The Formidable King

by Alyssa J. Montgomery

  Prince Devereaux’s attendance had been expected. He had much more celebrity appeal than King Gabriel, and people were bound to want to attend the events to rub shoulders with him. Many would be especially curious to meet Mackenzie Roberts, the woman who’d finally captured Devereaux’s heart and who would become the prince’s bride a couple of weeks after the ball. The presence of Princes Khalid and Marco would also add star-studded appeal. ‘Will the Queen of Rhajia accompany Prince Khalid?’

  ‘No.’ He set his cup down and offered her the plate of bite-sized pastries. ‘She’s in the last trimester of her pregnancy and won’t be able to travel.’

  Despite the temptation of the exquisite-looking pastries, she was too unsettled to eat. ‘No thank you.’

  The king took a pastry and it reminded her that Eden had made mention several times of his sweet tooth. She’d said it was his only indulgence.

  ‘I’ll have Michael update the guest list for you.’ He took a serviette and wiped his fingers.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The plans for the ball are good, but we need to discuss the agenda for the African trip you’re organising,’ the king said.

  India took a sip from her tea and sent him an enquiring look. Now he was behaving in a more civil fashion, her shoulders started to relax.

  ‘The visit you’ve outlined involves staying for a week. It will only take a couple of hours for me to open a school and hospital building in the village in Eden’s name, then I plan to be back on the plane to return to Santaliana.’

  And this, Your Majesty, is why I’m so qualified for the job! she felt like throwing at him.

  She tried not to look smug as she set her cup and saucer down on the coffee table. ‘According to the customs of the Misanti people, it would be considered outright discourteous to remain with them any less than six nights. The seventh night communicates the visitor’s utmost respect.’

  A deep furrow appeared between his eyebrows. ‘I don’t have that sort of time available. Besides, what would I do in an African village beyond the half a day required to open the centres?’

  Seriously? ‘Talk to the people—via a translator—and get to know them and their needs.’ She waved one hand in front of her as she elaborated, ‘I’ll liaise with Michael to plan your itinerary, but this trip is a wonderful opportunity for you to see and really experience this part of the world. You can go on safari and swim in the man-made waterhole with the elephants.’ Any moment now she was sure she’d see him shudder. Had he no sense of adventure? She decided to bait him a little more. ‘You could always go caving or bungee jumping. Then you could try white-water rafting down the river.’

  ‘All things you’ve done, Miss Hamilton?’

  As a matter of fact, she had. But she wasn’t about to give him any clues to her personal life in case he found fault with her activities. ‘They don’t appeal to you, Your Majesty?’

  Instead of the shudder she expected, she was surprised to see a small smile play around the corners of his mouth. ‘I presume you’d enjoy watching my raft being attacked by a hippo?’

  She fought to suppress her smile as her mind conjured up the image. ‘Unfortunately there are no hippos in this river. Even if there were, I’d miss the spectacle as I won’t be accompanying you.’

  ‘Why?’

  She reached out and took her cup and saucer again. ‘I don’t know.’ She sipped at her tea. ‘Perhaps they were hunted out. All I know is there hasn’t been a hippo sighting in the last thirty-odd years.’

  ‘I meant why won’t you be accompanying me?’

  His question had her head jerking back in alarm. ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘There’s every need. This village meant a lot to my sister.’ He made an eloquent movement with his hand as he spoke. ‘As a mark of importance, both the patron and managing director of the foundation should be there.’ His blue gaze bored into her eyes. ‘I insist you come along.’

  ‘No!’ Her skin was suddenly cold and clammy at the thought, and perspiration beaded her forehead.

  ‘You have some objection to travelling to a Third World country to meet the people you serve?’

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  He couldn’t be asking this of her.

  Her hand shook as she replaced the fine bone china teacup back on its saucer and set it down. ‘I can’t go to Africa,’ she managed at last.

  ‘Why not?’

  She shook her head. ‘I have my reasons, but no inclination to share them.’

  He steepled his fingers in front of his chest and regarded her intently. ‘No Hilton hotel in the village? No fluffy white bath towels and hairdryer at the accommodation? Or is it the room service, salons and boutiques you’d miss the most?’

  Where the hell did that come from?

  ‘How dare you insinuate I’m a pampered, five-star hotel girl?’ The cushion from her chair fell to the floor as she shot to her feet. ‘I’ve had more than enough of your disdainful treatment. You’ve been incredibly rude since the minute I walked in here, and being a monarch doesn’t give you licence to treat those around you with contempt.’ When he met her tirade without any excuses or apologies, she continued. ‘Your sister used to speak of you so lovingly. She told me you were a man of deep integrity who always cared and felt responsible for everyone around you. She’d be horrified if she could hear the way you’re treating me and the negative judgements you’ve made when you know nothing about me.’

  He stood with indolent grace, and used his extra height to intimidate her as he stalked toward her. ‘I know more about you than you realise.’

  Arrogant bastard. He knew nothing. ‘Your comments indicate the exact opposite.’

  ‘Your behaviour told me all I need to know.’

  ‘My behaviour?’ She’d been nothing but polite.

  ‘We’ve met before.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’ A set of bongo drums took residence in her chest and pounded out a primitive tattoo of tribal warning as he closed the distance between them. ‘There’s no way I’d ever forget meeting someone as rude and arrogant as you!’

  ‘I know exactly who you are and all about the crowd you run with, which is why I can’t reconcile your claim that you had a friendship with my sister. Nor can I believe you’ve been entrusted with your present role in her foundation.’

  What? His words were such a shock—such an insult—they replayed in her head as she tried to process them.

  ‘You may not remember it, but we’ve met,’ he insisted.

  ‘Clearly you’re mistaking me with someone else.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Cinderella.’

  ‘Cinderella?’ What the hell was he talking about?

  ‘The impossibility of the situation struck me the moment you entered my office, but there’s no escaping the truth. Perhaps this will remind you.’

  Before she could guess his intention, his arms were around her, pulling her against the solid breadth of his chest. Tilting her head up to meet his eyes, she parted her lips in a small gasp. Then his lips closed firmly on hers in a passionate kiss that drove any thought of protest out of her head and made her senses hum with divine sensation.

  Her surroundings and situation blurred. Responding only to instinctive need, India raised her arms up over his shoulders, speared her hands through his thick, dark hair and revelled in the tactile delight. A low moan rumbled up from deep in her chest when the tip of his tongue darted into her mouth and teased her tongue into joining him in a provocative dance.

  The dance went on and on. Long, slow, sensual strokes mixed up with drugging darts, which flicked along each nerve ending and made her mould her body closer against his.

  With each quick inhalation, the entirely masculine scent of his citrus and sandalwood cologne made her want more. She wanted to experience the taste of his flesh as well—to strip his chest bare and place her hands along the hardness of his collarbones while her tongue dipped into the hollows at the base of his neck.

  The heat from h
is hands on her back spread through her. He held her close, making certain of her complete capitulation before his hands swept lower to firm over the curve of her bottom. His touch ignited the spark to a fuse that trailed all the way to the core of her femininity, and set her ablaze in a way she’d only known once before.

  Another moan into his mouth, and his head drew back a fraction. His breath fanned against her lips as he spoke. ‘I remember your husky little moans and the feel of your body against mine. Are you remembering, India?’

  Blinking at the reality of her situation, her head jerked back and her whole body tensed.

  A perfect height for her.

  Dark silky, hair.

  Strong jaw.

  Chiselled cheekbones.

  Deep, blue eyes.

  The familiarity of the superbly masculine cologne he wore.

  Kisses that had her melting into him and wanting so much more...

  Oh—my—God!

  She stumbled back and was immediately bereft at the loss of physical contact. Her shoe made contact with the cushion on the floor and she shifted again for solid ground.

  Her thoughts were scattered like jigsaw pieces and she fought through the daze of her senses to order them.

  Only one other man’s body had been such a perfect frame for hers. Only one other man had kissed her with such passionate intensity that she’d completely lost all awareness of time and place. Only one other man had awakened every sensual need she possessed and wrought her urgent responses so effortlessly.

  One other man, or the same man?

  The last piece of the puzzle fell into place and realisation hit hard as the picture gained clarity.

  Her eyes stretched wide as she stared at him—part in excited amazement and part in horrified disbelief as her mind superimposed a black mask onto his face. She hadn’t recognised him without the mask, but her body had.

  ‘Zorro!’ she whispered.

  ‘Cinderella.’ The satisfied smile that curved his lips didn’t reach the cool blue intensity of his eyes. ‘The woman who left me at the ball, without a trace.’

  ‘It... It isn’t possible!’ Her hands flew to her cheeks while the blood drained from her extremities. ‘It can’t be you. You’re... Eden’s brother—the King of Santaliana!’ She shook her head vehemently in denial. ‘It can’t have been you that night.’

  ‘I assure you it was.’

  India sank back into her chair, desperately hoping this must all be some ghastly nightmare. ‘I had no idea. I’ve never known who you were.’

  ‘Would you have returned to me that night had you guessed my identity? If you’d known I was a king?’

  God, but he was insulting. If she admitted she would still have run in the opposite direction, but run even harder knowing he was royal, he probably wouldn’t believe her.

  ‘Would you have decided it was worth playing your game a little longer if you’d realised you played with the ruler of a kingdom?’ he pressed.

  He thought she’d been playing with him? No wonder he judged her so harshly. But he had no idea of the truth and no right to judge her. Besides, he’d been the one who’d played a game of deceit with her.

  ‘Is that what normally happens?’ she bit back with uncharacteristic malice. ‘Women flock to you because of your title?’

  His dark brows drew together and his expression was contemptuous. ‘You couldn’t get enough of me at the ball, and you plastered yourself to me just now. Tell me, why did you choose the son of the Sultan of Izbar over me? Did he appeal to you as much physically, or did you base your choice on all the jewels you knew you’d receive when he ended the affair?’

  India flinched at the insulting words. ‘I don’t know any sultan’s son.’ Refusing to sit and allow him to dominate her with his height, she forced herself to stand and willed her shaking legs to support her. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘A friend saw you with Abdul after you left me to go to the bathroom. I’m sure you realised the guy has a reputation as an extremely generous lover. A month or two and his lovers walk away richly rewarded. How much did you receive, India?’

  ‘Your friend was mistaken.’ Venom laced every tight word. Her fingernails scored her palms and even the deep muscles of her calves shook with her outrage. ‘I’ve never met the man you speak of and I resent your insinuation.’

  Only one man had ever treated her like a whore. Her skin went cold again and she implored her legs to keep her upright as the horrific memory took centre stage in her mind, but the trauma was so great, her body swayed.

  The king’s hand shot out to her arm to steady her. ‘Are you unwell?’

  Oh God. She couldn’t let those horrific memories of that dark time in her life swamp her now when she needed every ounce of her strength to face this man. Without thinking, she raised her hand and her fingertips traced along the slight ridge of scar tissue beneath her left eye.

  Her heart rate accelerated and her palms began to sweat.

  Pull—yourself—together!

  She forced her eyes to stay open. She needed to battle the impending darkness of a faint and to see her surroundings, because a panic attack threatened to reduce her to a whimpering, cowering mess.

  Solid, expensive furniture.

  The beautiful coastline of Santaliana stretched out before her through the window behind the king’s desk.

  Priceless works of art on the walls painted by Renaissance masters.

  That’s it. Take your mind off it. Start counting backwards if you have to.

  A gold stand supporting a jewelled globe over by the bookcase.

  Nothing dark. Nothing sinister. Nobody hiding in the corners.

  She was safe. Secure. Well, as safe as she could be given the king had just held her in his arms and kissed her into mindless submission.

  ‘Sit down,’ he commanded, easing her back into the chair. ‘Are you diabetic?’

  ‘I... I’m just overtired,’ she invented. ‘I stood up too quickly.’

  What was she doing? She mightn’t want to tell him the entire truth of the horrific memories that swamped her, but this wasn’t anything to do with being overtired. This was to do with him unsettling her—him insulting her and stirring up her nightmares.

  Launch that at him! her inner voice urged. But fatigue was beginning to set in. She needed all her focus to regroup.

  He sent her a thoroughly assessing look and walked to the corner of the room to fill a glass from a crystal water jug.

  Thank God she’d been able to control the panic attack and hadn’t ended up curling up into a ball and rocking back and forth in front of him. That would’ve been the height of humiliation.

  ‘Here. Drink this.’

  She took it gratefully, buying herself some time to gather her wits as she drank. It was imperative she concentrate on this moment in time and not permit her flashbacks to intrude.

  ‘I can’t believe you just kissed me,’ she muttered in disbelief—more to herself than to him. She raised one hand and waved it about in front of her in agitation, while she clung to the glass with the other. ‘What was that about?’

  ‘Jogging your memory.’ He turned away from her for a moment and raked his fingers through the dark hair that was still tousled from her hands. When he faced her again, there was a challenging glint in his eyes. ‘You may not have known who I was when you walked through my office door, but one kiss just now and you remembered me. What does that tell you?’

  ‘That was way more than one kiss, and you had no right to any kisses from me.’

  ‘Which is why you were so intent on pushing me away?’ he mocked.

  Damn him! Both of them knew she’d been more than content to melt against him and match him kiss for kiss. He’d heard her breathy sighs and felt her complete capitulation.

  ‘I’m here to discuss foundation business,’ she said, grappling to steer them back on course. ‘You should be treating me with respect. Instead, you’ve been nothing but—’

  ‘Rude and
disdainful,’ he finished for her, mimicking her tone of outrage. ‘You were the one who behaved poorly the first time we met,’ he accused as he stalked back and forth in front of her chair. ‘You captivated me at the masquerade ball. I waited for you, but you didn’t honour your promise to return.’

  Captivated him? Unlikely. He’d just been playing with her—bored while he waited for his fiancée to arrive. Had his intended turned up in the end or had he turned his attentions elsewhere for distraction?

  ‘And what if I had returned?’ she demanded as her chest tightened and the tendons in her forearms began to ache as she gripped the glass hard in her desperation to ground herself. ‘You thought I was going to be your entertainment for the evening. I’m sure it didn’t take you long to find someone else who was willing to slip between the sheets with you.’

  Never in a lifetime would she have believed it was the King of Santaliana who’d set her on fire with his sensual mastery. He had a reputation as being rigidly straight, and some sections of the media complained that he was boring. What on earth had he been doing at the depraved masquerade ball?

  Gabriel de la Croix was reputed to be a serious, responsible ruler. It was his brother who, up until his recent engagement, had earned the playboy reputation. Yet it seemed Gabriel was just as much a playboy.

  When she’d left Zorro at the ball and gone to the bathroom, a man had approached her and whispered that Zorro was engaged. Once she knew, she hadn’t been able to leave the ball fast enough. When she’d arrived home, she wondered whether she should’ve gone back and confronted Zorro—wondered whether the stranger who’d warned her may have been mistaken. Coward that she was, she’d decided it was better to tuck herself safely up into bed for the night and stay well away from the temptation of those deep blue eyes.

  Now she knew Gabriel had been Zorro, she was thankful she’d resisted the lure of attraction. India remembered meeting up with Eden a few months later and talking about her brother’s wedding.