by Jenna Sutton
“What is all this, Leo?”
Leaning back against the long dresser, I brace my hands on the edge. “Necessities.”
“Necessities,” she echoes.
She picks up a glossy black bag and trails her fingers over the logo embossed on the side. “I’ve never shopped here before.” She gives me a sideways glance. “It’s too expensive.”
She peeks into several bags and opens a few boxes. I know what’s inside: a selection of clothing, lingerie, and shoes, as well as toiletries and makeup.
“I’m assuming everything is going to fit perfectly because you called someone and asked what size I wear?”
“Yes. I thought it was the lesser of two evils. I wouldn’t want a stranger to come into my home and dig through my belongings.” I study her, trying to figure out what she’s thinking. “Are you angry, Tessa?”
Her head jerks back. “Why would I be angry?”
“Because I invaded your privacy and made decisions for you without consulting you.”
She hesitates for a few heartbeats before saying, “That’s true, but I’m not angry about it. I’m ... stunned, I suppose.”
“Why are you stunned?” I straighten to my full height. “As you pointed out earlier, I’m very dictatorial.”
Her lips curve in a tiny smile. “In this instance, I would say you’re very thoughtful.”
A few steps bring me to the bed, where I lift the lid on one of the boxes she couldn’t reach. A silk dress of deep iridescent blue is nestled inside a bed of tissue paper.
Next to me, she climbs onto the step stool. “Oh. That’s a gorgeous color. It reminds me of an Indian peacock. It’ll be perfect for media interviews.”
I jerk my head toward her. “You’re going to do the tour with me?”
“Might as well.” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Everybody knows my identity now.”
Once people meet Tessa and hear her story, my approval ratings will soar. They’ll adore me, but only because I helped her.
Her participation in the media tour might generate more business for her flower shop, but ultimately I’ll benefit far more than she will.
With guilt rushing through me like whitewater rapids, I focus my attention on the dress box and fit the lid back on it. When I look up, I see that she has turned on the step stool so her back is to the bed.
Grasping my hand, she guides me in front of her. Then she slides her arms around my neck and tugs my head down until our mouths are almost touching.
“Thank you.” She brushes a soft kiss over my lips. “Thank you so much.”
She kisses me again, this time a little longer, and ends it with a sharp nip on my lower lip. “It might take a while, but I’m going to pay you back for everything.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is,” she insists.
Irritation flares inside my chest, but it calms when she opens her mouth over mine and slips her tongue between my lips. She tastes like strawberries, and she smells like pears. I want to eat her up.
I reach for her hips but end up grabbing fistfuls of her robe. I’ve never hated a piece of clothing so much. I want to tear the damn thing from her body and burn it.
She breaks the kiss. “Leo,” she whispers.
“What?” I ask, more than a little breathless.
“Nothing. I just like saying your name.” Flattening her palms on my chest, she gives a little push. “Back up.”
Confused, I take a few steps backward, and she hops off the step stool. When she sinks to her knees in front of me, I’m shocked. Shocked and so turned on I’m a little unsteady.
With our eyes locked, she slips her hands beneath the elastic waistband of my pants and boxer briefs and bares my erection. I’m so hard my entire groin is throbbing.
She wraps her fingers around the base of my cock and brings it to her mouth. When she flicks her tongue over the pre-cum oozing from the tip, a groan works its way from my chest to my mouth.
The next few minutes are an intense blur of her hands and mouth and tongue. She squeezes and sucks and licks until I’m mindlessly shoving my cock down her throat.
Fire ignites at the base of my spine and blazes along my nerve endings. When she amps up the suction, my balls tighten and my stomach muscles clench, and then I’m coming with a roar, black spots dancing in my vision as I explode in her mouth.
When my sight clears and I can think again, I realize my hands are tangled tightly in Tessa’s hair. She’s looking up at me, her eyes sparkling and her mouth glistening.
“That was...” I stop, surprised by the hoarseness of my voice.
The sparkle in her eyes dims. “It wasn’t good?”
“It was so good I can’t find the words to describe it.”
“Yeah?”
I nod, and a pleased smile curves her mouth. I unravel her auburn curls from my fingers and hold out a hand to help her up. Once she’s standing, I tuck myself back into my underwear and adjust my pants.
I loop my arms around her and touch my mouth to hers. I can taste myself on her lips, salt mixed with musk. Drawing back, I stare down into her flushed face, fiercely glad that she’s here at Helios.
She gives me a little squeeze. “You’ve done so much for me, Leo. I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”
Unease begins to spin inside me. It’s like those massive tornadoes you hear about in the United States, the ones that destroy everything in their paths.
“I’m so grateful—”
I uncoil my arms from her waist and jerk out of her embrace. “Is that what this is about?”
Her forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Is that why you sucked me off ... why you fucked me earlier today ... to show your gratitude?”
Paling, she gasps and takes a step back. “Leo.”
“If that’s the only thing you feel for me, Tessa”—I take a deep breath, trying to calm the fury racing through my veins—“you can keep your goddamn gratitude. I don’t want it.”
“What do you want?” she asks softly.
“I want...” I shake my head, unwilling to voice what I really want. “Never mind.”
I walk past her, intent on leaving the suite. As I reach the doorway that leads to the living area, she says, “I’m grateful to Dr. Barchon, but I didn’t have sex with him. I gave him a Meyer lemon tree and a card that said, When life gives you lemons, make lemon meringue pie.”
Her words permeate the despair fogging my thoughts. Slowly, I turn to face her.
“I gave you a blow job because I wanted to. Not because I was grateful.” She wraps her arms around her ribs, like she’s giving herself a hug, before dropping them back to her sides. “I had sex with you because I wanted to. Not because I was grateful.”
I search her face, looking for any signs that she might be lying. But I see nothing but sincere honesty. I blow out a relieved breath.
She moves toward me but stops about a foot away. “Gratitude is only a small part of what I feel for you.”
And that’s all I need to hear. I close the space between us and use the knot of her belt to tug her against me. Her body softens into mine.
“Leo,” she murmurs.
“I like it when you say my name.” I loosen the knot and push the robe off her shoulders. “I like it even better when you scream it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tessa
It’s the silence that makes me look up from the dough I’m kneading. Leo stands in the kitchen doorway, his tall, broad-shouldered frame outlined by the bright white jamb. While everyone is staring at him in obvious surprise, his gaze is locked on me.
Letting the door swing shut behind him, he strides forward. A chorus of “Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness” echoes within the room, and he acknowledges the greetings with a curt nod.
When he stops next to me, I turn to face him. “Hey, Leo. What’s up?”
I hear someone gasp. I’m pretty sure it’s Bess, a young kitchen staffer who’s been chopping veg
etables non-stop for the three hours I’ve been in the kitchen.
Bess is probably scandalized by the familiar way I greeted the future king of Alsania. I wonder how she’d react if she knew how familiar Leo and I really are.
Familiar enough that I know the sounds he makes right before he comes. Familiar enough that I know his favorite position for sex—me on all fours with him on the bed behind me—and for sleep—my back tucked against his front.
I didn’t expect to be at Helios for more than a week or two at the most. But it’s going on a month now.
Leo spends every night in my suite, screwing me senseless. I had a copper IUD inserted after we had unprotected sex in the limo. Apparently, it’s far more effective than the morning-after pill, reducing the risk of pregnancy by ninety-nine percent after unprotected sex. It also works to prevent pregnancy on an ongoing basis.
After spending the night with me, Leo returns to his own suite in the early hours of the morning. More than once, I’ve wondered if he messes up the covers so his bed looks slept in when the maids arrive.
By now, I’m sure the household staff at Helios has figured out what Leo and I are up to. So maybe Bess is shocked by his attire instead of how I greeted him. I have to admit, I’m a little surprised by his clothing choice today.
He’s wearing a button-down shirt with a red-and-blue gingham pattern. Its long sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and it’s untucked—gasp!—over dark-washed jeans.
Instead of the usual expensive wing tips, brown leather boots cover his feet. They’re scuffed and worn, probably his long-time favorites.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Leo says, sounding both annoyed and relieved. “Literally everywhere.”
He looks down at the counter where my lump of dough sits like a miniature beige Jabba the Hut. “What is that?” He brings his eyes back to mine. “What are you doing down here?”
“Making chocolate croissants.”
The skin around his dark eyes crinkles as he frowns. “Why?”
Shrugging, I say, “No reason.”
No reason except for one: I was bored and lonely without Leo to keep me company.
It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and I’m trapped at Helios. The paparazzi are still camped in front of my apartment, and people are still mobbing my little flower shop, trying to steal a glimpse of the woman who got a piece of Prince Leo’s liver.
Although the media tour was supposed to last only two weeks, the whole world seems to be enthralled with the story of the prince who saved the commoner. The palace’s PR team received so many interview requests, King Carlo suggested the media tour be extended until the end of August. It wasn’t really a suggestion. It was a royal edict.
Initially, Leo balked at extending the media tour, saying it was time for things to get back to normal. But then he changed his mind, literally overnight, and asked me if I would continue to do interviews with him.
I agreed, of course. I have hard time denying Leo anything.
Yesterday, we were guests on Alsania’s number one morning program. Afterward, we did a radio interview with BBC and ate a late lunch with a well-known doctor who acts as a medical correspondent for a cable news network.
I’ve lost count of how many interviews we’ve done. Print. Digital. TV. Radio. We’ve done them all.
If I wasn’t living in a fish bowl, I’d be out having fun with my sister or my friends today. Maybe biking around Circo or strolling through the farmer’s market or browsing the funky boutiques in my neighborhood.
And even I wasn’t having fun, I still wouldn’t be bored. There’s always laundry to fold, carpets to vacuum, closets to organize, paperwork to file ... all the tasks normal people do on a daily basis.
But I’m not living with normal people right now. I’m living with royalty. All those household chores keep me busy at home, but here at Helios, a huge team handles them, giving me far more free time than I’m used to.
When I was a little girl, and I whined about being bored, my mom would say: Only boring people get bored. Find something to do that makes you more interesting.
So today, when I realized I was feeling bored after wandering around the gardens for a couple of hours, I followed my mother’s advice. I made my way to the kitchen and asked if I could make something I’d never made before.
I’m sure the staffers were surprised to see me. Nonetheless, the pastry chef put me to work with a recipe card and a rolling pin.
Leo’s gaze skims over my chevron-printed headscarf and my flour-sprinkled apron. “Is baking one of your hobbies?”
“No. I just wanted to learn something new.”
He glances at the dough again. He’s probably wondering how something that looks so gross could possibly turn into something so delicious. I’m wondering that myself.
“Would you be willing to put your project on hold for a few hours?” he asks.
“Maybe.” I wipe my hands on the towel hanging from the belted tie of my apron. “If I had something more interesting to do.”
“You do.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Really.” He lifts the edge of the towel and dabs at something on my cheek, probably a smudge of flour. Or maybe a greasy smear of butter. “Grab your sunglasses and meet me at the garage in ten minutes.”
I watch him walk away, wishing his shirt wasn’t untucked so I could get a glimpse of his denim-clad ass. If it looks good in dress pants, just imagine how fabulous it’d look in jeans. Rawr.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing outside a massive hangar facility, gawking mutely at the sleek black helicopter in front of me. I glance sideways at Leo, knowing my eyes must be the size of dinner plates. His eyes, meanwhile, are shielded by aviator sunglasses with mirrored lenses.
“A helicopter?” My voice is so squeaky I sound like a mouse with laryngitis. “You want to take me for a ride in a helicopter?”
The corner of his perfectly-shaped mouth lifts in a tiny smile. “It’s a perfect day for one.”
“A perfect day to die, you mean.”
He steps in front of me, blocking my view of the flying death trap, and takes off his sunglasses so I can see his eyes. “Do you trust me, Tessa?”
I don’t even have to think about my answer. “Yes.”
I trust Leo with my life. He saved mine by putting his own at risk. But I’m not sure I can trust him with my heart. I’m afraid my feelings for him are far stronger than his feelings for me.
During one of the first stops on the media tour, the female interviewer asked on live TV if Leo and I were romantically involved. The intrusive question caught me off guard, but he must’ve anticipated it because he had a ready answer: I have tremendous admiration for Miss Lulach. She’s an amazing woman who handled a very difficult situation with grace and strength.
I couldn’t help being flattered by his compliments. Yet at the same time, I was disappointed he didn’t acknowledge that we’re more than donor and recipient.
Almost every interviewer since has asked a variation of that question. I let Leo handle it because he’s a master at deflecting, far better than I am.
He always answers the same way, and his response makes me question whether he’s trying to protect our privacy or trying to hide our real relationship ... if you can even call it a relationship. He might think it’s nothing more than sex. He certainly hasn’t said anything to the contrary.
To me, it’s more than sex. A lot more.
Leo’s voice brings me back to the present—back to the helicopter. “With me at the stick, you don’t have anything to be afraid of.”
“I’m confused. You flew jets in the Navy, not helicopters.”
“Correct. But I can fly helicopters too.” Taking my sweat-dampened hand, he weaves our fingers together. “I’d never let anything or anyone hurt you, Tessa. If you don’t like it when we get up there, I’ll bring us down.”
I hesitate, thinking about all the stories I’ve heard about helicopter crashes. Event
ually my faith in Leo eclipses my fear.
“Okay,” I say.
Lifting our hands, he kisses the top of mine. “There’s my brave girl.”
As we walk toward the helicopter, he explains that both seats in the cockpit have cyclics, or sticks. Most right-handed pilots prefer to sit in the right seat. In that position, they can keep their dominate hand on the stick and use their other one, the left hand, to operate the controls on the middle console.
He guides me to the left seat and after buckling me in, he places the aviation headset over my ears and adjusts the flexible boom mic in front of my mouth. He slams the door shut, pushes his palm against it to make sure it’s closed, and jogs around the nose of the helicopter to vault into his seat.
As he buckles his safety harness and dons his own headset, he gives me a smile that’s clearly meant to be reassuring. It does little to calm the bats swooping around in my stomach, but they settle down the moment he starts checking dials and flipping switches.
This is Leo in his element—calm and collected, capable and confident. He’s so insanely hot, I’m tempted to unzip his jeans and suck him off right here, right now.
Maybe I can get him off before we get off the ground?
I wonder what the aviation version of road head is called. Would it be air head?
The absurdity of my thoughts makes me giggle. Suddenly, Leo’s voice fills my ear: “That’s not hysterical laughter, is it?”
“Of course not.”
Technically, it’s phallical laughter.
He presses a button, and a low buzz fills the cockpit. The rotors start to spin in my peripheral vision followed by the sound of them cutting through the air—the unmistakable chop-chop-chop that makes you look up when you hear it overhead.
Leo grasps the cylindrical bar alongside his seat with his left hand and grips the stick between his legs—not that one—with his right hand. The helicopter shimmies a little before lifting.
All the muscles in my body tighten involuntarily, especially those in my lower body. It’s as if they’re trying to push me down into my seat to keep me on the ground.