Glamour
Page 9
He sounded a bit lost when he asked the question, looked a bit forlorn there in the shadows, and that seemed all wrong. I don’t know how to console him, but I can give him my company. He doesn’t have to be lonely tonight. And I don’t either.
I pat his shoulder. “Come on.”
He stares blankly but allows me to tug him down on the cot. I lay at his side, my arm slung over his chest to keep me from rolling backwards. Heat lingers in my body, leftover desire, but our touch is pure comfort.
“I’m afraid,” I whisper in the dark.
“Go to sleep, beautiful. I’ll watch over you.”
The determination in his voice is proof enough that we’ll be safe. If only for these few precious hours in a jail in the middle of nowhere—safe. A precious gift. Relief from a curse placed a long time ago.
Now I know what intimacy would be like, deeper than physical. Our worry, our sadness wells together, and we hold one another, adrift. There’s no cure for shame or for grief but time, nothing to do but wait, and for tonight we would float together.
ELEVEN
The prince knelt beside her and awakened her with a kiss. And the enchantment was broken.
Finn
I emerge from sleep, but only barely.
Faint orange light dances through the shadows, as if I’m underwater, at the bottom of an ocean. I feel sluggish but also warm and cocooned and I don’t want to wake up, because it will end this. I don’t even know what this is, only that it’s fleeting.
Managing to crack one eye open, I check that the baby is asleep.
Then I close my eyes and focus on my other senses.
A sweet feminine smell manages to somehow be sleepy and sexy at the same time. How long has it been since I’ve had a woman beside me? So long, too long since I felt the cushiony softness against his own hardness, and fuck, I’m rock hard.
I don’t feel worried though, not this time. Just relieved.
Relieved to feel like a man again, a man fully alive, one who gets morning wood and uses it with the soft, sleepy woman next to him. She makes little snuffling noises of almost-awake as I shift her in my arms, as I position my body above hers.
And then—thank you, Jesus—she pulls me down closer, harder, touching me everywhere. I push my knee between hers in question; she parts hers in answer.
I hitch between her legs, so damned comfortable I could spend forever, just there, the aching ridge of my cock against the heat of her sex, my body cradled within hers. She moans, surprise cutting that sound short when I bend my head and put my lips to her neck. So soft, so sweet. She bucks against me, jerkily, as if she can’t help it, as if I dragged her half-willing into the madness I’m living in, where everything was heat and sex and the blessed feel of skin on skin, and I don’t have to think, didn’t have to mourn or pretend.
Only this, only lips beneath mine, and hips beneath mine, and soft, plush skin in my hands to mold and to caress. I find her nipple through silky fabric, rubbing it gently with my thumb. It hardens, and a deep sense of possession forms inside me.
Mine. This body is mine. This woman is mine.
I might go crazy with needing to be inside her, but something holds me back. Some sense that it would break the spell, that maybe she would turn to ash in my hands if I dare to push for more or even look, and so I hold myself suspended in torment, savoring every second.
But I can’t hold out, not with her little pants against my neck or her not-so-gentle hands scrabbling at my back. I rock against her, incensed and senseless. She shuddered beneath me in a small, early climax and it’s too much. Too fucking sexy to bear.
I freeze that way, suspended on ice, my body rigid with denial.
“Jessica?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
I need her to do more than take me, to accept this. I need her to want it as badly as I do. Because I won’t accept only one night with her. Not if I’m going to be inside her.
Her eyes opened wide, as if I surprised her.
As if maybe she’d been in a dream all this time, while I touched her, while she orgasms, her pussy warm and wet through our clothes, my dick aching to be inside.
She pushed at me, and I let her up.
Her hair was tangled on one side and sticking up on the other. Her shirt clung to her body in the wrong places, wrinkled from sleep and my hands. She was glorious.
Blue eyes blazed with anger and arousal. “What are you doing to me?”
I used to be good with women, smooth enough I could find a new one every night at the bar. And now here I am, trying to convince a woman who had just orgasmed against my cock to let me do it again. Not only once. Forever. Again and again.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Very smooth, Locke. I’m sure she’ll swoon with that kind of smooth talking.
The anger fades from her expression, leaving only sadness. “No. Of course not.”
Realization is a cold ball in my stomach, and I pull away from her. I sit on the edge of the cot, unwilling to leave her until I’m sure she’s okay. Not that I’m much help. “You’re saying that because you think you owe me. Because you think I’m asking for payment.”
Doubt flickers in her eyes. “It’s not… you.”
I can’t help the sardonic, humorless laugh that escapes me. “It’s not me, it’s you? I’m the one who came two seconds away from fucking you while you slept.”
She touches my arm, and it’s all I can do not to flinch away. “It’s just that’s how men have been for me. Always demanding something. And I’ve never wanted it.”
Then I can’t help it. Her words hit me like a blow. I recoil, physically, standing so that I can get some space from her and the terrible truth of this. Of course she’s terrified of men. She has the mark of the Luski mafia on her finger. I don’t know what they did to her, but I know they love violence. She would have seen her share of it, would have experienced it at the hands of terrible men.
Men like me, apparently. And I’ve never wanted it.
“Fuck,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Until now,” she says, kneeling on the cot, looking more like a sex goddess than she has any right to look in a jail cell. “You made me want it. I thought you could feel it.”
Her cheeks flush as if she’s embarrassed to even talk about her orgasm. As if she’s embarrassed that she even had one. Oh fuck. “Was that your first?”
She looks away, ashamed. “You know I’ve had sex before. I have Ky.”
I take two long steps back to her, tilting her chin up so that I can see those beautiful blue eyes. There’s so much pain inside them, it almost hurts to look, but I can’t stop. “Your first climax. Was that your first time?”
“Yes,” she whispers, eyes wide, unblinking.
Jesus.
My high walls, my careful distance melt to nothing, leaving me exposed. Every desire and every hope. If she can twist me up this much in one night, I can’t imagine what prolonged exposure might do. I would self-combust.
Or have sex with her, which seemed possibly worse and so much better all at once.
“Stay,” I say roughly, my voice gravel against concrete.
Her blue eyes flash with worry. With longing. “What about Ky?”
Did he think he would want her without her child? “He can live in my house. It’s big and empty. And there’s a room in particular that would look great painted blue.”
She sucks in a breath. “You don’t know how much I want that. How much I want to have a regular life. How much I want you. But I can’t stop running.”
Because she experienced more pain and subjugation than any woman should have to. Which meant I should leave her alone. Not send her on her way with only that shitty car. I should give her money and safe passage so that she could start a new life—free from the hard cocks and hungry eyes of men who would want her, men like me.
I should really let her go.
“I’ll keep you safe here,” I say instead.
&
nbsp; She opens her mouth to tell me about the dangers. And I would hear them. Then I would fucking vanquish every last one of them. But first I need to do something. I’ve needed to do it since I first saw her sleepy blue eyes and beautiful face staring up from her car window.
I kiss her, a light brush, my lips against hers.
Like a question, asking her to stay with the words I haven’t yet spoken aloud. She’s wound up so tight, full of worry and fear, and I want to make her feel safe, to caress her body until she turns into a puddle of need and incoherent begging.
She makes me crazy, and once upon a time I sought that out, wanting to feel wild and on edge. Not for a long time, though. These past years had been about isolation. About driving down dark country roads alone. And all along, I was looking for her.
Without even knowing it, looking for her.
Her lips are swollen, her skin flushed. She’s so incredibly sensual that it makes my body ache. At least it would if I could look away from her eyes. They blaze as bright and as blue as a new day, full of hope. She’s radiant like this.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I say, leaning in for another kiss.
* * *
THANK YOU for reading Bedtime Story, the sexy modern retelling of Sleeping Beauty. I hope you loved Finn and Jessica as well as sweet little Ky!
You can meet Jessica and Ky where they were first introduced in the Masterpiece duet, starting with USA Today bestseller THE KING, which is available now. A trailer park princess. The son of a criminal king. We don’t belong together, but I’m caught in a twisted game…
And be sure to sign up for my VIP reader list to get new release alerts and more!
RIPPLES
A Prince and the Pauper Story
Aleatha Romig
“Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water, the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects.”
~Dalai Lama
Author’s Note
The multifaceted concept of The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain has always fascinated me in a fairy tale sort of way. The premise of the story is that at one time or another, the idea, dream, or fantasy of almost every person is to live as someone else. Whether for an hour or a lifetime, most people imagine stepping outside the box that is their life.
In a fairy tale, this phenomenon would occur with the help of magic, but in many adaptations of this story, as well as the original, the transformation takes place through circumstance and chance.
The second allure of The Prince and the Pauper is the revelation that no one is truly free—whether prince or pauper. Every life has chains. Most are metaphoric and bind us in place by responsibility and expectation. The life that others envy or that looks free often isn’t. In each individual’s life, the chains are what differ.
In most adaptations of this story, the final outcome is a better understanding of and appreciation for life—something that can only come through the life-altering experience. It just so happens that sometimes that journey can be more sinister than anyone expects.
A Glance into the Future
Intuition will tell the thinking mind where to look next.
~ Jonas Salk
“Daddy, I want to introduce you to my fiancé.”
Natalie’s father’s brown eyes darkened as he gazed upon the man at his daughter’s side. Even at his age, her father was an intimidating and formidable man in all matters, personal as well as business. Retirement was but a word not fully in his repertoire. He’d built his family’s castles and riches from nothing. He’d be involved in their success until he took his last breath.
That didn’t mean he was an absentee father. On the contrary, he was omnipresent—as he was in all things.
This greeting, after Natalie’s disappearance, was personal and difficult to accept, leaving him and his wife uncharacteristically unnerved. The young woman making the introduction was their beautiful baby, their second daughter, the one for whom the world held fewer expectations. He, however, had plans for her—expectations and dreams—as did her mother, none that included the man at her side.
Natalie’s course may not have been as defined as her older siblings, but their stories were for another time. This was Natalie’s.
Her father’s shoulders broadened and neck stiffened. Before Natalie could say anything, her mother’s petite hand landed upon her father’s sleeve. The diamond ring on her mother’s finger glittered with dancing rainbow prisms as her touch gently reminded Natalie’s father that this was their cherished princess and apparently, her chosen prince. It was not the time for her father to assert his dominance.
Yet he knew that this wasn’t the way it was meant to be.
It wasn’t the future they had planned for their baby girl.
Her father’s question formed—a demand to know how this union happened. It teetered on the tip of his tongue while at the same time his wife’s grasp tightened, pleading for his understanding, if only momentarily. It was truly her gift, the ability to calm the seas without uttering a word.
In the short time that all their gazes locked, the answers to her father’s questions and more lurked in the shadows of the present and past. There was more to this man—the one with the audacity to have his hand on Natalie’s back—than there appeared. There was a darkness that was all too familiar.
Her father let out a long breath and offered his hand. His handshake was not to be interpreted as a white flag. Natalie’s father didn’t surrender.
As their grips tightened, her father stared knowingly into the eyes of evil. They weren’t hard to recognize. He’d seen them often enough in the mirror.
One day the secrets may be revealed; however, some things are better left behind closed doors. Because the truth will reveal that despite the best efforts to keep his baby girl safe, it was her father’s doing that set her fate into motion.
Chapter One
Before the future and after the past
When you have expectations, you are setting yourself up for disappointment.
~ Ryan Reynolds
The dreary overcast sky settled around the buildings, obscuring their height as the car slowly made its way through Boston traffic. The holiday break was here. Soon Natalie would be faced with the truth of her reality. All of her father’s money couldn’t propitiate the cause any longer. Her time at Harvard was done.
She’d managed to keep the news from both of her parents, but soon they’d hear it, and as it should, it would come from her. In today’s world, it was a miracle that they hadn’t already heard, either from the gossip-hungry leeches on social media or from the registrar’s office. Of course, there were rules about confidentiality for adult students, but when it came to her father, rules were at his discretion.
She’d practiced her speech a hundred ways yet nothing sounded right. She still didn’t know how she would tell them—or especially him—that she’d failed. No matter what she said, her fourth semester as a Harvard student wouldn’t happen. She wasn’t her father nor even her siblings. The world of business and all that it entailed may be in her genes, but it wasn’t in her heart. It never had been.
Maybe she was more like her mother.
Life beyond the walls of expectancy was where Natalie’s dreams could be found, a sliver of time where she could be herself—no one’s daughter or sister, and perhaps not even a woman she yet knew. There was more out in the world than she’d seen. There were people with the freedom to make their own choices and forge their own trails based upon their desires.
She had desires, ones that she couldn’t articulate as if they were an unknown part of her, ones yet to be revealed. The frequency of these thoughts had increased to the point that in her mind they’d moved from ideas to wants to insatiable cravings.
As her classes focused more upon the major her father had chosen for her, her ability to concentrate waned until she couldn’t find the ambition. It was lost. Instead of seeking help, she gave i
n to the inevitable, and now her time at Harvard was done.
Natalie gasped as the car skidded, the wheels swerving on the slushy street. As she reached out and her body lunged forward, the seatbelt tugged her backward. It was a metaphor for her life: any attempt at freedom would be met with a gentle but firm reminder that her bubble served the purpose of safety. She had a designated place. It was where she was to stay.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the older driver said as his eyes remained steadfast on the road and traffic. “The roads are getting worse.”
She didn’t respond. The roads weren’t her concern. Currently, her flight to Munich and then onto Nice, as well as the conversation awaiting her once she arrived, topped her list.
Beyond the windows, the snow-lined sidewalks provided a simple strip of wet, salt-covered concrete. The pedestrians huddled beneath their hats and coats as Natalie imagined the crunch crackling under their boots. It wasn’t difficult. The floorboard beside her feet was white with pellets.
“Miss, your mother made your reservations. Your first flight leaves in an hour and a half. This traffic isn’t helping. I have your passport and boarding passes. You’re TSA PreCheck, but you’ll still need to hurry. For international travel, they recommend…”
Hurry. What if she didn’t? What if she missed her flight?
Her psychology professor may surmise that missing her flight had been Natalie’s plan all along. It was the reason she purposely delayed packing and wasn’t ready when her car arrived. A less analytical observer would say she was delayed because she’d spent the majority of her time saying goodbye to her friends, classmates, and roommates.
They knew what her family didn’t.