by Leslie North
“Chloe?”
Too late, she realized Kishon had been talking to her. She shook herself out of her thoughts and came back to reality, which was the reality of his sprawling bedroom. He had his own sitting area, and they’d been cuddled on the couch for a while now.
“Sorry,” she said, shifting into the warmth of him. Kishon wrapped his arm more tightly around her shoulders. “I was thinking. What did you say?”
“It’s not important. What is important is that serious frown on your face.”
Chloe replaced it with a smile. Her boss had always said that a fake smile will make you feel better. Fake it until you make it. She was happy—that wasn’t it, exactly. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then screwed up her lips.
“Fake-wedding stress?” teased Kishon.
“You say that, but it’s real.”
“Did your meeting not go well?”
“No, it went very well. But it was a lot,” Chloe admitted. “Hannah said that she had most of it planned out, and she wasn’t kidding. I guess I thought I would have more to do with it.”
Kishon put his fingers under her chin and adjusted them so she was looking into his eyes. “Did you want that? Because if planning the wedding is important to you—”
“No. I trust Hannah. I really like her. It’s just that it’s all feeling…more real than I expected.”
“Hmm.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. The casual dominance of him—the way he took her mouth with his, exploring her with his tongue in practiced flicks and swirls—made her melt. “I know what you need.”
He picked her up from the sofa in one movement and carried her toward the bed.
“Kishon, I’m really fine—” A nervous giggle escaped her, though she had nothing to be nervous about. It just hit her in these moments that he was a king, and getting carried to his bed was like stepping onto a roller coaster.
Kishon dispensed with her clothes, then piled up the pillows against his massive headboard. Then he picked her up again, laying her gently against the pillows. “There.” He fussed over one of them. “Does that relax you?”
She smiled up at him, stretching her arms above her head. “You have a nice bed.”
He looked down at her, heat in his eyes. “I can’t accept this. You still look tense.”
Kishon climbed onto the bed with her and tugged her down a few inches, spreading her legs with his big hands. He bent his head low and kissed up the inside of one leg, starting at her ankle and ending with a lingering brush to the inside of her thigh. Chloe’s eyes fluttered closed. Her body quivered in his grip. And then his mouth was on the hot center of her.
He licked her slowly at first, tasting every inch and leaving fluttering, tortuous kisses on her clit every so often. She groaned, rocking her hips up to him. “You’re an awful tease,” she gasped.
“I’m a master at what I do.”
He was a master at ratcheting up the intensity bit by bit, licking a little harder every time, pressing his tongue a little deeper, and by the time he sealed his lips over her clit and pushed two fingers inside her, she was a wordless ball of sparking nerves. He devoured her while she came, utterly relentless, and Chloe fell back against the pillows. The mattress dipped, and she heard the soft impact of clothes hitting the floor.
Kishon crawled back between her legs, and without opening her eyes, she hooked one hand around the back of his neck and used the other to feel every ridge of his abs. His hard length pulsed between them, teasing at her opening, and when she’d had her fill of tracing his body, she reached down and took him in her hand. He made a low noise in the back of his throat.
Same, Chloe thought. I feel the same.
She guided him into her, and the very thought of what she was doing knocked the breath from her lungs. Kishon set the rhythm, driving her back into the pillows, and Chloe lost herself in the contrast of it all. Soft pillows. Hard muscles. Fluffy sheets. Powerful thrusts. The pleasure wound tighter and tighter, and then she felt Kishon’s hard muscles stiffen between her thighs. He came with an animal noise, his head buried in the side of her neck, and it was so hot it pushed her over the edge into a second echoing release.
Real. So real. This can’t be fake, she thought dizzily.
Chloe came down slowly, finding herself in Kishon’s arms.
“How are you now?” The soft, questioning tone went straight to her heart.
“I’m good.” She wriggled the tips of her toes, where she still felt the aftershocks of her orgasm. “Really good.”
“Emotionally, though,” he said, tracing a fingertip over her cheek and pushing her hair out of her face. “Are you still all right with this? If this part of our arrangement is too much, I can make it easier. I can limit your duties, schedule you with a traditions tutor. Hannah worked with her.”
She felt his attention settle over her like the fluffiest robe at a spa. He was caring for her. A shiver moved through her, and he held her closer.
“I’m still good with it.” She breathed him in. “I am wishing I could have…one thing,” Chloe decided in the moment. “One thing that’s mine. Even if it’s fake.”
“Anything you want,” Kishon said. “Name it, and it’s yours.”
“The wedding dress.” She lifted a hand and ran it over his bicep, over his elbow, down to his wrist. “I’d like to pick the wedding dress myself.”
“Wish granted.” Chloe heard the smile in his voice. It felt like sunshine, like a day at the beach. She could practically hear the waves on the sand. She slipped into the dream, feeling more content than she ever had.
9
The brothers and Matek stood together under a tulle wedding canopy in the lush royal gardens. Music floated over the scene from a string quintet near the entrance to the palace. All Kishon needed was for his bride to appear.
“Are you positive you’re making the right choice?”
Kishon kept a broad smile on his face while he looked over his shoulder at Chakir, who wore an expression somewhere between wild anticipation and dread. “You’re saying this to me now?”
Matek was busy scanning the crowd, so he didn’t join in the line of questioning His security training never turned off, which was probably a good thing for all of them.
“I don’t want to force anyone into making a decision that they wouldn’t otherwise make.” Chakir smiled back and patted Kishon’s shoulder.
“I’m making the right choice.”
“Kishon—”
“It’s the truth.”
Chakir hesitated, as if he might say something else, but he turned to Matek instead.
Kishon hadn’t expected to feel so calm and collected about getting married when the moment came, fake or not. But Chloe—she had been a model fiancée. She’d taken all of it in stride. Being introduced to the elders. Wall-to-wall meetings with Hannah and Chakir, with Matek thrown into the mix when they had to plan palace security. A last-minute engagement party with five hundred elite guests from around Hamari.
They’d been the center of attention for the last two weeks, and Chloe hadn’t faltered. She had been charming and attentive, and she had never once complained at the endless rounds of photographs and introductions, followed by more photographs and introductions.
She knew how to please people. She knew which drink to suggest to the shipping magnate who worked closely with the royal family. She had instinctively connected that man’s wife with the fashion designer who had made her wedding dress, and the two women spent the rest of the enormous bridal shower scheming about a new business venture. Chloe had behaved…royally.
She was, Kishon had to admit, going to make a very good wife before she slid into the background after Chakir’s wedding. The perfect wife, even. She had no political aspirations and wanted to spend her time working to improve the lives of the people.
The perfect temporary wife.
The ushers seated the last of the guests in the evening sun, enormous tulle banners hanging over them in a drea
mlike cloud. Chloe’s mother and stepfather came down the aisle. They’d rushed passports and visas so they could make the ceremony, but they were flying back to the States as soon as the reception was over—her stepfather had a work engagement the following day. Kishon didn’t want to admit how relieved this made him feel. He liked them, the way he’d instantly liked Chloe, and some part of him recoiled from getting to know them better.
He wasn’t going to think about that now. He was going to nod and smile at them and play the part of a groom with nothing to hide.
Kishon caught the signal from the head usher. His heart boomed, a cannon only he could hear. The music paused, an expectant hush falling over the crowd, and then swelled into something bright and triumphant. The name of it had flown right out of his head, but every note seared itself into his memory, his vision seeming ultra-clear. Kishon noticed a program fluttering in a guest’s hand in the second row, the particular translucency of the white tulle against the sky, and the fit of his own shirt against his chest. They had opted for black tie, and his tuxedo had been tailored just for the occasion.
Hannah came down the aisle first.
It wasn’t supposed to matter this much. The emotion in him rose to a fever pitch.
Chloe appeared at the end of the aisle, and Kishon’s breath caught in his throat.
Her dress. Her dress. It had sleeves to her elbows, an elegant boat neck, and a skirt that seemed to have been directly inspired by the tulle banners overhead. The material floated in an ethereal fall a couple of inches above the ground. He became aware of a stinging in his eyes.
Tears.
He blinked them away, swallowing hard.
Chloe made her way down the aisle, head held high, eyes on his. A long veil cascaded over her sunshine hair and her shoulders, trailing gently behind her.
Kishon had always thought that if he found a woman he wanted to marry, their ceremony would follow every Hamari tradition. He had never imagined that he’d watch a woman like Chloe come down the aisle to him, beaming, in an American wedding dress that looked like a dream.
She reached him, and her hand sliding into his did nothing to dispel the dreamlike sensation of the moment.
“You’re beautiful.” He wasn’t prepared for how husky his voice sounded or the way her eyes shone with a matching set of tears.
Kishon couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not when the ceremony began, officiated by one of the most prominent tribal leaders. Not when they exchanged vows. Chloe had written her own. She’d even, he discovered, asked Chakir for help with a few lines in Arabic. He was touched. She’d practiced, it was obvious, and her pronunciation was very good.
His hands trembled as he slipped her wedding ring onto her finger. And when Chloe pressed the circle of gold over his knuckle, Kishon felt weak in the knees.
“I take you to be my husband,” Chloe said.
Husband. The word rang in his ears for a long time. Husband and wife.
The music from the hall echoed against the hush of the hallway, a residual exhilaration humming along over his skin. Chloe held his hand tightly in hers as they left the reception. If it was possible, she looked even more beautiful than she had during the ceremony. The careful curl of her hair had come undone a bit during all the dancing, and her cheeks were flushed with the most gorgeous pink he had ever seen.
She let out a long, happy sigh. “I think that’s the first time I’ve taken a real breath all day,” she said.
“I know just how you feel.”
He squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back.
“Weddings,” she said knowingly.
“Weddings,” he agreed.
But they weren’t a couple coming back from just any wedding. It had been their wedding, and as much as he told himself it was fake, the air still felt weighted with meaning.
They arrived at the door to his rooms. “Home sweet home,” Chloe said, and she reached for the door handle.
“Wait.”
He pulled her hand back and scooped her into his arms, the fabric of her dress bundling underneath her.
She giggled. “What are you doing?”
“The Western tradition,” he said. “Carrying my new bride across the threshold.”
He opened the door and felt her hold her breath. The moment seemed to shine. If time was a precious jewel, this one glittered in front of him like the world’s rarest diamond.
Kishon stepped across the threshold.
“Oh,” Chloe said, and then she was speechless.
He’d had the main room decorated with falls of tulle, just like in the garden. Flickering candles graced every surface. White rose petals formed a path from the front door, curving away down the hall.
He followed them, feeling Chloe’s breath quicken. He breathed in the scent of her skin—she had worn a new perfume for the ceremony, and its light fragrance made his heart beat faster.
The petals led to his bedroom. A warm light glowed from the cracked door, and he pushed it open with his elbow.
Chloe took in a sharp breath. He’d had this decorated, too—more tulle over his huge bed, and a spread of food on the low table by the sofa. Two champagne glasses bubbled in the center near an arrangement of roses that looked like they had sprung from the garden and danced around each other until they fell into the circle they were in.
He set her on her feet by the sofa. “Champagne? Pastry?”
Chloe licked her lips. “Mostly, I want to get out of this dress.”
Kishon took another look at her. “It’s custom-made to your exact specifications. Is it really so uncomfortable that you want to rush out of it?”
A sly grin stole across her face. “I chose it for its beauty, not its comfort. And I’d like to get out of it for more reasons than one.”
Understanding tumbled over him, followed by a rush of heat. “Then the champagne will wait.”
Kishon led her to the center of the room, then took her face in his hands. “My wife,” he said softly, and the truth of it almost shattered him. Fake engagement or not, they had really been married a few hours before—in the eyes of the law, she was his, and he was hers.
“Husband,” she whispered. “Get me out of my dress.”
Chloe turned slowly around in front of him, giving him one last view of the dress on her body. Then he set about unbuttoning each of the tiny satin-covered buttons, leaving kisses behind in its wake. He pulled one sleeve down, then the other, and tasted the skin of her shoulders. The dress dropped to the floor to reveal a set of ivory lingerie. It was lacy. It was tantalizing. It looked like it had been made for her and her alone.
She turned to face him with a sultry smile, and Kishon sank to his knees in front of her. “You didn’t tell me about this.”
“Surprise,” Chloe said, her hands falling onto his shoulders.
Kishon buried his face in the front of all that delicate lace, her skin smooth beneath, and groaned. “This is better than the dress.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her hands moved to the back of his head, pulling him even closer. “Prove it.”
10
Chloe stretched, rousing out of a deep sleep, and let the sensations come slowly to the front of her mind. The sheets—they were so soft. Kishon must use linens with a thread count in the millions. The gentle weight of the coverlet. It pressed the sheets onto her skin like a whisper.
She opened her eyes to the sight of a tulle canopy above her, sparkling in the morning light coming through the giant windows in Kishon’s room. Who would have thought that tulle would send an aftershock of delight humming through her body? Her smile felt too big for her face. Chloe put up a hand to cover it, then dropped her hand to her pillow. For this moment, she could let herself enjoy the afterglow of the wedding as if the marriage were as real as the decorations in Kishon’s suite. Chloe had never once thought of carrying the wedding theme all the way to the royal apartments, but then again, she’d never been married to a king before.
He wasn’t here, that king—
the sheets were cool and the air empty. But he’d be back soon, she was sure of it.
Chloe curled onto her side, pulling the blankets tight around her and grinning. The wedding night had been on another level. Making love with Kishon while her wedding dress fainted on the floor at the foot of the bed had been enough to sweep her feet out from under her, if she’d been standing. He’d been ravenous for her, and she’d lost herself in her own hunger for him.
And now they were going to fly to Paris. Her heart skipped, light and free and so excited that it almost made her want to leap out of Kishon’s bed, throw on the nearest clothes, and run to the airport. Kishon was probably preparing some surprise on the plane right this very minute. He knew how much it meant for her to finally go to Paris. How many times had she sketched the Eiffel Tower from pictures she’d found on the internet? Too many. It was time to paint it in person.
Oh, it was coming true, this pipe dream that she’d turned over in her mind while she dried the glasses at the bar and smiled for drunk businessmen and walked home late at night to her tiny apartment—it was coming true. She could practically feel the brush between her fingers, the pull of the bristles over the canvas. She laughed out loud. Even the breeze in Paris was going to feel different. She knew it already.
A rumble of a voice, like approaching thunder, boomed outside the bedroom door. Chloe pulled the sheet up high.
“Yes. Of course.” Kishon. His voice got closer. “Yes, I understand. I wouldn’t say I’m thrilled about it, no.” The door at the opposite end of the room opened. Kishon wore a pair of dark slacks, a pristine white button-down, and a frown. Except for the frown, his appearance reminded her of standing across from him at the bar, pretending not to be completely obsessed with every twitch and curl of his perfect lips. His blue eyes landed on Chloe and flared. “I’ll be down soon.” He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the sofa with a jagged sigh. “Good morning,” he said, the hard edge of his expression softening…but not much. “How is my wife today?”