The King's Captive Virgin

by Natalie Anderson

  Her colour rose and she glanced about, but there were no loose stones on the ground. He’d remembered to bring one from the cave at the back of the Summer House. As always.

  ‘You’ll have to share mine.’ He uncapped the marker again and with a deft stroke added a ‘K’ to the ‘G’. ‘It’s tradition.’

  He put the rock into position at the top of the pile, carefully wedging one edge of it into a gap between two others, so it would become part of the puzzle. Fixed and stable. It didn’t mean anything other than being a record of this moment. It couldn’t. But for a long while there was nothing but silence between them.

  ‘We’d better go. The wind here gets cold if you stay too long.’ He made himself walk away at last.

  She didn’t reply as he led the way back down the track. His heart thundered as an empty ache deepened in his bones. He needed to hold her, but he didn’t. Because he couldn’t let himself need to. Instead he forced himself to breathe and focus properly—and not look at her—before beginning his flight checks.

  * * *

  He’d sent his staff away for the day, wanting to be alone with her for every last moment they had left. Wanting one day of a normal, quiet life such as he’d never had.

  ‘Here’s the truth,’ he confessed as he looked around the kitchen, hoping he could find the things he needed. ‘I’m not a good cook. I’m inexperienced.’

  ‘Inexperienced doesn’t always equal not good,’ she purred.

  He chuckled, warmth trickling through him at her sassy confidence—the confidence she’d developed because of him. ‘We’ll have to see.’

  ‘I’m not going to help you.’ She leaned against the bench and sipped the champagne he’d poured for her. ‘You’ll have to fend for yourself.’

  ‘What do you do at night?’ he asked, locating some steak and fresh vegetables. ‘You live alone. You don’t go out? Have parties?’ He sent her a sly look. ‘You don’t go dancing?’

  ‘You know that already.’ She frowned at him. ‘Don’t tell me you dance.’

  ‘Not often. But I know how to.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Come on.’ He laughed at her defensiveness and led her out to the private courtyard. ‘You’ll never have to dance in public,’ he promised. ‘Just here with me.’

  He seared the steak and the vegetables on the outside grill and they ate simply, but well. Then he put some music on and held out his arms.

  Reluctantly she stepped into them, her eyes promising retribution. He didn’t care—he just wanted to hold her. He hadn’t danced in years. She, clearly, hadn’t danced at all.

  He was patient, taking the time to show her, to encourage her. It made for moments of laughter—and then she got it. And as the late-afternoon sun faded into night they danced on—little more than swaying together, really—talking of nothing significant and everything important. Silly tales of childhood holidays here that he’d not thought about in years. Anecdotes from his travels and meetings abroad. She countered with stories about her patients.

  It saddened him that her life had all been work. She should have had holidays as a child too. But tonight they shared gentle laughter. And then it wasn’t so gentle. He wrapped her in his arms and drew her closer still, choosing to forget how transient this had to be—how forbidden it truly was.

  But the next morning he woke early, his ability to sleep stolen by guilt and the return of outside pressures. He couldn’t avoid his duty for ever. There was no eternity for him.

  He tried to ward off the grim feeling, but for the first time the weight of responsibility on him rankled. He wanted more of what he couldn’t have. What he didn’t deserve. And what she didn’t want.

  He left her sleeping and swam, but powering through a million lengths didn’t work the bitterness from his body.

  He stalked inside to discover she’d dressed and eaten breakfast already. She’d chosen a pretty dress, with only her bikini beneath it, and hadn’t bothered with shoes. Her long hair was loose and gorgeous, and her kissable mouth was curved into a tempting smile. She was the picture of a summer sweetheart—a holiday fling. But in only a few hours his holiday had to end. His meeting this afternoon was one he couldn’t reschedule. And she was due to return to Palisades tomorrow.

  The disappointment cut so deep he had to turn away from her. He forced himself to think about work, but he was blocked by an internal shift. Something had changed within him and he couldn’t focus properly...

  Too bad. He had to. The escape was over.

  Kassie noticed him grow quieter and quieter still as the morning progressed. He was withdrawing from her already. He had a meeting this afternoon that was too important to postpone and already he was back behind his large desk, attired in one of those exquisitely stitched suits.

  Real life had returned. Their affair was all but over and they were due to return to Palisades tomorrow. So she was determinedly bright. She wasn’t going to get melancholic just because time was ticking. She was not going to make any kind of scene.

  But the unfairness of it ate at her. She grew angry at the softening inside her. The way she melted at nothing more than the sight of him. And she’d seen another side to him in these last days. The serious, uptight King actually laughed. He told stories using silly voices. He was open and frank and funny and interested and supportive and tender and a teasing rogue. And that moment on his mountain yesterday... The intimacy she’d felt watching him entwine her initial with his... That had been so unfair of him.

  ‘What is it?’ he prompted, looking across at her from the papers he was studying.

  Of course he saw everything—as if she was a damn window through which he could see her soul. She hated it that she couldn’t see him with the same emotional X-ray vision. She hated it that he was the one who could do this—why did it have to be him?

  ‘It wasn’t just the predatory men I didn’t respond to,’ she said without preamble, voicing her thoughts without really thinking. ‘It was the nice guys too.’

  ‘You mean you’ve actually encountered nice guys? Not just jerks who lust after your body?’ he teased.

  ‘Don’t...’ She half-laughed. ‘I’ve met a bunch. Some of them were actually okay.’

  Probably more than okay. It was just that none of them had spun her wheels.

  ‘I don’t know that I’d be as generous,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Are you saying you’ve actually had a boyfriend?’

  ‘Almost. I guess...’

  ‘You guess?’ His gaze sharpened. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It was years ago—my first year at college. He was really nice.’

  Giorgos put the papers down and looked at her. ‘“Nice” is an interesting word. But there’s not a lot of passion in it.’

  ‘He tried. He was patient. He was caring enough to understand that he needed to go slow...’

  ‘But you felt—?’

  ‘Cold,’ she said sadly. And then her ‘boyfriend’ had got frustrated. ‘We never got past kissing. And he was a nice guy.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He stood and walked to the sofa, where she was ignoring the book open on her knee. ‘You don’t think I’m a nice guy?’

  She laughed—also sadly. ‘I will pander to your ego and make this about you for just this one last moment. You know I think you’re more than nice. I think you’re amazing. But...’

  ‘But you have buyer’s remorse?’ His eyes narrowed.

  ‘I just don’t understand why it has to be you who turns me on.’ Her anger got the better of her and the neediness that had been creeping up on her leaked out. ‘I don’t want it to only be you that can do this to me. It can’t be only you.’

  The one guy she couldn’t have. Not for good.

  His gaze hardened. ‘So what are you planning? You’re going to go browsing online for a boyfriend? Swipe your screen and match with a bunch of prosp
ects?’

  ‘Really?’ She stared at him. Was he jealous? How could he get angry with her when he was the one who was out of bounds? ‘I’m going to go home. Go back to work. And so are you.’

  ‘Just like that?’ He snaked out a hand and tugged her to her feet, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her against him. ‘You think you’re just going to turn this off?’

  ‘I’ve lived without this side to my life for a long time,’ she said, bravely squaring up to him. ‘I can do without it now.’

  The tension between them thickened, revealing the danger in the room—the festering malcontent that she realised he felt every bit as keenly as she did.

  ‘You want to return to your nun-like existence?’

  ‘Why not?’ she flared as she felt his steeliness—and his arousal—grow. ‘This is just sex.’

  Somehow she’d angered him. She paused, anticipating she knew not what. Knowing only that something within him had been unleashed.

  ‘Yeah. It is, isn’t it?’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Turn around,’ he ordered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me,’ he snapped coolly, his hands pressing on her. ‘Turn around.’

  Excitement thrummed low in her belly as she glared at him, their eyes clashing in a battle of wills. In pure challenge. She lifted her chin and then pivoted on the spot.

  She heard his hissing breath and his hands shifted. Rough. Fast.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she muttered as he walked her forward, his big body insistent at her back.

  ‘Just helping you figure a few things out,’ he muttered.

  He pushed her forward until her palms hit the wall in self-preservation.

  ‘What things?’ she squeaked as he nipped at her neck and then licked the sensitive skin.

  ‘If it’s just sex,’ he said roughly, pressing behind her, ‘there’s no need to take our time. No need to get naked. No need to stare into each other’s eyes. We can just do it like feral animals. Fast and dirty. Right here. Right now. Get the goddamn release and go.’

  His words shocked her. Thrilled her. Because this was just sex—that was all it could be. And she was unbearably aroused.

  She instinctively used the wall as leverage to push herself back against him. ‘Yes,’ she growled, angrily provocative. ‘Exactly that.’

  She was flattened, rendered immobile, by a hot, furiously hard man. The man. Sensual shivers ran down her spine as he flipped up her skirt and yanked her bikini bottoms down to her thighs. Then he grabbed her wrists, lifting her arms above her head and pinning them there with one hand. Delicious pleasure hummed through her body as she registered his passion. His other hand moved back to her hip, holding her hard. Then he thrust, growling as she took him with a gasp of pleasure.

  ‘This is what you want?’ he asked furiously. ‘Me inside you? Me riding you until you come?’

  ‘Yes...’ She moaned again, lost to the demands of his body and his words. He thrust hard and fast and relentless, his hot mouth at her neck, his hands holding her fast, his possession total. And suddenly, shockingly quickly, she was right there, her body locked in the rigid paralysis that struck just before convulsions of pleasure.

  ‘You want it from me,’ he muttered. ‘Any time, anywhere, anyhow. You can’t get enough. You like it when I—’

  Her scream drowned the rest of his words. She shuddered, her orgasm blinding her. Swift and violent, the waves of ecstasy screwed up every one of her muscles then released her, leaving her limp against the wall. He was still thrust deep inside her, basically holding her up. His breathing was hot on her neck and hard in her ear.

  But then he withdrew. She shivered, her legs suddenly weak. He pulled her backwards, into his arms, and carried her to the sofa.

  Dazed, she stared up at him as he joined her on the narrow cushions. ‘You didn’t finish?’

  ‘No,’ he answered grimly, gazing into her eyes as he locked back into position inside her. ‘Not yet. I want to see you.’

  He thrust just as deeply, but more slowly than before. He framed her face with his hands, looking into her eyes, not letting her turn away as sensations began to pile onto each other again.

  ‘I want to look into your eyes. I want to see when you finally understand.’

  That connection—chest-to-breast, eye-to-eye—their bodies not just sealed together but interlocked. He kissed her. Working not only to seduce, but to disarm...to overwhelm her.

  She shook with the intensity binding them. The ecstasy she’d felt only seconds ago was nothing to the all-encompassing emotion she was drowning in now. It was such a heavenly way to die.

  ‘Giorgos...’ She was desperate to breathe.

  ‘You still think this is just sex?’

  He was angry with her. She trembled, shocked at the rawness of his question. Angered.

  ‘It’s all it can be.’ She arched, tormented, arguing even as her body denied her words in its need for him.

  ‘Too late,’ he growled. ‘This isn’t just anything. It never was.’

  He swept her into the maelstrom of their passion—right into the heart of the storm that brewed beneath the surface whenever they were near each other. She arched again, her body convulsing as it culminated in this—always this—pure, complete bliss.

  But this time was different. This time something had been ripped away from them both, revealing stark need and the impossible, hopeless depths of their hunger.

  She opened her eyes in time to see him driving hard in that final moment when all his muscles locked and his expression strained in the agony of ecstasy. His eyes were fixed on hers, with deep, wild emotion churning in the fiery green.

  He whispered one last word at the moment of release—desperate anger in his demand. ‘You.’

  * * *

  He couldn’t bring himself to lift his head and look at her. He couldn’t bring himself to return to reality and face what he’d just done. But he couldn’t stay crushing her like this on the soft sofa either.

  He pulled away from her, quickly standing and adjusting his clothing. He was still completely dressed—his shirt untucked, his skin sweaty. Finally he braved a glance at her. She looked shattered. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable as she silently watched him. Her lips were more swollen than usual. A purplish love-bite stood out angrily against the creamy skin of her neck.

  God, he’d been an animal. He had lost all control—just taken what he wanted, held her closer and tighter as he’d driven as deep as he could into her body. He’d lost himself entirely in the pleasure he found only with her.

  But she’d been ready—wet and willing—and she’d pushed back on him just as hard as he’d thrust into her. It had been wild and reckless and it had turned him inside out. His orgasm had been the most prolonged and intense of his life.

  But wrong. So wrong.

  Cold, acidic guilt roiled in his stomach. He had just had unprotected sex with her. The one mistake he’d never, ever made. But she was the absolute temptation of his life and he’d retaliated insanely at the thought of her leaving. At the thought of her being intimate with some other guy. At her insistence that she would return to her home and this would end.

  He’d rejected the notion in an irrational, explicitly physical way. He’d lost utter control—of his emotions, his mind, his body. All he’d wanted was to gorge on the succulent delight of her soft embrace. He’d forgotten his duty—to his crown, to his country, to his father, to himself. And to her.

  He froze as the ramifications flashed through his mind.

  ‘That never should have happened,’ he croaked formally, struggling to clear the words past his clogged throat. ‘I apologise.’

  She blinked and slowly sat up, clearly confused as she tugged down the crumpled skirt of her pretty dress.

  ‘I didn’t stop to protect you,’ he explained shortly.

 
Her gaze narrowed. ‘You mean contraception?’

  ‘I’ll send for my physician immediately, to get an emergency contraceptive. There’s no need for you to be concerned.’

  He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t cope with the image in his mind’s eye of her pregnant. Vulnerable. The risk rendered his lungs useless. He walked away before he threw himself on his knees at her feet to beg her forgiveness. To beg her to...what?

  ‘I’ll make that call now,’ he growled.

  * * *

  Kassie stared as Giorgos retreated behind the grim, forbidding demeanour he’d perfected over the last decade. She felt flayed. He’d just told her this wasn’t ‘just’ sex and then in the next breath proved that that was exactly all it was. When cold reality hit—when the possible impact of their affair on the future was raised—he’d wanted nothing more than to reject her and run. The last thing he wanted was a long-term complication.

  Well, she could put him out of his misery—even though he’d just thrust her into heartbreak.

  ‘I’m not going to get pregnant, Giorgos,’ she said, coldly quiet.

  ‘We just had unprotected sex. Pregnancy happens,’ he snapped.

  ‘It wasn’t unprotected.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m on the pill.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The contraceptive pill. I won’t get pregnant.’

  He stared at her, clearly shocked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

  ‘You didn’t give me a chance,’ she said scathingly. ‘You were too busy planning for your doctor to come and save you from possible scandal.’

  The truth? She’d wanted to see his reaction to the initial prospect—like the masochist she was. His horror had been unmistakable. Of course it had. He’d actually paled at the thought of her pregnancy. That had told her everything.

  ‘Why are you on the pill when you don’t have sex?’ He frowned, his tone hostile.

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘You don’t strike me as the type to pump yourself full of medication unnecessarily.’

  And yet he’d just directed her to do exactly that—without even discussing it with her. He had no consideration of her wishes or her feelings. Had he really thought he could just order her to do as he wanted?