‘You bet. Formal study required.’ He turned his head so no cameras could get between either of them and gazed into her eyes; his own were dancing. ‘Now seriously, be silent, or I’ll have to employ emergency tactics and I don’t know that it would be wise for me to do that here and now.’
His voice had an edge and she knew what he meant. He raised his free hand and waved to the crowds, who cheered again, then he helped her down the marble steps and into the glass carriage. He sat close, his arm tight around her while she rationalised that extra kiss. He was pleased with the afternoon’s events, that was all. That kiss had been a moment of pure male satisfaction—of pleasure and power.
‘Hester?’
‘No.’ She glinted at him. ‘You’ve had more than your lifetime allowance.’ She smiled and waved to the crowd.
‘But—’
‘You can’t ventriloquise your way out of this, Alek,’ she scolded. ‘You broke the deal.’
‘Why, Hester Moss, are you chastising me?’
‘I’m no longer Hester Moss.’ She flashed her teeth at him in a brilliant smile. ‘And I’m putting on a good show, aren’t I?’
* * *
The woman formerly known as Hester Moss was putting on far more than ‘a good show’. She was glittering. And almost flirting. And Alek discovered he could hardly cope. All he wanted was to pull her back into his arms and kiss her again. Again. And again. And ideally everywhere. Instead he had to smile and wave and grit his teeth because there were millions watching them.
In the safe privacy of a palace antechamber, he studied the tablet for the few minutes they’d factored ahead of the formal reception, taking time to settle his own rioting emotions the way he knew Hester did—with distraction and avoidance. But he couldn’t deny her radiance—or his primal response to her.
He realised now—far too late—that he hadn’t noticed any other woman in days and he always noticed women. Now he didn’t seem to give a damn. He hadn’t even seen them. And it wasn’t just about ensuring Hester’s comfort in a difficult situation. It was as if she were some giant magnet, while his eyeballs were iron filings. With no will of their own they just kept focusing on her. It was as if she’d obliterated anyone else out of existence. He laughed a little bitterly to himself. Served him right, didn’t it? That he hadn’t wanted a wife at all, but now he had one and he wanted his wife more than he’d wanted any other woman? And she was so off-limits—she was effectively an employee, she was a virgin, she was clearly vulnerable because she’d been hurt somehow and was isolated now...yes, the reasons why he shouldn’t lay a finger on her were probably insurmountable. But that didn’t stop his body from wanting her anyway.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I’m dandy,’ he mocked himself. And he had to survive spending the night with her in his wing because there was no way they could sleep in separate apartments on their wedding night.
Was it only because she was out of bounds? As if he truly were some spoilt child who was so used to getting everything that he wanted that he couldn’t cope the first time he’d heard the word no from a woman?
No. He simply ached to seduce her. He’d been skimming closer to seducing her with every passing day, more deeply intrigued as she’d opened up so fractionally, so slowly. Those sparks of humour, of spirit, fascinated him. He wanted to break her open and bask in the warmth and wit he knew she kept locked inside. And he wanted to test the intensity of this chemistry that made mush of his synapses, made every muscle tense and turned his guts to water.
Instead he had to endure a long celebratory feast in front of hundreds.
He glanced up from the screen and saw her hips and the curve of her bottom and was hit by a rush of lust so severe he had to freeze. No. It wasn’t anything as superficial as simply being told he couldn’t have something and only then wanting it. He wasn’t a child any more. He’d outgrown the pursuit of challenges just for the sake of toppling them. This was all about her. He wanted to see her melt in pleasure. He wanted her to turn to him, to offer him her luscious mouth again. He wanted to coax more of the passion he’d discovered just beneath her still surface.
Instead he glared back at the screen.
The world was absolutely lapping it up—they were trending on all social media sites. Images of them spiralled throughout the web—one picture, just after the kiss, was being shared hundreds of thousands of times a second, it seemed.
When she’d smiled at him, it was like a revelation—all sparkle and beauty. It helped that her dress fitted as if she’d been poured into it—cinched at her waist and flaring over her full hips. It was absolute femininity. She was no rail-thin princess but rather a slim bundle of curves that were almost too sexy for the circumstance. The heels gave her a little extra height but she still barely made it to his shoulder. Her hair had been left mostly loose—all lush, lightly curled beauty—while the fragile tiara with its droplet diamonds added to the overall picture of princess perfection. How had he ever thought she wasn’t beautiful?
‘What is it?’ She stepped over and he tilted the tablet so she could see them too.
She assessed the pictures silently, critically, showing no obvious emotion, but he knew she was thinking and feeling. He craved to know what. His heart still beat horrifically fast. Those two kisses had been the most chaste of his life—yet somehow the most erotic and they’d forced him into stealing that third. That too-brief statement of what he really wanted—to get her alone, away from all the watching people.
As alone as they were now.
He gripped the tablet tightly, resisting the wave of desire ricocheting through him. And the fierce regret. He wanted to start again. To forget the whole damn marriage requirement and instead take the simple pleasure of seducing her slowly and completely. All he wanted was her absolute surrender—for her to be his in the most basic sense of the word. She was the most exquisite temptation—a mystery, as the press had rightly labelled her. But the contract between them imposed rules and boundaries. He wanted to break every one here and now. It was appalling—he’d never imagined that she’d fascinate him so.
‘It’s amazing what properly fitting clothes and expertly applied make-up can do,’ she muttered, oblivious to his turmoil as she swiftly scrolled through the photographs. ‘I look okay.’
The dress and make-up merely accentuated the perfection beneath. ‘I thought you didn’t care what they think.’ He managed to push through his tension to half-smile at her.
‘Well, I don’t want to let you down.’
‘So you care what I think?’ he asked more harshly than he intended.
She drew a slow breath and he knew she was settling her response to him, trying to keep her façade still. ‘I care about doing a good job.’
‘And that’s all
this still is to you? Just a job?’ He didn’t want to believe that. He refused to.
He fought the urge to haul her close—to make her flush, to make that serenity flare in a burst of satisfaction. He ached to see her shudder, to hear her scream as ecstasy overcame her. He wanted her warm and soft and smiling, no more cool, fragile façade. That first kiss had given him the briefest hint of what pleasure they could find together and had seared his nerve endings. He wanted to crack her open and release the warmth he was now certain was at her core.
They’d effectively laughed their way back down the aisle with an intimacy built on something other than physical. It had rendered him unable to resist the need to kiss her the way he’d ached to—stealing that third kiss to feel the heat of her response.
Now she was attempting to rebuild her personal barriers, to hide the fiercely deep feelings she didn’t want to express. But she wasn’t going to be able to deny them for too much longer. He’d felt the ferocity of her fire.
‘I’m sorry about the article,’ she said quietly, sidestepping his question.
‘Your cousins.’ He knew the one she meant. ‘They said you ghosted them,’ he said. ‘That you emotionally shut them out.’ He watched her expression stiffen and strove to reassure her. ‘Hester, I of all people know not to believe everything I read in the media.’
‘But it’s true.’ She lifted her chin but didn’t meet his eyes. ‘I did.’
Defensiveness radiated from every pore and his arms ached with the urge to hold her close.
‘I’m sure you had good reason to,’ he said carefully.
Now liquid gleamed in her eyes and smote his heart.
‘It was silly, wasn’t it? To have expected them to care for me, just because of blood.’
He took in what she’d said. They hadn’t cared for her—they hadn’t wanted her. And she’d been so unhappy she’d run away and locked herself in that ivory tower at the university. Quietly assisting students who lived fuller lives and cared less for their studies than she did.