She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. “What was all that about?”
Gabriel didn’t like talking about his abduction. And his family had done a good job keeping the story out of the media. “I...I just don’t like to wear a watch. I don’t like the feel of anything around my wrists.” He didn’t want to elaborate. She already looked at him as if he was flawed. She had no idea how truly flawed he was. He was broken.
Serafia sighed, searching his face for answers he wasn’t going to give her. “Okay, fine. No watch.” She picked up her tablet and tapped through a few screens. “Your first public event in Alma will be a party hosted by Patrick Rowling. We need to get you fitted for your formal attire.”
Patrick Rowling. Gabriel had heard his father and brother talking about the man, but he hadn’t paid any attention. “Who is Patrick Rowling?”
“He’s one of the richest men in Alma. He’s British, actually, but when oil was discovered in Alma, his drilling company led the charge. He owns and operates almost all the oil platforms and refineries in the country. He’s a very powerful and influential man. This party will be your first introduction to Alman society. Forging a solid relationship with the Rowlings will help secure a strong foothold for the monarchy.”
Gabriel would be king, but somehow he got the feeling that he would be the one kissing Patrick’s ring and not the other way around. He was already dreading this party and he didn’t know anything about it.
“Now, this is a formal event, so custom dictates that you should wear ceremonial dress.”
Serafia swung open the door of the armoire and pulled out a navy military uniform that looked like something out of an old oil painting in a museum. It looked stiff and itchy and he had absolutely no interest in wearing it.
“All right, now,” he complained. “I’ve been a really good sport about most of this makeover stuff, but this is going too far.” Gabriel frowned at Serafia as she held up the ridiculous-looking suit. “I let you cut my hair, give me a facial, a manicure, a pedicure and all other kinds of cures. You’ve given half my wardrobe to charity and spent thousands of dollars of my own money on suits no man under sixty would want to wear. I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut and go with it. But that...that outfit is ridiculous.”
Serafia’s eyes grew wider the longer he complained. “It’s the ceremonial dress of the king!” she argued.
Of course it was. “It’s got ropes and tassels and a damn baby-blue sash. I’m going to look like Prince Charming at the ball.”
Serafia frowned. “That’s the point, Gabriel. You are going to be Su Majestad el Rey Don Gabriel I. That’s what kings wear.”
“Maybe in the 1940s when my great-grandfather was the king. It’s old-fashioned. Outdated.”
“It’s not for every day. It’s for events like coronations, weddings and formal events like this party at the Rowling Estate. The rest of the time you’ll wear normal clothes.”
“Normal clothes you picked out,” he noted. Not much better in his estimation.
Serafia sighed and returned the suit to the armoire. When she shut the door, she slumped against it in a posture of defeat. Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “We leave for Alma in two days and we have so much to cover. At this rate, we’re never going to get it all done. You hired me, Gabriel. Why are you fighting me on every little thing?”
He didn’t think he was fighting her on everything. The watch issue was nonnegotiable, but they’d gotten that unpleasantness out of the way. The clothing was just a hard pill for him to swallow. “I’m not intentionally trying to make your job more difficult. It just seems to be a gift I have.”
Serafia rolled her eyes. “So it seems. Admittedly, you appear to enjoy getting me all spun up. I’ve seen you smile through my irritation.”
Gabriel had to admit that was true. There was something about the flush of irritation that made Serafia even that much more beautiful, if it was possible. In his mind, he imagined the same would hold true when she was screaming out in passion, clawing at the sheets. The woman who had sashayed down the runway all those years ago had nothing on the vision in his mind as he thought of her at night.
And he had. Since the night on the patio, he’d lain alone in bed every night thinking about her. He hadn’t intended to. Serafia was a fantasy from his younger years; the image of her in a bikini was the background of his first computer. It had been a long time since he’d had a crush on Serafia, and yet those desires had rushed back at the first sight of her.
It was probably his family-imposed curfew. The day his brother abdicated, he was practically dragged from his penthouse to the family compound. He’d gone weeks with no clubs, no bars, no socializing with friends at parties. His every move was watched and that meant he was on the verge of his longest dry spell since he broke the seal on his manhood.
It didn’t really matter, though, at least where Serafia was concerned. He could’ve bedded a woman this morning and he would still want her the way he always had wanted her.
“Yes,” he admitted at last. “I get pleasure from watching you spin.”
“Why? Are you a sadist?”
Gabriel smiled wide and took a few steps closer to her. “Not at all. It might be cliché to say it, but, Serafia, you are even more beautiful when you’re angry.”
* * *
Serafia rejected the flicker of disbelief in the back of her mind and silenced the denial on her lips. As her therapist had trained her, she identified the negative thoughts and reframed them. She was a healthy, attractive woman. Gabriel found her eye-catching and it wasn’t her place to question his opinion of her. “Thank you,” she said. “But please don’t spend the rest of our time together trying to annoy me. You might find I’m more attractive, but it’s emotionally exhausting.”
Gabriel took another step toward her, closing in on her personal space. With her back pressed against the oak armoire, she had no place to go or escape. A part of her didn’t really want to escape, anyway. Not when he looked at her like that.
His dark green eyes pinned her in place, and her breath froze in her lungs. He wasn’t just trying to flatter her with his words. He did want her. It was very obvious. But it wasn’t going to happen for an abundance of reasons that started with his being the future king and ended with his being a notorious playboy. Even dismissing everything in between, it was a bad idea. Serafia had no interest in kings or playboys.
“Well, I’ll do my best, but I do so enjoy the flush of rose across your cheeks and the sparkle of emotion in your dark eyes. My gaze is drawn to the tension along the line of your graceful neck and the rise and fall of your breasts as you breathe harder.” He took another step closer. Now he could touch her if he chose. “If you don’t want me to make you angry anymore, I could think of another way to get the same reaction that would be more...pleasurable for us both.”
Serafia couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped her lips at his bold words. For a moment, she wanted to reach out for him and pull him hard against her. Every nerve in her body was buzzing from his closeness to her. She could feel the heat of his body radiating through the thin silk of her blouse. Her skin flushed and tightened in response.
One palm reached out and made contact with the polished oak at her back. He leaned in and his cologne—one of the few things she hadn’t changed—teased at her nose with sandalwood and leather. The combination was intoxicating and dangerous. She could feel herself slipping into an abyss she had no business in. She needed to stop this before it went too far. Serafia was first and foremost a professional.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she blurted out.
Gabriel’s mouth dropped open in mock outrage. “Miss Espina, I’m shocked.”
Serafia chuckled softly, the laughter her only release for everything building up inside her. She arched one eyebrow at him. “Shocked that I would be so blunt or shocked that I’m turning you down?”
At that, he smiled and she felt her kn
ees start to soften beneath her. Much more of that and she’d be a puddle in her Manolos.
“Shocked that you would think that was all I wanted from you.”
Serafia crossed her arms over her chest. She barely had room for the movement with Gabriel so close. She needed the barrier. She didn’t believe a word he said. “What exactly were you suggesting, then?”
His jewel-green gaze dropped down to the cleavage her movement had enhanced. She was clutching herself so tightly that she was on the verge of spilling out of her top. She relaxed, removing some, if not all of the distraction.
“I’m feeling a little caged up. I was going to suggest a jog around the compound followed by a dip in the swimming pool,” he said.
“Sure you were,” she replied with a disbelieving tone. “You look like a man who’s hard up for a good run.”
He smiled and she felt a part deep inside her clench with need. Desire had not been very high on Serafia’s priority list for a very long time. She was frustrated at how easily Gabriel could push her body’s needs to the top of the list.
“The king’s health and well-being should be at the forefront of the minds of the Alman people. Long live the king, right?”
“Long live the king,” she responded, albeit unenthusiastically.
“So, how about that run?”
The way he looked at her, the way he leaned into her, it felt as if he was asking for more than just a run. But she answered the question at hand and tried to ignore her body’s response to his query. “First, you need your ceremonial dress tailored. It will take a couple days to get it back and we need it before we leave. Then you can run if you like.”
“And what about you? Don’t you need a little rush of endorphins? A little...release?”
“I exercised when I got up this morning,” she replied. And she had. Every morning when she woke up, she did exactly forty-five minutes on her elliptical machine. No more, no less, doctor’s orders. Her treadmill at home was gathering dust, since running was out of the question unless her life was in danger.
His gaze raked over her, making every inch of her body aware of his heavy appraisal before he made a sucking sound with his tongue and shook his head. “Pity.”
He dropped his arm and took a step back, allowing her lungs to fill with fresh oxygen that wasn’t tainted with his scent. It helped clear her head of the fog that had settled in when he was so close.
The persistent chirp of his cell phone drew his attention away and for that, Serafia was grateful. Apparently Gabriel’s harem of women were lonely without him. Since they’d begun this process four days ago, he averaged a text or two an hour. Most of the time he didn’t respond, but that didn’t stop the messages from coming in. She didn’t care about what he’d been involved in, but she couldn’t help noticing all the different names on the screen.
Carla, Francesca, Kimi, Ronnie, Anita, Lisa, Tammy, Jessica, Emily, Sara...it was as if his phone was spinning through a massive Rolodex of names. His little digital black book would be ungainly if it were in print.
“I’m going to go see if the tailor has arrived,” she said as he put the phone away again. “Do you think you can fight off all your lovers long enough to get this jacket fitted properly?”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes at her and slipped his phone into his pocket. “You sound jealous.”
Maybe a little. But that was none of his concern. She would deal with it accordingly. “Not jealous,” she corrected. “I’m concerned.”
He frowned at her then. “You sound like my father. Why would you be concerned with my love life?”
“It’s like I told you that first night, Gabriel. Your life is no longer your own. Not your relationships or your free time or even your body. You can’t drive your sports cars around like a Formula One driver and put the king’s health at risk. You can’t party every night with a different woman and put the future of your country in the hands of a bastard you father with some girl you barely remember. You can’t waste the realm’s money on the hedonistic pleasures you’ve built your whole life on.”
“From what I learned in school, that’s what most kings do, actually.”
“Maybe four hundred years ago, but not anymore. If King Henry the Eighth had to deal with the modern press, things would’ve ended very differently for him and all his poor wives.”
“So you’re saying it’s all about appearances? I have to be squeaky clean on the outside to keep the press and the people happy?”
“It’s bigger than that. Your recklessness is indicative of an emotional disconnect. That’s what worries me. You need to prepare yourself for the marriage that is just around the corner for you. You may not even have met the woman yet, but I guarantee you’ll be married before the first year of your reign comes to an end. That means no more skirt chasing. You have to take this seriously. You have to really connect with someone, and I don’t see that coming easily to you.”
“You don’t think I can connect with someone?” He seemed insulted by her insinuation.
“Relationships—real relationships—are hard. Love and trust and honesty are difficult to maintain. I’ve only been around here for a few days, but I haven’t seen you interact with a single person on a sincere level. You have no real relationships, not even with your family.”
“I have real relationships,” he argued, but even as he spoke the words, she sensed a question in his voice.
“Name one. If something huge happened in your life, who would you run to with the news? If you had a secret, who would you confide in?”
There was an extended silence as he thought about the answer to her question. There would be a quicker response for almost anyone else she asked this question of. A mother, a brother, a best friend, a buddy from college... Gabriel had no answer. It was both sad and disconcerting. Why did he keep everyone at arm’s length?
“I have plenty of friends and family. Since I’ve been announced as the future king, they’ve been coming out of the woodwork. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about having a person in your life who you can tell anything, good or bad. Someone to confide in. I don’t think Jessica or Tammy is the right answer. But I also don’t think Rafe or Bella are, either. Everyone needs a person like that in their lives. I feel like there are people who would be there for you, but you won’t let them in. I feel a resistance, a buffer there, even with your own family, and I don’t know what it’s about. What I do know is that you need to learn to let those walls down or this week will be nothing compared to the next year.”
“I figured the opposite would be true,” he replied at last. “When you’re the king, everyone wants something from you. You can’t trust anyone. Your marriage is arranged, your closest advisers jockeying for their own pet projects. I would’ve thought that keeping my distance would be an asset in that kind of environment.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she admitted with a sad shrug. “I certainly would’ve been more prepared for the world of modeling if I’d gone in believing that everyone wanted something from me and that I couldn’t trust them. But I think everyone, even a king, needs someone.”
“Believe me, it’s easier this way,” he said. “If you don’t trust anyone, they can’t betray you and you’ll never be disappointed.”
There was an honesty in his words that she hadn’t heard in anything else he’d said when they were together. That worried her. Someone, at some point, had damaged Gabriel. She knew it shouldn’t be her concern, but she couldn’t help wondering what had happened and how she could help.
The people of Alma—Serafia included—wanted more from their king than Gabriel was willing to give them. He hadn’t even been crowned king yet and she worried this was going to be a mistake. No amount of haircuts or fancy clothes could fix the break deep inside of him.
He had to do that himself.
Four
Two days later, Gabriel stepped onto a private jet and left the life he knew behind him. They flew ove
rnight, his father, Rafael, sleeping in the bedroom of the plane as he and Serafia slept in fully reclining leather chairs. It was a quiet flight without a lot of conversation once they finished their dinners and dimmed the cabin lights.
Gabriel slept soundly, and when he awoke, they were thirty minutes out from landing in his new country. He’d only been there once before with Rafe on a whirlwind tour, but when he got off the plane this time, he was supposed to be their leader.
“You need to get dressed,” Serafia said beside him. “Your suit is hanging up in the bathroom.”
He hadn’t heard her get up, but she had changed her clothes, refreshed her makeup and styled her thick, dark hair into a bun. For the next week, she was publically filling the role of his social secretary while privately coaching him through all the events. She was dressed for the part in a ladies’ taupe suit. The blazer was well tailored and didn’t look boxy, and the sheath dress beneath it was fitted and came down just to her knee, showcasing her long and shapely calves.
It was elegant, but Gabriel found himself longing for the clingy red silk gown from their first night together. In this outfit, she completely faded into the background. He supposed that was the idea, but he didn’t like it. Serafia might not care for the spotlight, but she was born to be in it.
He went to the bathroom, getting ready and changing into the navy suit she’d hung out for him. She’d paired it with a lighter blue shirt and a plain blue tie. It was a sophisticated look, she’d argued, but it seemed boring to him. It made him want to wear crazy socks, but he wouldn’t. She’d already laid out a pair of navy socks for him.
By the time he came back out, his father had emerged from the bedroom and the pilot was announcing their descent into Del Sol, the capital of Alma.
“The press will be waiting for you when we arrive. They’ve arranged for a carpet to be laid out and your royal guards will be there for crowd control. They’ve already secured the area and screened all the attendees. Your press secretary, Señor Vega, briefed everyone on appropriate questions, so things should go smoothly. I will exit the plane first and make sure everything is okay,” Serafia explained. “Then Señor Montoro, and then you’re last. Wait until the carpet is clear. Take your time so everyone can get their photos.”
Seduced by the Spare Heir Page 4