She stood in the sunlight coming through the windows, the white fabric of her dress highlighting the deep gold of her skin. Her hair tumbled down her back, shining, all the colours deep chestnut, caramel, gold and gilt and every other colour in between.
She looked like a woman, but the expression on her face as she looked at him was that of a warrior, a soldier. Direct and fierce, and full of pride.
A hero, she’d said. And when she looked at him that way, he almost felt like one. Could almost believe he wasn’t flawed, that he hadn’t let anger and bitterness eat away at him, corroding him like rust in an iron bar.
‘Do you really believe that?’ He tried to make it sound as if he didn’t care either way, but he knew he’d failed.
He wanted her to believe it. He was desperate for her to believe it, because if she did, then perhaps there was some hope for him after all.
Strange to think about hope. He hadn’t ever thought about it before, had never even noticed the lack. But he did now...oh, he did now.
Her fingers were light on his skin, gentle, and her touch hurt for some reason, but he didn’t push her away.
‘Yes.’ Conviction shone in her eyes. ‘I do.’
The anger inside him, the bitter self-loathing, melted away like snow under spring sunshine.
She saw strength in him. She saw a hero. How could he not believe her? If she thought he was one, then perhaps it was true. Perhaps there was indeed hope.
Hope that he could be equal to the trust his brother had placed in him.
Hope that he could be a good father, a father their child could be proud of and look up to.
Hope that he wouldn’t fail.
And what about her? Hope that you can be a good husband to her?
His hunger rose, everything focusing on the woman in front of him, standing tall in the sunlight, looking as if she was covered in gold.
His golden goddess. His soon-to-be wife.
His.
Her touch was gentle, yet it felt as though she was brushing away years of scar tissue and emptiness, years of feeling nothing, replacing it all with sunshine and heat. With warmth.
He lifted his hands, cupped her face between them, staring into her amber eyes. ‘Oh, Callie,’ he said softly. ‘What did I do to deserve you?’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘It’s the truth.’
‘In that case, it’s a truth no one else saw in me. All my father ever saw was everything I wasn’t.’
‘He was wrong.’ Her gaze was very direct and very fierce. ‘He shouldn’t have done those things to you. Shouldn’t have said those things to you. And he should never, ever have hurt you. A father is supposed to support their child, not undermine them.’
Something caught in her voice, and if he hadn’t been looking right into her eyes he might have missed it. He stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs, her skin soft and hot against his. ‘Yours did?’
‘He did what he could.’
Which wasn’t an answer. But he knew what the answer would be anyway.
‘What didn’t he give you, Callie?’
Her lashes lowered. ‘He wasn’t my mother.’
The mother who’d loved her. The mother who’d walked away from her in the end.
‘You tried to be your mother’s daughter, and then you tried to be your father’s son,’ he murmured. ‘That’s what you told me.’
‘Yes.’ She kept her gaze turned away.
‘But were you anyone’s?’ he asked softly. ‘In the end?’
She tensed and tried to pull away from him, but he firmed his grip, holding her still. And that was his answer. No, she hadn’t been, and it hurt her.
Strong fingers closed around his heart. ‘Did you have anyone, Calista? Anyone at all? A lover at least?’
She was still, but he felt the tension in her. ‘No. Not a lover, either. Not until you.’
He felt no shock or surprise. Only the same sense of fate settling down on him as it had when he’d realised she was pregnant. The sense of rightness, of purpose. Of destiny. He wasn’t only here for his child. He was here for her.
Gently, he tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘Then that makes you mine,’ he said simply. Then he lowered his head and took her mouth like a vow.
She froze. Her lips were hot and she tasted sweet, the perfect antidote to all that bitterness that had been living inside him. The perfect cure for all that self-loathing that had nearly corroded him away.
He kissed her deeply, slowly and with purpose, because she was his purpose now.
She was the goddess he’d been put on earth to worship.
She was the reason he hadn’t taken that pill all those years ago. Somehow he’d known, even years ago, that there was a reason he had to stay. That it wasn’t only his brother or his anger at his father that was keeping him here. That there was another reason he’d endured, that he’d come back to Axios three years ago, even though he hadn’t wanted to.
She was the reason. He was here for her.
He kissed her more deeply, keeping it slow and gentle, exploring her with thorough deliberation. She made a soft, eager sound and her hands were on his chest, sliding up around his neck. She came up on her toes, her mouth open beneath his, suddenly desperate, clinging onto him as if she were drowning and he was her last chance of rescue.
But he didn’t want desperation now. He didn’t want fast or furious. He wanted long and slow and gentle. He wanted to make her his with purpose and intention, not through a loss of control.
He gentled the kiss, easing her. He stroked the sides of her neck and her shoulders, her skin silky and warm beneath his fingertips.
‘Xerxes.’ She shivered, pressing herself against him. ‘Please...’
‘Hush,’ he murmured against her lips. ‘Keep still for me. Keep very still.’
‘But I don’t—’
He stopped her protests with his mouth in another long, achingly sweet kiss. She shivered, trying to kiss him back, impatient and hungry. Her hands began to rove all over him, his chest and his stomach, down to the fastening of his jeans, stroking him urgently. Lightning followed in her wake, and he was hard almost instantly.
But if there was one thing he was good at, it was this: a slow and sweet seduction. And that was what she deserved. That was what she needed.
She thought he was a hero. He would be that hero for her.
He took her wrists in his and drew them behind her, holding them together in one of his hands at the small of her back. She fought him, but he was stronger and she couldn’t break his hold. Not unless she went into full combat mode.
‘Xerxes,’ she pleaded, desperate. ‘Please.’
‘Patience.’ He let the fingertips of his free hand drift to one of the ties of her dress, brushing her skin. ‘Good things come to those who wait.’
‘I don’t want to wait.’
‘I know you don’t.’ He stroked her shoulder, sliding his fingers beneath the tie, caressing her, brushing his lips over her mouth. ‘Impatient girl. But you will wait for me. Because you’re mine, Callie. Understand?’
She shook her head and he didn’t know whether it was because she didn’t understand, or because she didn’t want to be his. Either way it didn’t matter. He was going to show her what that meant right now.
He took the end of the tie in his fingers and tugged gently, undoing the bow that held one side of her dress on, the material slipping down, exposing one beautiful breast.
She gave a little moan, pulling against his grip, but he tightened his hold, kissing her, keeping it slow and gentle, sweet and hot. Then he touched her, stroking the satiny golden skin that had been revealed, letting her know with each touch what being his meant. That he would keep her, hold her, worship her.
Adore her.
The fingers around his heart closed tight, sque
ezing hard. Yes, he would adore her. He’d thought that the moment he’d seen her in that gown in his bedroom. Possibly even before that. Maybe even the second he’d looked at her standing by the doorway in his living room, tall and straight in her uniform. Proud and strong.
A woman a man would want to be worthy of.
And she’d made him feel worthy. Now it was his turn to repay her.
He let his fingers stroke down to the curve of her bare breast, sliding beneath it, taking the soft weight in his palm. She gasped, arching into his hand, pressing herself to him, demanding more.
But he refused to be rushed, squeezing her so gently, brushing the tips of his fingers around her nipple, feeling it harden responsively under his touch. She shivered, pulling harder against the hold he had on her. He let go of her breast and reached for the other tie, pulling that, too, so her dress came completely off.
She was naked underneath it, trembling as she tried to press her body against his, her skin hot and silky, the wild-flower scent of her underlain with the musk of her arousal.
Beautiful soldier. His beautiful soldier.
He reached behind her, taking her wrists in both hands now and holding them at her back. Then he fell to his knees in front of her, ready to worship.
‘Oh,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Xerxes. No.’
But he ignored her, leaning forward and nuzzling against her stomach, glorying in her scent, pressing hot kisses to her skin. He finally let go of her wrists and ran his fingertips up and down her sides, stroking as he kissed down to the sweet little nest of curls between her thighs.
She tried to move, but he put his hands on her hips, holding her still. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Just wait. Let me give you this.’
‘You shouldn’t.’ Her voice sounded thick. ‘You shouldn’t kneel to me.’
He glanced up at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and the darkening of her amber eyes. But there was distress there, too. It made that grip on his heart squeeze.
He stroked his thumbs over her hips gently, keeping his gaze on hers. ‘Why not?’ he asked softly. ‘You’re a goddess, Calista. And I want to worship you.’
‘I’m not. I’m just a soldier, and a prince shouldn’t kneel.’
‘But you’re not just a soldier.’ He spread his fingers out on her sides, stroking her, letting her know how beautiful he found her. ‘And I’m not just a prince. I’m a man and you’re a beautiful woman. Why shouldn’t I kneel to you?’
‘I...’ She stopped, shivering, a confusion in her eyes he didn’t understand.
She wanted him, it was clear. And yet this was distressing her and he wasn’t sure why. Over the past few days she hadn’t found his touching her difficult, so what had changed?
You are making this about her. That’s what’s changed.
Understanding filtered through him. The sex they’d shared here had been about the act itself, about sating the hunger, indulging the chemistry. He hadn’t thought about the emotional connection.
But this was different and he could feel it. He wanted to give her pleasure, make her feel good, show her she was special, and not for his own satisfaction, but for hers.
He couldn’t pretend he didn’t care any more; that excuse was long gone.
He cared. He cared about her.
But she was fighting it.
‘You can’t,’ she said, suddenly and fiercely, picking the thought right out of his head. ‘You can’t care about me.’
So, was this where the battle was to be fought? Fine, he was ready.
‘Oh?’ He lifted a haughty brow so she would know that he was not going to back down, not on this. ‘And why not?’
‘Because I don’t want you to.’ She took a shaken, ragged-sounding breath, her amber eyes wild. ‘A prince can’t care for a soldier.’
It was about more than that, he could tell, but now wasn’t the time to push and besides, he wasn’t a man who took orders from anyone. And he wasn’t a man who gave up. She was the one who’d shown him that.
‘A prince can do whatever he wants.’ Xerxes met her fierce gaze. ‘And so can the man. Let me show you.’
‘Xerxes...’
But he was ready to fight and he ignored her, kissing her lower and lower still, gripping her hips tightly and holding her in place as he nuzzled between her thighs.
She shuddered, and when he began to explore her with his tongue she moaned.
She didn’t pull away or tell him to stop again. Her fingers settled in his hair instead, twisting tightly as he explored, tasting the sweetness at the heart of her.
And only when her knees were weak, and she was gasping and shaking, did he finally rise to his feet and pick her up in his arms, carrying her over to the sofa and laying her down on it. He paused only to get rid of his own clothing before following her down onto it.
She reached for him, pulling him to her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he settled himself on her. Her body was hot, her skin like satin, all firm muscle and soft curves, and she smelled like sex and desire.
He put his mouth to her throat and kissed her there, the taste of her skin making need tighten inside him. Making him hungry. Her hips lifted beneath his, the press of her wet sex against him stealing his breath, turning his blood into lightning in his veins.
She lifted her hands to his shoulders, sliding them down his back, nails digging into his skin. Her mouth found his and she bit him, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
It felt as if she was fighting him or punishing him, or something in between, but that was fine. She was a soldier and all she knew was how to fight.
But he would teach her differently. He would teach her that she didn’t need to fight, that sometimes surrender could be just as sweet. So he ignored her bites, refused to rise to her demands, took them and turned them instead into slow, hot kisses and long, lazy caresses. She tried to push him, writhing beneath him, trying to make him desperate, but he wasn’t desperate. Because he had nothing to be desperate about.
He knew what he wanted and he had patience. He had strength and he had endurance and he would use all of that to show her that a prince could indeed care about a soldier. It was possible. It was inevitable.
He pushed his hand between them, finding the soft, wet heat and the most sensitive part of her, stroking as he kissed her, taking her desperate cries and choked sobs into himself and giving her back more pleasure.
And then he thrust deeply inside her, holding on to her hips, the sounds of her pleasure echoing in the air around him. A storm of sensation chased him, the feel of her, the scent of her, the sounds she made.
Every sense he had was focused on her. She was the centre of the universe. His universe.
He moved harder, deeper, driving both of them higher, looking down into her darkened eyes as he did so, letting her see that this was a fight he would win.
This would be a marriage in every sense of the word, not just physical but emotional, too, and she had to know it.
The pleasure gripped him tight, stretching him thin. And he reached down between her thighs, stroking her so that she gave a desperate sob, her body convulsing around his as she came.
Then he let go of his control, thrusting harder, deeper, until the climax swept through him, hot and dark and overwhelming.
‘Don’t care about me,’ she’d told him.
But it was too late.
He already did.
CHAPTER NINE
A WEEK LATER, Calista stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom she’d been assigned on her return from the coast. She’d been half-afraid, half-hopeful that Xerxes would insist on her sharing his rooms, but he hadn’t.
It was for propriety’s sake, he’d told her, to help bolster the illusion of a love affair that hadn’t been consummated. It was the story they’d both agreed on, to help shield her from any negative public opinion, and s
he knew that it was best if they had separate rooms in the palace. But the past couple of nights she’d missed him.
He’d spent the time in meetings with his brother and with the press, the scandal of his broken engagement to Eleni and the gossip about his love affair with a palace guard having settled down somewhat. Of course, the fact that there would be a second formal engagement party, where she would be introduced to the people of Axios as his fiancée, gave the gossip columns plenty of material, but with any luck once the party had been held everyone would be more excited about their wedding than the circumstances surrounding it.
It helped that all requests for interviews with her had been officially denied by the palace.
She’d had an audience with Adonis, which had been very formal, the king himself not friendly but also not outright rude. Xerxes hadn’t helped though, standing protectively at her side virtually bristling with threat. But at least it hadn’t been a disaster.
After that, she’d been poked and prodded by the palace doctor, the health of the baby checked and confirmed. Then there had been an array of visits from clothes designers that covered fittings for a new wardrobe, not to mention a wedding gown. Various palace staff also visited, with instructions on what she could expect once she married the Prince, and what her duties would be. Lessons in protocol and media training also followed, along with stylists, make-up artists and other staff that would now be assigned to her.
It was all a little overwhelming.
Her father hadn’t visited, even though Xerxes had told her that he’d paid a personal visit to him, assuring him that his daughter would be well taken care of.
She tried not to be hurt by the fact that he hadn’t contacted her, staring at herself in the mirror as the stylist tweaked some fabric of the gown she’d be wearing at the engagement party instead.
Her hair was in an artful, gleaming tumble down her back, and she wore the same gown that she’d tried on the night she’d met Xerxes. The gold satin skimmed her every curve, highlighting the deep amber of her skin. The stylist had brushed some gold powder over her shoulders and collarbones, making her gleam, picking up the same golden lights in her hair and eyes. A delicate tiara sat on her head, a corona of white diamonds fashioned to look like a delicate web, with large golden diamonds caught in it like raindrops.
Promoted To His Princess (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal House of Axios, Book 1) Page 14