by Tracy Wolff
I put up with it because I loved him. And when we broke up, I put up with the obsessive secrecy because I loved him still. And because I’d always known it was going to end, always known that he wouldn’t stick around. After all, no one else in my life ever had. Why should he have been any different just because he said he loved me?
The water is boiling, so I switch off the stove and pour the water over the coffee grounds. We wait in silence as they brew, until I slowly depress the plunger. I reach for two cups, but Kian beats me to it. He places the cups on the tray I’ve set up, then pours each of us a cup before carrying everything through the kitchen doorway and into the living room.
“I thought we’d be more comfortable in here,” he says in response to my raised eyebrows.
“By all means, Prince Kian.” I take a seat at the end of the sofa, curling my legs underneath me.
“Careful, peasant, or I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon.”
That starts a laugh out of me, considering how close it is to what I was thinking the other day. “The dungeon and not the tower?” I ask, tongue in cheek. “That hardly seems fair.”
“Yes, well, the east tower is part of the palace tour and somehow I doubt American tourists would appreciate seeing one of their own in chains. And the west tower has been turned into Roland’s office, so—”
“Roland!” I clap my hands, delighted. “I didn’t realize he was still around. How is he?”
Kian freezes at that, and for long seconds the only sound is the gentle whirring of the overhead fan. “You know Roland?” he finally asks.
Aware now that I’m treading on newly rocky ground, I tone down my enthusiasm. “I’ve met him, yes.”
“At the palace?”
“Yes.” I try to hand him his coffee, but he’s too busy studying me to bother taking it.
“Garrett brought you to the palace?” he says, sounding partly like he’s looking for confirmation and partly like he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said.
I think about lying—it’d probably be easier all the way around—but I’m a terrible liar. Plus, all Kian has to do is ask Roland about me and the jig is up. I’m not so vain that I think Roland should remember me after five years, but the king’s social secretary is one very sharp tack. I’m pretty sure he remembers the names, ages and occupations of every single person—including tourists—who has ever set foot in his beloved Palais les Charmilles.
“Yes,” I finally tell him, because I can’t see a way around it.
“How many times?”
Well, that’s definitely not the question I was expecting. “Excuse me?”
“How many times were you at the palace?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a dozen or so?”
“In six months, you were there a dozen times?” He sounds, and looks, flabbergasted.
“Maybe less.”
He arches a brow. “Maybe more?”
He holds my eyes, almost daring me to look away this time. In the end, I just nod and whisper, “Maybe.”
“Have you met my father?”
“Yes, but only once. We had dinner, about two months after Garrett and I started dating…” I trail off when I realize he’s stopped listening. Which is fine with me—I’d rather not discuss what an unmitigated disaster dinner with the king had been, anyway.
Not that I’d expected any different, but Garrett had insisted. Then, when his father pretty much tried to buy me off at dinner, he’d been annoyed but not surprised. That’s when I figured out why he’d really brought me there. He’d wanted to know my answer as much as his father had.
It was the first time we nearly broke up, but not the last.
I can’t help wondering if Kian would try the same thing. And what I’d do about it if he did. When Garrett pulled it, I was young and desperate to matter to someone for the first time in my life. Even before my parents died unexpectedly in a car crash, I’d never been more than an afterthought to them. Garrett was my first chance to be more, or so I’d thought. Even after he’d pulled that bullshit, I’d stayed because I loved him. More, because I needed him to love me.
But I’m not that person anymore, and I’ve already cut Kian as much slack as I’m going to.
I wait for Kian to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just presses his lips together and nods his head a bunch of times.
Then he leans forward and begins doctoring his coffee.
A spoon of sugar and a splash of cream.
Then another spoon of sugar, then another splash of cream.
A third spoon of sugar, a third splash of cream.
He’s about to add a fourth spoon to a cup that really isn’t that big, when I reach out a hand and stop him. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” I tell him as I ease the spoon from his grip. “Does it really matter how many times I’ve been to the palace?”
“I don’t know.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, rubs it up and down against the back of his head.
Still, he shakes his head, taps his fingers back and forth against his knee. And looks anywhere and everywhere but at me.
“Kian, I’m sor—”
“Don’t apologize!” he half-laughs, half-yells. “It’s not your fault, and I’m not handling this well.”
He pushes off the couch then, walks over to the painting Garrett bought me at the end of a weekend at the family beach house.
He studies it for long seconds, then—without turning back to look at me—says, “This is from my brother.”
“Yes.”
“I figured. I noticed it the last time I was here, thought it was a coincidence that it was the same view we have from the beach house. But it’s not a coincidence, is it?”
I shake my head, then utter a hoarse, “No,” when I realize he still isn’t looking at me.
“I guess I wanted this thing between you and my brother to be nothing,” he says after several long, excruciating seconds. “I wanted to be able to brush it off, to say it didn’t matter. But clearly, it did matter, to both of you. I’m sorry for being a dick, I just…need to get my head around it.”
He finally turns to face me. “The thing is, I really like you. It’s the worst possible time for it, what with Garrett being…missing, and me trying to take over his duties and balance my own. But still. I like you and you’re in love with my brother, which is pretty fucking awkward, so…”
I’m off the sofa and crossing the room before I’m even aware that I gave my body the command to move. I don’t stop until I’m right in front of Kian, so close that I can feel his breath against my cheek. “Was,” I whisper.
“What?” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to understand what I mean, but his green eyes stay pinned to mine.
“I was in love with your brother. But that was five and a half years ago. I was a different person then. I was nineteen and foolish and incredibly vulnerable after the deaths of my parents.
“Garrett came along and swept me off my feet, gave me the fairy tale—or at least what I thought was the fairy tale. Until I woke up one day and realized some other girl was actually getting the fairy tale and I was just some wild oats he wanted to sow.”
“Felicity.” Kian grimaces.
I nod. “Felicity.”
His eyes somehow grow even sadder. “I’m sorry.”
“Now you’re the one apologizing for something you have absolutely no control over.” I reach out and grab his hand. “So why don’t you come back to the couch, eat some cookies and drink some really sweet coffee. And while you do, we will talk about something that has absolutely nothing to do with Garrett.”
He stares at me for long seconds and I can see the debate raging right behind his eyes. In the end, he nods, though, and even manages a little smile. “That sounds good.”
“It does, doesn’t it.” I start tugging him toward the couch.
“Well, everything but the coffee.” He grins at me. “No offense, but I’m pretty sure that’s a deal breaker.”
; Chapter 13
Kian
I surface slowly, feeling a little bit like I’m struggling through honey as I try for wakefulness. I’m not sure why I’m trying so hard to wake up, but there’s an urgency deep inside me, a voice screaming that I need to OPEN MY EYES.
I do, consciousness rushing over me like a freight train as my eyes pop open to dark and unfamiliar surroundings. There’s a weight pressing down on my chest and a low whimpering sound in the air around me and it takes me a moment to figure out what’s happening.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Savvy and I fell asleep on her couch. Right now, she’s stretched out on top of me, and judging from the small, distressed noises she’s making, she’s having a nightmare.
“It’s okay, baby,” I murmur in her ear even as I wrap my arms more tightly around her. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She whimpers again, a miserable, high-pitched little sound that gets me in the gut. In response, I hold her more tightly, rub a soothing hand up and down her back, whisper soothing, nonsensical things into her ear.
She comes awake with a jolt, her whole body recoiling violently in my arms. “It’s okay, Savvy. It’s Kian. You’re safe, I swear.”
It takes a moment, but eventually she relaxes, her body going loose and languid on top of mine. I shudder a little as she buries her face against my throat, then order my dick—which is already twitching with interest—to stand the fuck down. No way am I going to do anything to contribute to scaring Savvy any more than she already is.
“We fell asleep.”
“Yeah.”
“Did I have a nightmare?” she asks after a moment, her voice all slow and sleep-husky and sweet.
“I think so, yeah.” I continue to run a soothing hand slowly up and down her spine.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She struggles against me and reluctantly I let go, not wanting her to think that she’s trapped against me.
She doesn’t go far, choosing instead to stay on my lap, her legs straddling my hips as we stare into each other’s eyes in the early morning gray. And there isn’t any order I can give at this point, any soccer statistics I can relay in my head, that will keep my dick from reacting to the warmth and closeness of her sex.
I’m about to apologize, about to lift her off me and spring into some kind of damage control action. But then she moves, tilting her hips forward with a gasp and a little moan.
Her sex brushes against my aching dick and just that easily, I’m drowning in her and the feelings she brings to life inside of me.
“Kian, I want t—”
I cut her off with a kiss. Our faces are already so close that our breaths mingle with each inhalation and it seems like the most natural thing in the world—despite everything—to lean forward and take her lips with mine.
She stops talking mid-word, takes in a strange, squeaky little breath. And then her hands are sliding from my face to my back, her arms wrapping around my neck as she kisses me.
It’s not our first kiss and I’m suddenly determined that it won’t be our last, either. But it is the first one we’ve had with all of our cards on the table, with all of the secrets of the past laid bare between us. Because of that it somehow feels more real than any of the others…and more important.
I bring my hands to her face, cup her cheeks, tilt her head this way and that as I seek to go deeper. As I try to delve all the way inside to the beautiful heart of her.
It’s only been an hour or so since we fell asleep, so she still tastes like coffee and sugar and sweet, spicy cinnamon. But underneath that there’s more, there’s strawberries and cream and warm, willing woman.
I can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of her. I pull Savvy even closer, pressing her breasts to my chest as I wrap myself around her and lick my way slowly, slowly, slowly into her mouth.
She gasps at the invasion, but doesn’t protest. Instead, she tilts her head, opens her mouth. Lets me in.
I’ve never been more grateful for—or more excited about—a woman’s acquiescence in my life. With that knowledge front and center in my mind, I slide inside her mouth, gently stroke my tongue against her own, then lick my way across the top of her mouth and down her cheek. She tastes so damn good, feels so damn good, that I can barely think, barely breathe as she licks her way inside my own mouth.
There’s a voice in the back of my head warning me that this is a bad idea, that the past is still looming between us—big, painful, unavoidable. That no matter what happens here, no matter how I feel about her or she feels about me, Garrett will always be between us.
But anyone who knows me will say I’ve never been very good at listening to that warning voice, and right here, right now—when I have a warm, willing Savvy on my lap—is no exception. Instead of hesitating, I barrel forward, determined to give her whatever she asks of me. Whatever she wants.
The thought has heat slamming through me like a rocket, and I bury one hand in the silky fall of her hair while sliding the other one to her lusciously curved hip.
Savvy moans a little at the feel of me tugging at her hair, then arches her back in an unspoken plea for more. I give it to her, tugging harder, more sharply, taking care to make it sting a little but not hurt. The last thing I want is to cause Savvy any more pain. If our talk last night taught me anything, it’s that she’s had enough pain to go around—and a lot of it was caused by my brother.
But thinking about Garrett right now is a mood killer, so I banish him from my brain. I focus instead on the way Savvy’s breathing has increased in tempo, the way her skin feels hot and her body feels pliant against mine. So far she’s with me every step of the way, and I couldn’t ask for more.
She moans again, deep in her throat, as her fingers claw their way under my shirt and up my back. It’s my turn to groan and she takes instant advantage, sliding her tongue against mine. She laughs a little then, a husky sound that dances across my skin and sets my nerve endings on fire even as she strokes her tongue between my teeth and my upper lip.
“Fuck, Savvy, you feel so good,” I murmur without ever lifting my mouth from hers.
“So do you,” she answers softly, one of her hands tangling in my hair, her fingers scratching gently against my scalp.
I want to take it deeper, want to roll her over onto the couch and thrust against her.
Want to slide my hand down the front of her jeans and feel her wet heat.
Want to hear her breath hitch and see her eyes go blurry as I make her come and come and come.
But we’re in her living room, in front of a large window that may or may not have one of my detail stationed outside of it at this very moment. I’m sure they’re in the car as opposed to watching our every move, but still…I won’t do that to her, not when we’ve finally started to talk to each other, to try to understand each other. Savvy deserves so much better than that.
Fuck, who am I kidding? She deserves better than me, certainly deserves better than His Royal Hotness. If I were a decent guy, I’d get up now and walk away before this gets any deeper, any messier. Before she has to deal once again with the mess that is being involved with a member of the Wildemar royal family.
But I’m not a decent guy and I’ve never claimed to be. I’m the spare who has spent the last decade fucking around with any and every woman who caught my attention, taking what they had to offer without a backward glance. And now that I found someone I like, someone I might actually be able to care about and who my past might actually affect, it all seems so…gross.
Still, I shove the thought away, refuse to think about those other women in any way. Not now, when I have Savvy warm and soft and pliant on my lap.
Not when she’s making those soft noises and rocking her hips against mine.
Not when she seems to want me as much as I w
ant her.
Just the thought has me growing impossibly harder, has need tearing against the edges of my control. One more kiss, I promise myself as I tug on her hair, pulling her head back just a little. Just enough.
And then I take her, plunder her, devour her—taking every single thing she’s willing to give me and pushing for more. Pushing for everything, as I delve so far inside her that I’m not sure I’ll ever find my way free again.
Chapter 14
Savvy
I’ve never felt like this in my life.
Never felt this open. Never felt this taken. Never felt this much, and Kian isn’t even inside me yet.
I want more. Need more. More of Kian and more of the insidious pleasure that’s sizzling through me like lightning.
I don’t know what any of this means, and I’m sure as hell not stupid enough to think I know what I’m doing. Being with Garrett nearly destroyed me five years ago, and now here I am with his brother, setting myself up for the same pain, the same betrayal.
And yet, I don’t want to stop. I can’t stop, not when it feels so good to be held, kissed, loved by Kian. Not when it warms me the way it does to have him smile at me, listen to me, touch me.
I know this isn’t forever, know that he treats women like flavors of the week or even day, depending on his mood. But he’s here with me now, holding me, whispering soft, sweet things in my ear, and what I know doesn’t seem to count. What I fear doesn’t seem to matter. Not when it feels this good—this right—to be in Kian’s arms.
He pulls me closer.
Kisses me deeper.
Whispers my name against my lips and how beautiful I am, how good I feel, how much he wants me.
I’m falling for his words, drowning in his kisses and the soft stroking of his hands along my spine. Normally it would frighten me, this giving of myself over so completely to someone else. But crazy as it seems, Kian makes me feel safe. More, he makes me feel cherished even now as I straddle him in the middle of my couch. As I rock my sex against him and bite my lip to keep from begging for more than I can emotionally take.