Royal Elite: Leander

by Danielle Bourdon

“Look at that! All my favorite things, too.”

  “Of course.” Leander set the lids aside on a small cart. He took his seat across from her and poured wine into two glasses etched with an elaborate M.

  Wynn picked up the glass, unexpectedly overwhelmed by the reminder that she would become his wife tomorrow. Meeting his eyes across the table, the scent of roses a pleasant accompaniment to the spice of the Chinese, Wynn said, “To longevity, perseverance and love.”

  Leander tinked his glass against hers. “And steamy kitchenette sex where we might or might not get caught.”

  Wynn blushed, then laughed, and sipped the wine. The picture Leander made with his shirt partly unbuttoned brought a flush to her cheeks that had nothing to do with remembering the kitchenette, and everything to do with tomorrow night. Their wedding night.

  “Yes, that. You're never going to let me live that down, are you?” she asked as she set the glass down and picked up a set of chopsticks. Leander knew she preferred them whenever possible. Mostly because he would use them, too, and he was terrible with control. Which he demonstrated in the next instant. A chunk of sweet and sour pork flipped out of his chopsticks onto the table, followed by a long suffering sigh.

  “No, never. Especially not right now,” he said with a grunt.

  Struck by a fit of giggles, Wynn covered her lips and laughed. Hard.

  “Laugh now, young maiden. Just wait until I get thee alone in the tower.”

  The ridiculousness of Leander's 'threat' kept the tickle on Wynn's funny bone, never mind his dry-as-sawdust tone. She set down the chopsticks and stood up, drawing his gaze. Peals of laughter floated across the stage unabated and unchecked as she swerved around the table, helping herself to his lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his throat and let him feel the extent of her amusement. His shoulders shook briefly when he chuckled and slapped her lightly on the hip.

  “I. Love. You. So. Much.” Wynn made sure to punctuate every word. Lifting her head, she stroked her fingers down his cheek. “I want you to feed me my dinner. With the chopsticks.”

  He snorted a laugh. “So you mean you want to wear it more than you want to eat it, right? That'll be romantic.”

  She trembled with a suppressed laugh. “Come on. You can do it.”

  “How about I just use my fingers? It's easier and then you can turn me on at the same time with all the seductive sucking.”

  “You mean you don't find it seductive that I'm in your lap to begin with?” She arched a brow for emphasis, having far too much fun.

  “If you were naked, I'd find it a lot more sexy.” He wagged his brows and popped a piece of chicken into his mouth—with his fingers.

  “Heathen,” she whispered, catching his hand to lick the orange sauce from his skin.

  “Mhm. I am. I'll show you just how much after we eat.”

  “But we're in a public place!”

  “That hasn't stopped us before.”

  “You're corrupting me, Mister Morgan.”

  “I don't hear you complaining.” He offered her a bite of sweet and sour pork, a devilish look in his eyes.

  Wynn took the piece between her teeth, suddenly anxious to eat and find some unoccupied back room to have Leander all to herself.

  . . .

  Leander watched the limousine pull away from the curb and ease into a light stream of traffic. The taillights flashed red in the darkness, then disappeared around a corner, whisking the women back to the docks. Three more limousines and SUVs with security followed in their wake. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he tipped a look up at the clear sky, skimming the constellations, before turning to make his way along the sidewalk.

  Couples, singles and groups came and went from several other bars and clubs along the strip, laughing, talking, and flirting. Leander stalked past, paying only enough attention to make sure no one had any nefarious intentions. He would always be on the lookout for trouble, it was just a part of his nature.

  Two blocks and one turn later, he approached a smoked glass door at the front of a modest cafe. The dim interior was a product of design that allowed customers a small level of privacy. He bypassed several secluded booths, tables half hidden by partial walls, and entered a back area via a push-through door.

  A horse-shoe shaped booth in the back was his destination, the rest of the room cleared of guests. All except the two men slouched in the booth seats, half empty drinks on the table.

  “You're late,” Sander said.

  “I take it the dinner went over well?” Mattias added.

  “Only fifteen minutes late, and you knew I would be anyway.” Leander flashed the two men a smile and slid onto the leather seat. A low hanging light above the booth provided a diffused, yellow glow. “She loved the dinner—and what came after.”

  Sander snorted. “You're an exhibitionist.”

  Leander laughed and slapped a hand on his thigh. Sander must have heard about the kitchenette sex. Apparently he hadn't muffled Wynn's sounds good enough. “Like you wouldn't have done the same thing.”

  “I would have waited until I got home, at least,” Sander retorted.

  “See, that's why I'm glad I'm not king,” Leander replied. “Having to adhere to stodgy rules and regulations, always wondering who might or might not see what you're doing. Then announce it to the media, along with an embarrassing snapshot or two, making for a hell of a public relations nightmare. No one cares if my lady and I have a little private time in a back room.”

  Mattias, chuckling, brought his glass up for a drink. Then he said, “You're incorrigible.”

  “This is why you like having me around. I can do all the things you two are afraid to.” Leander couldn't have smiled any wider or more devilish.

  “You don't have any idea what we do when you're not around. You never know. Chey and I might take more chances than you think.” Sander arched a brow as if to suggest Leander might not know all there was to know about the king and queen.

  “I'll ask Chey,” Leander said. Sander and Mattias both cracked a laugh.

  “Then I really will take you down,” Sander retorted.

  “Oh, that again. You're going to goad me into another wrestling match, aren't you?”

  “When we're alone, and when you're not a day from getting married, yes. I wouldn't want your face to be bruised for wedding photos.” Sander took a drink, casual as you please.

  Laughing, Leander slouched back into the booth. “We'll see, old man. That'll be a match in the making.”

  “You two need new hobbies,” Mattias said with an amused glance between them.

  “I'll get some—right after I best your brother.” Leander declined the offer of a drink when a waiter appeared, then looked back to the brothers. “So, what's the verdict on our little blackmail project? Is it having any effect, yet?”

  “Yes. I don't know how you do it, Leander, but you knew right where to post that surveillance video. Through word of mouth, we heard our adversary has called off the chase, so to speak. Kristo is back home, safe and sound, and no ransom ever changed hands,” Mattias said, then finished off the contents of his drink.

  Keen to find out details, Leander absorbed the news with a sense of satisfaction. He prided himself on doing his job well, and it appeared he nailed it this time around. The 'adversary', of course, was Franklin Carr. “Excellent. So you think that'll be the last we hear of him?”

  Leander had his doubts, but perhaps some people simply wouldn't take the risk of video like that leaking to a much larger, international audience.

  “He's pretty spooked, at least for now. That's the best we can hope for. If and when he tries again, hopefully we'll know in advance and be ready for him.” Mattias also declined a refill when the waiter appeared.

  “I'll keep my eye on things.” Leander would do so anyway. Just to be on the safe side. “Well, I guess all we have left to do is catch a boat back to Pallan Island and get some sleep.”

  “Forget the boat. The helicopter
's here. We were just waiting on you.” Sander winked, then slid out of the booth.

  Leander did likewise, then clapped Sander on the back of the shoulder. “So, let's talk about what I'll win when we have our next match.”

  “How about I pay you both off in advance to not wrestle at all?” Mattias said.

  “And deny me the pleasure of beating the king? You're crazy,” Leander teased Mattias, laughing.

  “Listen, runt, there's a nice little empty field on the way to the helipad. We can make a quick stop,” Sander said. “I'll make sure any bruising happens below the neckline.”

  “Now you're talking, old man. Now you're talking.” Leander rubbed his hands together, looking forward to picking up where the wrestling match left off.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wynn stared at her reflection, critical of every detail. The white dress, with its strapless bodice and full skirt, glittered from late afternoon light slanting in through the window. Tiny crystals and intricate beading created the sparkling effect. Instead of ironing her hair straight, as she usually did, the dark strands had been gently rolled, leaving the style wispy and feminine. A tiara sat atop her head, the veil falling all the way to the small of her back. She thought she'd attended every detail, down to the matte peach lipstick and dangling, delicate earrings.

  “You look beautiful, Wynn. Don't even think about changing anything now.” Chey said, coming up behind her to stare at the mirror over her shoulder.

  “Are you sure? Is the make up too much? Too heavy?”

  “No. It's perfect. He'll think it's perfect, too.”

  “And the dress isn't too poofy?”

  “You liked the poof when we were in the bridal store,” Chey reminded her.

  Wynn grunted. Yes. Yes, she had. She liked it now, too. Nerves had set in over the last half hour, making her second guess everything from the eye shadow to the elbow length white gloves and even her modest heels.

  “Besides. We have to get in the car in about ten minutes, so there's no time to change. You'll wreck your hair.”

  “Always the voice of reason, aren't you?” Wynn met Chey's eyes in the mirror, lips tilted into a wry smile.

  Chey laughed. “That's my job.”

  “I guess everything looks all right.” Wynn knew she looked just fine to walk down the aisle. The nitpicking was normal, she told herself, especially when she wanted to look her best for the ceremony. Like any other bride on her wedding day.

  “It does. Are you ready to start heading down?”

  “I think so.” Wynn turned away from the mirror and gave Chey a careful hug. “Thanks.”

  “You're welcome. Now let's go. It'll be slow going so we don't wreck the dress.” Chey gestured to the assistants hovering at the side of the room. Two girls came forward, grinning brightly, and picked up the trailing hem of the wedding gown.

  Wynn, who knew the girls personally, shot a wink over her shoulder for them. She appreciated the help. Finally, she followed the entourage from the suite. The entire wedding party and all the guests had migrated to the Ahtissari stronghold on the mainland, taking up half a floor. The immense castle was the family seat for the king and queen, although they no longer lived there. Wynn had a room, a smaller suite on a separate wing, for the times she accompanied Chey here for business. The interior, a little less medieval than Kallaster castle on Pallan island, still sported many ancient heirlooms dating back throughout the Ahtissari's history. These stone walls had seen their share of tragedy and triumph.

  Passing guards and other security, Wynn made her way down the long flight of stairs, taking it slow so she didn't trip up the girls holding the train. She smiled at a few staff members she recognized along the way, accepting their well wishes with gracious aplomb. Somewhere in the group, a photographer took snapshot after snapshot.

  Exiting the castle, Wynn squinted against the late afternoon sun. She picked her way down a shorter, shallow set of steps to the waiting limousine and climbed inside, passing out many thank-yous to the assistants. The dress was intact, suffering no stains or tears during the trek.

  Chey and Krislin, attired in champagne colored bridesmaids gowns, sat on either side, careful to keep their shoes off the white satin.

  “Here we go. Not long now,” Chey said, handing Wynn a bouquet of stargazer lilies. Two smaller bouquets sat on an opposite seat, handed in from outside.

  Wynn took it all in with a sense of the surreal. She almost felt like all this was happening to some other woman.

  “I'm getting married today,” Wynn announced, as if that might make it more real.

  Chey laughed as aides closed the car doors. “Yes you are. I'm excited for you and Leander.”

  “I'm excited beneath all the nerves,” Wynn said with a quiet laugh.

  In the limousine behind, Wynn knew her parents waited to follow to the church. She'd spent the morning with them and her bridesmaids before the craziness of preparation began.

  As the limousine took to the road, leaving the castle behind, Wynn studied the landscape out the windows. She'd grown to love the rugged terrain, vast meadows and distant mountains. Veering away from the shoreline, they headed deeper inland where patches of tall trees sometimes crowded the asphalt.

  This was where she wanted to live out her days, where she wanted to grow old. Near Chey and Sander and her 'nieces and nephews'. Leander, she knew, loved Latvala. To hear him talk, he wouldn't ever move back to the States. His job was here, as was his loyalty.

  After a moment, realizing Chey was watching her rather than the scenery, Wynn smiled.

  “I know exactly what's going through your mind. Every bride and groom probably thinks the same thing on the way to their wedding,” Chey said.

  “Probably. It's hard not to reflect on the last year and a half as well as all the tomorrows,” Wynn admitted.

  “Do you think you'll have children some day?” Krislin asked.

  Wynn glanced the other way to the pretty woman with the soft accent. Gunnar's wife had become a dear, dear friend to Wynn in her time here. “I'm sure. Someday. We've talked about seeing more of the hinterlands in Latvala and doing a bit of traveling before that. But soon. Maybe next year.”

  “Taking time for yourselves is important. Gunnar and I did the same thing before we got married,” Krislin said.

  “Exactly.”

  “I think we should leave the kids with a sitter and all take a vacation together,” Chey added.

  “I'm all for that,” Wynn said. Krislin agreed a moment later. Wynn added, “If we can drag the men away from their extracurricular activities.”

  Chey snorted.

  Wynn didn't want to call the missions by name and alert Krislin. She wasn't sure if Gunnar was a part of the 'group' or not. No need to worry the woman if he wasn't.

  A half hour later, the limousine turned onto the final road.

  It wouldn't be long now.

  . . .

  “Nerves of steel. I've always said it. I'm almost envious,” Mattias said.

  Leander smiled, looking up from the cuff he'd been fixing. “Like you'd be anything but calm on your wedding day.”

  “You never know. I might have to resort to drinking.” Mattias leaned a hip against a heavy chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  The back room in the chapel, used for many purposes such as a holding place for grooms and their groomsmen, had two separate sitting areas, a long set of three mirrors, and a side table loaded with iced bottles of water. The furniture, all original antiques, complimented the rough hewn nature of the chapel and the stone walls. A hardwood floor, nicked and pocked from various incidents, stretched one end to the other.

  Leander hid the fact that his fingers shook while attempting to do up the last button on his jacket. It wasn't wedding jitters so much as facing the crowd he knew was even then waiting beyond the doors. He could hear a low drone of voices through the thick wood. While being at galas and parties wasn't his favorite thing, he could tolerate it simply because h
e knew everyone's attention would be focused on royalty or the latest socialite scandal.

  Out there, he would be the sole focus of the crowd.

  Leander glanced up when Mattias covered his hand with his own, then turned Leander's wrist over to slip the final button through the hole. Mattias never mentioned the shaking, gentleman that Leander knew he could be.

  “Thanks.” Leander left it at that.

  “Those can be tricky when you're distracted.” Mattias stepped away to snag a bottle of water from a basin of ice. He tossed it to Leander.

  Catching the bottle out of the air, he twisted off the cap and had a long drink. Then he played off Mattias's excuse. “Yeah, you're right about that. How much longer?”

  Mattias checked a watch on his wrist. “About twenty minutes, give or take. Unless she's late.”

  “Wynn's rarely late.” Leander hoped this wouldn't be the one time she was. He chuckled over the idea and ran a hand down his face. He'd shaved for the occasion and tied his hair half back at the top, like he preferred. The tuxedo, black on white, with a patterned vest and silk tie, fit him comfortably enough. He figured to be picking and pawing at the material by now given his dislike of formal attire.

  Sander strolled in through the door leading to the front of the congregation, decked out in his own tuxedo. “It's not as busy out there as I thought it would be.”

  “Busy enough,” Leander said, knowing Sander was trying to put him at ease. To an outward observer, Leander looked and acted as calm as any other day. To those who knew him best, they understood his distaste for big crowds. He finished off the water, tossed the bottle in the trash and dried his hands on a towel to keep from smearing them on the jacket.

  “A hundred-fifty is better than--”

  “A hundred and fifty?” Leander stopped, stared and felt his heart start to stammer in his chest. “She said there would be eighty, tops, up from the original ten I wanted.”

  Mattias stared at Leander, as did Sander.

  “You ass,” Leander picked up a napkin, balled it up, and chucked it at Sander. The bastard was having him on. Both brothers broke into laughter.