“I can take a hint. You want to talk to your brother alone.” Angelica eyed Friedrich and then Ludwig. “I’ll go upstairs.”
Friedrich arched a brow at Ludwig. “Doesn’t miss a thing, does she?”
“No,” said Angelica, before Ludwig could answer. “I don’t.”
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Friedrich promised.
After he heard the upstairs door close, Ludwig asked, “What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”
“Not at the moment, but you might be.”
“I’ve already been warned about hurting her. That’s not going to happen, so you—”
Friedrich walked over to a window and looked outside. “Oh, that might explain it then.”
“Explain what?”
“You’re being watched. There’s a car outside, just a ways down the street. The driver has an expensive camera with a long-range lense and it’s aimed at your house.”
“What a prick. He needs to back off and give her some respect. And give me some too.”
“Who?”
“Valantín. Angelica’s overly-possessive brother. The one who gave me the warning.”
“I guess that would make sense, except for one thing. Wouldn’t a king hire someone who’d drive a better car than an old beat-up Ford Fiesta?”
“Not if he doesn’t want to draw attention and make it obvious.”
“Brother, in this neighborhood, an old Fiesta stands out like a sore thumb. Why do you think I noticed it?
“Hmm. You’re right. Rookie paparazzi?”
“Didn’t feel like it. But I guess it’s possible. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”
He ran his hand through his hair, worried. “Neither do I.”
17
Ludwig found Angelica sitting on his home-office couch with three of his childhood photo albums spread around her.
She turned to face him, smiling. “Cristo, for a guy, you have so many pictures.”
“For a guy?” Ludwig wasn’t sure how to take that. He moved toward her, sitting down after putting a couple of albums on the table. Her smile widened.
“Maybe you’re not the womanizer your reputation says you are.” And then before he could ask about that comment, she pointed to a picture of him hugging his dog when he was a kid. “And you love animals.”
He squatted down beside her and looked at the picture, grinning at the sight of his Danish dog wearing a pointed birthday hat. “That was Monster’s second birthday.”
Angelica giggled, pointing at the picture. “You mean you made the cake for the dog?”
“Mutter did, but I asked her to. Monster was my best friend.” He frowned. “He got really sick after eating that cake. She later informed me the bone was for him and the cake was for us.”
Angelica almost choked, laughter bubbling from her throat. “How much did he eat?”
His frown deepened. “The whole thing.”
Angelica let out a laugh that made him laugh along with her. He hadn’t seen her laughing before. She smiled, and grinned, but she didn’t ordinarily laugh out loud like this, and it made her look adorably carefree.
Every different little thing he discovered about her made him like her more.
He looked at his watch and closed the album “Let’s go, or we’ll be late.”
She promptly rose from the couch. “Do you know what we’re doing yet?”
“Yes.”
She waited for him to elaborate but when he said nothing more, she asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“Nein.”
Angelica didn’t enjoy surprises. That had died with Abelardo when he’d stood her up on their wedding day. However, something in Ludwig’s eyes told her he did wish to surprise her, so she didn’t press.
The rest of the morning went by quickly. Ludwig took her shopping to get different clothes, which were more casual than she was used to, yet still dressy, which was an odd mix.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on how to describe the flowy, vibrant red and orange printed dress that swirled and tangled around her ankles in a sensuous way, much less the flashy pink and blood-red fringed shawl he had draped over her shoulders all the while ogling her breasts which were highlighted by the low neckline of the dress. The outfit was completed with a pair of golden sandals which were tied around her calves.
“Where are we going?” The only thing she could guess was some sort of costume party.
He was dressed in his dark jeans but his black T-shirt had been replaced by a white embroidered vest.
He smiled at her, but said nothing as he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat.
He was so peculiar, but…she realized that being with him, she felt comfortable being spontaneous. Her entire life had been spent in rigid schedules and responsibilities. She had no idea how he did it, but she couldn’t deny she wildly enjoyed being with him like this.
“There are a few things you need to know about where we’re going,” he said at last.
It’s about time. Maybe she was finally going to find something out about their destination.
Angelica studied his profile—his lion-mane was neatly combed but still stood out from his head, full of body—watching him maneuver through traffic with the kind of finesse he seemed to have with everything he did. She wondered why he seemed to spend so much time looking in the rear-view mirror, but she didn’t mention it.
“We’re going to a wedding, but no photographs allowed. You do not share what you’ll see there.”
That sounds odd. “Is it terribly secret?”
“It is, actually. Django’s great-granddaughter is getting married and they enjoy their privacy and do not like outsiders. They’re rather careful, not to say distrustful.”
She suddenly guessed where they were going. The Romani. Their style of dress made sense. “Why is that?”
“When you’re persecuted as much as they are, you’ll be as cautious as they are.”
He had a point. “Well, we certainly don’t have any in Aragon.”
“Not that you know of.”
“I know there are some in Spain, too, the Kalderash. Some in Aragon call them Gitano, and although they give it no negative connotation, I feel it still carries a prejudice.” Not everyone enjoyed having them in the area when they showed up, though. Many complained they were thieves. But it really hadn’t been brought to her attention that they had any issues in Aragon. “They’ve been oppressed enough through institutionalized racism, ghettoized communities, hate crime, and anti-Romani political movements worldwide. They don’t need to be called gypsies—or gitanos—to top it off.”
“They’re still oppressed,” he gently corrected her. “But we are striving to change that. At least here in Lektenstaten. But there are several who want to settle down.”
“Interesting, but how did we get an invitation if this is top-secret?”
“I helped him and his family fix up their store. He and his son had a carpentry business that burned to the ground since it was wall to wall with the Garron’s restaurant.”
“Still, but why is it top-secret?”
“Django grew up in Germany, where he and his family kept their heritage quiet. That was the only way he managed to cross the border and evade the fate of the almost two million Romani taken by the Holocaust—O Porrajmos, as they call it.” He smiled sadly. “He’s still a bit…reserved. We went to their store yesterday.”
“Oh, sí. The very old man. I remember him.” She’d left the store wanting to buy something for her home in Aragon.
“I rather hoped you would. Anyway, Django had invited me a month ago and when he mentioned it yesterday while we were visiting, I asked him if I could bring you.” He smiled at her. “To which he said he’d be honored but he asked me to keep it secret.”
“Will the Prime Minister and his wife be there?”
“I’m not sure, since Dom Mircea now has a queue of photographers following him to wherever he goes.” He shrugged.
> “The perks of power,” she said under her breath.
He glanced at her, intrigued with her reticence every time the subject hovered near. “We are here.”
They arrived in time to help set up the last tent.
Ludwig had been a little worried because he didn’t know how Angelica would deal with manual labor, being a princess and all, but she took to it like it was natural. She stayed with the women, helping them set out the food. She laughed with the musicians, waiting for the actual wedding to progress.
He found himself even more enchanted with her. His body ached with need, reminding him that he hadn’t had his fill of her. Not in the slightest.
The wedding was simple, sincere, and moving—and nothing like what was shown in My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding or such American shows.
Ludwig kept Angelica close to him through the ceremony, his body thrumming with the drive to claim her again, as he explained the rites in a whisper.
Prince Javert Roma, whom Angelica later learned was Angus’s half-brother and the King of the Lektenstaten Romani, asked some questions in their language and Django’s grandson, her father, answered for her.
He laughed low when she flinched as Javert cut the bride's and groom's palms, mixing their blood, and bound their hands with a silken cord.
Angelica gasped when the groom jumped over the fire that had been lit in front of the platform where the wedding was being performed, and the bride followed, then they jumped together.
With the fiddles wailing a wild song that cried to the soul, and the accordion daring the listeners to ignore it and pulling their feet to dance, Ludwig rose and stretched out his hand to Angelica.
She shook her head, laughing. “I don’t know how to dance to this.”
One of the men hooted, urging him on. A woman gave a staccato call as if calling to the wild of the night.
“Unwind and relax.” He leaned onto her, winked, and whispered, “I won’t be angry if you step on my toes.”
No woman would resist him. So, she put her hand in his and with a triumphant grin, he pulled her up and into his arms.
The crowd of happy party-goers parted like the seas when he guided her to the circle of dancers.
But the music stopped and even though Angelica was worried about being a flop, she looked up at Ludwig, disappointed.
A slow smile warmed his lips. “Just wait.”
She didn’t know what they were supposed to wait for, but she held her tongue.
A clarinet sang out a few lilting notes and then a woman with long, flowing dark hair stepped into the center of the dancers, gliding barefooted around the bonfire. Her voice rose into the night air, a calling to the lover’s heart, sweet and innocent.
Other instruments Angelica didn’t recognize joined the woman and then sped up. Other voices joined hers on the repeated words, and the dancers around them moved with the song.
Ludwig’s hands found her waist. “Trust me and just follow my lead.”
The music slowed to a near standstill again and the only sound was a single fiddle. They moved to the music in a slow seduction, their bodies pressed together, molded as if they belonged together.
The heat from the fire barely touched her but she was feeling warm from his body heat and from the toasts she had drank in the newlyweds’ honor. It all made her feel freer than ever.
The music sped up again, the voices of those in the crowd growing louder as their cries grew in desperation that demanded release.
His hands brought her hips to his, his legs pressed close to hers, her body moving as he commanded. He moved with inherent grace: strong, powerful, and utterly sure. She never had to think, only to let herself be swept on the circle while her body tingled with consciousness of him and only him: the broad shoulders under her hand, the massive muscular frame inches from her own, the tantalizing scent of cologne and male; his electric blue eyes as they held on to her, coaxing, guiding, challenging her.
Every nerve in her body was on fire. The music, the energy, the man who was claiming her.
Closing her eyes, the clarinet running wild, the fiddle joining, people crying out and calling into the night, she fell back into his hands when they rose to settle behind her shoulder blades. He swayed her from side to side. Her hair fell behind her, cascading, feeling free.
The singer’s voice rose in urgency, the instruments rising to meet her.
Ludwig commanded her body to re-join his. She followed his instruction, rolling her body upward, her arms out. He swayed her to the right, guiding her with his hips. She obeyed, unable to do anything else.
The song rose to a fever pitch and Ludwig’s voice joined the others, rough and ragged.
His eyes found hers again, holding her, and her blood seemed to sizzle. The world disappeared and there was only him and her and the music. It rose to a crescendo and then ended.
The crowd hooted and hollered. People clapped, and the spell was over.
Angelica panted, trying to catch her breath. The music and the environment were exhilarating, but now, she needed more.
“Oi,” one of the men beside them said, an unbroken smile on his face. He gestured away. “Get out of here. You’ll set us all on fire.”
Those nearby laughed good-naturedly, and then the fiddle started again, quickly joined by another. Voices rose into the air to a different song, and the dancers were swept into the next song.
Ludwig took her hand, laughing, and dragged her unresisting body through the crowd. She was ready for whatever he might offer.
Since the night was still warm, Ludwig kept the roof off the car. He loved seeing Angelica’s long hair blowing in the wind. She was still glowing from the dance, a smile glued to her face. He’d never had such a good time from something so simple. It’s her. She makes the difference.
Angelica looked up to the starry night sky, thinking of how much she was enjoying her time with Ludwig when something up ahead caught her eye.
“Can you pull in there?” she pointed to a cliffside vista a few meters away. “The view is amazing.”
He braked and aimed for the exit lane. He stopped the car close to the guard rail overlooking the horizon, and turned off the engine. It was quite a sight, he had to admit.
Angelica unfastened her seatbelt and leaned across the car, running her finger tip over his lips. “But this view is even better.”
I cannot get enough of this woman. He also released his belt, and after pushing his seat as far back as it would go, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And then he felt her hand going for his zipper.
Amused at his not so long ago innocent virgin’s eagerness, he broke the kiss and leaned the seat back, making room for her. “Here?”
“Why not?”
Ludwig watched through lazy, half-lidded eyes as she slowly undid the button and zipper of his jeans and reached inside his briefs, pulling his cock free.
She lowered her head and softly kissed the tip then looked up at him with her big chocolate eyes.
He ran his hand over her hair, pushing it away from her face and smiled wolfishly at her. “I have to ask. Have you done this before?”
She shook her head, licked her lips, and gave him a naughty smile in return. “But I’m eager to learn…if you’ll indulge me.”
He let out a low chortle as he pushed both jeans and underwear down to below his knees and settled comfortably on the car seat. With a wave of his hand over his hard, pulsing cock, he said, “I’m all yours.”
She smiled and lowered her head again. She had the basic idea of what to do, but feared that she would be nowhere near as good as others he’d had. Knowing him, he’d probably had the best in the world. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.
Well, there was no turning back now. She wanted to finish what she’d started. And it was the only way to learn.
She tentatively swirled her tongue around the pulsing head of his cock, licking at it as if it were the top of an ice cream cone. His breath hitched, which surprised and encouraged her.<
br />
She kissed him again, left her lips there for a second then slowly pushed down, letting the tip of his cock push her lips apart, filling her mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, causing her to look up at him.
The demure eye contact, with her mouth full of him was almost too much. He had to look away and get control of himself.
She kept only the head in her mouth, not moving up or down, but swirling her tongue around his tip and sucking it.
When his breathing become ragged and his hand in her hair trembled she became bolder.
She pulled her mouth away, looked up at him, and smiled, licking her lips. Then she licked his tip again, slowly, teasing him unbearably and then with no warning, she sucked him in as far as she could as she squeezed his length.
Her cheeks hollowed as her tongue continued its devilish work, even probing into the opening at his tip where pre-cum oozed.
His legs tensed and he pulled his hands free of her hair and gripped the steering wheel tightly, looking at the stars as she began sucking harder and trying to take him deeper and down her throat.
“Nein. Not like that.” Ludwig pulled her head up when she gagged and tapped his hand where her jaw met her neck. “Relax your jaw and throat and go slowly.”
Obeying him, she went slower this time, taking him deep, then retreating till just the tip was touching her lips, then back down again, as far as she could comfortably go.
His eyes rolled back in his head. Each time she took him again, he slid in a little bit further, and more, until his cock was bumping on the back of her throat. “Now, be a good girl and take all of me. Swallow as you push down.”
His hands shook as he stared down at the entrancing sight of his cock, glistening with her saliva, disappearing between her pink lips, her cheeks hollowing, her taking him deeper and deeper, until he was sliding in her throat smoothly. “Gott, Angelica!”
The look on his face was like nothing she’d ever seen before. And she’d never been so turned on; never felt so in control—or dirty.
“Fuck, Kätzchen!” Ludwig growled as his hand tangled in her hair. “Don’t stop.”
Royal Affair (Last Royals Book 2) Page 11