His groans filled her with joy. His hand in her hair, caressing, flexing, entranced her. She was no princess here, no delicate little bit of fluff to be set in the corner and ignored.
Here, she was woman, powerful. Here she was lover, generous. She caressed his legs, his hips, and slipped one hand intimately between his legs to cup and knead his balls. She felt the tightening and knew he neared his orgasm.
Determined to taste him completely, she began to suck harder even as she moved back and forth over him.
“I’m close, baby.”
She knew he meant it as a warning. She angled her body so that her breasts, unfettered, could rub against his legs. Her gaze met his, the silent communication she sent him eloquent. The look of gratitude, of passion, and, yes, of love in his eyes moved her incredibly. When he closed those eyes, when he surrendered to the rapture she forced upon him, she drank all that he gave her.
When he lay completely relaxed against his pillow, she continued to caress and soothe, determined to succor and entice. She started to love him all over again, using her mouth and teeth to give him stinging kisses from his neck to his knees. When his sex hardened, she brought a condom from the drawer beside the bed and sheathed him. Gently, she straddled his hips, impaled herself, and rode him. This time when he neared his climax, she knew he’d not go there alone. His fingers caressed her lips, then dipped inside her mouth. Wet, he played them against her clit until, together, they came.
She cleaned him, then snuggled against his side.
“One hell of a pain medication,” he whispered into her hair. Smiling, she let herself slip back into sleep, unafraid of nightmares.
* * * *
Alex was so angry he wanted to spit.
Since that wasn’t an option, where was some bloody privacy when one wanted some, he headed for the gym instead.
Damn, complicated, confounding woman. Oh, she pushed his buttons like no one else. He’d never lost his temper the way he had with Hannah last evening.
You wouldn’t dare.
Watch me.
He stopped in the middle of the gym, hands on his hips, looking about furiously.
“Your Majesty?”
Alex barely spared the young man a glance. He knew him to be a member of Peter’s staff but couldn’t for the life of him recall the man’s name right then.
“Where the hell are the sparring gloves?”
Alex wondered how ill tempered he must appear to send the man—ah, yes, James—nearly stumbling in his haste to bring him the gloves. As Alex pulled them on, James bravely offered, “Sir, if you don’t tape your hands, they’ll sting.”
“So they will,” Alex agreed.
And then he closed out everything else as he pummeled the bag.
For long minutes, he refused to think. All his attention centered on one square inch of the sparring bag while he alternated between his left and right fists.
Thought inevitably intruded. They loved each other, didn’t they? Didn’t she have any idea how precious that was? Yes, of course she did. There was no doubt in his mind where the source of the problem lay. Oh, he wished he could have just five minutes alone with Jordan Jones. He’d soon show him a thing or two. And how pathetic was it that he wanted to pound merry hell out of a man already long dead?
“People who fall in love with each other are supposed to get married, aren’t they?” Alex asked aloud, expecting no answer.
“Ideally, yes.”
Alex started at the response. He’d not noticed Michael’s entrance into the gym. Likely poor James had alerted him that the king had, what, flipped his wig?
Alex could recall when Michael had fallen in love with Helene, and the rough patch they’d endured before resolving the issues between them. Michael had poured out his thoughts, and his heart, wanting his father’s advice. Alex returned to pummeling the bag, wondering at the strangeness of life that he and his son should suddenly switch roles.
“I’m a king, for God’s sake. Women are supposed to swoon at the idea of having a king propose to them. Otherwise, that insipid tale Cinderella would have long ago fallen into obscurity. Where the hell are fairy godmothers when you need them most? I need one now to wave her wand over Hannah and help her come to her bloody senses.”
Alex took one more swat at the bag before Michael’s laugh pulled him up short.
“You didn’t want Hannah to be intimidated by your title, Father. Logically, that means you didn’t want her to be impressed by it, either.”
Sweat covered him, and he labored for breath. He thought he might have had a bit more vinegar left to spew, but Michael’s observation neutralized it.
“Of course, you’re right.” Pulling off the gloves and dropping them to the floor, he flexed his hands, which indeed stung.
Alex accepted the towel and the bottle of water his son offered him. Walking over to the bench set against one wall, he sat, blotted the sweat from his face and neck, and took a long drink of the water.
“Am I to assume that you’ve asked Hannah to marry you, and she said no?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that. Her refusal came so fast, she seemed so shocked that I would even ask. I’ll tell you, truly, Michael, her rejection hurt me. We exchanged words.”
“You exchanged words?”
Alex could tell his son was trying to pick his way through this minefield that had suddenly opened up before him. Alex waved his hand in the air, a sign of his impatience. “Oh, bugger it. We fought. I lost my temper.”
“And?”
“And I may have said something rash.”
Michael remained silent for a long moment. Finally, he sat beside Alex, and took a drink from his own bottle of water. “Well,” he said at last, “as long as it wasn’t ‘off with her head.’”
Shocked, Alex turned to his son. The absurdity of Michael’s words, of the entire situation, hit him. He laughed, loud and long.
“No,” Alex tried to catch his breath, “It wasn’t ‘off with her head,’ but something equally silly. I more or less forbade her to leave the country.”
“I see.”
“Do you know, she stood toe to toe with me? She actually dared me.” Now that he had begun to cool down, he found himself feeling almost proud of Hannah.
“That explains it all.”
“No,” Alex sighed, shaking his head slowly. “It doesn’t explain anything at all.”
“Maria told me Hannah didn’t make an appearance at breakfast this morning.”
Alex frowned. “Well, for God’s sake, she isn’t confined to her room.”
“No, of course not. I know for a fact that she’s had her morning swim with Sophie and is spending time with Helene and Robert right now, going over the menu for the wedding reception. I only meant to let you know that you’re not the only one out of sorts.”
The news that Hannah likely felt as miserable as he was should have cheered him. Of course, it didn’t. For one moment, he considered relenting. He couldn’t make the woman want to stay with him.
But then his resolve hardened. The hell, he couldn’t. He looked over at his son. Letting go of a little of his personal concerns had been good. Michael had proven a good listener, with a keen sense of humor. In time, he’d make a fine king.
“Well, last time I made the mistake of not telling her who I was, and I apologized. This time, it’s her turn.”
“As you like, Your Majesty.”
A good king indeed. One able to express disapproval in the most diplomatic of ways.
Alex felt real fatherly pride.
* * * *
“You’re hovering.”
Even as Peter gave Rachel his very best frown, the one that had been known to make grown men take two steps back, she waved her hand in dismissal. She stood between him and the door that would take him out of his suite, and back to work.
“Deal with it.”
“I am perfectly fine to go to my own office. And you know it, too.” He leaned forward and whispered, �
��If you didn’t think so, you never would have screwed my brains out last night.”
Rachel lifted her brows primly. “That was medicinal sex.”
Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. Sometime after he woke up that morning, the idea began to play in his head that if Rachel had been tiring of him, her misplaced feelings of guilt over his injury would keep her with him. His head began to throb lightly. He almost reached up to massage it, but caught himself at the last second. Do that, and the little minx would have me back in bed in no time. Not that he’d really mind, provided she snuggled under the covers with him, but this time she might actually expect him to rest.
“Rachel, I need to see what my team has gathered. I haven’t had time to see what they found combing either the beach here or the woods at the farm. Baby, I need to do something.”
The trace of desperation in his voice must have turned the tide of his arguments, which, he wasn’t ashamed to say, she’d systematically scuttled without a qualm until this point.
“Of course you do,” Rachel said, her eyes big and pleading. “I know I am being a pain. It is not your fault that I was so badly frightened yesterday.”
Her expression had turned so serious. He wanted nothing more than to make everything better for her. “I’m sorry you were frightened, Rachel. With me unconscious and you all alone, you must have been terrified not knowing if at any moment a killer would attack.”
“Merde! For a smart man, you can be so…beta!”
“Stupid?”
“Is there a better word? It was not my safety I was frightened for, but yours!”
He watched as she stomped off, muttering to herself. Stupid fit him pretty well at the moment, he supposed. But he had the feeling her retreat had been designed to save them both face.
Shaking his head, then groaning from the twinge of pain that caused, he set off for his office.
* * * *
Materializing in the corridor so recently vacated, Eugenia turned to Gwendolyn.
“Well, the young ones seem to be doing fine, sister.”
“The older ones, on the other hand…” Gwendolyn shook her head sadly. “Wave my wand over Hannah, indeed. Mayhap I should hit Alex over the head with it instead.”
“Now, sister,” Gwendolyn said, “Personally, I can’t blame him. All his life he’s longed to truly be in love, and now he is, and the woman he loves is being so unreasonable. How can she possibly not want to marry him? He’s a king!”
“Sister, it saddens me how you’ve failed to keep up with the times, it truly does. The modern woman knows she deserves more than to be only a wife. You know as well as I do the hard road our Hannah traveled before meeting Alex.”
“Oh, sister, whatever is going to bring those two together?”
“Well, one thing I know it won’t be is our magic wands. The very idea! Magic only goes so far. Love must fill the final, and the largest, portion.”
“You’re absolutely right, sister. Thank you ever so much for reminding me.”
“You’re most welcome.” Eugenia sighed heavily. “Our magic may, though, be needed yet.”
Gwendolyn turned to look in the direction Rachel had taken.
“It may indeed,” she said quietly.
Chapter 18
Hannah needed to escape.
She paced back and forth in the Queen’s Solar, her grasp on her composure slipping more with each step.
She imagined everyone in the palace knew of her fight with Alex. It felt like everyone looked at her with either pity or outrage. They were probably whispering about her around every corner, behind every door. Maybe they had a betting pool going. She wondered what the odds were that Alex actually would throw her into the dungeon. She needed to get away from all these people looking, whispering and wondering. She needed to be alone for just five damn minutes!
She didn’t understand the big deal. He was a man, wasn’t he? She thought men wanted a woman who wanted to have no-holds-barred, no-strings-attached wild jungle sex. Didn’t they?
“So I’ve always believed.”
Hannah spun around. She didn’t realize she’d actually voiced her thoughts, or that her daughter had come into the room. She flushed. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Obviously.”
Catharine’s smile was the one Hannah had always labeled cheeky. Any other time, seeing it would have lightened her heart. Now, it just annoyed her.
“That’s what’s wrong with this damn place. It’s as big as a…a…”
“Palace?”
“Smart-ass. My point is, it’s big beyond belief and there’s still no privacy here!”
“I’ll go.” Catharine turned to do just that.
“No!” Hannah watched as her daughter slowly turned back to face her. “I’m sorry. I’m letting that man turn me into a babbling, raving bitch.”
“By ‘that man,’ I presume you mean my soon-to-be father-in-law?” Catharine asked as she sat down on a loveseat.
“Yes, the I’m-the-ruler-of-all-I-survey-and-can do-whatever-the-hell-I-like king of this country.”
“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good.”
“‘I can do whatever I want, including detaining uncooperative tourists.’” Even as she mimicked Alex, Hannah felt small and mean and miserable.
“May I ask what you’re being uncooperative about?”
Hannah turned away and walked over to the windows. Below, the gardens spread out like a beautiful tapestry. There, just off the path, sat the bench where Alex had proposed to her—looking at her watch, she could see it neared noon—less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Alex asked me to marry him.”
A silence greeted this announcement, followed by a cautious, “And you said no?”
Because a lump suddenly clogged her throat and she didn’t think she could speak, she simply nodded. As she did, she felt a tear slip down her cheek.
“I thought you loved him.” Then, obviously putting two and two together, Catharine said in growing outrage, “And because you said no, he threatened to have you detained?”
Instead of cheering Hannah, Catherine’s commiseration made her feel worse.
“I can’t blame him, really. I hurt his feelings, terribly.”
“You can’t blame him for threatening you?”
“Well, I may have goaded him, a little. We argued, and it got out of control. I thought we were having an affair, you see, and I was fine with that.” Then, because she felt tired and confused, she turned around and lowered herself to the floor. She’d said things to Alex she hadn’t even known had been fermenting inside of her. Saying what she had, she felt tainted, as if a black poison had touched her, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. It had been as if the words had needed to come out.
She looked up when her daughter came over and sat on the carpet beside her.
“I do love him. But when he asked me to marry him there was this choking feeling inside of me.” Hannah covered her face with her hands. “I hurt him so badly. What am I going to do?”
Catharine put her arm around Hannah’s shoulders and hugged her comfortingly. The sense of having suddenly switched roles with her daughter only added to her guilt.
“I don’t know, Mom.”
“Neither do I, honey. Neither do I.”
* * * *
Rachel worked quietly at her desk in her shop. The familiar activities of sketching and creating soothed and comforted. She couldn’t explain it precisely, but when she had her pencil in hand, it seemed like she stepped back from life, from reality, and existed separately. Sometimes, these moments brought peace and replenishment of spirit. And sometimes they brought more.
While Dagmar and Simone worked their sewing machines, with Simone’s voice providing a droning background sound, Rachel recalled that it had been when she’d been designing a dress to wear to Michael’s wedding that she’d suddenly come to the realization that her mother’s lack of attention and affection really had nothing to do with any lack in herself
. She’d understood for the first time that her mother had been incapable of showing love in a way that would make a young girl feel happy and secure.
Now she wondered, what sort of person she might have turned out to be if her mother had been more like Hannah. The first time Peter’s mother had given her a hug, she’d found the moment awkward. But she’d gotten used to them now, and had discovered they filled a need in her she’d not even known existed.
Releasing her thoughts, she let her mind wander as her fingers did what they would with lead and paper. She sketched a pantsuit. The pants had straight, narrow legs, with the waist riding low on the hips. The top was more flamboyant, with a standup collar and very wide bell sleeves. She pictured the outfit in pale gray, and as her pencil added details, she wondered at the sense of dread that stirred in her belly while her drawing took shape. The model would be small, very small. Probably no more than five feet tall, max, but emaciated, with long white hair. The entire combination, the gray clothes and white hair, matched with impossibly white skin and bloodshot eyes reminded Rachel of a rat.
Scratching and clawing. She had to get smaller, smaller, so the rats wouldn’t get her.
The rats!
A sound caught her attention. Looking up and out her open office door, she saw the girls standing at the main worktable, looking at one of the dresses they’d made. As if sensing her regard, they both looked up. Simone blushed, a tiny giggle escaping her. Dagmar’s expression was steady, but unreadable.
Rachel jerked her gaze back to her work, feeling her insides turn to jelly. Quickly now, she began to draw another figure. Dressed almost identically to the first, this one was male. The sleeves of his tunic fit skintight and his clothes, and hair, were brown. His eyes also seemed bloodshot, though his skin tone was not the same white as the woman. She drew the man in the forefront, and it appeared like the woman followed him.
Followed him with her eyes, everywhere he went, not letting him out of her sight. He laughed and kissed Rachel full on the mouth. Rachel tried not to grimace. He was Luc’s best friend. When she looked up, the woman glared at her, and Rachel trembled in sudden fear.
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