She’d actually felt sorry for him at the time. Why would anyone believe something so sad? Sure, love could be messy and difficult and it didn’t always solve everything, in fact sometimes it solved nothing at all. She’d loved her mom and she knew, in her own screwed-up way, her mother had loved her. But that love had never been enough to stop Alice Monroe loving the bottle more...
But even with all its imperfections, love was still important. It could help and it could heal. Seeing Jade again and wanting to do this swap for her sister’s sake as well as her own had proved that much. And she refused to believe that anyone could survive without needing love.
Unless they were a man as cold and unfeeling as her father.
That had been her mistake. To feel sorry for Leo because she’d somehow convinced herself he wasn’t that guy. When actually he was.
After all, he wanted to marry her sister to give his country a political advantage and to have a shared heir. Any man who could even contemplate something so bloodless had to be seriously messed up—no matter how much her body might desire him.
‘You know, Jade,’ Leo said, tilting his head to one side now as if he were studying something particularly fascinating, ‘I really do not know what to make of you. And, much to my absolute astonishment, because I usually prefer predictability, I’m finding that aspect of you even more irresistible than the memory of what happened yesterday night.’
What?
Juno barely had a chance to register her shock before he had pushed off the desk, unfolded his arms and crossed the room.
She took another step back, but couldn’t control the swell of relief. Or was it longing? At the dark passion in his eyes.
He cupped her cheek, the soft brush of his palm making the tangle of raw nerves in her belly unwind in a rush.
‘You’re not angry with me?’ she heard herself say.
‘Angry? Not at all,’ he said, and the inscrutable smile became a genuine smile. Her heart expanded. ‘You did the right thing, Jade.’
The words seemed to reach inside and touch the heart of the child she’d been, all those years ago, when her father had chastised and rejected her.
‘You really think so?’ she said, immediately realising how needy she sounded when he gave a rough chuckle.
‘Yes, I’m not quite the bastard you seem to think I am,’ he said. ‘The boy was freezing and if we’d waited much longer he might well have become hypothermic. I hate to think what the press would have made of that. And how much it would have cost the palace if he had sued.’
He was making light of the incident. But even so she could hear the respect and admiration in his tone.
He caressed her cheek. His thumb drifting across her lips.
‘You should trust your instincts more,’ he said, as if it were the easiest thing to do in the world. ‘I don’t know why you’re insecure about your abilities, but, just in case no one else has ever told you this, you are an exceptionally good queen.’
She wasn’t an exceptionally good queen, she wasn’t any kind of a queen. But she found herself leaning into the caress anyway. And letting the joy at his heartfelt comment wrap around her heart.
His praise shouldn’t mean thi
s much to her, objectively she knew that. She didn’t want it to mean this much. But subjectively, she couldn’t stop herself from indulging that rejected child.
But then the needs of the woman came from nowhere. She pressed her palms to his broad chest, felt his pecs tense beneath his uniform.
His heart was beating in strong, steady punches. Her desire rose like a phoenix from the flames, making her want him so much it was almost painful.
He swore softly, then threaded his fingers into her hair and drew her face close to his. His mouth hovered over hers, tantalising, tempting, torturous.
‘Ask me,’ he demanded.
And so she did. ‘Kiss me.’
His mouth slanted across hers, capturing her tortured gasp. Their lips locked in a battle of dominance and submission. She opened for him, losing the war. The need became painful as it throbbed between her thighs. He clasped her head in his hands, holding her in place as he devoured each sob, each sigh, each groan.
The kiss was firm, seeking, commanding, but beneath the hunger was something more. Something both brutal and tender.
She needed this; she needed him. His praise, his validation, his acceptance.
She grasped his waist, wanting more, and he groaned.