I end the call and snip the last threads of connection to my father. The pain in my chest recedes, leaving a dull ache, like I’ve plucked an arrow from my heart and left behind an empty hole in its place. I give the prince a small smile, hiding the devastation in my heart.
He studies me in silence. No matter how hard I try, I can’t deny the pull of his enigmatic gaze. After a few agonizing seconds, he rests a hip on the chair arm beside him and folds his arms over his broad chest. “You might be the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”
“Or the dumbest.” I head toward the attached dining room to gain much-needed breathing space. Henry keeps a respectful distance. The aura of power and sexual prowess surrounding him makes coherent thought difficult. He hovers near the credenza. The way his protective gaze follows me elicits warring emotions of desire and rebellion. Whatever his reasons for coming here, I can't deny that I like his attention.
This is my favorite room, a place for friends and family to gather on starry summer nights or chilly wintry evenings. Bright sunlight spills through the glass to form colorful yellow puddles on the hardwood floor. I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face. For a heartbeat, I pretend everything is normal. When I open my eyes, reality returns. This is my life. Or what’s left of it.
My heart stops at the sight of a red laser dot on the wall. Henry’s gaze follows mine. Real fear drains the color from his face. He's at my side within seconds. His fingers encircle my bicep. With a firm tug, he pulls me to his side, into the shadows of the hallway.
"It's okay," he says, as much to himself as to me. The dot disappears. Maybe it was refracted light from one of the leaded glass windows or a reflection from a car on the street.
“I’ll never be safe.” Seeking comfort from the ugly truth, I wrap my arms around my waist. “He’ll come for me, and there’s nowhere I can go.” Although this incident was a fluke, the next time could be real. Henry tightens his grip on my arm. He pulls me toward the hall.
“We’re leaving. Now.” With a hand on the small of my back, he nudges me into the bedroom. “Just grab the necessities. I’ll send someone to pack the rest of your things.” He talks on his phone in German while I toss an armload of dresses, toiletries, and a framed photo of Rourke into a suitcase. I’m too rattled to translate his conversation, but I pick up on words like urgent, danger, and security. Within minutes, we’re being escorted to the parking garage by his bodyguards. He speaks to me in a soothing, confident tone as we’re hustled into one of three waiting SUVs. “Do you have your phone? Give it to me.”
Numbness blankets my thoughts and feelings. I place the phone in his hand. He gives it to one of his bodyguards. “Wait. What are you doing?” I reach for the phone, but it’s too late. The man crushes it beneath his boot heel.
Henry takes my outstretched hand into his. “We’ll get you another one.”
The cavalcade races toward his hotel—or crawls, according to the whims of midday traffic. Streets and buses and storefronts blur into streaks of color. I can feel my old life slipping away with each passing city block. I scan the faces of the pedestrians, looking for a potential hitman who’s eager to extinguish my lifeforce for a sum of money.
“You’re trembling.” Henry slips out of his suit jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. “Don’t be frightened. You’re safe. I give you my word.”
Something tells me he doesn’t give his word often, but when he does, he means it. My instincts tell me that I can count on him. What choice do I have? Even my personal assistant ditched me—via a text this morning—claiming she's too overwhelmed by the media storm to continue. I clutch the edges of the jacket, wishing I could curl into a ball and lick my wounds. The scent of his cologne clings to the linen. The lining still holds his body heat. "Thank you. I don't know why you're so nice.”
“I could never turn my back on a damsel in distress, especially one as beautiful as you.” His knee brushes mine when he leans back in his seat.
Gooseflesh ripples along my thigh. His tall frame overpowers the spacious interior of the vehicle. I give in to desire and lean into the crook of his arm. He holds me there and presses a light kiss to my temple.
Once we’re safely inside his hotel suite, I’m overcome with nerves. My suitcase is taken to the smaller guest bedroom. Through the open door of Henry’s master suite, the king-size bed beckons. A blush heats my cheeks. What price will I have to pay for my life? Another night with the Crown Prince of Androvia wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen. In fact, the thought of his body on top of mine makes me tingle in all the right places.
“Everly?” The way Henry says my name suggests he’s called me more than once.
“Yes?” I pray he can’t read my thoughts.
“I’m going to meet with my staff. Will you be alright?” Concern warms his voice. “I can send someone in to sit with you.”
“Yes. I’ll be fine.” I nod and smooth my hands over my skirt. His thoughtfulness stirs unwelcome desires.
“Make yourself at home. We’ll dine in tonight.” An air of command swirls around him as his broad back turns toward me.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a bath. A long soak sounds heavenly.” Despite my frazzled nerves, I managed to notice the enormous jetted tub on my brief tour of the suite. Nothing heals the soul like the heat of a good bath.
“That’s a great idea.” At the door, he bows and disappears into the conference room adjoining the sitting area.
18
EVERLY
I fill the tub to the top with steaming water, fragrant lavender bath salts, and bubbles from the hotel spa, and slide beneath the surface up to my chin. My limbs float weightlessly. The sensation is delicious and seductive. I focus on my breathing, letting the tension ease from my neck and back. A nice bath has been a part of my evening ritual since I was a teenager, but lately, I’ve been too busy. Now I realize how much I’ve missed the quiet slosh of the water and the scent of herbs and essential oils.
When the bath cools, I pull the drain before adding more hot water. I do this several times, partly because it's heavenly and partly because I have no idea what to do with myself once I'm done. The question is answered for me when Henry knocks on the bathroom door. "Everly, are you okay?”
His deep voice startles me. I sit up, splashing foam over the side. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“Are you decent? Can I come in?”
My nipples tighten into stiff nubs at the idea of being naked in front of His Royal Highness. “Um, I’m in the tub.”
“I promise to behave.” The door opens a few inches.
I slide beneath the surface, arranging the bubbles to hide my nudity. His gaze slides from my knees breaking the surface to the drops of water glistening on my shoulders. A pulse of desire hits me between the legs, sharp enough to make me sink the edges of my teeth into my lower lip.
When his eyes reach mine, they’re dark and hooded. “You’ve been in here a long time. I was concerned.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
“Is your meeting finished?” The way his attention lingers on my mouth brings a second flutter between my legs.
“About fifteen minutes ago.” The tip of his tongue drags along his lips. The gesture is seductive and primal, like he’s dying for a taste of me. “I’d like to discuss a few things with you before dinner.”
“Sure. Can you hand me that robe?”
“Of course.” He takes the plush velour from its hook and places it in my outstretched hand. His gaze remains locked with mine, never dipping to the water. Although his tone is casual, tension outlines the sharp angle of his jaw. “I’ll see you in the sitting room.”
Stress creeps back into my muscles. What if something’s wrong? What if he’s changed his mind? I have no Plan B to fall back on. I take my time getting dressed, lingering over the damp strands of my hair, twisting them into a loose braid at the back of my neck. When I return to the sitting room, Henry is standing next to the fireplace, eyebr
ows drawn together. The sun has dropped in the sky, casting long shadows over the city. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
“It was worth it.” His gaze slides over my breasts and hips. I chose a sapphire blue wrap dress that compliments my curves. Nothing is revealing about the V-neckline or the mid-length hemline, but the heat in his eyes cuts through the filmy fabric.
“Thank you.” With each passing moment, I’m more and more convinced that he’s going to expect sex in exchange for his protection, a price I’m willing to pay. He’s virile, cocky, and oozing sexuality.
“Have a seat.” He gestures to the chair in front of him.
“Do you mind if I have a drink while we talk?” The crystal decanter of liquor on the bar draws my attention. I’ve never been a serious drinker, but now might be the time to reconsider sobriety.
“Yes, I mind.”
I draw back, startled by his direct refusal.
He takes my hand and leads me to the chair. “Sit. I need you sober and in complete possession of your faculties for this conversation.”
Panic sucks the moisture from my mouth. Something’s wrong. Maybe he’s going to rescind his offer. Shit. I should’ve come up with a better plan than nothing. I muster a smile before balancing on the edge of the chair. “Sure.”
He’s changed from his suit into a black sweater. The clingy knit outlines the swells and dips of a taut abdomen and bulging pectoral muscles. I clear my throat and try not to stare. His movements are slow and deliberate as he relaxes into the cushions of his chair. “I have a proposition for you, Everly. It might sound a bit unorthodox, but it’s a serious offer, and I’d like you to consider it as such.”
"Alright. I'm listening." Defensive hackles lift on my neck. He's been a perfect gentleman all day. Then again, my judgment of men has always been weak. At this moment, I miss Rourke more than ever. She's always been a voice of reason for me.
“My father passed away this morning.”
“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Even as I speak the words, I realize how useless the gesture is. I’m in no position to help anyone. “I feel so selfish.” I’ve been so consumed with my own problems that I failed to ask about his welfare. “Are you okay?” In a way, I’ve lost my father too.
“I’m fine. Thank you. I appreciate your offer, and yes, there is something you can do.” He slides forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, leaning toward me. A shiver runs down my back, one filled with heat. My skin sizzles under the light caress of his fingertips over my knee. His intense gaze draws me in. My body angles toward him. “When I arrive in Androvia tomorrow, I’ll be king, but only if I’m married.”
My brain races to keep up. He’s getting married. Once again, I’ve misread his signals. He’s not attracted to me; he's kind. “You have a fiancée, and I'm in the way." How awkward. To my surprise, I'm more than a little disappointed. Of course, he's got someone. He's too yummy to be single. “It might be a little awkward, but I can stay out of your way.”
“No, I’m not engaged.” He strokes his chin, expression pensive. “And I need to be. I thought I’d have time to find someone suitable. Now, I’m down to the wire. There are a few candidates, but I find most of them untenable at best.”
“You mean, love isn’t an option for you.” A life free of romantic entanglements sounds liberating. The full impact of his words hits me. “Wait. You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting. Are you?”
“Listen to me, Everly.” He takes my hands in his. “You’re smart, philanthropic, and well-educated. You speak five languages—”
“Six,” I interject.
“You understand diplomatic protocol, and you’re not intimidated by powerful people. The events of the past twenty-four hours have proven that.”
I can't stop staring at his thumb as it strokes the back of my hand. The roughness of his palms contradicts with the shine of his well-manicured nails. I can’t help flashes of how his hands felt on the insides of my thighs or cupping my breasts. His touch distracts me from the agenda behind his words. “You know a lot about me.”
“Enough.” The fabric of his slacks whispers over the velvet sofa cushions as he slides closer. His knees bracket mine. “Marry me, Everly.” His thumb swirls around my knuckle, over the blue vein, down to my wrist. Back. Down. Over. Each stroke elicits a new round of tingles between my legs. The moment it stops, his words hit home.
“Are you crazy?” I press a hand on my sternum to calm the erratic rhythm of my heart.
“My staff certainly thinks so.” He squeezes my hands enough to focus my attention.
“We don’t know each other. We aren’t in love.”
“That’s what makes the situation ideal. This is a business arrangement. I need someone who can handle herself without the mess of emotions. You’re more than qualified. In fact, you’re perfect.” His words buzz inside my head, eddying with the powerful buzz of desire. “I know this is unconventional but think about it. You have nothing holding you here. You can come to Androvia and start over as my queen. You’ll have the protection of an entire nation. I’m offering you wealth and power beyond your wildest dreams. As my consort, you’ll be able to champion the charities of your choice. You can change laws. You can make a difference.” The low, hypnotic cadence of his voice seduces me in ways I’ve never imagined possible. “We can make a difference.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” Say yes. The sinful reply hovers on my lips.
“If things were different, I’d wine and dine you, shower you with gifts, court you properly, but time has run out.” The earnestness in his eyes plummets to the pit of my stomach. “Be my wife.” My head swims with the intoxicating proposal. “No one will ever disrespect you again. You can flip a big, fat middle finger at your father. Think about it, Everly. All you have to do is say yes.”
19
EVERLY
My mind races with a thousand reasons to refuse his offer, but another part of me—the reckless, heartbroken, angry part—rushes to accept. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Like I’ve hit the husband lottery. With his status as a platform, I could start a new philanthropic organization to help the disadvantaged. Charity has always been a massive part of my life. At the age of fifteen, I started a foundation for homeless horses and progressed to helping the victims of sex trafficking by the age of nineteen. Although my mother claims the Wings of Freedom Foundation as her own, the idea was mine. Years of hard work have made the charity successful. I hate to toss my efforts aside, but there’s no way in hell I’ll partner with her again, even for such a worthy cause.
“The wheels of your brain are turning. I see it in your eyes.” One corner of his mouth curls in a smirk. “What are your dreams, Everly? Tell me, and I’ll make them a reality.” The color of his irises morphs from dancing blue-green to soft azure.
I stare into their depths, desperate to read his thoughts. If he’s sincere, I’d be a fool to turn away his help. “I want to help the less fortunate. I want to provide resources for the poverty-stricken. Give aid to those in need. Offer hope to the disadvantaged.”
The warmth of his hands heats my palms, travels up my forearms, and settles in my chest. He inches closer. The scent of his cologne wafts between us, subtle yet uniquely him. “You can create a new foundation to replace the one with your mother.” The smooth fabric of his slacks tickles against my bare knees. “I’ll make a start-up contribution. Say, five hundred thousand?”
I’ve been around business people long enough to know we’ve passed the offer stage and progressed into bargaining. My mind races through overhead, staffing, and campaign costs. “I’ll need two million.”
“One-point-five.” His answer comes back immediately, like he was prepared for my counteroffer.
“I want a salary.” If things go wrong, the extra money will help set up a new life. My hands shake with increasing ferocity until he draws them to his thighs. The muscles beneath my palms are hard and sculpted. “Not money fr
om the foundation. From you.”
“You’ll have access to an account with unlimited funds for your personal needs. Androvia might be small, but it’s one of the wealthiest countries in Europe. Of course, our children will have a sizable trust, and the firstborn son will inherit the throne.”
“Children?” The word is a faint echo in the large hotel suite. My heart does a ridiculous dance. I’ve always wanted a family. My ovaries swoon at the prospect of royal babies.
“Yes, Everly. We’ll need to have sex. It’s a requirement.” His gaze dips to my mouth before flitting back to my eyes. “One I’ll enjoy very much.”
Lord have mercy. An unexpected flutter hits me between the legs. I dig the edges of my teeth into the left side of my cheek to stop a gasp. The prospect of having his large body on top of mine, dominating me, schooling me on sex, sends heat rushing to the tips of my toes. It takes every ounce of my waning self-control to focus on something other than the sensual way he licks his lips.
His thumb resumes its leisurely exploration of my hand. “You already understand my need for control in the bedroom. I’ll expect you to submit to me sexually whenever—wherever—I ask. That part is non-negotiable.”
Oh, God. The pulsing of my pussy destroys the last bits of reasoning ability. “This power-play thing is new to me. What if I decide I don’t enjoy it?” It’s a stupid question. Everything about him, from the sensual curve of his mouth to the aura of sin in his eyes, reeks of sexual prowess. And if our previous encounters are any indication, he has much more to show me.
He edges forward, moving with predatory slowness, like he doesn’t want to scare me. One of his hands slips to the back of my head. He wraps the length of my braid around his wrist then digs his fingers into my nape. A startled gasp pops from my lips. He's so close now. The heat of his breath puffs against my face. My ragged breathing breaks the silence in the room. I swallow, fighting to maintain control.
The Royal Arrangement: Prequel to The Rebel Queen Page 12
