Royal Love

by Cristiane Serruya

  To the child who had fallen behind him, he turned and ordered in a growl, “Go find your mother!” Then he turned to Siobhan, and in a softer tone, pleaded, “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “It was an ac-accident, my lord,” she sputtered, embarrassed, looking up at him from her place on the floor. “I’ll do my best to take care of it.”

  “I didn’t mean then. I mean now.” Exasperated that his body was unruly reacting to the beautiful woman’s petting—she was quite attractive, even if stuttering and blushing through her mortified apology—he raked a hand through his hair. “Stop what you’re doing.”

  Siobhan wondered if his long hair would feel like silk in her hands and dropped her eyes quickly, rubbing his trousers. “I’m trying to get you off.” Gah! “I mean get it off! The water, that is.”

  “I don’t think it’s working. You must stop.” The bulge in his pants was growing more obvious by the second and all he wanted to do was grab her and take her somewhere else so she could really get him off. Jerk me off with her small hands. Or suck me, with her soft, full lips.

  “But it is, my lord. I’m sucking it off. I mean, the napkin is sucking the water from the fabric.”

  Normally, he would be irritated, not only by having been put on the spotlight in an awkward position, but also by her fumbling maladroitness, but he found himself teetering between amusement and arousal. “You’re making a spectacle of us,” he half-hissed, half-groaned.

  She realized, only then, that anyone nearby would look over and see the man standing among shards of glass looking as though he’d freshly wet himself. “Oh! You’re right.” She turned and picked up her tray, “Come with me around the corner, out of sight.”

  Oh, yes! His head was buzzing and it was hard to think clearly. Stop that, Angus. He stood there and shook his head. The whisky and the arousal must have left little room for rational thought, though, because all he wanted to do was follow the woman to a private place. Although, he was sure she hadn’t meant it in that sense.

  “Will you come, my lord,” Siobhan looked at him over her shoulder as she walked toward the doorway several feet away.

  Feeling as though he’d already nearly gotten a hand job from the beautiful server, he was too embarrassed to follow her. “You go on and do your job. I’ll finish this off by myself. I’ll let it finish drying by itself, rather.”

  He watched her bow and exit through the doorway. Without looking back at his companions at the dinner table, he cleared his throat, “Excuse me,” and walked to a distant table where no one was seated. Having a moment to himself, he tried to tame his libido and lose his erection, but his body and mind was focused on the woman who had caused it.

  Siobhan passed by as he stood up and glanced at his crotch, smiling with relief. All is well with his trousers.

  Angus saw her pass and marveled at how dainty she was—a pocket-sized Venus—with a waist he could probably clasp his hands around. She moved in time to the music without knowing she was doing it.

  My God! What’s wrong with me? She was a server and not fair game; he was not the sort of low-life royal who hit on the serving staff. But his wayward gaze remained stubbornly nailed to her surprisingly voluptuous proportions for such a slim, petite woman, noticing the tight fit of her shirt over her round breasts and the peach-like curve and sensual jut of her bottom below her skirt.

  “There you are.” Amelia, his hostess, blocked his view of the server and reached out for his hand. “I wondered where you’d gotten off to. Come. You must meet some dear friends of mine,”

  Accompanied by Amelia, Angus allowed himself to be introduced to some of the other guests, acknowledging his dark mood had lightened at the fresh sight of the little waitress’s sunny smile. It was as enchanting as her almond-shaped, cat-like green eyes that sparkled above an unrepentantly upturned nose, dimples, and a Cupid’s bow, ripe-rosy mouth. Where did she go?

  The instant he registered he was looking for her, he questioned himself and directed his attention back to the drink in his hand, and the non-stop talking of Amelia.

  But, strangely, all he could still see were those bright feline eyes and luscious full pink mouth that contrived to combine her curious mix of girlish innocence and sex appeal with astonishing efficiency. Her quick graceful movements crackled with the energy of a lively personality.

  Dom Mircea Roma, the leader of the Romani People’s United party, approached him and readily explained he was alone because his third wife was close to giving birth to their fifth child.

  “Five children in six years, Your Majesty,” Mircea boasted. He puffed out his barrel chest as his black eyes glinted with pride. “And it will be my eleventh child.”

  Angus congratulated him—wondering if it was fair of him to suspect the Romani macho man was boasting about his virility—and changed the subject as quickly as he could. When children entered the conversation, he hadn’t much to say, and even less interest. He had made peace with the fact he would never be a father by natural methods.

  Mircea’s lips twitched in amusement. “Ah, but the subject of children bores you, Your Majesty. What a pity. Children do bring such vibrancy to life. I wager you will change your tune once you have a child of your own.” Mircea smiled patronizingly at Angus, who suppressed a shudder.

  “Perhaps,” Angus said stiffly.

  “Ah, I know that face,” Mircea said, wagging an admonishing finger. “Too busy for love, yes?”

  Angus shifted uncomfortably. “With the impending election…”

  “Election?” Mircea interrupted, his eyes flashing with sudden disconcerting interest.

  “For Prime Minister,” Angus clarified. “There is much to do.”

  Mircea stroked his greying beard as his eyes studied Angus with an intensity bordering on invasive.

  Angus felt a cold, polite anger settle over him. There was only so much of Mircea he could take. Excusing himself, he made his way through the party, his eyes roaming the room again for the feisty waitress; but she was nowhere to be seen.

  His attention rested on the bridal couple, who were whispering behind their hands. Probably already engaged in their first marital dispute.

  The bride had a shrewish look, and the groom, the pitiful air of a discomfited man wishing he were anywhere but where he was.

  Angus knew the feeling. He didn’t like weddings either. The artificial gaiety left him cold and the divorce statistics made nonsense of all the romantic frills and heartfelt promises.

  Although he knew he must remarry, he wanted to enjoy his freedom a bit longer.

  “What the heck happened?” Allen demanded, hustling her away to the kitchen.

  “Yes, what happened?” the bride demanded angrily, planting herself in Siobhan’s path, blocking her from refilling her tray.

  “It was an accident. There was a child—”

  “I’ve already informed your manager if he wants to continue catering for us, I won’t stand for you working in my home again.” The tall blonde woman stared down at her with angry superiority. “You embarrassed my guest, ruined his pants, and you’ve got the wrong attitude,” she censured curtly. “You had no business smiling and flirting with my most important guest.”

  That unjust rebuke made Siobhan’s eyes prickle with angry tears and she had to bite back a sharp retaliation. She had done nothing wrong. “Flirting? Really? He is not even my type.”

  “I think you’ve caused enough trouble, and spoiled my wedding! I won’t tolerate your verbal abuse on top of it.” Abigail waved away Siobhan with an angry gesture. “Move away from my sight!”

  Siobhan looked at Allen, who whispered, “Go home.”

  Siobhan lifted her chin at a defiant angle, but made her way to the kitchen, while Allen tried to placate the angry, arrogant bride.

  3

  From his place on the veranda, Angus drew in a slow deep breath of restraint. He had witnessed the whole scene and was about to intervene on her behalf when he heard her say he wasn’t her
type.

  He thought her boss should have protected her from such harassment. So, her name is Siobhan. Is she Irish? And if she is, why the hell should it matter to me? Exasperated, he didn’t like the feeling he was off balance.

  The whole time she was within view, Angus watched her small figure like a hawk.

  She had claimed he wasn't her type but he was convinced that was mere subterfuge.

  Definitely, she was not the sort of woman he had gone for in the past. Tall, elegant blondes like Innes had always been Angus’s style.

  But Siobhan got to him on a much more basic level. Well, the sensual sway of her hips would have attracted any red-blooded male’s attention.

  The first person she saw when she exited the house was the tall lord, leaning up against a wall at an elegant angle and talking into his mobile phone. Probably ordering a Uber—no, a limousine.

  She hurried toward the underground station, thinking what a miserable evening she’d had when she heard footfalls behind her.

  “Excuse me, miss?” He noticed she barely reached his shoulder. There was something intensely feminine about her slight build and diminutive stature.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea—”

  “The wrong idea?” He had a sudden explosively sexual image of lifting her up against him and taking her, right there and then. With great difficulty he managed to shut it out. Even so, his body reacted with instant enthusiasm. You’ve given me the very right idea.

  “I was not flirting with you…or…in any way expressing a personal interest in you,” she spelled out with scrupulous care.

  Angus studied her with sudden intense amusement, because what was in his mind was the exact opposite—he was thinking he could offer her a ride so they could get acquainted.

  “How long have you worked as a waitress?” Angus asked, gracefully negotiating a passage through the awkward silence that had fallen.

  “I started out as a part-timer after I graduated from school. I’m saving to start my own business,” Siobhan told him.

  “Allow me to help you with your savings by giving you a ride instead of letting you take a bus on such a beautiful night.”

  “You’re very kind, but it takes two tube changes and the DLR for me to get home. It’s much too far for you to…drive,” she finished lamely. Because a long, shiny black limousine stopped right beside them and a man in a black suit and dark glasses hurried out to open the door for him.

  “Nonsense. It will be my pleasure.” He was stunned by the amount of restraint it took to keep his hands off her, and was furious he couldn’t keep his libido under better control.

  Angus had rules where women were concerned. So far, he’d always followed them.

  But this was different. She was different, in ways he couldn’t yet define. He usually didn’t find innocence so alluring, but in her case, it was sweetened by bold, unabashed curiosity. Right this moment, he was entertaining a vivid fantasy of unwinding the knot in her hair, stripping those drab clothes from her body, peeling away any layers of modesty beneath…and leaving those glasses on. So, she could see him when he had her. “Besides, it’s the least I can do after it appears I got you into some sort of trouble with your employer.”

  “I think I’ll be fine. Allen, my boss, will understand. He’s not like...some people. It was no one’s fault what happened, my lord.”

  “Very well. But just the same, I insist on the favor of a ride, and you know it’s impolite to refuse a lord.” He noticed the glint of steel that shined in her eyes for a second, before it was gone, and she smiled in gratitude.

  “Yes, my lord. As you wish.”

  This isn’t me. Siobhan snatched a ragged breath, shaken by her acquiescence to someone who had literally just lorded himself over her as she scampered inside the luxurious limousine.

  She’d never been into men in the same way as her friends. There had been boyfriends, but nobody special; certainly, nobody she had any desire to sleep with. So, it was a total shock to gaze into his eyes and have all the breath stolen from her lungs and reason robbed from her thoughts.

  “By the way, I’m Angus,” he flashed her a brilliant smile.

  She blinked, realizing the face she’d been staring at absentmindedly had just spoken. “I’m Siobhan.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Siobhan. Are you Irish?” He liked her direct, unpretentious response. Of course, she couldn’t curtsy in the vehicle, but she didn’t even attempt to verbally acknowledge his status. Calling him my lord earlier was apparently a public display. But now, here in the car, essentially alone with him, she was direct and spoke as his equal. I really do like her.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you single?”

  Intent golden eyes glittered down into hers; eyes that hinted at pleasures untold, laughter, and if she wasn’t imagining it, some kind of past pain held carefully in check.

  How in God’s name could a mere look make her feel as though he’d peeled her clothes from her body slowly and deliciously? “I am. Are you, Lord Lenox?”

  Interesting. Now she’s separating us by class as I inquire as to her availability? “I’m a widower. My wife died one year ago, I’m sorry to say.”

  Ah. That explained the pain she’d seen in his eyes. She put a hand over his, genuinely sorry for his loss. “I’m sorry to hear that, my lord.”

  “Please, call me Angus.” A zing of electricity ran through him and he turned his hand and closed his fingers over hers. “At least in private.”

  “Yes, Lord Angus.” She smiled, teasing him, but since her mind was not working due to the sudden warmth heating her blood, she repeated, “I’m sorry for your wife.”

  It dazzled him she could be playful, and get him to smile in return—while discussing his dead wife. What kind of creature is this? And he couldn’t think of anything to say, but, “It’s okay.”

  They both looked at each other curiously for a moment, comfortable in the silence though they hardly knew each other.

  “So, waitressing,” he said, changing the subject. “Is that your life’s work? Your grand ambition?”

  She laughed, as he had hoped she would.

  “Of course not,” her emerald eyes glittering with amusement. “I’m an amateur jeweler when I can afford to be, but waitressing is what it takes to pay my bills. I can’t imagine anyone getting passionate over passing out plates.”

  “Or spilling drinks,” he teased, turning her cheeks crimson.

  “I am sorry about that…”

  “No, no,” he soothed, trailing a fingertip over her knuckles. “I must say, I have never had such...intimate food service before.”

  His golden eyes ran over her, making her skin tingle beneath his appreciative gaze. The air grew thick with electricity, with the scent of desire, emptying her head of words. Somehow, they had moved beyond small talk into something more volatile, more...dangerous.

  Then she broke the spell by looking away and pulling her hand from his and putting it on her lap.

  He broke the silence, picking her hand up again and cutting to the chase. “Why are we both trying to walk away from this?”

  Siobhan didn’t need to ask him what this encompassed because she already knew. From the minute she saw him, her thoughts were jumbled, and even then, it had required effort to not just stand still and stare at him while she memorized every tiny facet of his appearance for future recall and enjoyment.

  The pads of his thumbs rubbed gently at the delicate blue-veined skin of her inner wrist. She looked up at him and knew it would be a fatal act, for when she met those stunning eyes she could hardly think straight, never mind breathe.

  “Because it’s craziness,” Siobhan whispered, scooting away as if she was trying to steel herself against the feelings running through her veins. “And craziness terrifies me.”

  Life had taught her the costs of being anything other than sensible and cautious were likely to be high and painful.

  She never took any kind of risk
s, except for getting a student loan.

  Armed only with her irrepressible spirit, Siobhan had been thrilled to discover student loans for which practically anyone could qualify, even an unsecured risk like a fostered orphan such as herself. She’d enrolled in college, taken a job as a waitress, and embarked on her quest to make something of herself. Just what, she wasn’t sure, but she’d always had a feeling something special was waiting around the next corner for her. And maybe, just maybe, on this, the day of her birth, one of her dreams might come true. It’s more than cause to celebrate and not be afraid.

  “You make me feel more alive than I have felt in more years than I care to recall, Angel.” His brooding gaze was welded to hers, while he momentarily fought to comprehend the intensity of his desire for her. “That’s not scary, that’s something to celebrate.”

  It shook her wholly he was describing exactly what she was feeling. Somehow it seemed to make her reaction to him more acceptable and she shut out the misgivings striving to be heard in the back of her mind. Even as she looked back at him, sensual energy was leaping and dancing through her small, taut frame, tightening the tender peaks of her breasts into taut buds and spilling heat between her thighs in a storm of powerful physical responses, turning her brain to mush.

  With a stifled imprecation, Angus bent down and took her lips in a demanding kiss.

  Siobhan gasped. His urgency was exactly what her trembling, eager body craved. She felt him peel off her coat. She was locked to the muscular strength of his powerful physique, her breasts crushed against his hard chest, her lips parting in welcome to the erotic plunge of his tongue into her mouth.

  In receipt of her response, Angus shuddered, sinking his hands to her hips in the fitted skirt and hauled her onto his lap.

  She locked her hands around his neck and kissed him back with breathless fervor.

  Angus groaned, trailing his lips down her slender neck in a series of darting, rousing kisses that made her squirm and whimper as he discovered newly erogenous zones of skin.