by Lizzie Shane
I’m already in love again.
The words rattled him, shuddering through his brain like an earthquake, disrupting the order of his life, even though they’d already been there. Who knew how long they’d been there for, waiting for him to wake up and notice them. He loved Samira.
He wanted to be part of a team again—to have someone look at him the way Ren looked at Candy, but when he thought of stepping back into the world, there was only one face he saw. Only one person he wanted to do it with. And he was tired of her pushing him away. He’d given her space, but they needed to talk about this. There was still more to say.
“Excuse me, mother. There’s someone I need to speak with.”
If she objected to his abrupt departure, he didn’t stick around to see it.
*
She could be hiding upstairs in her room.
Samira stood in the cottage’s kitchen, fidgeting with the cup of tea she’d made for herself, but never drunk. Moonlight painted the view outside. The girls were asleep in their beds—finally. They’d been challenging tonight, to put it lightly, testing every rule to see if it still applied on sleepovers at their great-grandfather’s estate.
Samira had gone down to the kitchen on autopilot after putting the girls to bed, making herself a cup of tea as she always did to unwind when the house was finally quiet—but this wasn’t their house. This was a foreign kingdom ruled by Aiden’s family and she couldn’t seem to relax.
She should be upstairs. She had a good book to read and if she had any self-preservation instincts whatsoever, she’d be tucked away in her room with the door closed rather than lingering down here, waiting for Aiden to come back.
She missed him, damn it. She missed hearing his voice, his thoughts, as he talked about his day. She’d hated these last few weeks—the horrible nothingness between them. She wanted to hear how his night had been. And maybe she was feeling a little masochistic. Feeling like reminding herself why it would never work between them.
So she was still loitering in the kitchen when the cottage door opened and Aiden appeared.
She’d dimmed the lights earlier in an attempt to help the girls wind down and hadn’t turned them back on when she came downstairs to make tea, so the only light came from the vent hood over the oven. Aiden was silhouetted for a moment against the bright outdoor lights before he stepped across the threshold and shut the door, closing himself in shadows so she couldn’t read his face as he paused just inside the door.
“Samira.”
“Aiden.” Was that her voice? That breathy whisper? She set aside her cold tea and tried to swallow.
He reached back and flipped the deadbolt, even though they were inside the Fort Knox security perimeter of his grandfather’s estate. He stepped forward, light catching his face—and it should have eased her nerves, but there was something different on his face, more intent, and suddenly her face felt wrong, like it was giving things away. She ducked her head.
“Are the girls…?”
“Asleep. In spite of a long debate about whether bedtimes should apply on four day sleepovers.” His lips twitched with a smile and her heart stuttered. She forced herself to walk around the peninsula, keeping her voice casual. Nothing to see here. “How was dinner?”
He grimaced. “Pretty much as expected, I guess. Candy’s husband really does exist. That’s something.”
Samira arched a brow—wishing she hadn’t set down her mug so she had something to do with her hands. “Was that ever in doubt?”
“None of us had ever met him in person. Scott bet me the husband was a story Candy made up to keep our mother off her back.”
“Ah.” It was an inane reply, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.
“My mother can be pushy about the matchmaking and Candy might…” His voice was vague and she had the impression he was barely aware of what he was saying. His gaze dropped to her lips. They were both in the living room and she veered toward a chair, but he caught her wrist. “Samira.”
“Aiden?” she murmured—really upping her game on her conversational skills. What were they doing? What was she doing?
Nothing had changed. He hadn’t given any indication that he’d changed his mind about running for office. There was still no future for them, but when his thumb stroked over her pulse point she couldn’t pull away.
“I miss you,” he whispered—and her insteps melted at the rough rasp of his voice. He lifted a hand and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, tracing the shell and making her shiver.
“I miss you too,” she breathed—and that was all the invitation he needed.
His hand brushing the side of her neck firmed, cupping her nape, holding her steady as his head dipped and suddenly—finally—he was kissing her, hard and hungry and open-mouthed. She grabbed his waist for balance, kissing him back with everything she had, matching his desperation with every thrust of her tongue, every breathless gasp.
He jerked his head up, breaking the kiss, breathing hard. “Please don’t tell me to stop.”
She didn’t have the words to tell him what she wanted—what she needed—so she grabbed his face between her hands and pulled his mouth back to hers, dying for his taste. His didn’t hesitate again, falling into the voracious kiss. They stumbled together to the couch, too urgent to be graceful. He fell back onto the cushions and she tumbled on top of him, straddling him, grinding close as his hands were everywhere, stripping away her clothes, caressing her exposed skin, each touch amplifying the sensations rushing through her veins. Firm hands on her hips, a delicate stroke along the base of her spine—even in the frantic rush, he played her body like a virtuoso, the contrasting sensations of rough and gentle ratcheting up her need to blinding levels until all she could breathe for was his next touch.
She didn’t know what happened to their clothes, pushed aside, stripped away—didn’t care. All that mattered was getting closer to him, feeling him against her. His touch. His kiss. Aiden.
“Shh,” he whispered against her lips when she released a sharp, keening cry when he first moved, thick and hard, inside her. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the sounds coming from her throat, but it was too much, she couldn’t see, couldn’t think past the nuclear reaction building inside her. He covered her mouth with his, taking her cries as the explosion shuddered through her, obliterating everything but the white hot aftershocks of pleasure.
He moved quickly, flipping them both—almost unseating himself before driving back in and the change in position drove her up again in a blinding rush before she could come down. His hard body pressing her down, soft couch cushions beneath her back—too soft, she needed more resistance, more push, more leverage. She threw one arm above her head, bracing on the arm of the couch and managed to get one foot to the floor, trying to push back, meet him thrust for thrust, but the angle was wrong and Aiden growled his frustration, his thrusting hips hitching and pausing as he grabbed her knees, guiding her legs around him, one arm sliding behind her back, and then she was moving, in the air, spinning, his hardness almost slipping out of her—
Her back hit the wall and he hilted deep, their groans harmonized in a chorus of right there. One of his palms slapped over her mouth as if she’d been the only one making noise, his other hand gripping her ass, holding her fast as he buried his face against the side of her neck and began to pound into her, hips pistoning, and she could only hold on for the ride, losing her mind in the raw, animalistic place he’d taken her. She tightened her thighs just to feel him between them, gripping his shoulders hard, though she had no fear whatsoever that he would let her slip even an inch. He was panting something against her neck—desperate and unintelligible. Until she realized the broken word he kept repeating wasn’t a word at all. It was her name.
She shattered again, this release rougher and wilder than the last, jerking her apart in a way that was almost violent, breaking her down to her most base elements and leaving her tumbling in the chaos. Aiden jerked against her, his muscles bun
ching beneath her hands as he groaned directly into her ear, the sound an erotic anchor, tethering her to reality. To him.
As if she could ever forget who owned her soul.
Even if it changed nothing. She could love him as much as she wanted—love didn’t actually conquer all. That disheartening thought accompanied her back to reality. To the hard wall at her back and the moisture between her thighs as he slipped free.
He hadn’t used anything. Crap. She wasn’t on the pill, never had been, and while she knew him, trusted that he hadn’t lied when he’d told her he hadn’t been with anyone since Chloe, she didn’t exactly have easy access to the morning after pill on his grandfather’s estate.
He was still breathing hard, his arms around her gentle as he steadied her when she unlocked her ankles and lowered her legs to the floor, reality and remorse drumming a throbbing beat in her brain. What was she doing? Yes, she wanted children, but did she really want to be some politician’s secret baby mama? Even if that politician was Aiden?
He smoothed her skirt down around her legs before tucking himself back into his pants. They hadn’t even gotten all the way out of their clothes—though her panties were missing in action. She’d worn the skirt for their arrival today in an attempt to look like she belonged at the posh estate—even nannies didn’t wear yoga pants and t-shirts at a palace like this. Now she fidgeted with it, reminded how hopeless the idea of fitting in here was. She didn’t belong here. She never would.
“Are you all right?” Aiden murmured, gently touching the side of her throat. “I didn’t mean to be so rough.”
She couldn’t tell him that she’d liked the rough. That the rough had made her come until she’d thought she might pass out. She couldn’t seem to say anything, her knees wobbling as he led her over to the couch where the wildly scattered throw pillows were evidence of what they’d done.
“Samira?” He sat down beside her, gentle fingers tracing her face as he tried to figure out why she wasn’t responding. “I’m sorry. I think I went a little mad, wanting you these last few weeks—”
“We didn’t use anything.”
He rocked back then, eyes widening. “Right.” She could see him processing it—he didn’t seem nearly as freaked out by the implications as she was, but then he was a man. Why should he be? “Okay.”
Her temper snapped. “Okay?”
“It’s not exactly how I’d planned things—”
“Aiden! Wake up. You can’t have a baby with your nanny.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
His lover sure knew how to kill a good afterglow. Samira erupted from the couch and for a moment he thought she would flee upstairs, but she just stormed to the kitchen area of the single open-concept room.
“You’re making it sound like some tabloid story. It’s only sordid if we try to hide it. I’m not married. Neither are you. We aren’t doing anything wrong. I know it isn’t exactly something we’ve discussed, but there’s no rule saying we can’t be together—”
“What if I don’t know what I want? You keep jumping ahead—”
“And you keep refusing to.”
“You can’t assume just because I said I missed you and we slept together that all of our problems have magically disappeared.”
He came to his feet, needing to be eye to eye with her for this conversation though he didn’t try to approach her. “What problems? Do you not want me? You keep talking like the idea of us together is unthinkable, but that’s only true if you don’t want it enough to fight for it.”
“And that would make all the difference? If I fight suddenly it won’t matter who we are? That you’re Prince Aiden and I’m the Iranian nanny.”
“You’re American.”
“You sure your parents are going to see it that way?”
“Why are my parents in a conversation about us? This isn’t about them. It’s about you and me. And whether you actually want to be with me. Besides, Candy’s husband isn’t white. It didn’t stop them.”
“Candy isn’t the crown jewel of the Raines crown,” Samira snapped. “I heard your mother earlier. Trying to set you up with someone suitable. Someone from your boarding school? That’s the kind of person you should be with.”
“Why?” he demanded. “Because you’re scared?” He stalked toward her then, stopping only when she retreated, one hand held up like a shield. “What was this to you?” He waved at the wall he’d had her pinned to minutes ago.
“Sex? Really amazing sex? What did you think it was? My declaration that I’ve decided I want to be a politician’s wife?”
“You aren’t just someone I’m screwing. I want to be with you, Samira!” He loved her, but he had a feeling shouting those words at her in the middle of a fight might not be the best way to tell her.
“Maybe I don’t know if I want to be with you. Maybe I like being alone. Maybe I’m better off that way.” She flung the words at him, low and harsh, and he flinched as they found their target.
He’d heard those words before—or ones so similar they could have been the same. Thrown at him by Chloe as she told him she didn’t love him anymore. Didn’t want him anymore.
Why couldn’t he seem to stop falling in love with women who refused to let him in?
“Just stop pushing, Aiden. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
He was still caught in echoes of Chloe and missed his chance to stop her as she bolted toward the stairs, rushing up them and out of sight. Running away again. Aiden swore viciously under his breath.
He could chase her. Bang on the door. Break it down. Probably wake the girls in the process. Give them nightmares for months.
Shit. He couldn’t make a scene with his daughters asleep in the next room. Even when she made him fucking crazy.
But he couldn’t stay here. If he stayed in the cottage, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going up there. He could still smell her on his skin. The woman he loved. The woman who was slipping through his fingers all the faster the more he tried to hold on.
After a cursory check of his clothes to make sure he was decent, he stalked out of the cottage. He didn’t know where he was going when he left, silently closing and locking the door behind him. He only knew he had to get away from here. From her. From the acid of her words, eating away at him from the inside out. From the fucking helpless feeling that there was nothing he could do to change her mind.
He headed back up to the main house, half-hoping to run into someone who could take his mind off his troubles, but when he reached the terrace, the stragglers from cocktail hour were all gone. The only evidence that remained of the gathering were a handful of half-empty liquor bottles left behind by the staff who had been tending bar.
Aiden snagged the Glenfiddich off the bar.
He’d read about alcoholism over the years, worried about Scott—and his own temptation to lose himself when things went sideways and it felt like there was nothing he could do to stop it. He knew that drinking alone and using alcohol to deal with stress were early warning signs, but that didn’t stop him from removing the cap and taking a long drink. Sometimes a man needed a drink, damn it.
The scotch was smooth—only the best from his grandfather’s store—and Aiden sighed as something unknotted in his shoulders as the silky liquid slid across his palate. He carried the bottle with him, lifting it regularly for another taste as he stalked into the moonlit gardens.
It was a romantic setting—shame the only woman he wanted to share it with was scared to be with him.
His mother would be more than happy to set him up with an appropriate match, but Aiden didn’t care about appropriate. He was in love with Samira. Didn’t that count for anything?
Apparently not to his mother. Or to Samira. Though he hadn’t said the words to her. The thought of having them thrown back in his face wasn’t exactly appealing. But how else could he make her see that he didn’t care about finding someone who would make his political life easier when she already made his entire life bette
r?
He found his way to the rose garden and the fountain that burbled at its center. So freaking idyllic. He stared into the water, waiting for inspiration to strike, but all he had was frustration and scotch.
A crunch of gravel behind him caught his attention. He turned and for a moment all his brain registered was a female form in the darkness—but then he saw the blonde hair catching the moonlight and the slim athletic form that barely reached five feet, already starting to retreat at the sight of him.
“Candy.”
Her retreat halted at the sound of his voice. “Hey.” She approached, footsteps soft on the gravel walkway. “What are you doing out here?”
He raised the scotch in a mocking toast. “Celebrating my future.” She came to stand at his side and he eyed her as they both faced the fountain. “What about you?”
“Running away from my past.” Her voice was dry. “Anything particular you’re celebrating?”
“Evidently, it’s time for me to remarry. Mother invited Tamara Hilton. Wouldn’t we make a cute couple?”
“Have you seen Tamara Hilton since boarding school?”
He snorted. “Does it matter?” He lifted the scotch, taking a long, satisfying swallow. The alcohol moved through him, washing his bitterness down and replacing it with a pleasant warmth.
“If you aren’t ready, just tell her. She’ll understand,” Candy told him.
“Yes, our mother is so understanding.” He released a humorless laugh and chased it down with another taste of the Glenfiddich. Though that wasn’t really fair. It wasn’t that their mother didn’t understand—it was that she always thought she knew better, no matter what you thought you wanted.
Especially if what you wanted was a woman who didn’t fit the Raines mold.
“You don’t have to step into the life she built for you if you don’t want to,” Candy insisted. “You don’t have to live your life by their rules. You have a right to be happy, Aiden.”
“You say that like it’s so easy.” Candy had certainly never worried about living her life by anyone else’s rules. She’d run off to California and never looked back. Never given a second thought to anyone else in the family—but as he studied her now, the defensive line of her shoulders, the way she was hunkered down like it was her against the world, he had to wonder if she’d made the right call. “Are you happy in California? Really happy?”