Olivia Gates Bestseller Collection 2012

by Olivia Gates

  As soon as they disappeared, Leandro picked up a shrimp, bit off a piece and leaned over to put the rest to her lips. She again wondered about the damage potential of nibbling on those fingers along with the offered morsel.

  Holding his eyes, she bit, hard. Into the shrimp. A harsh intake of breath accompanied the blaze in his eyes. He fed her until only his finger remained, probing her moistness with a to-and-fro motion that kept reversing the polarity of the current zapping through her core until she whimpered, glared at him. She was not licking it. Even if her heart might burst from holding back.

  He at last withdrew his hand, slumped back with a shuddering exhalation, threw his head against the couch’s headrest and squeezed his eyes shut. At least she wasn’t the only one having a sensual meltdown. The weapon he was using on her was double-edged.

  He opened his eyes, turned his head to her. She realized she was slumped in the same position. Their breathing synchronized as they pored over each other’s faces as if studying for a drawing-from-memory test. Suddenly he feathered one fingertip over the features he’d examined so thoroughly. “You and Ernesto seem to belong to a secret mutual-admiration society.”

  Her lips twitched with mirth and heartache. “You didn’t take it up with him? Feared a rap on your knuckles, huh? And you’re now trying to get details out of the easier-to-interrogate party?”

  His lips spread to a new level of seduction. “Ernesto does pack one mean knuckle-rap. But where is that party who’s easier to interrogate? You? I’m braving a scratched-out eye here.”

  “So you’d rather lose an eye than get a bruised knuckle. What kind of a businessman are you, anyway?”

  He bit his lip. “What can I say? The…harder it is, the more I like it. Risky confrontations are the only things worth my while.”

  She tsked, ignoring the escalating pounding between her legs. “Not the mentality of a man suitable for any kind of office, let alone that of king. Certainly not ruler of a kingdom that has avoided risks and confrontations throughout its history. The way you make it sound, you’d provoke a war to revel in the ensuing conflict.”

  He ran his finger along her jaw. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. But I’d give my enemies—and my allies—a few scares here, a few sleepless nights there. Keeps them on their toes, makes them more interesting to have in either status.”

  She sighed as she melted further into the couch. And into his power. “And you wonder why you were at such explosive cross-purposes with King Benedetto and the Council? They want everything to be steady, to avoid upheaval at all costs.”

  One eyebrow quirked in challenge. “And ‘all costs’ include freedom of speech and a few human rights here and there, right?”

  She tsked again. “You make it sound like a dictatorship instead of a peaceful kingdom.”

  “Where everyone lives happily ever after? Are you sure you’re not talking about a kingdom from one of the bedtime stories you read to your five-and seven-year-old nieces?”

  She vaguely wondered that he knew their ages. “Oh, I’m sure, since I read Alba and Gemma stories about girls who save the day and ride into the sunset in search of the next quest.”

  “No knight in shining armor or Prince Charming?”

  He pretended shock so well she had to snicker. “Not even if he was Knight of Burning Ardor or Prince Overwhelming.”

  The expansion of his pupils, the flare of his nostrils hit her before she realized what she’d said. She struggled up, reached for a plate and started piling it haphazardly with food as she felt him move, felt each pull of muscle, each flicker of desire to take her back into that cocoon of intimacy. Then he exhaled.

  “Tell me what the king and the Council really want with me.”

  She put the plate down before she spilled it into her lap. “Don’t tell me you refused an offer you didn’t fully hear!”

  “Oh, I heard it, all right. Go back, receive a full pardon and reinstatement of my titles and add a couple more while we’re at it—crown prince and regent were thrown into the package. Future king was dangled, too, provided I live longer than King B.”

  “King B…!” A laugh burst out of her. “Oh, God…King B. I wonder what he’d do if you called him that to his face.”

  His grin widened. “I’ll make sure you’re around when I do, and you can have a front-row seat to his reaction.”

  She resisted the urge to explore those dimples with everything she had. “You’ve really loosened up, haven’t you?”

  He gave a pout of such mock hurt that she started hurting in earnest. “You mean I was a tight-assed bore before, don’t you?”

  She remembered the view she’d gotten last night of that certain part of his anatomy, and the comment that he was even more tight-assed now almost escaped.

  When she opened her mouth, what came out was, “I don’t know. I was too much of an awestruck idiot to notice.”

  Not much better. Judging by the heated look on his face, not better at all.

  Before she could beg him to just…do anything, he seemed to make a decision to leave her hanging. “So—they’re still not offering an apology, but a ‘pardon,’ right?” She nodded, not liking where this was going. “They can’t bring themselves to admit even partial responsibility, want us all to pretend I’m the supplicant here. Ajab…incredible. And in return for their clemency what are they offering? Beside something I don’t want anymore?”

  “Wanting it or not isn’t an issue here. You are needed.”

  “Am I? And am I needed beyond what my massive wealth and power can provide? Are my views—which got me exiled in the first place—suddenly necessary? Or should I leave those behind?”

  “I am sure we can achieve a satisfying middle ground.”

  “If that’s all they authorized you to offer me, let me tell you what ‘middle ground’ translates to with them: ‘Our way, or the highway.’ They keep saying ‘make a commitment and we’ll work it out.’ But what they really want is for me to uphold the very policies I disagreed with so strongly that I paid the highest price for the chance of changing them. I thought ceasing to be a Castaldinian would be worth it if my punishment started a movement to support my views, instigated a climate to incubate change. But they made sure my side of the matter was never heard. And they want me to be king of this stuck-in-time land? Who do they think they’re kidding?”

  She exhaled. “I really think the time for kidding is past.”

  “No kidding, pun oh so intended. Say—I gather King B didn’t tell you that his need of me isn’t as desperate as he makes it out to be. He forgot to mention that tiny matter of two more men who are equally capable of taking on the role as I am, didn’t he?”

  The way he said King B…! Her lips twitched. “In fact, he did mention them.”

  His eyebrows rose, genuine surprise tingeing his expression. “He told you about Durante and Ferruccio?”

  “He didn’t mention names. Just that there have always been three candidates for the crown, with you topping the list.”

  His face settled back into that knowing expression. “Did he tell you why I topped the list?”

  “Just that you, as impossible as it sounds, are less problematic, that you hate him and Castaldini less.”

  He shook his head in a mixture of irony and something that looked like grudging admiration, even fondness. “That old fox. Always telling enough truth to make his logic irrefutable, hiding enough to make himself too noble to be denied. So he kept his accounts in the present, didn’t say why only I was considered worthy. Until I blew it big time, that is.”

  She sat up. “My conspiracy theory centers are all ears.”

  He laughed, lay back on the couch. She didn’t follow, somehow. “It’s not a conspiracy, it’s worse. It’s something far more petty. And far more damaging. You know it well. It goes by many names. Tradition, conservatism, ancestry, blood-lines. All I have on those two men is an accident of birth that made me eligible and eliminated them from the running.”

 
Suddenly something clicked. “Durante? As in Durante D’Agostino, King Benedetto’s estranged eldest son?”

  He nodded.

  “Whoa. The current king’s son. The cardinal no-no.”

  He gave a vicious snort. “And even in their hour of need, the old farts can’t bring themselves to overlook the letter of a law that should have expired when the need for it did.”

  “In their defense, that law has made Castaldini one of the most stable kingdoms in the world.”

  “And the most stagnant.”

  “And you took advantage of that law yourself,” she retorted. “Seems you always thought Durante—your best friend—as good a candidate as you, yet you didn’t make a peep about changing the law to give him an equal playing field.”

  He sat up again, his eyes spitting emerald fire. “And I’m ashamed that I didn’t. I’m even more ashamed that I saw the error of my ways only when I had no choice anymore. But now that I have the choice again, I’m making up for being a party to such a backward practice. I’m daring them to really let the best man win.”

  “I do believe that’s who they believe you are.”

  “I’m only the best man because I’ll be more acceptable to the masses, who’ve been indoctrinated to accept only the old laws.”

  “Isn’t that a huge factor to consider? Don’t you factor in popularity and acceptability when assigning your CEOs?”

  “If I ever take the crown, it would be to move Castaldini to the point where laws that no longer suit the times are phased out. I would start by seeing to it that the people come to decide who’s best for Castaldini without ticking off a list of criteria topped by an outdated, demeaning and just plain prejudiced birth requirement.”

  She gaped at him as everything he’d said slotted in place. And she exclaimed, “You’re a social reformer and a modernizer!”

  “You say this with the same revulsion you’d say ‘a womanizer.’”

  “It’s not revulsion. It’s realization. I’m shocked. I was led to believe you were revolutionary, but not in that sense.”

  “In what sense, then?”

  “In the establishment-destroying, eco-depleting sense.”

  “And you believed that?”

  “Why not? You’re ruthless in your takeovers and your enterprises are sprouting mega-size urban developments.”

  “So? My conquests are prospering. Go check with my longest-term ones and ask if they’d change a thing. As for developments, I build those where it suits the social and ecological climate, and after careful consideration of all ramifications. I don’t go around haphazardly overdeveloping land and exhausting resources.”

  She somehow believed every word, no need to check. She should have let it rest, but she found herself adding, “And why should your being a womanizer revolt me? It’s none of my business.”

  One formidable eyebrow shot up. “Really? Interesting.” Then both eyebrows dipped into an ominous line. “And I’m not.”

  “Not what?”

  “A womanizer. I have too many handicaps to be one.”

  “Handicaps?”

  “Fastidiousness, wariness, allergies to pointless pursuits…”

  “Don’t men consider physical gratification the point?”

  “Do you always go around dispensing general condescension on all men, or am I just blessed? And then, you’re counter-asserting that women don’t consider physical gratification of importance? The old paradigm that women want emotion while men want sex?”

  “That paradigm has stood the test of time and the approval of the majority. That’s not to say it applies to everyone.”

  “It sure doesn’t apply to me. And physical gratification comes with a womanful of traits, whims, demands and trouble.”

  “In other words, it comes attached to a sentient being.” His eyes remained steady, as if he was trying to read her mind. She let out a shaky breath. “Phew. The one way to avoid such nuisances is to…rent a companion. And I can’t see you doing that.”

  His eyes turned lethal. “You always had perfect sight.”

  “Then how do you find any women who fulfill your criteria of being a non-imposition? And you think Castaldinians are unreasonable?”

  “My criteria aren’t affecting present and future generations, I can make them as unreasonable as I like. I don’t need to make concessions, either, since feminine wiles no longer work on me.”

  “You mean they once did?”

  “Oh, yes, all the way.”

  Her heart did its best to explode from her ribs.

  He’d—he’d been…in love? All the way? Before or after her? And he was telling her all this…why? Warning her off while pulling her in? Was that what her tormentor was trying to do to her?

  Suddenly he sat forward, thrust a hand into her hair. He let a thick lock sift through his fingers before he groaned, “Not that it doesn’t suit you, it does, even more than your natural hair color did, but what made you dye your hair black?”

  Leandro groaned again. He’d swerved from the vulnerabilities he was exposing, groped for the diversion of something that gnawed at his curiosity. And she looked as if he’d slapped her.

  “Don’t you mean why did I stop dyeing my hair blond?”

  He gaped at her. “You’re a natural brunette?”

  “You didn’t realize that? But then it stands to reason.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You knew nothing about me, apparently.”

  “I knew plenty about you. I bet I know everything.”

  “You’re talking in the biblical sense? How original of you.”

  “I mean in every sense.”

  “Yeah? Okay, let’s test this knowledge. Or are you going to plead memory holes due to the time lapse?”

  “I have the memory of an entire herd of elephants.”

  “And the comparative rampage damage potential.”

  He harrumphed. “I never rampage.”

  “Of course not. You’re too organized and premeditated for that. I should have said ‘incursion.’ That is your MO, whether it’s on a personal or a global level.”

  “By definition, an incursion is hated, resisted. I remember nothing but…approval, encouragement. On a personal level.”

  “You have that effect on the people you take over—the super power of Stockholm syndrome. It took me a year and a half to realize what you did to me.”

  He went totally still. “What did I do to you?”

  She looked at him as if he’d once strangled her cat and didn’t remember it. She finally shook her head, let out a rough chuckle. “You didn’t even realize I dyed my hair.”

  “And that made me…insensitive? Negligent? The hair on your head looked so natural with your tan. Thanks to your grooming habits, there was none anywhere else to give me a clue. What else did I allegedly do to you?”

  She shook her head again. “You exist in a universe starring you, don’t you? Other people are the bit players who exist just so you can bounce your lines off them.”

  “Why are you saying that when you know it wasn’t true…then?”

  “Listen, I’m not criticizing you or laying blame…”

  “No? You have a strange way of not doing that. The way you tell it, I was an egocentric, exploitative bastard. Come to think of it, I do remember a comment you hurled at me on your way out of my life. About my so-called self-absorption. Is that how you rationalize the way you ended things between us?”

  “‘Things’ would have ended between us sooner rather than later, and you know it. I did us both a favor—”

  “Why don’t you speak for yourself?”

  “Fine, I did myself a favor by not sticking around to experience the deterioration of ‘things’ before their inevitably nasty end.”

  He stared into the twin storms of her eyes.

  Was this her admission that there’d never been more than self-interest behind her actions? Or was it self-preservation? Her words could be interpreted that way. Had his rage a
t the time made her fear he’d take his bitterness out on her?

  What was he thinking? Why was he debating this yet again? He’d admitted there was no way to find out the truth for sure. And what did it even matter? That was then. This was now.

  He was taking now. And when the end came this time, he wouldn’t spend eight more years agonizing over the reasons why. The whys would be of his own orchestration. And his own timing.

  It was time to set things in motion.

  Phoebe felt like a cat who’d just streaked across an antiques exhibit and sent everything crashing to the ground. Hurling those bombshells of self-pity sure felt as if it had caused comparative damage. So what now? Back to square subzero?

  Her heart clanged as he unfurled to his full six-foot-five and gestured to someone in the distance. Music at once drowned out the cacophony of memories, the tumult of this confrontation.

  Then he extended his hand to her in imperious invitation.

  “Dance with me.”

  He’d said the same thing the night they’d met. Before they’d even been introduced. She remembered only that he’d taken her in his embrace and that her feet hadn’t touched the ground until he’d first kissed her and changed the course of her life forever.

  Now was the same. She didn’t know when she’d taken his hand, or how she’d reached the dance floor. All she knew was that he surrounded her like an extension of her own body, all her missing parts, moving with her, moving her, as if she shared his nervous pathways, as if he was in control of hers.

  Suddenly her whole body shuddered on a shockwave. His whisper. Against her temple. “You learned to dance the guadara.”

  The guadara. That unique dance born of the inextricable Moorish, Amazigh and Italian folklores that formed Castaldini. She’d seen it performed in rural areas on romantic occasions and at celebrations. She’d never danced it before. She’d never tried.

  She was dancing it now, the sensuous rhythm turning her body into a malleable instrument that merged with the demands and vitality of the beat, flowed into the power and beauty of his body, rode the grace and fluency of his movements.

  But soon the dance morphed into something else—syncopated footwork, a full-body embrace, entwining legs, a creation of his own invention, and she suspected from the intensity coming off of him in waves, his own improvisation. And that she managed to follow his spontaneous lead, move as one with him…magic.