop this now, he was going to humiliate himself—and her. They couldn’t have their wedding night in a chair.
Gasping, he tore his mouth away from hers and with shaky hands set her back on the desk. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her hair in a dark tangle about her flushed face, her nightgown in delicious disarray. Mateo dragged his hands through his hair as he sought to calm his breathing.
‘We need to stop.’
‘Do we?’ Rachel asked shakily. She pulled her robe closed, her fingers trembling.
‘Yes. This isn’t...’ He shook his head, appalled at how affected he was. The blood was still roaring through his veins, and he most definitely needed an ice-cold shower. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way about a woman.
Yes, you can.
Abruptly he rose from the chair and stalked to the window, his back to Rachel. ‘I’m sorry,’ he managed to choke out. ‘I shouldn’t have taken such advantage.’
‘Was that what you were doing?’ Rachel asked with a husky yet uncertain laugh.
‘We’re not married yet,’ Mateo stated flatly.
‘I’m a grown-up, Mateo, and we’re getting married in three days. I think it was allowed.’ She sounded wry, but also confused. He still couldn’t look at her.
Their relationship wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yes, he enjoyed their camaraderie, and the physical attraction was an added bonus he hadn’t expected. But the way his need for her had consumed him? The way it had obliterated all rational thought?
No, that wasn’t something he was willing to feel. He could not sacrifice his self-control to his marriage.
‘You should go to bed,’ he said, his voice brusque, and a long silence ensued. He waited, not willing to turn, and then finally he heard the swish of silk as she slid off the table.
CHAPTER TEN
RACHEL GAZED AT her reflection anxiously as the flurry of nerves in her stomach threatened to make their way up her throat. In just fifteen minutes she was going to enter the palace ballroom on Mateo’s arm, and be presented to all Kallyrian society as his bride-to-be.
Their wedding was in less than forty-eight hours, a fact that kept bouncing off Rachel’s brain, refusing to penetrate. In forty-eight hours they would be married, and then crowned King and Queen in a joint ceremony.
A fact which would have filled her with excitement last night, when she and Mateo had worked together on the list of potential cabinet ministers, and then he’d kissed her.
Oh, how he’d kissed her. Rachel had never been kissed like that in her life, and she’d been in a ferment of desire since, longing to be kissed again—and more. So much more. To feel his hands on her, his mouth possessing her, his gloriously hard body beneath her...
But since he’d rather unceremoniously pushed her off his lap, Mateo had avoided her like the proverbial plague. At least, it felt that way. Rachel told herself he had to be busy, but she knew it was more than that, after the way he’d ended their kiss and turned his back, quite literally, to her.
She had no idea what had made him back off so abruptly, but the fact that he had filled her with both disappointment and fear. Was she a clumsy kisser? Heaven knew, it was perfectly possible. It wasn’t as if she’d had loads of experience. Or maybe he’d gone off her for some reason—when he’d touched her? She knew she was a little overweight. Maybe Mateo now knew it too.
The thought made her stomach clench as she frowned at her reflection, all her old insecurities, the ones she’d fought so hard to master, rising up in her again. Whatever it was, he’d ended the kiss and then avoided her ever since, so she hadn’t seen him from that moment to this. At least, she hoped she’d see him in this moment—they were meant to enter the ball together, after all, in just a few minutes.
Taking a deep breath, Rachel ran her hands down the sides of her gown, a fairy-tale dress if there ever was one. Made of bronze silk, it was strapless with a nipped-in waist and a delightfully full skirt that shimmered every time she moved. The dress was complemented with a parure from the Kallyrian crown jewels—a tiara made of topaz and diamonds, with a matching necklace, bracelet, and teardrop diamond earrings. She truly was Cinderella; the only question was when and if midnight would strike.
A knock sounded on the door of her bedroom, and, with her heart fluttering along with her nerves, Rachel croaked, ‘Come in.’
The door opened and Mateo stood there, looking devastatingly handsome in white tie and tails. They were the perfect foil for his olive skin and black hair, his eyes an impossibly bright blue-green in his tanned face.
‘Well?’ Rachel asked shakily as she straightened her shoulders. ‘Will I do?’
‘You look stunning.’ The compliment, delivered with such quiet sincerity, made a lump form in her throat.
Why did you push me away? She longed to ask, but didn’t dare. She wasn’t brave or strong enough to hear the answer.
‘These jewels are stunning,’ she said, nervously touching one of her earrings. ‘When Francesca showed them to me, I couldn’t believe I was meant to wear them.’
‘Who else should wear them?’ Mateo countered. ‘You are Queen.’
‘Technically, I’m not. Not for another forty-eight hours.’
‘It is as good as done. Tonight, in the eyes of the world, you are my Queen.’
Rachel shook her head slowly. ‘I feel like I’m living in a dream.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’ Mateo asked, his gaze fastened on hers.
‘No, but the thing with dreams is...you have to wake up.’
‘Maybe with this one you don’t. Maybe it will go on for ever.’
She laughed uncertainly. ‘No dream lasts for ever, Mateo.’
He acknowledged her point with a nod. ‘True.’
What, Rachel wondered, were they really talking about? She felt an undercurrent to their conversation, to the tension tautening the air between them. He extended his hand, and she took it, the feel of his warm, dry palm under hers sending little shocks along her arm. She would never stop responding to him, and yet it seemed he could turn his physical response to her off like a tap.
She pushed the thought away. She had enough insecurity to deal with already, appearing in public, knowing there would be whispers and rumours, criticisms as well as compliments. It was the nature of being a public figure, which, amazingly, she had now become.
‘Ready?’ Mateo asked softly, and she nodded.
They walked in silence from her bedroom in the palace’s east wing, along the plushly carpeted corridor to the double staircase that led down to the palace’s main entrance hall. The hall had been cleared for their entrance, save for a few security men flanking the doors to the ballroom, where a thousand guests were waiting.
Dizziness assailed Rachel and she nearly stumbled in the heels she still wasn’t used to wearing.
‘Breathe,’ Mateo murmured, his hand steady on her elbow.
‘You try breathing when you’re wearing knickers that are nearly cutting you in half,’ Rachel returned tartly, and was gratified to see his mouth quirk in a smile. No matter how Mateo did or did not feel about her physically, Rachel didn’t want to lose his friendship. As he’d said before, it was a good foundation for a marriage. She needed to remember that. She needed to remind herself of how important it was.
‘Here we go,’ Mateo said, and two white-gloved footmen opened the double doors to the ballroom. Taking a deep breath, Rachel held her head high as she sailed into the room on Mateo’s arm.
The crowd in the ballroom parted like the Red Sea as they entered under the glittering lights of a dozen chandeliers. The guests naturally formed an aisle that Mateo and Rachel walked down, hands linked and held aloft.
‘We’ll have to dance,’ Mateo murmured. ‘The first waltz. It is expected.’
‘Dance?’ Rachel whispered back as she nearly tripped on the trailing hem of her gown. ‘No one told me that! I don’t dance.’
‘It’s a simple box step. Follow my lead and you’ll be fine.’ They were almost at the end of the aisle, and panic was icing Rachel’s insides.
‘No, really,’ she said out of the side of her mouth, her gaze still straight ahead. She felt like a bad ventriloquist. ‘I. Don’t. Dance. At all. Two left feet would be a kind way of putting it.’
Why hadn’t Agathe covered this in her comportment lessons? Or had she just assumed that Rachel could dance?
She risked a glance at Mateo’s face; he wore the faint smile he’d had on since they’d entered the ballroom. He was so handsome it hurt. And she was about to humiliate herself publicly in front of a thousand people, and, really, the whole world. She was wearing a dress worthy of Beauty in Beauty and the Beast, but in this case she felt like the beast.
‘Mateo—’
‘Just follow my lead.’
‘I can’t—’
‘Trust me.’ The two words, simply spoken and heartfelt, were enough to allay her fears, or almost. Whatever he had planned, she knew she would follow along.
The crowds parted to reveal an empty expanse of gleaming parquet, a string orchestra poised at the other end. As Mateo escorted her to the centre of the floor, they struck up a familiar waltz tune: ‘Gold and Silver’.
Rachel stared at him in blind panic.
‘Put your feet on top of mine,’ Mateo murmured, so low she almost didn’t hear the words.
‘On top? I’ll kill your feet—’
‘Do it.’
She did, and Mateo didn’t even wince as she practically crushed his toes.
‘Hold on,’ he said, slippin
g one hand around her waist, and the next thing Rachel knew she was flying around the dance floor, her skirt swinging out in an elegant bell as Mateo moved them both around in a perfectly elegant waltz.
‘Are you in agony?’ she whispered as he arced around, carrying her easily without even seeming to do it.
‘Smile.’
She did. Two more minutes of soaring music and graceful moves when she felt as if she were flying, and then finally, thankfully, the waltz was over. The crowd erupted into applause and Mateo looked at Rachel and winked.
His feet were killing him, it was true, but the sight of Rachel looking at him in wonder and admiration and maybe even something more made it worth it. More than worth it. The look she gave him could have powered a city. Or perhaps the feeling inside him could have.
Whatever it was, Mateo felt like a king—of the whole world.
‘Your Highness.’ A local dignitary, someone whose name Mateo had forgotten, approached him with a bow. ‘That was exceptional. Please let me introduce you to my wife...’
The next hour passed in a blur of introductions and small talk. Just as he’d known she would, Rachel shone. She wasn’t one to give tinkling laughs or arch looks; she was far too genuine for that. But she talked to everyone as if she wanted to, and she listened as if she was really interested in what they had to say. Mateo was proud to have her on his arm and, more importantly, she seemed happy to be there. The evening, he knew, would be deemed a great success.
He didn’t think anything of it when Rachel was escorted into dinner by Lukas Diakis, a senior minister from his father’s cabinet. Nor when she listened politely to his Aunt Karolina, her gaze darting occasionally to him. He smiled back every time, but her own smiles became smaller and smaller until they were barely a stretching of his lips, and then they weren’t there at all, because she’d stopped looking at him.
Mateo told himself not to be concerned. What on earth could a doddering retired minister or an elderly spinster aunt possibly say to Rachel to make her seem so thoughtful and pale?
Still Mateo couldn’t shake his unease through the six-course meal. Even though they were at opposite ends of the table, he felt her disquiet. Or was he just being fanciful? It wasn’t as if they had some sort of mental or, heaven forbid, emotional connection. He didn’t even want that.