Promoted To His Princess (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal House of Axios, Book 1)

by Jackie Ashenden

  Calista closed her eyes, the forest fire blazing over her, burning her up. But she didn’t care, because this time she was part of the blaze.

  He tasted rich and dark and decadent, like all the things she never allowed herself, the simple, physical pleasures she’d denied herself in pursuit of her army career. But she wasn’t going to deny them now. His mouth was on hers and she wasn’t going to stop him, not when his tongue was tracing the curve of her bottom lip so carefully, coaxing her to open for him.

  A low moan escaped her as she did, the kiss deepening, becoming hot and demanding as he began to explore. How strange. She hadn’t known it was possible to tremble with pleasure—fear yes, but not pleasure. Yet here she was, trembling, and she couldn’t stop.

  She put her hands on his chest, his skin shockingly hot, the contrast between smooth velvet and the slight prickle of hair intoxicating. His muscles tensed, hard and powerful, and a sudden rush of desire swept through her.

  She’d trained with men, knew how to gain the advantage over someone stronger and bigger than she was, using her speed and dexterity to win. But she hadn’t thought there was another way to defeat a man, and some deep part of her recognised it in the flex and release of Xerxes’ muscles beneath her touch, in the hunger of his mouth as he kissed her. In the clench of his fists in her hair.

  He wanted her. She affected him. And there was power in that. A very female kind of power and it was hers.

  Calista curled her fingers against the hot velvet of his skin, digging her nails in, leaning into his heat as the kiss turned from hot to even hotter, his mouth devouring and tasting, exploring and inciting. He wanted her to respond and she tried to, tentative at first. And then when he made a deep sound of male appreciation, her confidence grew and she kissed him back harder, her armour beginning to burn away, letting the demanding woman out to play.

  His fingers tangled in the long strands of her hair, pulling her head back, the kiss getting even deeper. She wasn’t used to having her hair loose or to having someone touch it, and the slight tugs he gave it sent sharp, electric jolts of pleasure racing through her.

  She arched against his powerful body, pressing herself to him, wanting something she couldn’t quite name. A big, warm hand settled into the small of her back, urging her closer, her hips against his, and she could feel him pushing against the satin of the gown she wore. Long, thick and hard.

  The blatant evidence of his desire made her shudder, desperation coiling tight inside her. It felt as if every second of all the years she’d been without his kiss, without his touch, were weighing down on her, crushing her.

  She spread her hands out on his chest, testing him, wanting more, desperate for it. He muttered something harsh against her mouth and she felt his hand at her back shift, the zip being tugged down, and then the silky fabric of the gown was sliding over her skin and away.

  She took a sharp breath as her bare breasts brushed against the hot wall of his chest, sending sparks of pleasure through her. Sparks that ignited into flames as he pulled her harder against him, the heat of his body against hers almost dizzying.

  Then something cold hit her back and she realised he’d pushed her up against the mirrors, the glass warming almost instantly with the combined heat of their bodies.

  She shuddered, the sensation of being trapped and held, confined between the glass and a powerful male body unbearably arousing. All that mattered was that he touched her, that he kissed her, that he gave her more, because she was so hungry for it. Desperate for it.

  She sank her teeth into his bottom lip in demand, her fingers tracing the carved muscles of his abdomen, loving how they flexed beneath her touch. He made a growling sound, his mouth leaving hers and trailing down the side of her neck, his teeth against the delicate tendons there, nipping her, sending lightning strikes of pleasure pulsing through her.

  Calista groaned, sliding her hands up his glorious chest to his shoulders, her nails digging into hard muscle. He was so strong and hot, and he made her feel so good.

  She hadn’t realised before, hadn’t understood that because he didn’t know her as anything but a guard he had no expectations of her as a woman. She didn’t have to prove herself or contain herself. She didn’t have to be...anyone.

  Emotion rushed over her, a wave full of currents she couldn’t identify, that she would have ignored and locked down hard not a few hours earlier. But she didn’t now, letting it wash over her, letting those strong hands of his hold her, keep her safe.

  It was a puzzling thought for an elite soldier to have. She could kill a man with her bare hands if need be and she shouldn’t need anyone to protect her, yet this was different. This involved her emotions and she’d spent so many years forcing them down that she had no idea what to do with the emotional storm sweeping through her now.

  She was shaking and her eyes were prickling with tears, her throat closing. Her father would have been appalled at such a loss of control, but her father wasn’t here.

  Only the prince was. And there was no judgement from him. No contempt. He didn’t tell her to harden up or to control herself. He only stroked her gently, easing her trembling body with his hands, whispering wordless reassurances in her ear. As if she was a skittish animal he had to calm.

  She leaned into him as he eased her briefs down, baring her. Her breathing was fast, almost as fast as the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her head, an intense, intolerable pressure building between her thighs. ‘Xerxes,’ she heard herself gasp, ‘please...’

  ‘Patience,’ he murmured, kissing her throat, his mouth tasting the place where her pulse raced.

  But she had none. Her nails scraped his back and she arched against him again, pressing her hips insistently to the hard ridge behind the denim of his jeans. She could feel the rough brush of the fabric against her sensitive flesh and she shuddered, realising that she was naked.

  It didn’t bother her. It only made her even hungrier. She reached down between them, desperate to touch him, only for him to grab her hands and lift them, pressing her wrists to the glass above her head. She was strong, but his strength was effortless and she was no match for it; somehow that excited her even more.

  The gold in his eyes blazed as he looked into hers. ‘Another second and I’m not going to be able to stop.’ His voice had lost the smooth richness, becoming rough as gravel. ‘I’ll need to get protection.’

  It took her a moment to understand what he meant.

  ‘Oh, I’m on the pill,’ she said breathlessly. She took it to have control over her hormonal fluctuations, never thinking she’d need it for contraceptive purposes.

  He murmured something she didn’t catch that sounded like relief, and when she flexed her hips against his, pressing even harder, he said roughly, ‘Ah, God...you’re killing me.’

  She loved his roughness. Loved that her own desperation was somehow fuelling his, and that she wasn’t alone with it. That they were both feverish and wanting, and unafraid to show it.

  Keeping her wrists pinned in one hand, he dropped the other to the fastenings of his jeans, pulling them open, and she felt heat against her stomach, making her breath catch hard. Then his hand was sliding down the back of her thigh, catching her behind the knee and lifting her leg up around one lean hip, tilting her back against the mirrors. She trembled helplessly as she felt the press of his hard length against her bare sex, steel covered in velvet, rubbing gently against the sensitive place between her thighs.

  A moan escaped her as that length slid through her slick folds, pushing against the entrance to her body, teasing her. When he thrust in, she groaned, feeling herself stretch impossibly around him, her body giving way to his.

  It hurt, but pain was something she was used to and so she barely registered it beyond tensing slightly. The next instant it was gone and then there was only him pushing deep inside her, filling her. It was a strange feeling, an invas
ion almost, and yet so good. Who knew surrender would be quite so pleasurable?

  He’d lifted his mouth from hers and was staring down at her, and she stared back, astonished at the intimacy of being so close to another person. She could feel him inside her, hot and powerful, could see the deep gold flecks in his eyes. Could see the pleasure darkening them, pleasure that she felt, too, pleasure that they shared.

  There was astonishment in his fascinating eyes, too, as if he was just as shocked as she was. But surely that couldn’t be? He’d done this so many times, after all.

  The thought was a fleeting one, because then his hips moved, drawing back, pulling away before sliding inside her once again, a delicious rhythm that had her gasping.

  She tugged against his imprisoning hands, but he didn’t let her go, holding her pinned with that delicious strength and the brilliant gold of his eyes, as the pleasure deepened, widened, coiling tighter and tighter.

  She couldn’t look away from him.

  There was something between then, something familiar and real. A connection she’d never allowed herself, not since her mother had turned her back on her. This man felt like someone she knew, someone she liked. Someone she could trust.

  This man would never betray her, she knew that in her heart of hearts.

  His free hand cupped her cheek, a moment of gentleness. He smiled, so natural and so warm it made her throat close. It was as if he knew exactly what was going on in her head. As if he felt exactly the same way.

  Then his hand dropped to her hips, guiding her to follow the rhythm of his, the movement allowing a friction that made her shudder every time he thrust, and she couldn’t stop the helpless sounds he drew from her, couldn’t stem the rush of feeling that overwhelmed her when he made the same kinds of sounds, only deeper, rougher. Male pleasure.

  He liked what she was doing to him.

  This prince could bring you to your knees.

  Oh, he could. And that made some part of her suddenly afraid. But her body was greedy and she could feel the tight knot of sensation beginning to build beyond her power to contain it. She gave a desperate sob, and then his hand was sliding between them, down between her thighs to where she needed it most, stroking her. At the same time, he gave one hard thrust and her armour shattered completely, leaving her soul naked and flying free.

  ‘Xerxes...’ Her head went back against the mirror, lights bursting behind her eyes, her mouth opening on a scream of pleasure. Only to have his mouth cover hers, quietening the sounds she made, his hold on her hard as she convulsed around him.

  She had a dim awareness of him moving harder, deeper, and then his own low roar of release as he came.

  And all she could do was stand there, deliciously crushed between the mirrors and his powerful body, with the inescapable knowledge that he’d changed her on some fundamental level. That he had wrecked her.

  He’d given her a taste of freedom and she would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE LIMO STOPPED outside the huge stone palace, the home of the Lion of Axios. A red carpet had been laid on the imposing stone staircase that led up to the massive double doors, and already the assembled news media were waiting with their cameras and phones at the ready, taking pictures of the glittering array of European aristocracy, politicians, movie stars and a smattering of internet celebrities that were making their way up the steps.

  Xerxes surveyed the scene without pleasure.

  The engagement party had been delayed and delayed due to various issues with Eleni and her schedule, and Xerxes had begun to think that she was delaying now just for the hell of it.

  He understood she wasn’t happy with the match. But he’d accepted his fate and now she needed to accept hers so they could both get this over and done with.

  At least she’d managed to get herself to Axios for the party, sitting beside him now, fussing with the blue silk gown Calista had modelled for him weeks ago. She probably would have preferred the gold, but Xerxes hadn’t even shown it to her. He’d told himself that it was because the gown wasn’t right for the occasion, but, of course, that wasn’t the case.

  It was because every time he looked at it, all he could see was Calista. Not that Eleni wearing the blue was much better. He could still see Calista’s golden skin and the warm amber of her eyes. Hear the gasps she’d made as he’d pushed inside her. Feel her thighs wrapping tightly around his waist as her sex clenched around his.

  The sound of his name in her sweet voice, husky with pleasure, and the way she’d looked up at him in astonishment and wonder as he’d paused deep inside her, as if she’d never seen anything as amazing as him.

  He’d forgotten how it felt to have a woman look at him like that. To have anyone look at him like that. The women he’d been with in Europe had all been experienced, and although they’d appreciated his passion and his expertise, they hadn’t looked at him the way Calista had. Perhaps no one had ever looked at him the way Calista had.

  And you don’t want them to, remember?

  That was true. He didn’t care what people thought of him these days.

  Yet despite his best efforts, his groin hardened at the memories and he had to catch his breath and force the thoughts of Calista from his head.

  It shouldn’t happen. Once he’d had a night with a woman, it was over; he never thought of her again. Yet the memories of his one night with his beautiful palace guard kept returning again and again.

  He’d had to put effort into ignoring her and not letting his gaze linger on her as he passed her, or speaking any differently to her. To not giving even the slightest hint that anything had happened between them. A prince was always watched and so he had to be doubly careful to protect both his reputation and hers.

  He’d made very sure that no one knew about their night and so far no one had found out. It had to stay that way.

  Sleeping with her had been a mistake.

  Maybe. But when she’d looked at him and told him that she wanted him, the iron mask of the guard slipping to betray the woman underneath, a woman full of wild passion and hunger... Well, he’d forgotten all the promises he’d made to his brother.

  One night, he’d thought. One night of freedom before his engagement. No one need know, least of all Adonis. What could it hurt?

  He’d thought it would be easy to go back to seeing her as merely one of his guards. But it hadn’t. Not when every time he looked at her, all he could see was her naked in his bed, her hair across his pillow, her amber eyes gone dark with passion.

  She was like a painting he passed by every day, never seeing it, never even noticing it, until one day the light hit it differently. And he found himself standing in front of it, examining the richness of the paint, observing the colours, the gold leaf. The beauty of the subject.

  And he knew he’d never pass by that painting unseeingly ever again.

  He had to pretend that he didn’t see the gold buttons gleam on the jacket of her uniform, or see that same gold echoed in the bun that was coiled tightly at her nape. Didn’t catch that sweet scent of wildflowers whenever she was near, and didn’t feel the inevitable pulse of hunger.

  It put him in a foul temper, made worse by the fact that it shouldn’t be happening and he shouldn’t care even if it was.

  One of his guard detail—mercifully not Calista—opened the limo door and he got out, reaching down a hand to help Eleni from the car. People shouted and camera flashes went off, the crowd that had gathered at the steps to watch roaring.

  They were deeply approving of their prince’s engagement, and he supposed he should be grateful, since it meant their acceptance. Yet he didn’t feel grateful. He only felt as if the bars of that cage were closing around him.

  You’ve been caged before. Literally.

  Xerxes ignored the ice collecting in his gut and the ghost of old pain sparking along his nerv
e-endings, reaching for his usual detachment. Because feeling nothing was better than bewilderment and the cold, sick knowledge that you’d betrayed someone important.

  She made you feel something. And that was better than nothing.

  Xerxes caught his breath, finding himself scanning his guard detail the way he always seemed to be doing these days, for Calista. He knew them all, but she wasn’t there. Strange. She was supposed to be on duty tonight, he was sure of it.

  Eleni’s fingers were cool in his though she didn’t hang on to him. Her lovely face was serene as they ascended the steps, pausing every so often for photo opportunities. He pulled her in close as they smiled at the crowds, her body tensing as he did so. Yet more proof, if he needed it, that she didn’t want him.

  Well, their personal wants and desires didn’t matter, only the political influence for Axios that she would bring. And an heir in return for Axios’ armies. A fair trade all in all.

  But no passion. No heat. No fire.

  He turned from the crowds, tugging Eleni with him. There was no point to these thoughts. He’d chosen to return for Adonis and, though there was a price, it was a price he’d pay willingly. Especially when he owed his brother so much.

  Besides, time and proximity might help with the lack of chemistry between him and Eleni. She was a beautiful woman, after all, and he wasn’t exactly inexperienced. Surely he’d have enough passion for both of them.

  The engagement party was being held in the palace’s grand ballroom. One side of the vast room was glass doors that led out onto a large terrace that looked down onto Itheus, Axios’ capital. The palace had been built centuries ago into a hillside high above the city, where it was most defensible. Defence wasn’t so much an issue these days, and it was the views that astounded most people.

  Tonight, all the doors had been pushed wide open so the terrace was accessible, and strings of fairy lights hung from invisible wires that had been strung between the parapet and the roof, making it look like a waterfall of light rushing over the heads of the guests.