by Maisey Yates
“Don’t assign adjectives to me that I don’t deserve,” he said, his voice rough. “You imagine me to be some sort of white knight, but I assure you, I’m as far from that as they come.”
“So you say,” she said. “And yet … and yet you cared for Marina. And you won’t touch me. You want to, I know you do. But you won’t.” Her words hung between them, made her feel naked.
He took a step toward her and the moon illuminated his face, revealed the feral glow in his eyes. “But, Eva, I have touched you. Or have you forgotten so easily?”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“And in my dreams … in my mind … I have done so much more. Tell me, where is the honor in that?”
“Thoughts and actions aren’t the same,” she said, her voice trembling, and it had nothing to do with the cold. He was admitting to the thing she’d hoped was true. Admitting to wanting her. As she wanted him.
“Actions begin in our thoughts, Eva.”
“So not even your mind belongs to you? Even that you’ve given over to honor?”
He began to advance on her, his movements sleek and smooth. The movements of a predator. He came near to her, then stopped, turning and pacing in front of her. The tiger in a cage.
Her throat dried.
“I have tried,” he said. “But I have not succeeded.” Eva wanted to move to him. To touch him. To close the distance between them, a distance that wasn’t just physical. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to hold him, wanted to so badly her entire being ached with it. She took a step to him.
“Don’t,” he ground out. “Not unless you want to find out just what sort of thing a man desires.”
She paused, her expression unreadable in the dim light.
Mak knew he should stop talking. That he should never have come out here in the first place. Eva was in no danger and he had never truly believed that she was. But when he’d heard her door open he’d been compelled to go to her. To see her. To take another chance. To test his honor.
He knew deep down he was hoping it would fail. Hoping his control would come to nothing.
“I have thought of you,” he said, speaking what he knew he should not. In the hopes of seeing desire in her eyes. In the hopes of knowing she wanted him as he wanted her. “Of touching you. Tasting you. I have thought of you in ways I have thought of no other woman. I was a boy when I married, and I knew lust, knew what it was to want in a very basic way. I did not know what it was to need more than simple satisfaction. To want the taste of a woman on my lips. To want to feel her desire coating my fingers. Do you know how much I want that?” The words came from deep in him, from a place he had denied all of his life. Finally, free rein given to the needs he had so long suppressed.
Eva did not back away. She did not flinch. She simply looked at him, her eyes fixed on his, her lips parted. She did not look frightened. She looked eager. Damn her.
“I would take you,” he said. “I would make you mine.”
Her breasts rose and fell on a sharp breath. “Take me, then.”
Her words stabbed him, a pang of lust assaulting him, breaking at the bonds of his control, stretching them to their limit.
“I cannot,” he said. And he was the one to retreat. To step back.
“Why? Will you be a servant all of your life? Held down by your desire to do what you think is right? What has it ever given back to you, Mak?”
“We are all slaves,” he said. “Whether it’s to our desires or to a code of honor, we all serve a master, Eva. And a man cannot serve two. I can’t serve myself and do what is right.”
“Is it so wrong to want me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, the word bitter to speak. “I have promised to protect you. I gave my word.”
“You would show greater loyalty to my father than to me? You won’t give any consideration to what I want?”
He shook his head. “I cannot, Eva.”
She took a step to him, put her hand on his chest. He caught her wrist and pulled it away, holding her. “Don’t,” he bit out. “Do not tempt me. No more.”
She pulled her hand away. “Good night, Mak.”
Regret, as bitter as grief, rolled over him like a wave. “Good night, Eva.”
He turned and walked away, out of her room, closing the door behind him. He would go down to the weight room and he would exhaust himself. It was the only option he could live with.
He started to walk down the hall and then paused, closing his eyes against the sudden wave of rage that assaulted him, his hands tightening into fists. God help him but he didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.
More than that, he wasn’t sure he had the desire to fight any longer.
With any other woman, any other desire, it might have been possible. He had proven it was possible. But Eva was unlike anyone he had ever met, and what she made him feel far surpassed his previous understanding of sexual need.
He warred with himself, a cold sweat beading on his skin. He released a growl and stalked down the hall, heading to the weight room.
He would not break tonight. But tomorrow held no guarantees.
Eva didn’t know what she’d expected. She was twenty-one, she wasn’t a completely new person. But she’d sort of thought maybe a birthday would bring insight. Far from it, she felt more confused than ever.
Eva rolled over in her big, empty bed and slid out from beneath the covers, padding over to the closet and rummaging around for clothes. She decided on a pair of skinny jeans and a sweater. It wasn’t very birthdayish. Normally, there would be a big party with a bunch of people she didn’t really know or care about and she would wear a gown.
She snorted as she tugged the sweater over her head. This would probably be an improvement. Another day with Mak.
Or maybe not.
She wasn’t entirely certain the moments of unguarded honesty that had taken place between them had been such a great idea, but they had happened. But, something had shifted between them. Something even more profound than the change that had occurred after the kiss.
All that sharing and hand-holding he was so opposed to. And those dark admissions on the terrace. She tried to breathe, but her stomach felt too tight. She shook her head and headed out of her room and down the stairs.
Mak was standing at the base of the staircase. “I was ready to come and check on you,” he said. His tone was so much easier than it had been the night before. The darkness in him held back. For now. It was clear he was going with the ‘ignore’ tactic. Something she found herself comfortable with.
“I am not escaping into the snow, Makhail,” she said, using his full name. “I would freeze.”
“I know, but it’s late enough that I was starting to wonder. And I wasn’t looking forward to dragging you back in this kind of cold.”
“Even still, I have no doubt that you would.”
His lips curved upward. “It seems we understand each other. And after last night, I would not blame you.”
So he wouldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. She didn’t know whether she felt satisfied by that or not. “I’m undamaged by last night.”
“I said things I shouldn’t have.”
She lowered her eyes, looked at his throat. So much easier than meeting his gaze. “We all do that sometimes.” She certainly had. She’d all but begged him to sleep with her. The really sad part was, she didn’t feel very remorseful about it. She only regretted not getting her way. “What time is it?” She was opting for a subject change. For now.
“Ten-thirty.”
“Wow. I didn’t know it was that late. I guess I was taking my birthday-girl privileges seriously.”
He paused, his dark eyebrows drawn together. “It’s your birthday?”
“Yes. I’m twenty-one. I was waiting for a bolt of wisdom to hit me like a thunderclap. With age come those things, I hear. But I feel the same.” That was a lie. But it wasn’t her birthday that had changed her.
“Happy birthday.” The wor
ds seemed rusty, as though he wasn’t used to saying them.
“Thank you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having a birthday?”
“I told you when we met that I was nearly twenty-one. I believe you responded with something snarky.”
“That sounds like me.”
“Yes. It does.”
“I would have bought you something.” She shook her head. “I don’t care, Mak.”
“I do. I’ll have Liesel make you a cake.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You do.”
“I …” Her throat closed up and she couldn’t force another word out. Tears stung her eyes. Mak had a way of doing that. He said all the wrong things sometimes. Jerky, rude things. And then sometimes he said things that were so right … things that no one else had ever said to her.
“You will have a cake, so arguing is pointless. Though you may choose what flavor you would like.”
“Uh … chocolate.”
“Good. And anything else you want … well, I’ll try to arrange it.”
She imagined that if she asked for him, with a big pink bow tied around his trim waist, she would get a big no. “I don’t really need anything.”
“But if you could have anything, what would it be?”
Again, excluding Mak with a bow and nothing else on, she thought about it. “Dinner. Dinner here. With pitas and tzatziki and lamb. My mother used to have the cook make that for us. It was something that she liked growing up. Simple, but …”
“Comforting,” he said.
Right or wrong, in that moment, Mak knew he could deny her nothing. Giving in to this was far better than giving in to the desire that was coursing through his body. Better, but not easier.
“Exactly,” she said, color staining her cheeks. A flush of happiness. She liked being understood. Such simple things seemed to mean so much to her. And he was finding they mattered to him too.
He’d spent so much of his life giving to someone who was passive. He didn’t resent it. He gave to Marina because she deserved nothing less. Because, even if some days it taxed him, he desired to give to the woman he loved. But for so long, he’d only been able to ease someone’s pain, not offer any sort of pleasure or real happiness.
Guilt stabbed him. Guilt over finding satisfaction in this. Guilt over the gnawing ache that told him how much he’d missed the experience. Guilt over feeling that he was finally experiencing some of the real elements that should be in a relationship.
It wasn’t Marina’s fault. None of it was.
Everything he’d missed … she’d missed so much more. He had the use of his mind and his body, everything else was simply a perk. And yes, he’d missed out on some perks. But he had his health. He had his life. But there was still a wedding ring on his finger, reminding him, making him feel the weight of his past.
Still, the flush of crimson on Eva’s cheeks warmed him in places that had been frozen for years. And he was addicted enough to the feeling to chase it.
“I’m sure I can have dinner arranged. And until then?”
“I don’t know.”
Curiosity, curiosity that went beyond what he’d read in her file, prickled his scalp. “What do you normally do in a day?”
She half shrugged, her eyes straying around the room. I … I read a lot. I go to approved functions. Sometimes—rarely—I go down into the city and get coffee, go to the bookstore. But all of that is such a big deal that I really don’t do if very often. When I was in school, that filled up a lot of my time. I finished high school early and moved on to college courses, but I did all of that with tutors at the palace and now … there seem to be too many hours in the day sometimes. And other times nowhere near enough. I can’t even imagine the frenzy of a wedding …”
Her sentence trailed off, her expression turning serious. “And when Stavros gets married, well, that will be an even bigger deal. Because he’ll be marrying the future queen of Kyonos.”
“You’ll be the future queen of a country as well. Of Bastian’s country most likely.”
Eva looked down at her hands. “I suppose so. I hadn’t put a lot of thought into it.”
“No? Most people would. Most people would be counting the days until the upgrade.”
“You already know I’m not. Why would I have any more power as queen than I have now? I’ll be part of Bastian’s decor rather than my father’s.”
“You’ll be more than that,” he said, trying to erase the bleak picture her words painted.
“Right. I’ll also be expected to sleep with him. And have his children. Assuming, of course, he still wants me.”
“No word yet?” He did his best to blot out the image of Eva in bed with a man, his strong hands on her round, shapely hips. It was far too easy to imagine they were his own hands, gripping her soft flesh as he thrust into her body.
The thought of it made all of the moisture in his throat turn to dust. Last night had shown him just how close he was to breaking free of his control. Allowing anything that remotely resembled a fantasy today would be far too dangerous.
“No,” she said tightly. “When I hear, I assure you, you’ll be the first to know. Mainly because there’s no one else here.”
“I am honored, printzyessa,” he said, taking a step away from her. Distance was a necessity.
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
He wanted to touch her, to offer some sort of comfort. But his intentions would be far from honorable. He did want to offer comfort of some kind, but more than that, he just wanted to feel her skin beneath his hands. To touch the flame, quickly, to see if he could do it without getting burned.
But if he did, it would not stop at his fingertips brushing her cheek, or his lips brushing hers. No. If he touched her again … he would not be able to stop.
Which made the distance even more important.
“I have some calls to catch up on.” It was true. There were always calls to make. But the urgency had more to do with her than anything else.
“Okay,” she said.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay,” she said again.
“Did you want … something else?” he asked, trying to figure out her mood. Trying and failing.
“No. I said I was fine. I’ll see you at dinner.”
She wanted him to stay, that much he knew. But if he did … right now if he stayed he wasn’t certain he could trust the strength of his control. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if his honor was stronger than his desire.
It was probably stupid to dress up for dinner, but it was her birthday. Although, rather than the customary glittery ball gown she opted for something more subdued. Shorter. Clingier. A little sexier …
Even if it didn’t change anything, she liked it when Mak looked at her as though she was a delicacy, rare and tempting. No matter how big a tease it was, she felt compelled to chase the feeling. Even if there was no hope of anything ever coming from it.
It felt good to be wanted.
It was more than that though. Bastian was attracted to her. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in the tension of his body every time they danced. The men she’d been with at the casino had been attracted to her too.
And while all of those men were decently good-looking, they didn’t heat her blood the way Mak did. They didn’t make her feel. Mak made her aware of all kinds of things she’d never been aware of before meeting him. Both physically and emotionally.
She’d never felt someone else’s pain before meeting him. Had never wanted so badly to heal someone else’s hurts. If she was honest, she’d always been self-centered. Her life was conducive to it. Her family didn’t have a lot of time for her, her mother was gone, her friends were seasonal.
That left her with staff mainly, and as long as whims didn’t extend beyond the palace walls, they were met. She had a lot of time to focus on her own needs, her own wants. Much more time than she’d spent focusing on the needs of others.
>
But Mak tore her focus outward. All of her feelings felt extracted from her, laid out, bare and raw, just for him.
It scared her. And it made her feel alive.
She walked into the kitchen and her stomach did a free fall when she saw Mak standing in front of the stove, cutting cooked lamb into thin strips.
“You’re cooking?”
He shrugged. “Liesel did most of it. I’m just doing the finishing touches so she and Jan could get down the mountain before dark.”
“That was … nice of you.”
He looked more approachable in a tight black T-shirt, and dark jeans. His feet were bare, which seemed … intimate somehow. Something about his more-relaxed self made her even more nervous. Maybe because it amped her attraction up even more.
Something she hadn’t realized was possible.
“You’re so surprised that I can cut my own meat? I can cook, you know. I spend a lot of time preparing my own meals.”
It seemed as though he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself.
“What?” she asked.
“What?” he countered, taking the platter from the counter, laden with lamb and pita bread, a small bowl of tzatziki in the center.
“You wanted to say more.”
He shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging down. “It’s your birthday.”
“So. That doesn’t mean you can’t tell me something.” He walked out of the kitchen, heading to the dining room. She followed him. “In fact, I think that’s what I want.”
“What do you want?” he asked, setting the platter on the large wooden dining table that was positioned next to floor-to-ceiling windows, making the most of the view. The setting sun threw bits of pink glitter onto the snow, creating the impression of shimmering heat on ice.
“For you to tell me something. Anything. Just … don’t be so careful about what you say all the time. Talk to me. I like it when we talk.”
“Dangerous things get said when you and I talk,” he said, rounding the table to where she was standing and pulling a chair out. He inclined his head. “Have a seat.”
“I’m …” She sat and he pushed her chair in. She couldn’t deny the truth in that. “Well, we could always talk about those other things. We could talk about last night …”