Some Like it Secret (Going Royal Book 4)

by Long, Heather

  “Vienna,” she smiled. “I was thinking about the conference. And the dinner. And what happened after the dinner.”

  Wickedness deepened his smile. “I still think they could have given us a better wine selection.”

  Laughter erupted through her and she shook her head. “You harangued our poor waiter until he went and brought you a bottle.”

  “I was trying to impress a lady,” he admitted. “Cheap wine was not going to cut it.”

  “You were not.” She tried to laugh it off, but when he lifted his brows and stared at her with utter sobriety, her amusement faded.

  “I most certainly was.” He slid his fingers up into her hair and began to massage her scalp. The touch was downright hypnotic and the tension beading her muscles since she’d walked in to shower began to ease.

  “Why?” The man commanded attention when he walked into a room. She’d only seen him in passing, following a panel where she’d engaged in a heated disagreement with an economist. The man cited her dissertation in his presentation and misrepresented her findings. She’d been livid by the time he finished. She’d intended to address the situation privately—and then he’d called on her.

  Sebastian’s brows climbed. “Because you were the most beautiful woman in the room—and the most intelligent—and even after bribing someone to switch out the dining cards so I could be seated next to you, you barely noticed I was there.”

  It was her turn to gape. “Of course I knew you were there. Everyone at the table stood and Doctor Ramanijun nearly had a heart attack when I didn’t stand along with everyone else. Wait—you bribed someone to sit at our table?”

  He continued to massage her scalp and, even as she leaned into the touch, he traced the shell of her ear with his lips. The lightest of kisses, it sent heat radiating along every nerve. “Oh, yes. I’d seen this vibrant, passionate woman argue quite brilliantly earlier in the day and I wanted to meet her. They’d seated you too far away for my liking. Then you were more interested in the septuagenarian than me. I had to do something.”

  Uncertain whether she was more shocked he’d been trying to impress her or the fact he’d bribed his way onto her table, Meredith fumbled for words. She settled for a helpless, “But why?” Why go to all that trouble? For her? Because she’d gotten angry with someone?

  Sebastian caught her earlobe and tugged on it. A pulse in her belly echoed his touch. She drowned in sensation whenever they were together. He really was the only man she’d ever met who could get her mind to shut down. In fact, after all their years together, she’d learned his nearness greatly impeded her ability to puzzle through a problem.

  It took her a moment to realize he’d stopped and considered her with a frown. Her system was so haywire, she floundered for what put the dark look on his face.

  “You really don’t know, do you?”

  The disbelief in his voice brought her back to earth. “No,” she admitted, even though her face flamed. “I’m nobody.”

  His mouth compressed into a thin line and his expression hardened. Even his black eyes seemed to glaze over with a fierce kind of ice. “Don’t ever talk about yourself in those terms again. You are more than somebody. You’re the most beautiful, vibrant, alive woman I’ve ever met. You are not coy about pleasure or dislike and you take such joy out of the simplest things. You are also brilliant and your mind fascinates me like no other.” He tapped the journal still in her hands. “I read these because I want to comprehend all the facets. I want to be a part of it even in some small way. Do not ever call yourself nothing. You are somebody, Meredith Blake. You’re a professor, a teacher, a researcher, a gifted doctor of mathematics, a daughter, a friend—and you’re mine.”

  If his statement hadn’t already robbed her of speech, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that branded her all the way to her soul. The journal slipped out of her hands and she gripped his shoulders. He sought entry to her mouth with his tongue and she welcomed him. Emotions detonated inside of her and his fierce declaration left her defenseless.

  He cupped her breast and her nipples tightened even as her belly went low and taut. Digging her fingers into his shirt, she’d barely pulled two buttons open when a knock sounded at the door.

  Sebastian growled—actually growled—and lifted his head. “Go away.” Order delivered, he captured her open mouth in another wet kiss and the interruption slid away as she ran her palms across the hot skin of his chest.

  The knock repeated, but Sebastian ignored it. When it came a third time, he dragged his head back and turned a look so primal and fierce on the door, she prayed she’d never be on the receiving end of it. “What?” he demanded. When she would have scrambled off his lap, he tightened his grip on her, refusing to allow her escape.

  “Please forgive the intrusion, sir, but your brother needs to speak with you immediately.” Eduard’s announcement lanced the bubble of passion and Sebastian swore, colorfully she imagined, in Norwegian. At least she thought it was Norwegian.

  Eduard, wisely, didn’t respond to Sebastian’s epithets. Meredith bit her lip, and tried to get her ragged breathing under control. Pressing a kiss as gentle as his expression was not to her lips, Sebastian murmured, “Forgive me, I have to take his call, but I will make it quick.”

  She started to ease off his lap, but he once again tightened his grip and frowned at her before plucking the phone up from the desk. He greeted his brother in the same language he’d sworn in. The cool, smoothness of his voice belied his temper so perfectly, if she hadn’t witnessed the transformation she’d never have known he was upset in the first place. Though she couldn’t make out the words, she heard the deep timbre of his brother’s voice muted as it was by the phone. It held a similar cadence and accent to Sebastian’s.

  “When?” Urgency punctuated the word and Sebastian’s mouth tightened. He glanced at her, and she could almost read the regret in his expression as he gave her a gentle tap. Understanding the request, she slid off his lap and stood with his assistance. He ran a hand up her arm and caressed her cheek before circling the desk. “I’m going to my computer right now. How certain is Peterson?”

  Standing behind his desk, one hand palm down as he stared at his computer, he looked commanding. But it was the tousled dark hair and the broad expanse of his chest revealed by the several opened buttons on his shirt, which transformed his command into something more primal and masculine.

  “No,” Sebastian said. “It’s loading now.”

  Meredith glanced away from him, vividly aware of every breath he took. Scooping up the journal from the floor, she set it on the desk and stroked her finger across the cover to trace his name on the subscription label. Sebastian Dagmar. He subscribed just so he could read her papers. She’d never made a big deal out of being published. In fact, she’d only mentioned it in passing a handful of times if she recall correctly—one time specifically because he’d taken her skiing and she’d needed to finish reading the final copy before it went to print.

  It seemed to lend an even greater import to his actions. Awareness of his regard kept her peeking at him from behind the fall of her bangs. He wasn’t speaking, but she could still hear the murmur of his brother’s words. Staring at him only fanned the flames of need he’d lit with his kisses, so she forced herself to look away.

  “Impossible.” Sebastian’s impatience ratcheted up with every syllable. He paused. “I said it was impossible…” and he switched to Norwegian between one word and the next. Whatever their topic, it was private. She suddenly felt very self-conscious standing in the middle of his office with her blouse open to her navel.

  Glancing away, she began to button it up as casually as possible. One entire wall of his office was comprised of bookshelves. Family pictures scattered amongst the books, along with a couple of model airplanes and a replica of Rodin’s The Thinker.

  The statue reminded her of their last trip to Paris and their midnight visit to the Musée Rodin. She mentioned she’d always wanted to see it and he’d w
hisked her away in a private car at one in the morning. They’d toured the whole exhibit with only Eduard for company—not even a docent insisted on going with them.

  They’d spent a magical evening together. When she’d complained about her shoes and Sebastian insisted she take them off. She’d spent nearly a half hour just staring at the seminal piece, moved beyond words. Daring to run her finger over the man’s tiny fist, she smiled at the memory and then investigated the photographs.

  His brothers were prominent in them, as was a silver-haired woman she recognized as his mother. She’d seen the dowager princess once. Or rather, she’d seen her briefly. They’d attended an opera in New York, a very hurried affair—a car picked her up and zipped her to the city. She’d met him at a hotel and he’d surprised her with tickets.

  It was one of his favorites, he’d told her, and they’d entered the theater through a private entrance and taken equally private stairs to a box. The opera proved a wonderful experience. During the intermission, she’d excused herself to go to the restroom. When she’d returned, Sebastian had been in a discussion with the woman, and bid her farewell without introducing her to Meredith.

  Meredith hadn’t realized who the woman was, not until later. It was the first time the reality of her place in Sebastian’s life settled in—of course one didn’t introduce the mistress to the mother.

  He’d gone very quiet behind her. She glanced over to find his tense expression focused on the computer screen. She really should leave him to the discussion with his brother and stop snooping through his things before she tossed the fresh chance they were taking to her own insecurities.

  She had the door half-opened when he spoke again. “Meredith?”

  Glancing back, she gave him a quick smile. “It’s all right, talk to your brother. I’m going to take a walk and cool off.” She meant it to be playful, but it came out tighter and a little more fraught than lighthearted. Riding the emotional seesaw left her unbalanced.

  “You don’t have to—”

  But she waved him off. He’d switched to a foreign language for a reason and she wasn’t offended at all. Everyone deserved the right to a private conversation. Closing the door as quietly as she’d opened it, she glanced up and down the length of the hall. Maybe a walk in the garden beneath his room would give her a chance to clear her head and sort out her muddled thoughts.

  Choosing the direction of the open reception hall and sitting room, she found the door—and a lot more people than she’d realized were in residence. A maid polished the tables and a guard stood just inside the door. Both nodded to her politely when she made eye contact and, when she hesitated, the man at the door gave her an inquiring look.

  “I don’t suppose you can tell me where the garden is?” she asked.

  “Are you planning to go outside, ma’am?”

  It was an odd response. Why else would she be asking where the garden was? “Yes, Basti—er—His Highness is on the phone. I thought I would get some air.” They’d let her go outside, wouldn’t they?

  “Of course, ma’am. If you’ll give me a moment?” He touched a finger to his ear. “Miss Blake is stepping outside to take some air. She requires an escort.”

  She most certainly did not. “I’m perfectly capable of—”

  “Meredith.” Terry’s greeting threw her lifeline, and she spun around to find him approaching from another hallway.

  “You’re still here.” Guilt-flavored-relief swamped her. She’d all but forgotten Terry and his possibly precarious position thanks to defending her during her mad reunion with Sebastian.

  “Of course.” He gave her a questioning smile. “Gerard said you wanted to take a walk outside.”

  “I do and I don’t really need an escort.” However, if they required her to have one, at least it was someone she knew.

  “Well how about a friend, then?” He kept his tone light and gestured toward the sitting room. “The doors are right there.”

  Nodding gratefully, she followed him to French doors that opened onto a wide, stone veranda. The entire house was surrounded by a wide expanse of green and fresh air touched with a hint of salt wrapped around her as soon as she stepped outside. Steps led down from the veranda toward the garden, a wild profusion of colors decorated the garden with roses being the most prominent. Someone took very good care of it and, while she knew next to nothing about gardening, she knew what she liked.

  Not slowing, she kept going until she was completely out of the house and amidst the floral scents. Dragging the sweetness into her lungs, she paused and tilted her face up to the sun. She needed to calm the riot in her system.

  When she’d broken up with Bastian, she believed it to be the right thing to do. But seeing him again—she couldn’t imagine never seeing him again. So how the hell did she reconcile needing him and wanting him with the position she’d have to occupy to be with him?

  “Meredith, are you all right?” Terry was right behind her, close enough for the sound of his voice to make her jump. “I’m sorry.”

  She was the one who should be sorry. Terry was her friend, and she kept forgetting he even existed. “I’m fine.” She let out a shaky breath. “I just have a lot to think about.” Being with Bastian made thinking impossible, but when it was the two of them—it always felt like it was just the two of them. All of his beautiful, powerful male force focused on her. He was a relentless addiction in her blood and, like any good addict, could she possibly make good choices when it came to him?

  Terry touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where we were going.”

  “It’s all right.” She’d already forgiven him the deception. At the end of the day, Bastian would have gotten his way with or without Terry’s assistance. “You did tell me to turn the job down.” Sebastian was his employer.

  “Yeah, but I could have done more, especially if you didn’t want to be here.” He gave her a shoulder squeeze.

  “Really, it’s—”

  “O’Connor, you can leave us now.” Sebastian’s voice cracked over the quiet and Terry’s hand fell away from her. She turned to find Sebastian’s dark brooding gaze locked on Terry until he backed up a pace.

  “I’ll be nearby if you need me, Meredith.” Terry nodded to the edge of the garden, then inclined his head to Sebastian before walking away.

  Once Terry was out of earshot, Meredith lifted her brows. “You were a little rude.”

  “He oversteps a lot.” Sebastian answered curtly and closed the distance between them. “Why did you leave?”

  “You were talking to your brother. I really didn’t think you wanted to discuss family business in front of your mistress.” Two could be tart, and she was tired of dancing around the topic. He didn’t have the right to act all lord of the manor in one breath and become a coaxing lover in the next. The shifting behavior confused the hell out of her.

  Sebastian’s harsh expression changed to one of shock. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him wear such a look before, but when he spoke, danger edged his words. “My what?”

  Chapter Seven

  Her words struck him like a physical blow and all the air whooshed out of him. His temper had never been a pretty thing—he’d always been more like mallet in comparison to Armand’s scalpel. Due to that, he’d long endeavored to contain his reactions—to leash them lest his tempestuous emotions land him in scandals, per his father’s advice.

  The suggestion to rein in his reactions came after Sebastian damn near beat another boy bloody at boarding school. His title, his family’s wealth, and his father’s diplomatic skills smoothed the whole incident over. Months of lessons followed the episode, most of which took him most of his life to perfect, but he knew the part he played and he played it well.

  The last several days—hell, the last several months—all weighed on him, beginning with the blade in the dark arranged by a supposed family friend and culminating in the phone call from the love of his life ending their relationship. He’d twisted himself in
to knots to keep his cool, to stay in control, and then she hit him with the most ridiculous charge.

  “Your mistress. I’m not an idiot, Bastian. Let’s not pretend, not at this juncture.” She let out an exasperated huff. Color bloomed in her cheeks and temper fired the dark chocolate of her eyes, blasting him. “I know my place. You’ve made it perfectly clear. And I don’t even care—no, scratch that, I care. Maybe I care too much, a reality made clear when I saw the story about your engagement. I know, you said it wasn’t true and, okay, maybe it wasn’t…this time—”

  Red hazed over his vision, and a dull roar filled his ears. She bandied around words like, maybe and the idea it wasn’t true this time.

  “I know we’ve agreed to give this time and decided we shouldn’t talk of these things, but I’m an adult. I agreed to this relationship. I—” She fumbled and raked her hands through her hair. “I want to be what you need, but I don’t know if I can anymore.” The last came out on a note so forlorn, it cut him deeper than all the rest. His soul began to bleed.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he fought the urge to yell. The rapid escalation of his temper eroded his control. Jaw clenched, he fought the immediate, visceral yell backing up in his lungs. Focus on her words. To create distance from the pain they evoked took every ounce of his will. He needed to address her concerns because, clearly, the chasm between them was littered with more the jagged rocks of misunderstanding.

  “You are not my mistress.” He had to keep his temper in check. Yelling at her would not serve him in this. Rational.

  Stay rational.

  The wind chose the same moment to pick up, whipping her hair up and away from her face. One aspect of Meredith which always attracted him was her absolute lack of artifice. She didn’t wear cosmetics unless she had to. She rarely wore jewelry—just a watch her father gave her at graduation and a pair of diamond studs, tiny little chips, from her grandmother gifted to her for her eighteenth birthday. These facts fascinated him along with every gram of knowledge he’d devoured about her in all their years together. Mistress…how can she possibly believe she’s my mistress?