by Pippa Roscoe
‘To me, or with me?’ he demanded.
‘Neither,’ she said, shaking her head helplessly. ‘We were children, Theo. You...you had your whole life ahead of you, to do what you wanted to do, to be who you wanted to be. And who you are now is incredible,’ she said, her eyes large and bright in her eyes.
Theo shook his head against her words, against the thought that she had been right. All this time he’d blamed her, hated her...
‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ he demanded, pain and anger making his words harsh on the soft summer breeze.
‘I couldn’t. Don’t you see? No one could know of my father’s diagnosis. The risk to the country, to its finances and its people...it was just too great. So I was taken back to Iondorra, and spent the next few years cramming in as much of the knowledge of a would-be ruler in the shortest amount of time possible.
‘It’s not like in the movies, where a simple makeover is enough. My wayward recklessness needed to be ironed out of me at every turn. It took years learning the rules, etiquette, languages, diplomacy needed to ensure the success of the throne. All the while keeping this secret. One that ate away at me each day.
‘Could you imagine what the world’s press would do with a sniff of hereditary early-onset dementia in the Iondorran royal family? They are tough enough on debauchery, let alone something as devastating as a genetic disease.’
‘You have been tested.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Yes. I don’t have it. The gene. Not that it means I won’t develop the same condition, but the chances are significantly less.’
‘So the injuries you sustained...’
She looked up at him then, her eyes matching the blue depths of the sky, large enough for him to see the sorrow, the pain and the frustration.
‘My father had a bad turn. He...we’d been managing his condition fairly well up until that point. But that night, he was...not the man I knew. He had been restless and demanded to see me. He wanted to know how I was managing a negotiation with the Hungarian consulate, but...that had been months before. The negotiation done and dusted. Only...he didn’t seem to remember that. He became frustrated and angry, furious even. I tried to calm him, but he saw it somehow as an attack, and he...he was just defending himself,’ she tried to explain. ‘The horror in his eyes, the moment he realised what he’d done...the guilt, shame...all of it was—’ she paused as if searching for the right words ‘—so awful.’
Theo tried to shake his thoughts into clarity, as if they were flakes within a snow globe, hoping that they’d settle into some kind of sense. But no matter how they ebbed and flowed, all he could think of was that he believed her. That he could see the pain and hardship she’d been through. But, worse than that, he’d begun to feel as if his anger and hatred towards her for what happened to him and his mother was masking something else. He felt as if he’d been hit by an avalanche of guilt and it was covering everything.
A huge, fat, tear-shaped raindrop thudded on the ground beside his feet. Then another, and another. In just seconds, the heavens had opened as if they were crying for them, for him, for a pain he couldn’t yet express.
Sofia looked up at him, seemingly heedless of the rain pouring down on her, and reached her hand to his hard jaw.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper amongst the pounding of the rain on the earth beneath them.
And in that instant, he honestly didn’t want to hear anything more. No words, no explanations, no apologies. He reached for her as his lips seized her with the same ferocity as that of the storm, drew her towards him as if she were the breath he needed to exist.
His tongue delved between soft, sweet lips and it wasn’t enough. He wanted it all. Desire drenched him as surely as the rain as he felt her body mould against his own, the firm jut of her breasts against his chest, and he pulled her even closer, his thumb tracing down her slender neck to her ribcage, snagging on her hip and anchoring her to him.
She gave him everything he demanded, gave herself completely over to him, until she began to tremble, and in turn he finally felt the stinging cold of the summer storm. He broke the kiss, glancing towards the main building, which was too far away. He grasped her hand.
‘Come with me,’ he said, asked, possibly even pleaded in that moment, as he took them towards the summer house nestled on the boundary of the vineyard.
CHAPTER NINE
SOFIA COULDN’T STOP SHAKING, even as she took a second step and a third into the small beautiful wooden summer house. She knew it wasn’t just because of the rain. She had never told anyone about her father. No one outside her mother, or her father’s carers. She had put her trust in Theo. And it had been terrifying, but she wouldn’t take it back. Not for a second.
She had seen him war with the truth of her words, with what it had meant for them all those years ago, and possibly even what it meant for them now. But she didn’t want to think about her father, or Iondorra. No. Now she wanted to lose herself, or find herself, she couldn’t say.
She turned to see Theo standing in the glass-fronted doorway, the fierce sky pouring rain down on the vineyard, casting everything else in dull grey, but Theo in full, bright glory. He looked like an avenging angel, dark hair even blacker than the night, his clothes drenched and clinging to the dips and hollows of his body as if he were a thing to be worshipped.
As he stalked towards her she fought the instinct to step back. She wouldn’t hide from this any more, hide from her desire, she was now focused on him completely, the one man, the only man she’d ever wanted. The only man who had seen her for who she truly was, before duty had moulded her into something new. Something other.
They reached for each other at the same time, colliding in need and passion and want. She felt the beat of her heart leap as his lips crashed against hers, as his hands cradled her head, angling her in a position that felt as much like surrender as it did defiance. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, filling her, consuming her, and she needed it. It was too much. She felt like laughing, like crying, as if she simply didn’t know which way was up or down any more, all she knew was him.
Her hands flew to his shoulders, large, solid, bigger than the breadth of her hands. Her nails dug into the thin, wet material covering his body and she wanted to feel skin, needed to. Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, but the tremors shaking her body made her actions too slow.
He released his hold on her, and she swayed from the loss, the support, the anchor of his body. She watched as he tore apart his shirt, buttons flying and scattering on the wooden floor, marvelling at the smooth planes of his chest, the soft whorls of damp hair clinging to a deeply tanned torso. As he reached for her she gazed, fascinated by the cords of muscles rippling from the movement, and reached out a hand tentatively. She wanted to touch, needed to, but...
He swept up her hand in his and placed it on his chest, on his heart, and looked at her with such intensity she could hardly bear the weight of it. She felt the beat of his heart, powerful, strong and fast, raging in time with her own. His skin was hot beneath her cool palms and she shuddered, wanting to feel that heat wrapped around her, fill her, warm the places of her that had been left cold the moment she left him standing at the boarding school all those years ago.
It was then that she knew what it felt like to be in the eye of the storm—the moment of shocking quiet stillness while chaos raged around them. The moment that life as she knew it would change. She knew that he was giving her this. This moment to walk away. To stop. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t.
She reached for him then, raising to her tiptoes to reach that proud, utterly sensual mouth of his, desperate to feel it against her own. Her hands explored his rain-slicked skin, delighting in the feel of his strength, his power. His hands cupped her backside and he lifted her off her feet, her legs wrapping round his lean waist as if they’d al
ways been meant to be there.
He backed up and sat them down on the large summer lounger, her knees anchoring against his hips, as he pulled at her silk top, freeing it from the waistband of her trousers, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside, snagging on the pins that held her hair in place and pulling it free as her long blonde hair hung down in thick, wet ropes about her shoulders. He stopped then and stared.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he said, placing open-mouthed kisses along her neck as she shivered under the feel of his tongue on her skin. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples, stiff with pleasure, and Sofia’s head fell back, relishing the feel of him, of what he was doing to her body, as he honoured her with his touch.
She gasped when he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked, teasing her with his tongue, his arm around her waist holding her in place against the onslaught of desire that threatened to overwhelm her.
Unconsciously she rocked against his lap, the hard ridge of his arousal at her core making her slick with need as much as the groan that fell from Theo’s lips.
‘You’re killing me here,’ he said, the words half huffed out on a laugh.
He pulled back, looking at her, his gaze taking its fill of her. He reached behind her, and began to unbuckle her sandals, first one, then the other. He took her foot in one hand and firmly pressed the entire length of the arch of each foot, sending delight and pleasure through her. He caressed her ankles beneath the wet linen of her trousers, encased her calf in powerful, calloused hands, rough against smooth, sensations overwhelming her. She moaned out loud and he cursed, wrapping one strong arm around her as he twisted them in an embrace and turned her back to the seat.
Her fingers fought against his to undo the button of her trousers, and, once done, he peeled them from her, slowly, languorously as if enjoying the unveiling as much as anything else. She couldn’t find the words to describe him. He was glorious. Shirtless, his chest was magnificent, and she watched with the same delight as he kicked off his shoes and removed his trousers without taking his eyes from hers once. She almost shook her head against the impossibility of seeing him standing there naked, proud, and every inch her fantasy. She began to tremble again, not with cold, not from the elements, but from the sheer virility that was Theo, the magnetism, just him.
* * *
Theo stood naked before the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. There she was, laid out before him like the last meal he’d ever taste, and he hovered on the brink of something indefinable, as if he didn’t know where to start.
He wrapped a hand around her ankle and gently pulled her so that she almost lay flat. He lifted her foot, pressed kisses against the delicate arch, the inside of her ankle, he made his way slowly, languorously along her calf, spreading her slightly to allow the space for his own body, as he trailed open-mouthed kisses over her thigh and upwards to the hollow at her hip. Her body quivered beneath his lips, and he dusted the gentle swell of her stomach with his tongue. He kissed over her ribcage, and bit back a smile as she twisted and bucked as if as overwrought by the pleasure they built between them as he was. He kissed between her perfect breasts as he moulded them with his hands, each kiss driving him closer to the brink of need and desperation. This wasn’t the angry coupling from the other night, this was honour, and respect, and desire building pathways to his heart that he’d never imagined.
He wanted to give her the greatest pleasure, as if he could make up for the ills he had thought her guilty of, the ills he had almost wreaked upon her. Because he realised now that he could not go through with his plan...he could no longer leave her at the altar humiliated and abandoned. Because beneath the ache and sting of what he had felt for Sofia was something deeper, darker and something he did not yet want to face.
She reached for him, as if pulling him back to the present, pulling him back to her, and he was more than willing to take the comfort she offered, even as he realised that it should have been the other way round. After what she had told him, it should be him soothing her hurts.
Leaning on his forearm, he looked down at her, the damp golden ropes of her hair framing her face, the exquisite perfection of it, and the way her head cocked to one side elongated her neck made him yearn to devour her there, the pulse point, the connection to life, the flutter there speaking of her need for him.
Wide, round, azure-blue eyes stared up at him in complete trust, and part of him wanted to shy away from that gaze, from the hope and innocence within it. Instead he followed the trail of his hands with his eyes as his fingers traced the outline of her ribcage, the pad of his thumb dipping into the hollow at her hip, his hand delving beneath her, curving around her backside to pull her against him, their centres flush, their cores both throbbing with need, and he released her only to sweep his hand low across the gentle swell of her abdomen and between her legs to find the place that drove her wild with ecstasy.
His thumb caressed and played with her clitoris, the sounds of her need rising higher than the pounding of the rain against the wooden roof of the gazebo, ringing vibrations over his skin through to his very soul. This time he would not tease her, keeping her at the brink of an orgasm. No, he would drench her in as much pleasure as she could take, and then more.
He thrust into her with his fingers, feeling the walls of her body clench around them, again and again, all the while his body aching with need, an ache he felt he deserved to bear even though it was Sofia that cried out, Sofia’s body that trembled beneath him, incomprehensible words begging and pleading falling from her perfect lips. He wanted to kiss them, to consume them with his own mouth, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop watching how beautiful she was when she came apart in his arms.
* * *
It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Sofia’s body, still vibrating with the power of the orgasm Theo had pulled from her very soul, still wanted more. It wanted him and wouldn’t be denied. Her hands reached for him, drawing him down upon her, and finally, as if they were puzzle pieces fitting together, she felt some kind of completion as he placed the tip of himself at her core, and as he thrust into her deeply she felt stripped bare, vulnerable and powerful at the same time, as if she had stolen something from him to bolster her own sense of self.
The thickness of him filled her completely, the smooth hardness within her she was afraid she was already addicted to. He reached beneath her, bringing their bodies to a place where he could drive into her with more power, more delicious friction, just more... And she gasped, the air almost lodging in her throat, her heart as they became joined at the deepest, closest part of themselves. Was this what she had turned away from all those years ago? This impossible to describe sense of rightness, sense of wholeness? It was the last thought she had as he drove her closer and closer to a second orgasm—and with no need for silence or discretion, with no need for secrecy she cried out her release into his mouth as his lips came down on hers with the same desperation, the same craving that she could no longer resist.
* * *
Walking back through the vineyards as the sun hung low in the sky, slashes of pink against the cornflower-blue creating a stunning sight, Sofia wondered at the warmth and safety she felt as Theo wound his arm around her waist, holding her to his side. Their clothes still damp from the rain storm that had caught them by surprise, she almost welcomed the rough feeling, knowing what pleasures it had led to. She knew that they would have to return to Iondorra tomorrow for the charity gala, which—even though only a week before their wedding—she wouldn’t have cancelled for the world. Her role as patron for Gardes des Enfants d’Iondorra—a charity that supported child carers—had given her the first glimpse she’d had that her royal status could be a positive thing—could help and support something both wider and yet smaller and more immediate than anything her ‘duties’ could effect.
But for the first time she was torn. Torn between her duty and wanting to stay here in this magica
l bubble where the outside world didn’t exist and where she and Theo were finally feeling as one, feeling right, as if this was how it should have been all along.
She laughed out loud, then, when she felt the gentle vibrations at her side from the phone in Theo’s pocket—both at the feeling, and the contradiction of her thoughts of it just being the two of them cut off from the rest of the world. But when Theo joined in her breath caught—she had forgotten what he had looked like when he smiled, when they laughed together, and the sight was...incredible, full of hope for the future and the pull of nostalgia from the past.
‘Nai?’ he said, still laughing as he answered the phone.
Trying not to feel a little stab of hurt when he pulled away from her to speak into his phone, she forced herself to tune out the conversation and turned her mind to tomorrow...to the future. With him? Married to Theo Tersi? After all that had happened to them years ago, and since?
Unconsciously she had walked forward, tracing her steps back towards the stunning hotel hidden amongst the rows and rows of grapevines that stretched as far as she could see. The little narrow lanes created between them were barely enough for one person to step along.
She felt Theo behind her, the heat of him, the awareness...
‘That was my mother,’ he announced, disconnecting the phone.
‘Oh?’ She’d hoped her word sounded nonchalant rather than...what, worried? Intrigued? How much did his mother know about what had happened between them? What on earth must she think of her?
‘She has invited us for dinner this evening. If that’s okay?’
Sofia pulled every one of her concerns beneath the well-worn mask she used almost daily for her royal duties. ‘Of course that’s okay. I would love to meet her,’ she said genuinely, all the while hoping that Theo’s mother didn’t hate her quite as much as she hated herself for what she had done to Theo all those years ago.
