by Ally Blake
Will caught her an inch from ground zero, holding her hand at bay. Her skin was cool against his. His thumb rested on her wrist, picking up the scattered throb of her pulse. Or perhaps it was his own.
Her pupils were huge and dark. Her cheeks high with colour and her breath no longer at ease.
Gravity. Attraction. Intrigue. Discovery.
“I’m fine.” Will pressed his hand towards her before letting go. Then he turned and dug about inside his bag. Needing a break from those eyes. “Who was at the door?”
“The door?”
“The reason I called your name. I heard a knock.”
“Right. Yes. I thought it might be Hugo... Alas. When I checked no one was there. But there was a gift basket left outside. Decorated in little love hearts for the honeymoon suite, no less.”
Will gripped the edges of his bag. He was not a praying man, but in that moment he understood the impulse.
“Thank goodness, right? Because I’m starving.”
Starving. Will’s belly felt empty and his head a little light. A man his size couldn’t live on adrenaline and chocolate-covered ginger alone. Food would help. It would alleviate the pangs. And he could recalibrate from there.
Oblivious to his internal bargaining, Sadie went on, “There’s champagne, strawberries, chocolate, almonds, Vallemontian ginger. Some crackers and crisps. Even a tub of honey. I call the ginger.”
“All yours,” he managed, contemplating the veritable cornucopia of aphrodisiacs. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”
“What a shock.”
He looked up then. To find her gaze was on his chest once more. Not the scar—the rest. He could have told himself the aspiration in her gaze was all due to the food talk, but what would be the point?
Clearly a cold shower and rationalisation weren’t going to do the trick.
He’d been on the back foot since this entire escapade began—a feeling he was neither used to nor welcomed.
Enough was enough. It was time to take charge.
He turned, reached into his bag, grabbed the tracksuit she’d worn the day before and threw it at her.
She caught it. “What’s this for?”
“Put it on. It’ll be warmer than what you’re wearing. And it’s a grey old day out there.”
“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”
It was completely self-serving. “Was there something else?”
“No, but... I was just thinking about what the gift basket fairies might leave next? A collection of sonnets? Some massage oils? There’s no TV so I guess that rules out—”
“Sadie.”
“Yes, Will?”
“Get out.”
“Yes, Will.” She spun on her heel, all but scurrying from the room, closing the door with a loud snick.
That left Will to dress in the only clean clothes he had remaining—jeans and a black cashmere sweater.
He wiped his face, hung up his towel and tidied away his toiletries. He left no trace of himself behind.
And prayed when he checked his phone again Hugo would have sent word.
* * *
Will was back at the couch, repacking his bag for the tenth time that day, clearly wanting to be ready to go the moment she was off his hands. While Sadie—after living off strawberries, chocolate and champagne all day—felt super-twitchy and a little claustrophobic.
“Bored, bored, bored,” she chanted under her breath.
Will turned, jaw tight, brow furrowed as if she’d interrupted him doing something terribly important. “Did you say something?”
“Nope. Maybe. I’m bored.”
Will gave her a look. “Why don’t you tidy up a little?”
“Nah.”
“You are clearly used to having a maid.”
“Are you kidding? My mother is the maid. At the palace. So was I, at times.” She shuddered. “When Hugo was away ditching school with you, I begged Marguerite to put me to work. I helped look after the smaller royals—teaching them to clean up after themselves, to make their beds, to cook easy meals. Have you ever had to clean up the same Lego day after day after day?”
His blank look gave him away.
“That’s right, you had a butler. Well, if you spend enough time cleaning up that stuff, one day you wake up and think, what’s the point?”
“I never cleaned up my own Lego, Ms Gray, because my grandmother was rather old-fashioned when it came to the raising of children and did not believe in frivolous toys. That said, if the zombie apocalypse ever comes I’ll be able to fence myself to freedom.”
He went back to packing and she poked her tongue out at his back. Then she spun, held out fake pistols and muttered, “This room ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
“You definitely said something that time.”
She blew invisible smoke from the top of a finger before sticking it back in her imaginary holster.
Things couldn’t go on like this. This constant tension was messing with her equilibrium.
Like out on the balcony the night before—there’d been a moment when the wintry air had turned thick and steamy, when she’d looked into Will’s dark eyes and seen something. Seen him. It had felt intimate, and thrilling, and terrifying. It was the kind of moment where something might have happened. The kind of something you couldn’t take back.
And then in the bathroom this morning...she’d woken with a fright to the sound of his voice, the grit as he’d called her name. It hadn’t occurred to her she might walk in on him half-dressed. Make that quarter-dressed. It had been too early in the morning to react sensibly to so much man. And how close had she come to feeling the guy up? He’d had to physically stop her from running her hand down his hard, muscular, naked—
Sadie sucked in a breath and shook her head.
Hugo had been right. Making friends with Will had to be better than...whatever was going on between them now.
She lifted her chin, manufactured a blinding smile and said, “So, Will, do you have a girlfriend waiting for you back in...wherever it is you’re from?”
Wow. Excellent sentence-making skills, Sadie. Had she left her renowned charm in her “other” dress too? Apparently so, because Will wasn’t charmed.
He kept on folding, waiting until everything was precise and in its place before deigning to reply. “No,” he said. “And I was born in London.”
No surprise. Grey, damp, so much snarling traffic they all but outlawed it, London was the polar opposite to the wide open, verdant green that was Vallemont. Though Hugo had taken her there for her eighteenth birthday, to see The Tempest in the West End, and that had been phenomenal.
Huh. Funny that Hugo hadn’t made the effort to get in touch with Will, then, either. So whatever had happened between them was already in play. She’d get to that. But first:
“Really? No saucy smart girl with a lab coat, glasses and big brain to go home to?”
He gave her a sideways glance, still not giving an inch. And she knew there was no point even trying. He was just too... Will. He seemed to respond best to cool, clinical honesty.
Oh, well, here goes. “Come on, Will. Give me something. I’m drowning here.”
“And what exactly do you mean by something?”
His deep, gravelly voice did things to her spine. Zappy, tingly things. She decided that was a little too much honesty and kept it to herself. “A little light small talk to while away the hours might be nice.”
“Small talk?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because it’s asinine.”
“Asinine? There you go. Something juicy for me to chew on.” She took a deep breath and once again put on her best cowboy voice. “Now, who do you think you are, calling me asinine?”
He blinked. “I didn’t. I said small talk was—”
She flapped a hand at him before plopping down on his couch, one foot under her backside, the other knee hooked up on the seat. Then she smacked the cushion, requesting he join her. “Sit. Let’s get to know one another better. We might be here for days, after all. We might be here for ever.”
Will lost a little colour at that last prediction.
“Sit. I dare you.”
The colour returned.
He sat. The couch seemed to shrink, leaving her bent knee mere inches from his. But she held her ground. All good here! My physical nearness to you is not a problem at my end!
“So, where were we? No girlfriend. Great. I mean...fine. Okay. Glad we have that sorted.” Then, because champagne and chocolate and boredom and...some new level of sadomasochism seemed to have taken her over, “But you do like girls, right?”
A slightly raised eyebrow and a flicker of his dimple was his only response.
“So, you like girls but you don’t have a girl. Got it. I’m assuming it’s that you’re simply between girls and not because you’re as much of a relationship screw-upper as I am.”
His only response to her eventual silence was a look; dark and broody and gorgeous. Did she just say gorgeous? Only inside her head this time, which was okay. Except it wasn’t even slightly okay!
Maybe it was some kind of Stockholm Syndrome. He’d practically kidnapped her, after all, and dragged her off to an actual tower, where he was keeping her hostage... Who knew what he had in mind for her?
Sadie wriggled on the seat, trying to shake off the tingle in her spine that didn’t seem to want to go away. While also trying desperately not to let her knee touch his, because every time they touched, every time she bumped into him in the kitchen, or shuffled past him on the balcony, or passed him a cup of tea there was this spark, and warmth, and fast-spreading heat, and...
Will was still looking at her. His gaze locked on to her, not letting go. She could feel her heart rate speeding up and was getting that fuzzy feeling at the back of her skull. Like when a man was about to...
“My work is very important to me,” said Will, thankfully cutting off her train of thought before it got away from her completely. “More than important. It’s critical. It’s also not conducive to long-term relationships.”
She swallowed, hard, before managing, “How’s that?”
“I work a great deal. I travel often. My plans change daily. I have a place in the Americas and Scandinavia as well as London, but my mail forwards to my assistant in Wisconsin. My publisher is in New York. The stars are always out somewhere in the world and so can I be too.”
“Doctors work a lot. Firefighters too. Soccer players travel constantly. Many manage to settle down, have families.” She could have just said, That’s nice. Why was she pushing this?
“Ask those families if they’d prefer to have their partners and parents home more. I believe you’ll get an unequivocal yes.”
“So your singlehood is benevolent.”
“Entirely.” The way he said it, with a hint of humour in that whisky-rough voice of his, hit a spot deep down inside. Echoing. Reverberating. Before making itself at home.
“Well, good for you.”
He nodded. The best she could manage was a toothless smile. Then, before she even felt the words coming, she said, “You must have questions.”
Will’s eyebrow twitched. “Many. Though they usually bend towards the esoteric—why are we here, how did we get here, what might happen next?”
“I meant about me...and Hugo.”
Will went straight into his statue impersonation. Not moving, not breathing, not giving anything away. He was very good at it.
“No? Then let’s start smaller. How about what’s my favourite colour? Do I prefer ice cream or sorbet? What did I want to be when I—?”
“How long were you together?”
“Together? You mean Hugo and me? Hugo and I were never together.”
The guy could win a statue competition, hands down.
“We were the closest of friends since we were tiny tots. He’d pull me around in his little red wagon when he was three and drive me around in his big red Maserati when he was eighteen. And, because it never failed to bring a smile to someone’s face, I’d declare to anyone who would listen that one day I was going to marry him.”
“But you didn’t mean it.”
Sadie’s breath caught. He’d known her a day and he got her. Those who’d known her a lifetime didn’t have a clue.
She dragged her gaze away, the break of eye-contact a blessed relief. “Sure, we kissed a couple of times over the years—spin the bottle, three minutes in heaven, that kind of thing—in case it actually worked. But it never did. Not the way it should. It was to be a marriage of convenience. Separate quarters. Separate beds—”
Now Will moved, holding up a hand. “I know what a marriage of convenience means.”
“Okay.”
“But what I don’t understand is why. Why get married at all?”
It was entirely her fault, but now they were moving into territories she wasn’t comfortable talking about. It wasn’t just her story to tell after all.
With a smile she said, “You’ve met the guy, right?”
“Several times. Wouldn’t marry him, though.”
“If you remember, neither would I.”
Will shot her a look. Intense, intrigued. A life lived in the public eye, and she’d never felt quite so much as if she was under a microscope as she did now. Then, “Wait. Are you in some kind of trouble? Is that why he agreed to marry you?”
“Wow. You make him sound so gallant, deigning to stoop to—”
“Sadie.”
“No,” she allowed. “Not in the way you mean.”
“Then in what way?”
She wondered if Will had a clue that he’d suddenly sat up taller—shoulders back, fists braced on his thighs as if preparing to take on the as yet unknown trouble that had her in its thrall.
While she was trying so hard to appear cool and unaffected, it unglued her. He unglued her. Every time he went all gruff and protective on her behalf.
In the short time they’d been thrown together, he’d managed to see through her plucky façade to the truth. Her truth. In a way no one else had ever managed. She wondered now if anyone else had even bothered to try.
“Stop it,” she said, her voice raspy. Her hands gripping one another in her lap, hanging on for dear life.
“Stop what? I didn’t say a word.”
She licked her lips. “But you were thinking it. I can see it. All those big, heroic, take-over thoughts whipping around inside that ginormous brain of yours. Synapses firing at supersonic speed, sparking lights in your baby blues.”
“Baby what?”
She waggled a hand towards his face. “Your eyes. Why, do you have something else blue on your person that I don’t know about? Inner nostrils? Belly-button lint? No, I would have seen it when you called me into the bathroom this morning. And what was that really all about? You couldn’t have pulled on some clothes beforehand?”
Sadie’s gaze dropped to Will’s chest, saliva actually pooling in her mouth as she remembered.
“Wasn’t it Shakespeare who had something to say about a lady protesting too much?”
She coughed out a laugh as her eyes swung back to his. So intense, so clever, so unrelenting. “Seriously? This is the conversation you want to be having?”
When he didn’t demur, she knew she had to get out of there. But where? The steamy bathroom and her memories of Will half-naked? The balcony, where anyone could see her? With its palace view and memories of looking at the stars with Will? Maybe it was time to run again. At least she was wearing a tracksuit this time...
She made to stand, but as soon as her foot hit the floor she realised it had gone numb. Unable to take her weight
, it collapsed and with a whoop she toppled.
Will reached out and caught her with all her gangly limbs and flailing panic. He braced, taking the worst of the impact as they landed in a heap on the couch. A telling oomph shot from his lungs as her knee jabbed him in the thigh, her elbow slamming him right in the solar plexus.
As she waited for her own aches and pains to show themselves, she couldn’t feel anything bar the fact her body was all up against Will’s. She felt as if she had a hundred senses, not the normal five. Each one focused on hard muscle, strong arms, warm, masculine scent.
“Sadie,” he said. “Sadie, are you hurt?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
“Are you sure? Because you’re shaking.”
Trembling. She was trembling. Emotion, adrenaline, lust, fear, exhaustion, confusion—all were rolling through her in satiny, liquid waves.
Will reached up to brush her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
Her eyes flickered open in surprise and landed on his.
He should have let his hand drop then. They both knew it. Instead his thumb lingered, just a moment, brushing over the high sweep of her cheek. Following the sweet, warm rush of heat rising in her face.
The move was so unexpected, so gentle, so tender, she couldn’t handle it.
She shifted, and he grimaced. Not with agony. She knew the way a woman knew. He was bracing himself against the slide of her body against his.
Even before Will’s hand moved around her back, sliding up her ribs, into her hair, he said, “Stop. Moving.”
“Okay.” She licked her lips. “But I have to move eventually.”
“Just not yet.”
When he breathed she felt it against her mouth, her neck, everywhere. It was a rush. A terrible, wonderful, overwhelming rush, asking too much, not asking for enough.
She could not want this man. Not the way her body was trying to tell her she did. He was Hugo’s friend. A man Hugo had trusted to be on her side, meaning that Hugo thought Will was on his side.
If this whole debacle had taught her anything, surely it was to stop thinking she could make it work with men she couldn’t have.