Royal Protocol (Crown & Glory Book 3)

by Christine Flynn

  The knowledge that she cared touched something inside him that refused to be denied.

  Too weary and discouraged to fight it, he found himself craving her caring to the depths of his soul.

  “It’s been a long day,” he explained, trying to deny it anyway. “I’m just…”

  She stepped closer when he said nothing else. “Tired?” she ventured.

  “That, too,” he muttered, not trusting the need building inside him.

  “Can you just leave all this and go upstairs? If you’re waiting for a call or a delivery or something, I can stay here and get it for you.”

  “Gwen. Don’t.”

  Confusion clouded concern. “Don’t what?”

  “You don’t have to run interference for me.”

  “I just wanted to help.”

  He knew that. That was what was tearing at him. She wanted to make things easier for him.

  She was only making them more difficult instead.

  The golden light from the lamp behind her made a faint halo of her pale hair. She wore it smoothed back and clipped at her nape, the soft strands fairly begging to be freed of their confines. Her lush mouth was glossed with something that left her lips looking natural and soft.

  She was close enough for him to see the chips of turquoise in her eyes. Close enough for him to breathe her scent—that impossible combination of gentleness and seduction.

  Close enough to touch.

  At that moment that was what he needed very much to do.

  With his eyes locked on hers, he snagged her waist and slowly tugged her to him. She took the step easily, looking far more worried about him than with what he was doing when he lifted his free hand to her face.

  She had a tiny cleft below her mouth. He touched it lightly, then skimmed his finger to the point of her chin. Intent on the motion of his hand, he slowly traced the delicate line of her jaw to where fragile bone met the pea-size gold ball piercing the small lobe of her ear.

  Her skin felt warm to him and soft, like the petal of a rose—though he couldn’t honestly say he’d ever stopped to appreciate the beauty of that particular flower before. He was appreciating beauty now, though, he realized, and let his exploration drift down the side of her graceful neck to her collarbones. In the hollow space between them, he felt her pulse skip wildly beneath his touch.

  His touch drifted lower, his knuckles brushing the porcelain skin visible between slashes of cobalt linen.

  When his fingers slipped beneath that fabric and stroked the gentle swell he’d brushed once before, her lips parted, a tremulous breath slipping between them.

  Gwen said nothing. She couldn’t. She couldn’t even move. His hand at her waist rested as lightly as the brush of his fingers against her skin. Yet, he might as well have shackled and bound her. Raw need shadowed the sculpted angles and planes of his face. A kind of hunger that made her ache inside even as he sent little licks of fire racing along her nerves. She couldn’t have pulled from him had her next breath depended on it.

  His hand slipped to the top button of her jacket.

  It was only then that his glance drifted up. That same hunger was in his eyes, turning them diamond bright as they locked on hers.

  She swallowed and stayed right where she was.

  The gleam in his gaze turned feral, but the motion of his fingers remained unhurried as he slowly flicked open one button. Then, another. And one more.

  It wasn’t until the front of her jacket was open that he let his glance move from her face. When he did, he slipped his hands between the sides of the deep-blue fabric, moving them back to expose the ivory satin camisole she wore beneath it.

  She had no idea what made his features go so taut just then. But what he did made her throat go tight. Flexing his fingers against the sides of her hips, he pulled her nearer and rested his forehead between her breasts. His broad shoulders seemed to sag when his breath leaked out in a long, relieved sigh.

  Caution filled her as she lifted her hand and touched it to the back of his head. She couldn’t believe how defenseless he suddenly seemed, or how exhausted he had to be to expose such vulnerability to her. The way he held her, with his arms snug around her hips, his head leaning against her, made it almost seem as if he were seeking comfort.

  She didn’t know which pulled at her more profoundly. The thought that he truly needed solace or the thought that he wanted it from her. The fact that he needed it at all had her threading her fingers through his surprisingly soft hair, cradling her to him as she would a tired, lonely little boy. Except the little boy in him had long ago ceased to exist. And the needs of the grown man were creating needs in her that she had long denied.

  There was so much about this powerful, complicated male that she never would have suspected, so much about him that drew her closer. In so many ways he’d touched her heart. As he nuzzled the slick fabric of her camisole with his cheek, all she considered was how he was touching her body.

  Slick fabric slid against her as his lips edged to the curve of her breast, his mouth seeking bare skin. He found it just above scalloped lace. The feel of his lips and his warm breath on her flesh sent delicious little shivers racing through her in the moments before he tugged the silky fabric from the waistband of her skirt. A uneven heartbeat later, his hands were under that fabric and he pushed it up to trace a trail of heat over her stomach to the filmy barrier of her bra.

  The pads of his fingers tightened against her as he sought her through the sheer fabric. Hot and moist, his breath penetrated the thin piece of lingerie, sapping the strength from her knees. He threatened to buckle them completely when he found her nipple.

  Her fingers slipped from the back of his head. With both hands, she gripped his solid shoulders to keep herself from sinking to the floor.

  Stark need sculpted his features when he finally looked up.

  For a moment he remained silent, his hands still holding her hips. His touch was measuring, as if he might be imagining how she would fit against him.

  “You know what I want, Gwen.”

  Her heart already felt as if it were bruising her breastbone with each beat. His husky statement threatened to pound it right out of her chest.

  She definitely knew what he wanted. He’d told her. In explicit detail.

  Heaven help her, she wanted it, too.

  “I believe you made it fairly clear,” she whispered, her stomach muscles quivering inches from his thumbs.

  “Only fairly?”

  A heady glint of challenge flashed in his eyes. Sliding one hand to the bare skin on her back, he tapped a small pad by his telephone and rose up over her. Behind him the lock of his door tumbled into place. Behind her the tall curtain of navy-blue drapes rode across the wall to cover the window.

  The electric hum of the curtain mechanism gave way to the pounding of her pulse in her ears as he slipped the clip from her hair and lowered his head.

  “Then, let’s see what I can do to make you completely certain.”

  Anticipation shot through her as he captured her mouth and pulled her against him, fitting her the way she imagined he’d considered only moments before. His erection pressed her stomach. His tongue felt as hot as his hands.

  She clung to him, melting inside at the feel of his hard, honed body seeking hers. With each passing day he had awakened feelings she’d forgotten, sensations that had lain dormant and dying.

  Those feelings rushed back with a vengeance, compounding themselves when he slowly slipped off her jacket and eased the thin straps of her camisole and bra over her shoulders. A quick flick of his fingers, and the bra was on the floor, the satin at her waist. The coolness of air against her skin had barely registered when he sank back with her to the desk, his mouth still devouring hers.

  She was wrong. It was more than reawakening she experienced beneath his touch. He electrified nerves she didn’t know she possessed when he cupped the aching fullness of her breast and trailed his lips down her throat. Teasing, taunting, he ove
rwhelmed her with sensation when he found her turgid peak once more. Then he soothed her, caressed her, molding his hands to her sides, tasting the flesh of her stomach, her ribs.

  Her eyes drifted shut, her head falling back at the exquisite weakness coursing through her. With her throat exposed, he carried his exploration there, and caught her behind the neck to bring her mouth back to his.

  He’d said he wanted to taste all of her body. When he tugged down the zipper on the side of her skirt, the thought that he actually intended to do just that drew a faint moan of longing. He drank that sound like a man dying of thirst, a groan of his own rumbling from deep in his chest.

  He’d robbed her of sensibility the moment he’d rested his head against her. Now, he was crumbling barriers, destroying any possible defense and shredding any hope of sanity.

  Her skirt had been tossed to the chair when he moved her hand from his shoulder to his tie.

  “You wanted to help.” His husky words vibrated against her lips. “How are you at untying knots?”

  Feeling tied in knots herself, she murmured back, “I think I can manage.”

  “Then, please,” he growled, before he closed that negligible distance “don’t let me stop you.”

  She wasn’t sure how she accomplished the small task with his hands busily stripping away her slip and pantyhose. But the knot came undone, along with the buttons on his shirt. As he had with her, she slipped her hands between the sides of the fabric to push them apart. Unlike him, her touch was less certain as she explored the sculpted muscles of his beautiful chest, the corded strength of his biceps.

  She couldn’t believe that she was free to caress him, that she could make him tremble as easily as he did her. He was a man of such control, such discipline. Yet she made his breath snag with the light brush of her fingers over his flat nipple, caused it to hitch again when she leaned forward to touch it with her tongue. She loved that she could do that to him. She loved the way his eyes stayed closed when she kissed the silvering hair at his temple, the lobe of his ear. She loved the low, guttural way he growled her name when her hand ventured low over the washboard ripples of his abdomen. Mostly, she realized, she loved him.

  It wasn’t wise. It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t even sensible, considering all that she knew about him. But the knowledge was there, as sure and as certain as anything she’d ever felt in her entire life.

  His heart was thundering beneath her palm when his arm slipped behind her thighs. His other locked around her back an instant before he rose and swept her off her feet.

  Like a primitive warrior claiming his mate, he carried her to the leather sofa and lowered her to stand beside it in the buttery glow of the room’s only light. Her feet had barely hit the ground when he bent to her neck, kissing the sensitive flesh behind her ear while he propped his foot on the sofa to untie his shoe, then toed off that one to do the same with the other. The faint clink of metal as he unbuckled his belt joined the intimate sounds of their breathing and the warning rasp of his zipper.

  “I want you,” he murmured, peeling off his shirt, ridding himself of his pants. “I want you now.”

  She was like a drug in his body, each taste of her making him crave her more. And the more he craved, the more he needed to touch, to explore, to learn every inch of her.

  His flesh felt on fire as he caught her to him, lowering her to the soft cushions, covering her with his body. The passion he’d suspected in her was definitely there. But even now, naked in his arms, she wasn’t letting that passion completely go. He wanted her to feel the same urgency clawing at him, the same need that had him damning restraint because he’d never needed any woman the way he needed her at that moment.

  Daring her to hold back, he kissed his way down her stomach, stroking her thighs, teasing the very heart of her femininity.

  “Harrison.”

  His name was a thin, ragged whisper on her lips.

  “Say it again,” he murmured, his voice a dark rasp as she jerked beneath him. “My name. Say it again.”

  She did, the pleading sound of it inflaming him as much as the feel of her clinging hands.

  He’d intended to wait. To drive her mad with the same desire he felt before caving in to it himself. The way she reached for him, her fingers digging into his flesh to pull him closer, her mouth seeking his, destroyed the thought completely.

  Leather squeaked as he pulled her under him. She urged him closer, wrapping her legs around him, making it impossible for him to remember why it had been so important that he retain that last bit of control. All that mattered was that he get inside her.

  Then, he was, and he wasn’t sure he was thinking at all. His existence narrowed to nothing but sensation. The feel of her welcoming him. The rightness of being exactly where he was as he thrust forward wanting to get as close as he humanly could. Then he was aware only of the need to take her with him before his mind blanked and he spilled himself inside her.

  Awareness returned by degrees.

  His labored breathing began to slow. His thundering heart worked down to a steadier beat. The thin sheen of perspiration on his body cooled the heated skin of his back. But his first awareness was of the warm, sweetly shaped woman in his arms.

  Her supple muscles had been utterly relaxed, as spent and limp as his own. With her body curled around his, he could feel a fine tension beginning to thread its way through her limbs.

  Still holding her, he angled his weight to the side as much as he could on the narrow sofa and slipped his fingers through her hair. He had the feeling reality was trying to tug her back, too. But the way she’d tucked her head against his shoulder made him think that she wasn’t quite ready to emerge from the protective little island of intimacy they’d created.

  That was fine with him. He wasn’t ready to let go of it himself. She felt too good in his arms. Later he could deal with all the reasons why he shouldn’t have caved in to his need for her. Right now he just wanted to absorb the strangely peaceful feeling of her lying against him, and hold off the world for as long as he could.

  The thought had barely registered when the electronic ring of the telephone mercilessly tore through the intimate silence. Reality jerked hard. In the space of a heartbeat he felt her limbs tense, and all the reasons he should never have reached for her lined up in his mind like a battalion of good little soldiers.

  “I need to answer that.”

  She blinked up at his chin, caution shadowing her lovely face as she shoved her hair from her eyes.

  His jaw tightened as the electronic summons sounded again. Pulling his body from hers, he groped for the telephone on the table at the end of the big sofa.

  “Do you want my shirt?”

  “Please.”

  The awkwardness Gwen felt was undeniable as he sat up, answered the phone with a flat “Monteque” and snatched his shirt from the floor. He didn’t seem the least self-conscious about his nakedness as he handed the garment to her. He didn’t even seem particularly conscious of hers when he picked up his pants and pulled them on while holding the receiver to his ear with his shoulder.

  “Sure,” he said, shoving his fingers through his hair on his way to his desk. “I can be at the palace in ten minutes. Where do we meet?”

  Quickly stuffing her arms into his sleeves, Gwen looked from Harrison’s magnificent back to the clothes draped over the arm of the wing chair and scattered over the carpet. She couldn’t believe how completely she’d abandoned herself to him. Or how uncertain she was feeling now that she was no longer in his arms.

  The vulnerability she’d sensed in him was nowhere in evidence. The need for her was gone. He was once again completely in control, and she had no idea where that left her.

  She picked up her underwear, slipped them on and looked around for her bra. Spotting it puddled by the nearest wing chair, she headed there, snaring her stockings on the way.

  She’d just picked up the filmy lace along with his tie when he hung up and turned to face her.r />
  Before he could say a word, she skimmed a glance up his powerful chest and held out the long strip of black fabric. “Can I get a ride with you?”

  Holding out the camisole he’d picked up himself, he traded lace for gabardine. “Of course you can.”

  Frowning, he caught her by the chin when she started to turn away.

  He regretted the interruption that had pulled him so rudely from her. He wasn’t terribly proud of the fact that he was grateful for it, too. It gave him no time to consider why he should have kept his hands to himself.

  Having blown it already, he threaded his fingers through her thoroughly tousled hair. She looked like a lovely fallen angel, he thought, and brushed his lips over her lush mouth.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  No, she wasn’t. Not with him looking so anxious to leave. “I’m fine,” she lied, and gave him a faint little smile to prove it.

  “Good.” Seeming perfectly willing to believe her, he pulled back and handed her her slip. “We need to go. Gage found something.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The ride to the palace in the back of the black sedan took all of five minutes. Harrison spent most of that time on the cell phone asking Carson Logan to meet him and Pierce outside Prince Owen’s room and taking a call from Sir Selwyn who was apparently already there.

  Gwen spent it nursing the knot of nerves in her stomach.

  She had pulled herself together as best she could in the small private bathroom in Harrison’s office, then hurried with him down to meet the car. Despite the fact that she’d combed her hair into its sleek, low ponytail after she’d found her clip and had smoothed most of the wrinkles from her suit, she felt totally thrown together.

  She was missing an earring.

  It was a stupid thing to obsess about. The small gold-colored ball that matched the one she’d taken off and put in her handbag wasn’t even a good piece of jewelry. But thinking about it was preferable to beating herself up over falling in love with a man whose idea of commitment probably meant sticking around for the weekend.