by Leslie Kelly
So she’d been certain she could talk him into returning, and had walked into that public house to do just that.
But the Ruprecht she’d seen up on that stage—the one she currently had pinned to a wall—was nothing like the callow boy she remembered from her childhood. Nor was he much like the prince she’d last seen riding his golden carriage through the countryside two years ago. Absolutely nothing.
“Well, that’s one way to say hello. But offering me a beer would probably have worked, too,” he said, his voice throaty, deep. Not like she remembered, either. “I thought you’d left.”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Lucky me,” he said, his wide smile brightened by moonlight.
She stared at him. “You’re different.”
“Than what?”
“Just different.”
But it was him, of course. She recognized him easily. The light brown hair, the dark, piercing eyes, the square jaw and sculpted cheeks. He had always been handsome, and that hadn’t changed. The fact that his hair was longer now, and his jaw slightly grizzled, didn’t diminish from his looks at all.
In fact, to be honest, they added to it. Because the last time she’d set eyes on Ruprecht, she’d seen the same pretty boy who’d once threatened to have her drawn and quartered because she’d dared to splash mud on his new velvet pantaloons.
Now, she saw a man. A self-confident, powerful man, capable of getting dirty all on his own. In any number of ways.
“So, tell me, does this warrior-woman thing work with all the guys? Do you usually get what you’re after?”
“I always get what I’m after,” she said, her eyes narrowed, her tone carrying an edge as sharp as the blade on her sword.
“I think I can see why. It’s pretty hot.”
His voice contained laughter and his easy manner threw her off balance. Much about him threw her off balance and had since the moment she’d set eyes on him tonight. She’d been shocked at first, trapped in the middle of that odiferous crowd, watching him onstage, performing like a common minstrel. Her proud prince.
Strangely, though, he hadn’t looked at all the buffoon, hadn’t sounded like the whiny, petulant boy she knew. In fact, his throaty voice had been quite melodious. Even if she’d found the music unsettling. The raw, powerful beat had reverberated deep inside her, leaving her restless, confused.
She hadn’t liked it. That was why she’d left, deciding to wait for him outside.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Play that music?”
“I picked it up pretty easily once I started to study. Just a natural, I guess. Did you like it?”
She shook her head slowly, answering honestly though she knew it would probably anger him. “Not really.”
“Gee, thanks.” He sounded amused, not offended.
Strange. So strange. Not just his mood, but everything about him. She’d known this man since childhood, and yet, for the first time, she began to see why other women might find him appealing. All the females in the public house had been talking about him—his handsome face, raspy voice, thick hair and rock-hard form.
That’s what had really thrown her. Ruprecht had always been soft. Pampered and cosseted. She didn’t know if he had ever lifted a hand to comb his own hair.
But now. Oh, pressed up against him as she was now, she had to acknowledge he most definitely was not soft anymore. Not anywhere. Those were thick, rippling muscles in the legs tangled with hers. And his tight, black shirt bulged over an impressively broad chest and strong arms.
She could still take him in hand-to-hand combat, of course. Easily. Probably with one arm lashed behind her back.
But he might actually make it interesting now.
“So, uh, you gonna let me go, hotshot?” he asked, relaxed, not trying to free himself. After all, she reminded herself, he’d never learned to fight; never had to, not when people like Olivia were ready to lay down their lives to protect him.
Maybe with both arms lashed behind my back.
“Can I trust you not to try to escape me?”
He laughed softly. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. You wanted my attention, you most definitely got it.”
She slowly lowered her arm, reminding herself that this was still her prince. He seemed in a reasonable mood, despite his strange appearance. He’d been gone for a long time. Perhaps a few months in this place had been good for him, had toughened him up. That wasn’t such a bad thing.
He lifted a hand to his throat and rubbed, wincing a bit.
Well, maybe not toughened.
“Did I hurt you?” God, Verona would have her head if she’d actually injured her precious darling, despite what she’d said.
“Nah. Throat’s sore after the performance. I should’ve grabbed something to drink before I left.”
Wordlessly reaching down, she retrieved her small flask, which was attached to a leather belt slung around her hips. Lifting it, she removed the lid and offered it to him.
He took it without question, raising it to his attractive mouth and tilting his head back, drinking deeply. Then he said, “Damn, that’s good. What’d you do, pay a fortune for a bottle of Voss water and dump it in this?”
“I stopped to fill it at a mountain lake on the way over.”
“Sure you did.”
“Feel free to finish it,” she offered, wondering why he acted so strangely about simply quenching his thirst. Then, remembering he had been here for a long while, she realized he must have greatly missed good Elatyria water.
Taking her up on her offer, he lifted the flask again, draining it. Each swallow emphasized the cords of muscle in his neck; they flexed, gleaming with…
“Great Athena’s ghost, you’re actually sweating,” she whispered, finally realizing why the back of her arm was damp.
Royalty didn’t do such things. Certainly Prince Ruprecht, future King of Grand Falls, Elatyria, arbiter of good taste and the only prince in all the land who’d ever had a fairy godmother of his own, never did something as crass as breaking a sweat.
Yet, here was the proof. He was covered with a fine sheen of moisture. Not only that, a deliciously sultry aroma wafted off him, spicy and unexpected. Every inhalation she took was filled with it and, despite herself, she breathed a bit deeper.
“Sorry. It was hot under the lights,” he said.
Olivia couldn’t tear her gaze away from his throat, fascinated by this change in him more than any other. Sweaty, raw and muscular? This man? The man who’d once screamed the castle down because he’d found a golden hair in his porridge?
Unable to help it, she lifted her hand, then slid the tip of her index finger down his neck, from below his right ear to his shoulder. Slick. Hot. Powerful.
A quivery sensation rolled through her and she had the oddest desire to lick her finger, to taste the salty flavors.
God, how she loved the results physical exertion gave to a man. It was one of the only things she regretted about her decision to stay away from them. “What happened to you?” she asked, hearing the wonder in her voice. “How did you become so hard?”
“You’d think being attacked in a dark alley woulda cured that, wouldn’t you?” Capping the flask, he added, “But no. You’ve aroused my interest and it’s getting more…aroused.”
Olivia stared at him, puzzled by his words as well as his mood. She had expected at least token resistance. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he have returned to Elatyria on his own? But he seemed completely comfortable with her arrival.
Realizing her fingertips still rested on a cord of muscle that ran from the base of his neck over his shoulder, she forced herself to drop her hand. As soon as she did, her fingers began to tingle, and she realized she wanted to touch him again, to feel that rough jaw and squeeze the rock-hard shoulders.
Impossible. That was mad, completely unlike her. She’d had no interest in touching any man since her bacchanalia, the week before she
’d been inducted into the guard.
But none of them had felt like him.
She ignored the inner voice, lucky he hadn’t screamed for her head for the liberty she’d already taken. Determined she wouldn’t touch Ruprecht again unless she had to knock him out to take him home, she asked, “Are you ready to go?”
He lifted one brow over a gleaming eye. “Just like that?”
She nodded. “Just like that.”
“You don’t even want to try to pretend to play hard to get?”
“I’m not the one being got,” she said, not understanding.
“True enough.” He flashed another of those smiles. “Will you still respect me in the morning if I let you take me home?”
“Morning? It will take me longer than that to get you all the way there.”
He shook his head. “I somehow doubt that.”
As to the other part of his question, Olivia equated respect with strength of body and of mind, as well as moral fiber. Which meant, frankly, she’d never respected Ruprecht. At least not the one she’d known before. Like most men, he didn’t deserve it.
This version of the prince, though? Well, the heat and power rolling off him could demand a little of her respect. She was big enough to concede she might need to leave one hand untethered.
“I won’t think less of you,” she finally said, knowing better than to tell a royal what she was really thinking.
“Okay, then.” As he spoke, he reached up and touched a strand of her hair, smoothing it back, letting his fingertips brush across her cheek.
Olivia remained stiff, shocked that he would do such a thing, reach out and touch her so casually. The stroke was deliberate, sweet. Nobody had touched her hair like that since she was a child, and an hour ago, she would have sworn that if anyone had tried, they’d have lost a few fingers.
Now? Something deep inside her didn’t mind so much.
“You’ve really caught me. I never do this,” he said.
“Do what?”
“What we’re about to do. I was that guy once, but I haven’t been for a long time. Yet here I am, ready to walk away with you, damn the consequences.”
“Oh, I know you’re not who you used to be,” she insisted. “Though, I must admit, I thought you would prove more resistant.”
“Hey, you said you’d still respect me in the morning.” He lifted his other hand, resting it on her bare shoulder, running his fingers across her skin as if noting its texture.
This connection, possessive and deliberate, shocked her more than the first. Especially because something deep inside her—a molten core of nearly forgotten femininity—reacted. Her first impulse wasn’t to throw the hand off and flip him onto his back for his temerity, but to curl even closer.
What is going on?
She didn’t understand. This was Ruprecht, the bane of her childhood, the weakest man she’d ever known. How could he be affecting her in such a way? Not even the most powerful warriors of Elatyria had ever elicited from her much more than a hint of interest for the way they could fell a sky-high beanstalk with one blow. Yet his touch had put a quiver in her center.
There was something wrong with the air here. Or perhaps with the food—she shouldn’t have sunk her teeth into that sweet, round confection with the hole in the center. It had addled her mind.
“You don’t mind me not resisting, do you?” he asked. Then, leaning even closer, until his lips actually brushed her temple, he added, “Because I admit, I find you irresistible.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he moved his mouth down, pressing faint kisses on her cheek, inching close to her mouth.
Shocked, Olivia couldn’t speak. She told herself it was merely surprise, but wasn’t sure why she didn’t pull away to remind him of his position—and hers. Instead, she stood there, stiff, unsure, even as he pressed that warm mouth against her own. She sucked in a surprised breath, parting her lips, and he took advantage. His tongue stole inside, languorously gliding against hers.
Olivia hadn’t been kissed in nearly a decade. Nor was she sure she’d ever been kissed like this. Warm and wet and deep.
Certainly no kiss had ever made her feel so…tingly. Right down to her feet. Warmth and heady pleasure stole through her, the connection of their lips seeming to touch her in so many other places. Mysterious places. Feminine places unused for many years.
She didn’t quite know what to do. So she simply let him taste her, fill her mouth with his flavor, wondering how it could possibly grow more pleasurable just because he lifted his hands to her face and cupped her cheeks.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Easy.”
She couldn’t do that, no matter how much she liked the sensations. Her entire body remained unyielding, the feelings too unusual, too unexpected to allow for anything like relaxation.
Finally, he ended the kiss and stared down at her, appearing a little disappointed. “Sorry. It isn’t the place. I’m sure you weren’t expecting that here.”
Almost shaking, Olivia sucked in a deep breath, regretting it when her lungs were filled with every masculine bit of him, which awakened her senses even more. Swallowing hard, she said, “No, I wasn’t expecting that.” Feeling unsure, she waved back and forth between them. “I wasn’t expecting any of this. Your kiss, your cooperation, none of it.”
“My cooperation?”
“No. I thought you might try to argue with me. I came here prepared to persuade you to my cause.”
Or to overpower you. Now she had to wonder, who was on the verge of overpowering whom?
“Your top persuaded me,” he muttered. His hot stare slid down her body and he added, “The skirt helped.”
Again puzzled, she scrunched her brow. Then she realized he meant her uniform. When Ruprecht had seen his mother had sent the Captain of the Amazonian Royal Guard to fetch him, he’d realized the woman was in a dangerous mood.
Thinking of the queen, she was at last able to force herself to step away, gain some distance. Without his touch, his scent—oh, Gods, his mouth—she could think more clearly. “I understand. You saw that I came dressed for business.”
He stiffened. “Business? Wait, this…you’re not a professional, right?”
The man had picked up some strange language habits over here, because she was having a difficult time understanding what he meant. “A professional what?”
Shaking his head, he said, “Never mind. Just a crazy thought. A working girl wouldn’t accost a john in a back alley.”
“You’re not a John,” she said, growing ever more confused.
“Definitely not.”
They stared at one another, and though Olivia still had the feeling they were talking at cross-purposes, she pushed the worry away. She needed to stop looking a gift unicorn in the mouth and accept that this mission had been easier than she’d expected.
Easier? Are you joking? Well, easier in one way. Much more difficult in another.
“Very well, then, shall we go? I want to have a lot of ground covered by sunrise.”
One side of his mouth curled up in a grin. “All night, huh?”
“You’ve the strength for it? The stamina?”
“It’s been a while, but I think I can manage,” he replied, his tone dry. His hand came up and he touched her hair again.
Jerking away, throwing off the strange sensations caused by his touch, she snapped, “I hope so. We don’t have time to waste. And I certainly don’t want to have to bear your weight if you can’t carry yourself.”
“Is that a nice way of saying you like to be on top?”
Wondering if he was challenging her for domination before they even began their journey, she said, “I won’t forget my place once we get back to the real world. Until then, I’m asking you to follow my lead and do what I say. It’s for your own protection.”
“Uh, who do I need protection from? You?”
“Certainly not. I would die for you.”
He stiffened. For the first time since she’d grabbed him, he l
ooked disturbed, wary. Though why, she couldn’t say.
She supposed he had reason to be comfortable here, given that he appeared at least somewhat capable of defending himself. Perhaps he liked forgetting that he had enemies. But his nice new muscles wouldn’t stop a giant hungry for a royal appetizer, nor would his firm legs be able to outrun a herd of angry centaurs who’d vowed to punish his mother for encroaching on their lands.
“You know as well as I do that your family’s enemies would enjoy having you at their mercy, Your Majesty. You can’t have forgotten that in your time away.”
He suddenly bent over, coughing into his fist. Worried, Olivia dared to touch the royal person once more, pounding him on the back. “Are you all right?”
More coughing.
“Rupie, are you ill?”
Finally, he stopped and straightened. His amusement gone, his eyes no longer twinkling, he asked, “What did you call me?”
She flushed, bowing her head, put firmly back in her place, even though he’d been the one who’d kissed her a few minutes ago. “I beg your pardon, Prince Ruprecht, forgive my impertinence.”
The prince started to walk away, mumbling something, then turned and stalked back, edging closer, one step at a time. She reacted by taking small steps back. This time, she was the one who ended up crowded against the brick building.
She allowed it, knowing he was more annoyed at her for reminding him of a childish nickname than he’d been when she’d pinned him by the throat. Bad move, Captain. Ruprecht’s moods had always been terribly mercurial.
“That name you called me. Rupie.”
“Again, I apologize…”
“Why’d you call me that?
“It was an awful breach of protocol, Your Majesty.”
He lifted a hand and thrust it through his thick hair, so much longer than she’d ever seen it, then peered fiercely into her eyes. “Are you stoned? What are you on?”
“Stoned?” She frowned, revolted. “Stoning has been banned for centuries!”
Her response seemed to confuse him. “What is your name?”
Shocked, she shook her head. “Surely you know me, Your Majesty. We played together as children.”
“Humor me.”