The gym turned out to be a huge stone hall, with state-of-the-art exercise machines and weight benches down one end and a big open space covered by a mat near by. Right in front of her, though, was a boxing ring.
Several people stood around it, leaning on the ropes and watching the two men in the middle of the ring. One was a powerful-looking guard.
The other was the king.
Back in the receiving room, he’d been a still presence, projecting a cold, dominant authority. And apart from that one instant when she thought he might have kissed Ione’s finger, there had been no warmth to him. Almost nothing human. As if he was a god to be worshipped, not a man to relate to.
But not here.
Now that he was stripped to the waist, wearing black and gold boxing shorts, boxing gloves on his hands, and circling his opponent, that cold authority was gone. There was nothing but the lethal intent and aggression of a large and very hungry predator.
His olive skin glistened, outlining every single hard, carved muscle of his arms and torso; he looked as if he’d been chiselled out of solid rock. He moved so fluidly, all deadly athletic grace that was mesmerising to watch, and, as he circled around, Anna noticed that he had a tattoo inked across the top of his powerful back: a crowned and prowling lion.
Someone made a soft sound and it couldn’t have been her, absolutely not.
She abhorred violence.
Yet she couldn’t take her eyes off the king.
Heat rushed into her face and she knew she’d gone scarlet, but she still couldn’t look away. The lights of the gym glistened on his skin, and she followed every flex and release of those powerful muscles.
She’d never thought of a man being beautiful before, and when she’d first seen him in the receiving room all she’d been conscious of was his authority and power. But she was thinking it now.
Here, like this, all deadly grace and honed aggression, he was beautiful.
She started towards him, barely conscious of moving, but then the guard beside her said gruffly, ‘Stay here, Sister. I’ll speak to His Majesty.’
So she paused, her heart thumping as the guard approached the boxing ring. One of the men standing by the ropes held up a hand and the guard stopped.
For a second no one moved, and Anna discovered she was holding her breath.
Then the king abruptly burst into motion: a pivot, a turn, ducking under his opponent’s guard, drawing his right fist back and slamming it hard into the other man’s jaw. The man dropped like a stone.
Everyone watching cheered while the king went down on one knee beside his opponent’s recumbent body and issued a sharp order. One of the watching men jumped into the ring, checking over the stunned man, who finally groaned. The king offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. The king said something and the man grinned.
Anna’s heartbeat was so loud she was certain the entire gym could hear it, and there was a fluttery feeling in her stomach, something like nervousness yet not. It was more similar to excitement, though that was strange, because why would she get excited about a boxing match?
The guard approached the ring and the king put his gloved hands on the ropes, leaning down as the guard said something to him. Then his head came up and he looked straight at Anna.
Electric-blue eyes pierced her right through.
She couldn’t breathe. All the air had somehow vanished from her lungs, from the entire room, the sound of her heartbeat the only thing she could hear.
The king straightened, still staring at her. ‘Out,’ he said. And instantly everyone headed towards the doors.
Anna made as if to go too, in instinctive obedience.
‘Not you, Sister,’ the king said.
Anna froze.
‘Come here,’ he ordered as the last person left the gym.
She didn’t want to. Something instinctive and very female told her that getting close to him would be a bad idea. But she couldn’t disobey a king’s command and, since she was the one who’d requested this meeting, she forced herself to move, walking slowly over the stone floor to the ring.
He leaned on the ropes, the lines of abs, biceps and sinews flexing, watching her every step of the way, making her feel like a mouse creeping closer to a huge, hungry cat.
She resented it. Being meek was yet another lesson the Reverend Mother wanted her to learn, a lesson Anna had always struggled with. Yet she tried to think of that lesson now as she went over to the king, her head bowed, resisting the urge to meet his gaze in instinctive rebellion.
He said nothing as she reached the ropes, and she suspected that silence might be a deliberate tactic of his to make people feel uncomfortable.
If so, it certainly wasn’t going to work with her.
Despite her best intentions, Anna raised her head, meeting that intense blue gaze.
The force of his will almost flattened her.
‘Was I not clear?’ the king said finally, in his deep, harsh voice. ‘Do you want me to tell you again that I wish you to return to England? I hope not. I’m not accustomed to repeating myself.’
Annoyance arrowed down her spine, and before she could stop herself she’d snapped, ‘And I’m not accustomed to being sent away without an explanation like a naughty child.’
A crashing silence fell.
Anna’s cheeks, already hot, felt as if they were going to burst into flames.
You idiot. He’s the king. You can’t snap at him like that.
Slowly, he pushed himself away from the ropes, straightening to his full, impressive height, making her feel very, very small.
‘Come here,’ he ordered.
Obviously he meant, come into the ring.
Briefly, Anna entertained a fantasy of ignoring him, turning her back and walking out. But that wouldn’t get her the explanation she wanted and it certainly wouldn’t endear her to the Reverend Mother, so she shoved the fantasy away, found the steps that led to the ring, and tried to get over the ropes in a dignified way. Naturally she failed, ending up clambering awkwardly between them while the king watched her, his arms crossed over his muscled chest.
She was blushing furiously and feeling like an idiot by the time she approached him, both of which made her temper crackle and spit like oil poured into a hot frying pan.
Not good, Anna. Not good.
She had to get herself under control. Especially if she wanted an explanation as to why he was dismissing her, and most especially if she wanted him to change his mind. Because if he needed someone to improve his daughter’s behaviour, he was hardly likely to choose a woman who couldn’t even manage her own.
She had to set an example.
So she tried to swallow the hot words on her tongue, and tried to project obedience, meekness, and humility as she gave him a curtsey. ‘Your Majesty.’
The king’s brutal features betrayed nothing. Instead he held out one gloved hand imperiously, palm up. ‘Undo the tie, if you please.’
She blinked, realising that he meant the tie of his boxing glove and that of course he couldn’t do it himself. But it wasn’t until she took a step forward to untie it for him that she understood her mistake.
He was very close, his magnificently muscled and very bare chest inches away. His olive skin was sheened with perspiration and he smelled of clean male sweat and something sharp and fresh like the sea. It was a very masculine scent and she didn’t know why she liked it, but she did.
Her hands shook as she pulled at the tie, the heat coming off him so at odds with the cold air of authority he projected. It disturbed her on some deep level, making her very aware of his height and his power, and how much smaller she was, how vulnerable.
She didn’t like it, and yet part of her did. Very much. Which didn’t make any sense. What was wrong with her? Why did she suddenly feel like this?
‘You have a temp
er, Sister,’ the king said.
Anna, bent over his glove, kept her attention on what she was doing, trying determinedly to ignore his physical presence and its effect on her heartbeat.
You’re attracted to him. Not a mystery.
But that was ridiculous. She’d never been attracted to any other man before, so why this one? It was a very bad idea. Especially given who this particular man was.
‘I...apologise, Your Majesty,’ she said, not feeling particularly apologetic as she tugged on the tie, which appeared to be knotted. ‘I spoke out of turn.’
‘Yes.’ His voice was a deep, vibrating rumble she almost felt in her chest. ‘You did. The Reverend Mother chose poorly in sending you. How can you manage my daughter when you cannot even manage yourself?’
It was exactly what she’d been thinking herself, the censure in his tone making her feel as if she were twelve again, hauled into the Reverend Mother’s office for yet another transgression, the weight of guilt falling on her at the look of gentle disappointment on the Reverend Mother’s face. ‘Why can’t you be good, Anna? I know you have it in you.’ And her wondering if she really did have it in her, thinking that maybe she was just born bad...
Anger churned inside her at the memories. Anger at herself and her own behaviour, as well as her lack of control over it. She was supposed to be better. She had to be better.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, tugging harder on the glove, the tie finally coming loose. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘That’s twice now, in the space of a few hours.’
Anna pulled at the ties holding the glove closed with slightly more force than necessary, not trusting herself to speak, because he wasn’t wrong. She had snapped at him twice. Him. A king.
‘I said I was sorry, sire.’ She tried to put every ounce of effort she could into sounding as if she meant it, but she had a suspicion that it only sounded sulky.
‘Are you?’ He lifted the glove and jerked it off his hand with his teeth, discarding it on the floor of the ring. ‘You don’t look very sorry to me.’
That flutter deep inside her sparked to life again and she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why. Because he was standing there, huge and muscular, intensely masculine, power in every line of him, a very clear and physical threat. And she should be afraid of him, or at least intimidated, yet she wasn’t.
Deciding that honesty was the best policy and, since she couldn’t pretend, she said, ‘You’re right. I’m not sorry. I’m angry. I don’t like being accused of seducing men I’ve never even met before.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Need I remind you that I am a novice, who’ll be taking her vows imminently?’
Something glittered in the ice of his blue eyes.
‘Not quite as biddable as you would appear, are you?’ His intent stare made the fire in her cheeks burn hot. ‘Is that why you forced your way in here? To chastise me?’
‘I didn’t force my way in and no, I’m not here to ch-chastise you.’ She wasn’t sure why she stumbled over the word, yet charged on anyway. ‘I only wanted a reason for you sending me away. The Reverend Mother will be very upset with me if I come back only a day or two after being sent here, and she’ll want to know why.’
He lifted one powerful shoulder and glanced away, pulling on the tie of his other glove. ‘That’s not my problem.’
Anna was suddenly very tempted to kick this irritating king in the shins. ‘Actually, sire, it’s very much your problem. Especially since I came here in good faith.’
This time the ice in his eyes had melted, blue sparks flicking in the depths. ‘Then perhaps you should talk to my dear godmother about meddling in affairs that don’t concern her.’
‘What affairs?’
‘She wants me to remarry.’ He bared his teeth in what looked like a smile but was far too feral to be one. ‘And, since I have rebuffed her every suggestion, she’s now taking the direct approach. With you.’
Anna blinked, the words not making any sense. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’ The king tore the other glove off and cast it on the floor, flexing one strong, long-fingered hand. ‘You’re round and soft and sweet. Just the kind of woman who would appeal to me.’
She stared, conscious that she was gaping at him yet unable to stop herself.
His gaze became electric. ‘Perhaps you should try some seduction, little nun. We wouldn’t want to upset the Reverend Mother, now, would we?’
Adonis knew he shouldn’t have said it, but the adrenaline high from the workout he’d just had was still coursing through him, and there was something about Sister Anna Fleetwood that got under his skin, that made those flickers of interest he’d felt earlier flare into sparks.
Sparks that could become flames if you’re not careful.
But he was always careful. Yet there she was, after elbowing her way into his private workout space, looking up at him all shocked, her cheeks flushed, her gaze gone silvery as it dropped to his chest then back up to his face again, telegraphing loud and clear that she was not as nun-like as she made out.
Innocent, yes.
Immune to him, no.
It was a dangerous thing for him to notice, especially after one of his regular workouts, where he burned off excess anger and aggression in the boxing ring. And most especially when the adrenaline rush made him more susceptible than he’d normally be to physical chemistry.
Which meant he shouldn’t be goading her.
Another, more experienced, woman would understand what was going on, but it was plain the nun did not.
‘Wh-what do you mean?’ she stammered, making that even more obvious.
What are you doing? Since when do you let innocents like this one get to you?
He never did. Sophia, his late, long-suffering wife, hadn’t been an innocent and he’d thought she’d known exactly what she was getting into when she married him. He’d told her from the outset that their marriage would be one of necessity only, that love would not be part of it, and she’d assured him that, as she didn’t love him, she didn’t need it. But then she had fallen in love with him, and had been unhappy and hurt when she hadn’t got love in return. He didn’t want to put another woman through that. He had his heir already, and, now that his brother was married and producing children of his own, Adonis didn’t need another wife.
A lover was a different matter, but he wouldn’t choose someone like Anna Fleetwood to be his lover anyway. She was too young, too innocent, too soft. She was also a novice nun and under the protection of his godmother, which made her untouchable.
‘Never mind,’ he said curtly, turning away and stalking over to where his trainer had left a towel hanging over the ropes. He picked it up and used it to wipe his face, before draping it over the back of his neck. ‘I don’t care what you tell the Reverend Mother when you get back to England. Tell her anything you like.’ He paused and turned around to face her. ‘But you will be going.’
He couldn’t have her here, not when it was plain she was going to be completely unsuitable for Ione anyway. He’d been hoping for meek, biddable, and self-contained, a good example for his daughter to follow, not argumentative, rebellious, and emotionally volatile.
Plus, he didn’t want the Reverend Mother thinking she could keep sending him women on the off-chance he’d want to make one of them his wife. He’d already told her he wasn’t going to marry again, so why she thought she could change his mind, he had no idea.
The nun frowned, her arms crossed over what he couldn’t help but notice were full, generous breasts. Her cheeks were still bright red and her gaze kept dropping to his chest. It made her frown even more ferocious.
‘I assure you, Your Majesty, that you are in no danger of being s-seduced by me,’ she said very firmly. ‘I have no interest in that...kind of thing.’
The way she was staring at him would seem to indicate otherwise, but he
couldn’t afford to be thinking about that either. What he should be thinking about was perhaps sending a message to Susannah, an American woman he sometimes spent time with, and working out any physical urges with her. She didn’t require anything but sex, at least.
‘Glad to hear it,’ he growled. ‘But I’m not changing my mind.’
‘What about your daughter?’ she shot back, undeterred. ‘Who will help you with her? It’s clear you do need someone.’
‘And you think you’re the best person to curtail my daughter’s behaviour?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘After your own ill-considered outbursts?
She flushed. ‘I know it may not seem like it, but I can manage myself. Or is there something else about me that offends you?’
Sneaky little nun. Not only had she lost any respect she might have had for his position, but she was also poking at him in a way she definitely shouldn’t. A way that might prompt him to tell her explicitly what offended him about her. Or perhaps even show her...
No. Control yourself.
He gripped the ends of the towel in his hands, forcing down the burn of adrenaline. ‘Are you sure you want me to do that? You might not like what I have to say.’
She gave him a challenging look. ‘Give me two weeks, Your Majesty. Two weeks to prove that I’m the best person for the job. And if your daughter’s behaviour hasn’t improved I’ll leave, just like you told me to.’
His instinct was to refuse, because once he gave an order he never rescinded it. Then again, his daughter needed someone, and urgently. And insisting on Anna’s leaving would be tantamount to admitting that she had got to him, and he couldn’t do that either.
She was one little nun. How could a nun—a novice nun at that—have any effect on the years of detachment he’d perfected? She couldn’t, so why not let her stay for two weeks? It wasn’t long. Enough time to test whether or not she had what it took to manage Ione and her demanding behaviour.
Sister Anna certainly had a few issues with authority that he didn’t approve of, then again she was here already, and finding someone else would take time. If nothing else, he could use it as a chance to prove that she meant absolutely nothing to him.
The Most Powerful Of Kings (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal House of Axios, Book 2) Page 3