by Robyn Grady
“Why? Helene isn’t here on official business.” Darius drew a document from his inbox. “Her time spent here is a private matter.”
“Of course. Except, with the coronation looming, people might make assumptions.” Yanni brought a closed hand to his mouth to cover an awkward smile. “I only say this because when Ms. Masters mentioned an arrangement, I made an assumption myself.”
The penny dropped. “You thought we were in a serious relationship?”
Yanni shrugged. “A misunderstanding.”
Darius laughed, then sobered, then flicked his pen aside. He found his feet and, hands in pockets, came to stand at a floor-to-ceiling window.
“If there were a misunderstanding…” If people thought Helene and he were looking toward the future together… “In this day and age what real harm could come from it?” He turned back Yanni. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
Yanni seemed to hold his breath before slanting his head. “We know very little about her. She might have a criminal record, might have an undesirable past.”
“You did a search. Nothing untoward showed up.”
“Ms. Masters said you’d invited her to stay two weeks. Is there any reason you’d extend that time frame?”
Darius’s focus had drifted to a portrait of his father, which graced the opposite wall. He winged back his shoulders. “Not at this stage.”
Yanni’s expression changed again. “While you were away, your uncle sent communication. He wants to attend the coronation.”
Darius blinked. He must not have heard right. “We haven’t heard from Galen in decades.”
“Perhaps he feels that, with your parents passing, you might appreciate his support on the day. He might also want you to permanently pardon his exile.”
Darius was floored. He had never imagined this day would come. “And his wife?”
“It’s said he goes everywhere with her.”
Gazing blindly out the window at a view of the sea, Darius absently twirled his father’s ring around his finger. Despite his uncle’s walking out and leaving a mess, Darius still cared for the man. At the prospect of seeing him again, Darius realized how much he’d missed him. He’d like to speak to him, and on one subject in particular.
“Yanni, you knew my uncle well. What kind of man would you say he is?”
Yanni’s eyebrows hitched. “To put it simply, Your Highness, I would say he is a man who had found his peace.”
…
After a quick freshen-up, Helene was back in the main room of her magnificent palace quarters. She was unzipping her knapsack, eager to read the rest of that story, when she heard a knock and her heart gave a skip. Guess Darius had gotten through his work sooner than expected.
But on opening the door, she found a beautiful young woman waiting. A flowing peach-colored skirt was the perfect contrast to her olive complexion. A stunning gold pendant graced her regal neck and a pair of thickly-fringed eyes twinkled with enthusiasm.
“I’m Tahlia, Darius’s sister.” She tipped her head, and a stream of dark satin hair fell over one slender shoulder. “May I come in?”
Taken aback, Helene introduced herself as she closed the door.
“Darius says you’re American,” Tahlia said, strolling in. “I want to live in New York one day. Have you been there? Or Hollywood? I’m dying to see Rodeo Drive.”
“Well, I can’t afford the boutiques,” she said, amused. “But I window shop.”
“I went to school in Switzerland,” Tahlia said, lowering herself to sit among cushions scattered upon an extravagant sofa. “And I’ve been to many places in Europe. It only makes me hungry for more.”
Helene liked Tahlia already. The princess was a girl after her own heart.
“Darius tells me you might go to the UK to study,” Helene said delicately.
“I’ve had enough of tutors and books for now.” She sat back. “Although I do love to read poetry. Keats, Byron…”
Helene suddenly remembered those pages. “Stories, too?” she asked, heading for her knapsack.
“Only if they have a happily-ever-after.”
Helene eased out the writing block then removed the yellowed sheets and presented them to Tahlia.
“I found these at the villa, tucked away in a wardrobe and a desk.”
Pages in hand, Tahlia ran an interested gaze over the top sheet. “This was written many years ago.” She eyed the initials. “D.D…” Her focus shot up. “Have you read it?”
“Only the first few pages.”
“Oh, then you should read it first.”
“How about I keep these here and when you visit, we can read it together,” she suggested, accepting the pages back.
“And afterward you can tell me how you came to be with my brother alone on that island.”
As Tahlia’s eyes twinkled with playful curiosity, Helene set the pages aside. “Darius should probably fill you in on that.”
Tahlia’s enthusiasm drained. “My brother finds it difficult to talk to me about anything other than duty these days.”
Tahlia’s attention had slid to one of many soaring arched windows. Was she thinking about the stables and that boy she’d fallen in love with? Helene wanted to ask about Otis. She wanted to help if she could, but she shouldn’t interfere. It wasn’t her place.
“How long are you staying, Helene?”
“Two weeks.” By that time she should be certain that their first time in bed together hadn’t evolved into anything more than one episode during an amazing holiday fling.
“I’ve been in your country a few weeks now,” Helene went on. “I worked at a taverna and stayed with a family downtown.” She gestured toward her knapsack. “I’ll pick up the rest of my stuff tomorrow.”
“You have nothing to wear?”
“Nothing other than a sarong and swimsuit.”
“We’re something of the same size.” Tahlia found her feet. “I’ll have clothes brought by straight away.”
Helene was ready to decline, but frankly she was grateful for the offer. “Thank you.”
“And I’ll come again tomorrow while Darius is busy with his work, and we can read that story.” Tahlia crossed to the door. “Let’s hope we get a happy ending.”
Chapter Twelve
An hour later, feeling brave enough to scout a little, Helene swung open her quarters’ door. Darius stood the other side of the ornate framework, his hand raised, ready to knock. He arched a brow.
“Going somewhere?” His gaze dropped to her recently changed attire. “Nice dress.”
The clothes Tahlia promised had arrived ten minutes after she’d left. There had been so many gorgeous outfits to choose from, as well as a pair of jeans. After trying on half a dozen combinations, she’d opted for a sky-blue jersey wrap-around that dropped to her ankles.
She smoothed the cool fabric draped over her hips. “I was about to go exploring.”
His fingertips trailed up her arm. “I might tag along.”
They traveled down the long hallway, descended the grand stairs, and wandered through an enormous room with an elevated domed ceiling painted ultramarine and dotted with gold stars. Along the way, they passed several curious house staff that might have liked to ask questions but only averted their gazes. Finally, she and Darius emerged from the solemn palace walls into wide-open spaces and sunshine. Strips of manicured lawn, divided by exquisite perfumed gardens, rolled out before them.
Helene breathed in air fragrant with the scent of orange blossoms then glanced across to study Darius’s classic profile. The thrust of his chest, the gleam in his eye, said he was both at home here and immeasurably proud. The more she got to know him, the more she understood that he was all about protecting what had been handed down and entrusted to his care. This palace. The throne. Tahlia.
No doubt his own family when he had one.
“I met your sister,” Helene said as they headed down the lawn.
He grinned. “I’m not surprised.”
>
“She didn’t mention Otis.”
“I’m amazed.”
Helene warred with herself then let him know. “She doesn’t think you listen to her. She’d like you to understand her.”
“I’d like to, too. But I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” When his brows knitted, she pushed on. “Can’t you try to let her in a little more? Listen to who she is. Who she wants to be.”
“A teenager who wants to play house.”
“Well, they’re both adults.”
“She’s too young to understand the consequences.”
“Of having a boyfriend?”
“Of having sex.”
When Helene pulled up, he stopped too. Facing her, he folded her hands in his.
“Eighteen is too young for a person to know what she wants.”
“Maybe. But it’s up to that eighteen-year-old to decide for herself.”
They were circling an enormous Renaissance-inspired fountain at the far end of the garden when Darius spoke again.
“My uncle contacted my office while I was away. He wants to attend the coronation.”
“Isn’t he in exile?”
“I can revoke that. But I’m not sure I should.”
“If your father were alive, would he finally mend the fences?”
He faintly smiled. “I wondered the same thing. And I honestly don’t know. He wasn’t the forgiving type.”
“Well, you’re the boss now. It’s your decision.”
In the golden afternoon sunshine, he stopped, then tugged her into his arms and raveled them around her waist. His lips closed over hers, and her bones turned to Jell-O. The longer he kissed her the more she melted, until her mind was mush and her body a furnace. She didn’t know where she ended and he began.
Slowly, their lips parted but the haze remained.
“Like I was saying…,” she murmured. “You’re the boss.”
His lidded gaze focused on her lips. “I’ve organized food to be brought to your quarters. Are you hungry?”
“What are you offering?”
“Along with the finest delicacies and wine, a side order of this.”
When his mouth captured hers again, her whirling brain could come up with only two words.
Yes, please.
…
Back at her quarters, Darius led her straight past the spanakopita, yemista, and stifado, which had magically appeared on a dining table.
“Did you enjoy the bubblebath you teased me about earlier?” he asked.
“I decided to wait for you.”
Sweeping her up into his arms, he strode toward the bathroom doors. “So thoughtful.”
“I needed someone to scrub my back.”
“Only your back? You know the all-over deluxe wash is my specialty.”
Toeing off her sandals, letting them drop to the floor, she drew teasing circles over his chest. “I do have one spot that’s particularly difficult to reach.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find more.”
The bathroom boasted an extravagant marble tub complete with a trickling indoor fountain. Everything was screened by a gold lattice-work grill. Darius set her on her feet and peeled the shirt up over his head, leaving his hair ruffled and his beautiful broad chest bare. Then he tugged the tie at her waist and eased the fabric off her shoulders until the dress fell in a silken blue pool around her ankles. As he cupped her uncovered breasts, she leaned into him, and when his head went down, hers rocked back.
The tip of his tongue twirled around her right nipple and then her left in a slow savoring motion that ignited sparks and left her toasting inside and out. His mouth found the right peak again and, while he gently nipped and sucked one, he rolled and plucked the other until time spun out, and the pulsing kernel sizzling at her center threatened to leap the gate.
Her fingers splayed across the breadth of his back, over taut muscles and glorious natural heat. Then he was hunkering down, his lips trailing past her cleavage, beyond her navel, until his teeth tugged at the elastic at the front of her cotton briefs. On his knees, he caught the side straps and dragged the scrap of fabric down, but only far enough for his breath to warm the exposed crease between her thighs. The blade of his tongue spliced up the seam, stopping at the top to swirl and flick while his hands on her behind rotated her hips, and the hum in his throat vibrated all the way through to her soul.
Her eyes drifting shut, she quivered as the strokes delved deeper, grew stronger, and when her head was spinning, she knotted her fingers in his hair for support. Somewhere along the way, her briefs were peeled down and gently pried off. Then he scooped a leg over his shoulder and pressed that burning part of her all the closer to his mouth.
Against her warm wet flesh, he murmured, “How am I doing so far?”
Combing fingers through his hair, she quivered, smiled, and sighed. “So far, you’re doing okay.”
“Just okay?”
Lightly, he tugged and nipped the spot with his lips, with his teeth. Her head lolling to one side, Helene bit her lower lip while her lit fuse ran shorter, hotter, and he turned her inside out. Everything everywhere had funneled back and down until her world was myopic, focused only on this.
Then, too soon, the stroking eased, the clasp on her hips released and, as if unplugged from a live current, she almost withered to the ground.
“I was kidding,” she said. “That was really much better than okay.” He was getting to his feet. “You don’t have to stop.”
“Who said anything about stopping?”
He found a wrap in his pocket, kicked off his trousers, and fit the condom. Then, with a deliberate, controlled movement, his hands circled her waist. Slowly, he raised her so that her feet left the floor and her front pressed against every hard, slick inch of him. When the tips of their noses touched and his dark hooded gaze consumed hers, she coiled her legs around him, locking her hips snugly to his. His gaze penetrated hers, and he took a few steps until cool wall tiles met her back and bare bottom. While she shivered and clung to him tighter, he began tasting her shoulder, expertly adjusting his hold under each of her thighs. His words were muffled.
“Sorry. It’s cold. Should have turned on the steam.”
She traced a grin through his hair. “I’m sure you’ll make up for it.”
Behind her, one big hand scooped down and between her spread thighs. He leisurely explored all her soft wet fringes while he nuzzled her neck and she moved in a dreamy rhythm against him. His teeth on her neck clamped a fraction tighter at the same instant as he did something so incredible down below that he bumped the promise of her climax up to “not long now.”
She was lost in the cadence, in the deep beat of desire, in the burn. Then that magic hand drew away, but the need he’d whipped up inside of her had grown to a point she couldn’t bear. She grabbed his forearm and urged him on.
“Touch me like that again.” She thrust forward. Please, “Do it now.”
As usual, he was teasing her and driving her crazy. How she loved it.
He stroked her again but too lightly. Soon she was doing the work, rubbing against him while he murmured encouragement against her cheek.
Vaguely she was aware of him hitching her hips lower onto his before the tip of his erection nudged and slid over her folds. Locking her ankles more securely at his back, she wriggled and arced in. His length drove inside, stealing the last of the air from her lungs.
This feels so good…better than anyone…anything, ever…
As his body warmed hers, his smile tasted her brow. “You’ll give me a big head.”
Helene smiled too. She’d spoken aloud? But she wasn’t embarrassed. Every word was true. He was an incredible lover: instinctive, generous. Each touch, kiss, and thrust was sublime. The sizzling peak they climbed now would be a mile higher than the last.
Holding her firmly with her back still pressed against the wall, he began to move in measured strokes meant to power up the pleasure
while making it last. The friction building in her core was already spitting flames. Her senses were reeling. When his tempo picked up, he lifted her a fraction higher, and she groaned as the pleasure bumped and bore down. Her inner walls gripped. Shaking, she buried her face in his damp, corded neck at the same time spasms hit with a force that ripped a cry from her throat.
She rode every wave, murmuring his name and when the delicious beating deep inside of her had quieted, that gorgeous heat continued to glow. She’d never felt so content, so happy, so open to giving her heart…
…Which meant it was time to pull back, regroup, and get a grip. No matter how wonderful this union, if she was thinking in terms of giving her heart away to Darius, she’d end up having it broken.
…
Later that evening, she and Darius dined with Tahlia in a formal gold-trimmed room that had numerous staff serving an array of exquisite traditional dishes. Throughout the meal, Tahlia was conversational, sweet, and bright. The dinner had been filled with laughter and stories, which included explaining how Helene had come to be on the island, although he brushed over the part about how hiring her to perform light duties had culminated into something more personal. It was the perfect in for Tahlia to bring up Otis.
Only she didn’t.
After dessert, when the younger woman rose and said goodnight with an air of dignity that belied her age, Helene felt both disappointed and relieved. Guess poor Tahlia didn’t want to upset their guest’s first night at the palace, although she shouldn’t need to feel that way.
Any woman had the right to live her life any way she pleased. If Tahlia wanted to defer her studies to spend time with the person who made her feel incredibly special, well, she was only human. Darius could be romantic. At times he made her swoon. But at his heart lived a true pragmatist—like Vasily Senior, she guessed. Darius firstly did what needed to be done, and then he fit in the personal if there was room for it.
They returned to her quarters where they made love into the night. Later, she snuggled up into his hard heat, feeling him breathe while the tips of his fingers stroked her arm.
In the morning, a rap on the main door dragged Helene from her dreams. Alone in the huge disheveled bed, she stretched out, smiling as she remembered Darius’s mesmerizing kiss and his intoxicating touch. When the knock came again, she roused herself, grabbed a robe, and, rubbing her eyes, hurried to open the door. A girl, perhaps sixteen, presented a long-stemmed yellow rose along with a note: