by Nancy Gideon
“No bullshit, Sylvia. I’m crazy about her, and its making me crazy. She wants me but doesn’t need me. Teases me then tosses me aside. Would rather fight with me than talk to me. Jumps from my sheets into—” He broke off, cluing her that there was much more to that story.
“So, in other words, you’ve fallen for your own reflection. Love ′em and leave ′em, deceive ′em but don’t ever believe ′em. Is that irony lost on you?”
“I don’t get it. I mean look at me. I look like a god, I’ve got more money than God, and I’m a Terriot prince. What’s not to want?”
“And then there’s that endearing modesty.”
He didn’t even blink. “Why doesn’t she like me?”
“I’ve got to meet this woman.”
“She’s here.”
Sylvia almost came up out of her chair. “Here? Here! You brought a Guedry here?”
“Not here, here. She’s at a hotel in town. I didn’t bring her.” He glanced away, jaw grinding. “Rico did.”
“Ahhh.”
He scowled at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everything. So she’s here with Frederick. Is she interested in him? Is that the problem?”
“No.”
That such a pathetic, uncertain sound could come out of the self-assured mucho macho Colin Terriot amazed her. Sylvia smiled. Could he be serious? “She’s playing you both. I like her already. So where did you two meet this amazing creature?”
“She’s the one McCreedy and I are negotiating with on behalf of her family.”
“A female who speaks for them?” She liked this Guedry more and more.
“She’s more than just a female. She’s smart and brave and tough. Hell, she beat the shit out of me!”
Apparently, high praise. Sylvia’s smile widened.
“You’ve been with both of us,” Colin blurted out. “Who would you pick?”
“That’s what this is about? You want to know how you measure up next to Rico?”
Realizing as she bristled up in indignation that he’d gone a step too far, Colin stammered, “No. Not like that. Hell, I’m messing this up, too.” He raked fingers through his hair then met her glare directly. “Why Turow?”
“What? Now you want to know where I’d rank you with my mate?”
“No! It’s not about sex!” He paused then laughed raggedly. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that.” He began again, gaze earnest. “Why did you pick Row for your mate? You could have had any of us.”
She could have mentioned that her life depended on it at the time, but she didn’t. Because she realized just then that it wasn’t a bargain she would have made with anyone else. Somewhat shocked at that revelation, she returned honesty for honesty. “Because he wasn’t like any of you. It was never a game to him. Everything he is, is right there. No guesswork. No bullshit. Colin, you’re a walking, talking, very attractive bag of bullshit. It’s fun for a fling, but not for the long haul.”
After a long beat of silence, his hand dropped to his crotch for a quick fumble. “Just making sure you left something.”
She sighed. “You’re a lost cause.”
“What? Because I don’t cry and say you hurt my feelings?”
“Did I?”
“Yes.” Surprised by his own answer, he added gruffly, “Yeah. So what?”
“So, there’s hope for you.”
“What?”
“Let me give you a clue, Colin, because you seem to have none. We smart, brave, tough girls want more than a great visual and a hot roll in the sack.” She indulged in a remembrance of Colin Terriot eight years younger–his amazing hard body, his arrogant grin, his insatiable stamina–and blew out a cleansing breath. “We want content.”
“Content.” He mulled that over and shrugged.
“A little more conversation than just, ‘Enough foreplay, let’s fuck,’ and more cuddly puppy than drooling Cujo.”
“So politics and poetry and big, sad eyes?” His opened wide and round, making him irksome and so adorable at the same time.
“Idiot.” Sylvia crossed to the bed where he quickly sat up. She settled beside him. “This is what I’m talking about. Relax. Go with me for a minute.”
He tensed when she palmed the back of his head. His breathing deepened warily, but he allowed her to draw him down to her shoulder, letting her hold him there until he started getting twitchy.
“Relax! I’m not going to screw you or stab you.”
“I can’t relax. I don’t know what to expect.”
“Don’t expect anything. Just go with it.
She held him easily, stroking his hair, rubbing his shoulders until the knots of tension trickled from them. Finally, he made a small, contented sound.
“That’s what I have with Turow,” she told him quietly. “Trust. No need to pretend, no need to defend, no need to be anyone but myself. And he lets me be that person. He protects my right to be that person. That’s what she wants from you. To feel safe as who she is when she’s with you.” She pushed him back to really look into those beautiful, thoughtful green eyes. “Got it?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
Sylvia waited a moment for the bluster and BS to return, but he remained pensive. And she found herself liking this crap-free version of him. Enough to touch a kiss to his cheek.
“Rico won’t stand a chance,” she whispered against his ear.
Big hands closed about her upper arms. Awareness of her vulnerability and position here alone with him sparked, but his grip was gentle.
“Why are you being so nice to me, Sylvia? What do you want?”
“I want to be your friend, Colin. I need one, and I don’t think either one of us has many of those.”
“Friend,” he mused. He set her away from him, regarding her curiously. “Friend. I think I’d like that.” The dreamboat smile unfurled. She was totally unprepared for his soft kiss, letting it go on a second too long before pushing him back.
“What?” he exclaimed with mock innocence. “Friends kiss.”
“Not with tongue.”
“It’d be a lot more fun having friends if they did.”
Sylvia laughed and leaned in to him, letting him put one brawny arm around her as he warmly bussed her brow with that sassy, heartbreaker mouth of his.
And that’s when Turow walked in.
He stopped dead in the doorway, expression still and blank. Awful, unretractable things could have happened next. But didn’t.
“Hey, bro.” Colin gave her a hard squeeze and stood. “Just sharing a little heart–to-heart and not a damned thing more with my new best friend here. Don’t kill me.”
“Best friend, huh?” Turow looked between the two of them and pronounced, “Good. She could use one.”
Colin caught her ‘I told you so,’ smirk and muttered, “I’ll be damned.” He touched fingertips to her chin, tilting her head way back so he could bend and kiss her lightly, whispering, “No tongue.”
Sylvia laughed and gave him a shove.
In the doorway, Turow uncoiled, relieved he wasn’t going to have to gut his brother.
Colin bumped him in passing, murmuring, “You lucky son of a bitch,” before closing the door behind him.
Turow slipped out of his coat and hung it away, aware that Sylvia watched him, trying to hide her anxiety. While his back was to her, he fought the need to inhale slowly, deeply, to scent the air for any hint of impropriety. Pushing away that insecurity, he crossed to the bed, getting lost in her wide uplifted stare.
“He’s a good guy, Colin,” he admitted. “I don’t think he believes it. He’s someone you can count on.”
Sylvia frowned slightly. “That’s it?”
“Is there anything else I should know? Any reason for me to go next door and rip his spleen out?”
The grateful look in her eyes warmed through him, making him glad he’d taken that extra second not to leap to the obvious conclusions.
“Nothing else. He needed to ta
lk and I—I listened.”
“Okay. If you trust his motives, I trust them.”
Her arms scooped around his waist, hugging him hard as she leaned her head against his middle. When he cupped her jaw in his hand, what he didn’t sense from her he'd caught her with Colin surged when alone with him.
Desire. Arousal. Thick, hot waves of it surrounded them.
In doing nothing, he’d managed to stir up what he’d been hoping for since they’d gotten into that rattletrap truck.
The female he’d yearned for for so long felt a reciprocal need . . . for him.
And he was here to crush it.
“We need to talk a minute.”
A smart, intuitive female, she leaned back, smiling but alert. “Should I like the sound of that?”
“Not any more than I did, I’m sure.”
He took the chair instead of the proffered spot beside her, taking up her hands to hold them, carefully, to reassure her and protect himself should she take exception to his words.
“I know we already had this talk, but Cale asked that I revisit it with you.”
“If Cale asked, it must be important.”
Ignoring the bite of her sarcasm, Turow plunged right in. “When I asked you about James and Las Vegas, did you tell me absolutely everything?”
The cooling of her gaze frostbit his hopes. “Oh, you mean like am I here on Jamie’s behalf to assassinate our king?”
Turow glanced about in agitation as if expecting to be overheard. “Syl, don’t say things that like even when you’re kidding.”
“Am I kidding? Is that what you want to know? Have I been playing a game with you? Did I become your mate and bend under Cale’s rules just to lull you into complaisance? So I could exact some terrible plan I cooked up with James?”
It sounded even worse when she accused him out loud. Because that was what Cale suspected.
“Just go through it one more time, in case you forgot something, any little detail that might have slipped your mind. Please, Syl. It’s not that I don’t believe you.”
“Of course, it’s not.” Very slowly and deliberately, she withdrew her hands.
“Just one more time. It’ll never come up between us again. I promise.”
He didn’t have to. He could tell by her lack of expression that the wedge was already there.
Slowly and precisely, she went through everything again, in excruciating detail, never once looking away from his hopeful stare. Until subtly, her eyes canted down.
She was hiding something.
“What was the name of the hotel, Syl?”
At his quiet urging, she looked up, engaging him once again. “I don’t remember. I was tired, scared, worried about you. I was afraid James was going to kill me. Sorry I didn’t think to pick up a souvenir pen to commemorate the moment.”
She was lying to him.
Turow smiled. “It’s okay. You can put it behind you now. You’re safe here with me. What’s past is past. I’m sorry to have put you through it again.”
Again, that lowering of her gaze as she murmured, “It’s okay,” that told him it was anything but.
He’d disappointed her. And she was hiding something from him. That she felt the need to lie to him wasn’t nearly as important as why. What couldn’t she trust him with? How could he pursue it without damaging their fragile relationship farther?
“I got you something.”
Her gaze came up. He’d hoped for a spark of interest, of some show of her usual avarice, but her stare was flat. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” He extended the box he’d found during a brief, emotional visit to his grandmother’s small bungalow. “I thought they’d look nice with your dress for tonight.”
She opened the thin case and examined the square-cut bits of jet in a burnished gold Art Deco necklace and earrings set. “They’re very nice.”
“They were my mom’s.”
The distance fled her gaze. Her voice went soft. “They’re beautiful, Row. Thank you.”
She set the box aside so she could put her arms around him, hugging tight. Her breath shivered against his throat.
Tell me, Syl. Just tell me. Trust me to take care of you, to take care of whatever it is that’s upsetting you.
Too quickly, she pushed away, her hands brushing over his chest and shoulders in slow, admiring sweeps. Then her gaze lifted. The door he’d managed to toe open was again firmly closed.
“I need to start getting ready for tonight.”
“Okay.” He let her stand and move away, not knowing how to grab on to her again as he muttered, “I hate these things.”
“You mean your family’s celebration of our bond?” She moved into the bathroom before he could glimpse her expression. Her voice gave nothing away. “We don’t have to go if you’d rather not. None of them would be sorry not to pretend they’d rather see you with someone you deserve. Someone kind and generous like Kendra, or loving and simple like Rosalee.”
“I don’t want someone like them.” Her implication stung, making his reply sharper than he intended. “You are those things. Well, maybe not overly generous or as kind as you could be, and definitely not simple.” Her silence damned him into arguing, “I have exactly who I want. Their opinions don’t matter to me. I don’t have to please them, only you.”
“Really. Really? Hmm. Just a moment ago I got the distinct impression I was second in line. I must have been mistaken. Perhaps I’m a bit simple after all.”
He struggled for some way to appease her rightful indignation then thoughts failed as she emerged from the bathroom wearing just a strapless undergarment that made the most of her curvy figure. Her hair was partially up, loose tendrils framing her exquisite face.
The words tumbled out.
“You are so beautiful.”
She sneered as if he’d delivered insult instead of compliment. “Yes, I am. And how envious everyone will be to see me on your arm, your gorgeous, shallow prize. All your brothers will remember how excited they were to have me beneath them, and their females will wish you’d let Cale rip me to pieces.” She snatched the gift box from the bed and whirled away in a tempting cloud of perfume and fiery estrogen. A dangerous combination.
Turow sat still and silent, wishing he was clever enough to turn her temper to more pleasurable pursuits, to restore the happiness that had sparked in her eyes only minutes earlier before he ruined everything by being . . . him. What he deserved was her anger, her disappointment.
“I wish I was good enough for you.”
Perhaps she didn’t hear his softly uttered sentiment. Perhaps she was too indifferent to comment. What he hoped was it wasn’t too late to make amends.
Unhappily, he rose and began to prepare himself, to become what the others expected to see. An enviable prince in the House of Terriot with his lovely prisoner bride.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Going big and bold was the Terriot way. In keeping, Cale had rented an upscale dinner/dance club for their family event, replacing the wait staff with their own kind and setting up security around its perimeter so they could let their hair down and howl.
Despite the reason, his clan loved an excuse for excessive celebration, to dress to the nines, show off their females, relax, party and get wild until dawn, brawls or drunken stupors called them back behind their territorial walls.
The lot was filled with flashy and utilitarian vehicles from Mercedes to Range Rovers. Bulky guards columned the doorway to prevent gatecrashers. They bowed respectful heads with murmurs of, “My prince,” when Turow walked between them. No acknowledgement beyond that.
The night was off to a wretched start.
Taking a deep breath, Turow entered the brightly lit room with his icy mate on his arm. An immediate hush fell over the gathering. Sylvia stiffened beside him, bracing for an attack. He released her arm to curl his about her waist. For all her hauteur, she trembled briefly, then with a tip of her chin, was all rigid calm again.
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Colin lifted his glass. “To Turow, Prince in the House of Terriot, and his chosen, the Princess Sylvia.”
“To Turow,” came a surging response, followed like a tide quickly ebbing away by a faint murmur of, “And Sylvia.”
Turow had never regretted anything so much in his entire life as forcing her to face this degrading moment. He managed a smile and quickly turned them out of the limelight, heading to the bar. He ignored the champagne and ordered doubles for both of them.
“Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?”
Her silky comment tightened about his throat like a noose, but he managed a heroic, “You are.”
His gaze skimmed over his incomparable mate. She glittered like a jewel next to his sleek black formalwear. Dark red hair swirled in a fiery coronet above the meticulously enhanced perfection of her features. Creamy shoulders and arms were left bare by a corset-like bodice above the stiff petal layers of her short skirt that displayed shapely legs and impossibly high heeled shoes. She dazzled. Terriot diamonds sparked in her ears next to the sober elegance of his gift.
Colin was right. He was a lucky SOB.
Until she spoke with an ego-filleting simplicity. “All bought and paid for.”
“Let’s just get through this, shall we?” He kicked back his drink and ordered another before the burn began to fade.
A flash of sudden movement had him braced and ready to fling himself in front of his mate, but it was Kendra who did the flinging, her arms encircling his neck for a hug.
“I’m so happy for you,” she whispered against his ear. “Don’t let the mood spoil the moment.” She stepped back and embraced the startled new princes next, repeating those genuine sentiments. When she released the tense female, she exclaimed, “What a lovely necklace!”
Sylvia’s hand rose, fingertips grazing the black stones as she said, “They were Turow’s mother’s.”
Kendra’s eyes welled up as she smiled. “That makes them, and you, all the more beautiful.”
Sylvia’s reply quavered. “Thank you, my queen. It was an unexpected . . . and deeply appreciated gift.”
Her gaze rose almost shyly to his. At that moment, Turow knew he’d survive the night. He could outlast any tribulation if it meant being on the other end of that warm stare.