by Tara Wylde
I can’t wait to spend more time with her. To dig deeper and start unraveling the mystery of exactly who she is at her core, learning what makes her tick.
The memory of her body arching beneath my touch while the sounds of her low moans echo in my ears assaults me.
She might have looked like a buttoned up, eighteen-year-old ice queen when we first confronted each other – I glance at my Rolex – just a little under twenty-four hours ago. But in this case, looks are deceiving. Alexis is of the most responsive women I’ve ever encountered, and all we’ve done is engage in some light petting.
I can’t wait to dive in.
As I knot my tie, the bathroom door swings open and Alexis steps out. I turn away from the mirror and stare at her.
I’ve gone out with some of the most beautiful women in the world. Women who adorned themselves with the most haute couture fashions and draped ropes of pearls and flashing diamonds about their bodies. The sight of Alexis blows each of them out of my memory.
Shelly has never favored the baggy sweats most women wear when they want to crash on the sofa and watch movies, she’s always preferred the ones that skim her body.
Alexis is a few inches shorter than Shelly, has a couple of extra pounds on her, and from where I stand, each of those extra pounds is in exactly the right place. I can’t help but drink in her curves. The sight steals my breath away.
The lightweight, long sleeved pink shirt reveals the tantalizing curves of her breasts and stops just short of the waist band of the stone gray and electric blue pants which hug Alexis’s impressive hips and mouth-watering ass like a second skin.
The way she’s wearing her dark blonde hair in a messy knot on the top of her head office me her graceful neck – and I fight the urge to leave my mark on it. The pants pool around her bare feet while she wiggles her multi-colored toes.
I stare at her toes. Each one is perfectly manicured and painted a different color. Bright green, eye-popping orange, electric blue, dark purple, fire-engine red. Blood pools in my cock.
Strange, I’ve never been turned on by a woman’s painted toes before. But apparently, I’m a toe guy now.
Or just an Alexis guy…
Even without make-up and shoes, Alexis is the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and she’s all mine, at least for the next few months.
I’d give my right arm for the ability to sweep her up in my arms and lay with her in my big, gorgeous bed, and spend the next twenty-four hours learning all the different ways I can make her come.
She grabs the bottom of her shirt and twists the hem around her hands. She stares at the ground, refusing to meet my eyes. “The clothes are too small. They’ll be all stretched and misshapen by the time I get them back to your sister.”
“I’ll buy her new ones.”
And order some in every color combination for Alexis at the same time.
“I, um, borrowed your toothbrush. It was either that or use my finger.”
“Anything that’s mine is now yours.”
For the first time since leaving the bathroom, she looks up from the floor. Her eyes sweep the room, taking in the expensive furniture, the tasteful knickknacks, my collection of fencing trophies, the pricy cufflinks I carelessly tossed on the floor.
“Including your toothbrush?”
“Especially your toothbrush.”
She gasps. “And what about that?” Her bare feet slap against the floor as she hurries across the room to the shelves near my bed. She gently removes a heavy jade statue that’s about the same size as her thumb.
Pride warms my chest. It’s one of my favorite pieces. That she homed in on it seems … fated somehow.
I move to stand beside her as she carefully examines the statue. “My grandfather gave that to me before my first fencing competition. Ever since, I always take it with me when I compete. I keep it in my bag.”
I’ve never told anyone, not even Tim or Roderick, about my talisman. I guess it’s my edge – and for a swordsman, that means a lot.
Alexis’s thumb brushes against the fencer’s tiny boots. “You keep it in your bag.” Her tone suggests I’m an idiot. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
I shrug. “It was a gift. There are a few artists in town who work with jade, I assume my grandfather purchased it from them.”
Alexis’s shakes her head and places the figurine in my hand. “I’d have to run some verification tests but I believe this was made by an elderly Eskimo artist who carved bits of Jade into various statues which he sold to tourists to help support his village.”
“It’s valuable?”
Alexis shrugs. “If I’m right, it’s worth about five grand. Probably more since you use it as a lucky charm. Collectors love that kind of thing.”
I look at the figurine. I’m not interested in where it came from. To me it’s still the same simple statue I’d been carrying around for more than half my life. No, the only thing I’m interested in is Alexis. The way she comes to life when talking about her passion.
That, I could listen to all day.
I return the jade figuring the shelf, the act shifting me slightly closer to Alexis’s warm body. I inhale the subtle scent of her strawberry shampoo and whatever floral perfume she put on last night.
Her breath quickens.
Almost of their own volition, my hand moves, my fingers find the narrow strip of skin. She shivers and moans. The line of her body softens.
Blood rushes to my groin and coherent thought flees. I crowd closer, edging her towards the big bed.
I want her. I want her right now, right here and nothing is going to …
A soft knock startles both of us and we wheel.
Eileen stands in the hallway, looking through the half-open door at us.
“Prince Lucas, I’m sorry to disturb you, but your mother sent me up. She wants to see you … and your,” she appears to search for the right word, “new wife. Now.”
Her eyes flick to Alexis and something flashes in her expression. It lasts just a second, not long enough for me to put a name to it, but whatever thought darted across her mind makes me want to put myself between her and…
My new wife.
Weird, I’ve never been the protective sort before so why now? It’s not as if Eileen poses any kind of threat. In the three years, she’s worked as my mother’s assistant, I’ve never seen anything ruffle her feathers.
“We’re ready.”
Or will be as soon as my cock relaxes, anyway. I take a few deep breaths and force my mind away from Alexis and all the fun we’re not having. Cold showers, road kill, fencing moves.
I reach down and tuck Alexis’s hand into the crook of my elbow. All I’ve seem to have done since meeting her is push, pull, or carry her. It’s time she learns that I’m capable of behaving like a gentleman from time to time.
“Ready,” I inject as much warmth and encouragement into my voice as possible. It’s not easy. I’m not sure what the immediate future has in store for us.
She takes a shaky breath. “What did the grape say after a hippopotamus stepped on it?”
And we’re back to the weird jokes. Thanks to Tessa’s explanation, I now know that they’re a side effect of Alexis’s anxiety, but I still don’t get them. Hell, I don’t know if I’m supposed to answer or not.
But I kind of like it.
Alexis waits a beat before continuing. “Not much, just a little wine.”
She’s looking up at me, giving me the distinct impression she wants me to say something.
I don’t know what she wants from me. Her jokes are, cute, I guess, though a bit unexpected, but they’re not the type that makes the average adult roar with laughter, at least I don’t think so.
“Interesting,” is the best I can come up with.
Disappointment flashes in her eyes before she looks away. Now, how was I supposed to handle the joke. It’s not like I knew the punch line.
Unsure what to do, I choose to ignore the issue and guide her o
ut of the room.
Time to face the music.
Lucas
“Alexis,” my mother crosses the room that serves as my family’s private sitting room and is the place were an assortment of family meetings takes places. Ignoring me, she takes Alexis’s hands in hers and smiles warmly.
“It’s so good to see you again.”
Alexis’s face is pinched. I can feel the stress radiating off her. She breaks eye contact with my mother by looking down at her bare feet. Her toes flex as she pales.
“What do ghosts drink?” Her words slur together in her haste to spit them out.
My mother floats a brow and tilts her head to the side. “I’m afraid I have no idea. What do they drink?”
“Boos.”
“Delightful.” My mom smiles and looks genuinely amused. “I must remember that one for the next time I’m leading a group of children on a tour of the castle. It’ll help shake their perception that I’m a boring fuddy-duddy.”
The line of Alexis’s body softens as some of the tension eases. She no longer looks like she’ll snap in half in a gust of wind.
Interesting, apparently the jokes really do help her cope.
“Your majesty,” she murmurs and drops into an awkward curtsey. “Good morning. I’m so sorry for the headlines. If I’d known-”
“Nonsense. None of it’s your fault.” My mother releases Alexis’ hands and turns on me. “It’s my son, not you, who is to blame.” She steps close and slaps the back of my head.
"Ow." I jump back and reach up to protect my skull from another potential assault. She hasn't done that since I was about six years old. Then again, I think, rubbing my head ruefully, I guess I kind of deserve it.
She glares at me. "I can't believe you did something so stupid. Marrying this poor girl to win a silly dare. How could you?"
"When Roderick dared me to get married, you were in favor of the idea," I remind her. "You said it was past time I got married. That it would be good for the country."
"Yes," she confirms, "I did. But I thought you'd have the good sense to-"
"Marry someone suitable," Alexis says quietly, "instead of a nobody from the United States."
Hearing Alexis call herself a nobody both pisses me off and makes me want to take her in my arms and use my hands and mouth to assure her that she's anything but a nobody.
My mother turns back to her. "Dear, I'm not concerned with who he married. In this country, we've always asserted that the royal family is free to marry anyone they fall in love with. What my children aren’t free to do is act like idiots.”
Her gaze snaps back to me and I take a step back before she can cuff me again.
“Dropping you directly into a royal scandal before the ink has had chance to dry on the wedding license isn’t acceptable.” She says.
"Oh," Alexis’s scrapes her bare feet back and forth across the floor. "It's my fault, not his."
"Really?"
Alexis nods and turns a pretty shade of rose pink and quickly recounts the conversation she had at the bar last night. Apparently, she’s worked out she was overheard.
Clever girl.
My mother snorts. "Nonsense. The only one to blame here is Lucas. From an early age, he's been taught how to anticipate the press and what to do or say in order to avoid scandal. At least I thought we told him well."
My father, the king, pushes himself up from the couch where he's been quietly watching the exchange and walks towards us. Like my mom, he ignores me and focuses on Alexis.
She rocks back a step and looks horrified. Probably not sure how to react to the most powerful man in Moravia.
I wish I could convince her she has nothing to worry about. My father is a good man. Yes, he has a temper and he's intimidating when he yells, but age has mellowed him considerably. Plus, he's a good man, with a strong sense of right and wrong, who believes that everyone should be treated with fairness and kindness.
He chuckles as Alexis drops into yet another awkward curtesy and reaches out to pull her upright. "You don't have to keep doing that. Only the staff is expected to curtsy and bow when they meet us – and even then, only when there’s company. You're… family. Treat us the same as you would your blood relatives."
"I was a foster child," Alexis says. She closes her eyes and looks like she immediately regrets her words. "My only real family is my business partner, Tessa."
My father doesn't miss a beat. "Then treat us like you treat Tessa. Welcome to the family." He wraps a long arm around my mother's shoulders and places a kiss on the top of her head.
For the first time in my life, I feel a small stab of envy. I glance at my wife. But not my wife, and wonder how my short marriage will stack up to theirs.
"Now," my father's steel gray eyes meet and hold mine. "What do you propose to do about this mess you created?"
"Um, I guess I'll have to talk to the press."
Eileen steps forward, startling me. She's been standing so still since Alexis and I entered the room, I'd completely forgotten that she was standing beside the large bay window, the place she always stands during important family meetings.
She holds up the phone that is all but permanently attached to her hand.
"I've already arranged for a press conference to take place on the front lawn. Not only will reporters from the biggest papers be there, but I extended an invitation to the smaller blogs who ran the original story as well."
My mother turns to her. "Really?"
"My thoughts were that they'll be flattered at being deemed important enough to attend such an important press conference and that should buy us some good will. Plus, bloggers are not only able to put out stories faster than journalists, they're also better at using social media."
I stare at Eileen and for the first time I wonder at how much she's integrated herself into my family’s life, and how she now seems to manage both our personal and public affairs. I mean, I could have sworn we once had an actual person on staff who oversaw our interactions with the press. Where did he go and just how did Eileen manage to take over his position? Is she even qualified to handle the press?
"Thank you, Eileen," my mother says.
But Eileen isn't finished.
"The press conference is scheduled to start at one. Meanwhile," she directs her attention to Alexis and purses her lips. "Lucas's new bride needs to get prepared for her first official appearance." She doesn't add the words, it will take a miracle, but I feel her thinking them.
Once again, I force myself to ignore the urge to leap to Alexis' defense.
My dad cracks a smile and glances down. "I suggest starting with finding her a nice pair of shoes."
Alexis
After three hours of whirlwind activity, during which time I've been poked, prodded, pinched, measured, painted, straightened, and jabbed, I'm still not convinced that I look like a princess, but I definitely don’t look like the same antiques consultant who first entered the country a few days ago.
Eileen called to arrange for Shelly's stylist, Rick Evans, to meet us. At least, I guess she did, because suddenly he was there. When he arrived, he wasn't just carrying a pair of shoes, but also had his arms full of an assortment of different clothing options, which he promptly started shoving me into. Whenever he liked something, he barked an order to the three assistants trailing in his wake.
While Ricky fussed with my clothing, a pretty young woman with long red hair and a thick gold ring through her lower lip appeared with the biggest box of cosmetics I've ever seen. She shoved me into a chair and went to work painting my face.
Now I have a fully painted-on face, that I've been assured will look fantastic on tonight’s news programs when they air footage from the press conference – and hair that's not only straightened but pulled back in an impossibly elegant twist.
My feet have been tucked into a pair of sedate black pumps that probably – definitely – cost more than my plane ticket here. After discarding one option after another, Rick finally se
ttled on a shell pink suit and paired it with a demure string of pearls he'd borrowed from Shelly.
Looking in the mirror, I must admit that I look prettier, more polished, and slimmer than I've ever looked before. What I don't know is if I like the appearance. I guess I was comfortable with the old me.
A door swings open and Tessa bursts into the room.
She skids to a halt and takes in my appearance. She points at my shoes. "No matter what else happens," she says in a deadly serious voice. "Those are great shoes and make marrying Prince Lucas worthwhile."
Leave it to Tessa to find the silver lining. And she’s right. The shoes are great.
Her eyes meet mine and her brow furrows with concern. "How are you holding up."
I reach up and toy with the strand of pearls, rolling them between my fingers. "I'm not sure. Everything –"
I take a deep breath. “– Everything is happening so fast. I feel like Alice."
Tessa takes a seat. "Feeling overwhelmed?"
I nod. "I don't know what to focus on. And I have no control over anything."
Tessa, more than anyone alive, knows how much I need to be in control. She knows how the stress of being shuffled from one foster home to another, of never knowing what was going to happen at the next house, has taken a toll. She knew because she was in the same situation, only worse, since she'd had a special needs brother to worry about as well.
She stands and puts both arms on my shoulders and stares directly into my eyes. "I promise you, you have nothing to worry about. Just look for something to cling to, something that acts like a buoy in the middle of the ocean, a fixed point."
It’s an exercise we used growing up. Our foster parent had been a psychologist and taught us it in an attempt to help us better cope with the stress of moving from one location to another.
Tessa cocks her head to one side. "If it were me, I'd latch onto that new husband of yours."
"But I don't know him."
God, how could I have been so stupid as to marry Lucas. Just because he made my body feel things I never imagined possible. The thought makes me blush.