by J Santiago
James smiled. “Definitely me too.”
His agreement drew Tristan up short. He’d been about to leave, to show his indignation on Ele’s behalf, but instead, he dropped onto the arm of his seat.
“You’re not a normal person, Mr. Davenport.”
Tristan tilted his head, waiting for the punch line.
“If you were to start dating someone, what might that person need to be prepared for? Paps, photographs, other women making claims. When you live the lives we do, no action can be taken, no new people brought into your orbit without some forethought, some planning.” James didn’t speak for a moment. He took another sip of his drink, ever observant. “For Ele, it’s even more amplified. She’s going to do what she wants because she’s stubborn as hell. But she’ll never rock the boat. No matter what happens between the two of you, duty comes first.”
Tristan considered this. In James’s words existed either a warning or a demand, but damn if he could figure out what the prince was trying to convey.
“Are you trying to warn me away?”
“Would I be able to?”
Hell no!
“No.”
“Right. I didn’t think so.”
For whatever reason, despite whatever machinations happened, in spite of her brother—the crown prince—and her position as second in line for the throne, Tristan wanted her. The intrigue and the sneaking around made it all that more exciting. Perhaps that was all it was.
He was counting on it.
8
18 June
The Michigan Inn
Ele hurried from the elevator into the suite. Tossing her clutch on the end table, she kicked off her heels and began unbuttoning the lilac dress she had worn to the children’s hospital. She crossed into the living room through the foyer, her second button undone, when she pulled up short.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes wide.
She turned back to Robert. With a quick smile and a wink, he closed the door behind her.
Tristan, rocking black joggers and a national team T-shirt, was sprawled on the couch. An abandoned pair of trainers lay at the foot of the sofa, and an empty canister sat on the coffee table. He smiled lazily at her. “Waiting for you.”
She left the buttons undone and sat down on the chair opposite him. “I didn’t get to watch a moment of the match, but I know you won five to one. And you started. Cheers!”
He pushed up into a sitting position and dropped his elbows on his thighs, cutting the distance between them. “Aye.”
“You must be exhausted. We don’t have to do … this … tonight.”
He tilted his head. “Hmm,” he hummed.
The weight of his stare settled on her, and heat spread through her body.
“I don’t really know how to be anything but direct, so what exactly is this?”
Flustered, Ele glanced away from him.
Since her conference with the queen, Ele had contemplated a moment like this. She’d, of course, cast about a number of scenarios, none of them involving him spread out in casual clothes while she was perched in a chair, fresh from playing princess all day. And in not one scenario had he asked what this meant. Because she didn’t want to have to explain it. In these situations, didn’t the two people just get on with it? Did she really have to tell him she wanted him, wanted to be with him, for a short period? How did one negotiate a fling?
When she didn’t respond, he stood.
Ele had spent her childhood participating in dance and etiquette classes, a campaign to make her movements always appear elegant and flowing. Tristan had grown up on a football pitch, and he managed to move with a grace she would never attain.
He walked around and sat on the coffee table. His legs were long enough to invade the space in front of her. His proximity was like oxygen on a fire; Ele’s desire flared, and her pulse quickened. She inhaled a startled breath, and Tristan ran his finger along the line of her jaw. A light, quick touch, and it left her breathless. His eyes followed the path of his finger. When it reached her chin, he raised it, making sure she was looking directly at him.
“I’ve spent more time talking to your personal protection officer and your brother about you than I have talking to you. I’m here.” His thumb swept across her lip, and he watched it trace the path. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, merely a brush. “You need to tell me what you want.”
“You spoke to my brother?” she asked with surprise.
“You didn’t know?”
“No. What exactly did he say?”
“Ele, stop deflecting. Talk to me.”
She closed her eyes to break the link between them. “I want to be here with you. While we can be together, I want to do that.” She blinked.
“So, just a shag?”
Ele’s face reddened. It sounded so ordinary, and perhaps it was. Maybe, for once in her life, she could experience something normal. She nodded in agreement. Just a shag. Except …
“But maybe not singular,” she qualified.
Tristan laughed, and the tension between them fell away. “No, definitely not singular. Maybe not even singular tonight.” He winked at her. Standing, he held out his hand. “Well then, let’s get to it.”
She reached out to take his hand, but she couldn’t stop the widening of her eyes or the bottoming out in her belly. Her cheeks heated with chagrin, certainly, and maybe excitement. Then, Tristan burst out laughing, and she found herself fighting a shy smile.
“I’m kidding, E. Come on then. I’m starved.”
She put her hand in his, and he gently pulled her up. With his free hand, he traced the opening of her dress, the interrupted wardrobe change. The touch of his finger on her skin sent a delicious tingle through her. He lingered for a brief second, Ele’s body responding at the slightest provocation. Then, he drew away, allowing space to creep in between them.
They ambled toward the kitchen.
“Our chef made dinner. Do you not have a certain diet to follow?” she asked, trying to focus on anything other than what was to come.
“Aye. I had my recovery shake. I know what my body needs to replenish after a game. Is there some protocol we have to follow to eat?”
She nodded.
“I figured. What are my options then?”
“Robert will get it, if that’s okay.”
Tristan nodded, and Ele walked to the door, rapping on it once. Robert opened it and stepped inside.
“Can you get us dinner?”
“It’s on its way.”
Ele returned to the living area, and Tristan followed. She considered sitting in the chair, to ensure distance, but beelined for the sofa instead. Tristan did not disappoint as he sat in the corner of the couch. He swung his leg behind her and pulled her into the cradle of his thighs. She stiffened until her back hit his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. When his thumb caressed her, she relaxed, practically melting into him. His nose nudged her nape, and then his lips landed at the base of her skull and ran along the length of her neck. Her whole body tuned into him—her toes curled, her thighs quivered, her lungs stuttered, her fingers tightened, her eyes fluttered, her lips parted.
Then, he began to talk, and everything heated.
“This dress, so sexy.” He inhaled and then moved to below her ear and pulled in another deep breath. “Your scent. I bet I could identify you in a stadium of thousands just by the smell of your skin.”
Ele fought to breathe evenly, but with the quivering of her stomach and the warmth of his body surrounding her, thinking became difficult. Tristan found her ear and gently bit down on the lobe, and Ele moaned. He chuckled, the sound of it skittering across her throat.
“That’s it,” he teased, dropping open-mouthed kisses on her neck. “What happens to that posh accent of yours when I make you scream?”
She shuddered and maybe moaned again. She couldn’t keep up with the sensations coasting through her, the way she reacted to every movement he made, ev
ery word he uttered. His hand gripped her chin and turned her head. Then, his mouth was on hers. The light teasing of the previous minutes gave way to a devouring kiss, as if he’d worked himself up as much as he affected her. His tongue licked at the seam of her mouth, and when she opened, he dived in, ravaging her. She wanted to turn, to wrap her arms and legs around him, but he held her in place, one arm wrapped around her body, the other holding her head exactly where he wanted it.
She had no notion of the length of the kiss, but when an insistent knock sounded, Tristan ended it. He pulled away, and in a move she couldn’t begin to understand, he was over the back of the couch, headed for the door. Ele swung her feet to the floor and leaned back, letting her head drop. Robert preceded a waiter with a cart of food. Ele knew she looked like she’d been kissed, but Robert’s expression was as composed as ever. She joined Tristan when the door closed, but he was already lifting the silver lids from the plates and inspecting the food.
“This looks amazing,” he remarked as she sat.
“I’m sure you are famished,” she said. Then, remembering his whispered words about her accent and her screaming, she blushed.
He winked and shot her a lopsided smile, like she’d telegraphed her thoughts. “I’m hungry but a bit distracted now.”
“Eat,” she instructed.
She poured a glass of wine, definitely too nervous to eat. But she forced herself to cut the pan-roasted salmon and fork it into her mouth. They were quiet while they ate, and Ele relished the opportunity to regroup. The intensity of their make-out session scared her. Every muscle, bone, tendon in her body responded to him. She didn’t have any idea how to get control of her responses, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. But being out of control wasn’t something Ele could allow. Those heady moments, while completely freeing, could also trigger panic.
“Tell me about the match,” she said when it looked like Tristan had plowed through most of his plate.
His widening smile captivated Ele. Pushing his plate away, he placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “As a kid, you dream about moments like today. Playing at this level, for your country. It’s the unattainable goal.” His eyes went a little unfocused. “Every footballer wants to be there. We’ve all fantasized about it. And I lived it today.” He laughed, full-bodied. “It was fucking amazing.”
Charmed, Ele grinned. “I wish I could have been there.”
He tilted his head, a move she was beginning to recognize was as natural for him as his cheeky grin. “Why weren’t you?” The euphoria remained in his expression; there was no judgment, even as she realized she was disappointed she missed the match.
“Jamie went.”
His brow creased. “So?”
Ele never had to explain protocol. Surrounded by people familiar with palace politics and history, she assumed everyone understood. She fiddled with her plate, trying to figure out how much she wanted to say. It was obvious Tristan didn’t concern himself with the royal family, and while it was refreshing, it was also a bit daunting. If you took away her lineage, who was she?
“Well, outside of our country, Jamie and I never appear in public together.”
“Really?” His expression gave away his confusion and perhaps disbelief.
“Really.”
“Never?”
“Never. It’s protocol. Jamie is the crown prince, as you know, next in line for the throne. But I’m number two. The spare, if you will. Therefore, outside of our borders, we do not travel together or appear together or stay together.” There were other things, private things, she could never share with Tristan about royal duty and her duty specifically. But this piece was public knowledge. “If Jamie’s schedule permits, since football is his thing, he will be at the games. I will only be there if he cannot.”
Tristan sat back in his chair. “That’s a bummer then.”
Ele nodded. It was a bummer. She realized she wanted to be there at his games, to see him doing what he loved. When he spoke of playing, he wore a different expression, and she desperately wanted to see it firsthand.
“Jamie’s schedule has more interruptions than mine, so there is always a chance I’ll get to see you play.”
“I’d like that,” he remarked. “I’d like knowing you were there, watching me.”
Their eyes met.
“Would you?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“You know I would”—then the tilt—“don’t you?”
Ele swallowed. She hadn’t, but having him say it almost had the same effect on her as his drugging kisses. Her gaze went a little hazy, and her stomach flipped.
“I do now.”
“Good.” He looked around the table. “Do we need to clear this?”
She shook her head.
“I figured.” He pushed his chair back and stood, holding out his hand to her. “Come on.”
She placed her hand in his. She loved that he seemed to always want to touch her and take her with him. The few times they’d been together, he’d never left a room or moved without reaching for her.
Instead of leading her down the hall to the bedroom, he took her back to the living area. He stopped in front of one of the chairs and waited for her to sit. He was about to sit in the chair opposite but turned back to the dining area. When he reappeared, he handed her the wineglass. With a bottle of water in his other hand, he sat down.
“I know you’re a planner and your schedule is important to you”—he shrugged—“which means I know you’ve gone over this in your head hundreds of times.”
Ele appreciated his perceptive nature. Little actions he’d taken, like the day he’d saved her from the horrific panic attack, offering his hand when she hadn’t known she needed to hold it. So, she wasn’t necessarily surprised by his statement.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
She knew what he was asking.
“I’m here for the duration of the tournament as a representative of our country and a backup for the delegation if needed.”
Tristan nodded. He was leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his gaze intent on hers. His singular focus, instead of making her nervous, made her brave.
“I want to spend as much time with you as possible. When you can. Between your games, when you get free time.”
His face lit up with the same lopsided grin he had worn when he spoke about his match.
“I want that too. It won’t be a ton of time, but when I can, I would like to be with you.”
She was flying.
He scooted forward, his knees touching hers. “I need to ask you something else.”
He was already reaching out a hand to intertwine their fingers, grounding her. She nodded, holding his gaze.
“Have you done this before? Slept with someone?”
Her face blushed red and hot. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tight.
Indignant, she flung out, “Are you asking if I’m a virgin?”
He shrugged. “Are you?”
“No!”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he consoled.
“I’m not a virgin. I’ve had relationships.”
“How many?”
“I …” she sputtered, embarrassed, mad. “That’s none of your business.”
“It kind of is my business if we’re about to sleep together.”
“Are you going to tell me how many women you’ve been with?”
“Absolutely not,” he answered quickly, confidently, like there was nothing wrong with his questions and his refusal to answer.
“How’s that fair?”
“I could lose my head for debasing a princess, especially one who’s a virgin.”
Then, he grinned, a mischievous lift of his mouth, and Ele realized he was totally messing with her.
She laughed. “Two,” she said.
“Not as many as you think,” he answered.
“Ready to add one more to your list?” she quipped.
He pulled her to her
feet and kissed her quick on the corner of her mouth. “Those others aren’t fit to be on any list with you.”
9
18 June
The Michigan Inn
Tristan let Ele lead him, holding on to her hand. He was still grinning after their exchange. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, but he had to know about her history. When her face flushed as red as his kit, he realized how much he’d embarrassed her. He couldn’t think of how to return them to their easy camaraderie. Teasing her had been the only way.
He had no idea what emotion he liked best on her. She carried off the posh princess, exuding confidence and power. Her anger turned her icy-blue eyes into flashing orbs, and he admired her innate defenses. But her relaxed persona, the one he’d coaxed out of her moments ago, made him burn with some emotion he didn’t know how to name.
She released his hand when they entered the bedroom. She began to unbutton her dress, picking up where she’d left off when she spotted him lounging on her couch. The third button came apart, and Tristan was gifted with a flash of light lace and the subtle curve of her breast. He stared, transfixed. With a confidence he only noticed when she was in tiara mode, she continued to undress. His eyes followed the line of her body as the dress opened in tantalizing waves, giving his hungry gaze ample skin to devour. Until looking wasn’t enough.
His brown hands trailed up her torso, a dark swath in the caramel cream of her skin, parting the dress further until it slipped over her shoulders and fluttered to the floor. He stroked upward, along the curve of her neck until he cupped her chin, and then tangled his fingers into her hair. Tristan dropped his head and followed the path with his nose, breathing in the scent of her skin. His mouth and teeth nibbled and tasted, nipped and tried until his lips met hers in a tender prelude. His tongue dipped inside. One small sample. But then Ele opened her mouth, giving in to his gentle onslaught.
Tristan got carried away in her response, upping the ante, walking her backward, searching inevitably for the bed behind her. He forgot his vow to take it slow, to ease her into this. He’d believed her when she said she’d done this before. She wasn’t inexperienced in the act. But there was a hesitant innocence in her kiss, and Tristan’s dick answered before his head could get back in the game.
