Claiming the Royal Innocent (Kingdoms & Crowns)

by Jennifer Hayward

  What plagued her as Aristos seated her at the candlelit table for two on the edge of the large formal dining room, in the cooling breeze of the sea, was that she was afraid he was right. That if he’d done what he’d said, she might not have protested, might have been unbearably excited instead. And that was a head-scratcher, given what she knew of Aristos’s reputation. Given the fact that Sebastien hadn’t been able to persuade her into bed with him during their yearlong relationship, her boyfriend resorting to asking her to marry him in an attempt to get her there.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d been waiting for. Lizzie and Darcy’s spark-strewn courtship? Gatsby’s grand obsession with Daisy? Or perhaps the inescapable attraction she felt toward Aristos—as if a magnet kept pulling her toward him no matter how hard she tried to escape. Made worse by the fact that now she knew he had a heart. That the man behind the stunning good looks was one who cared enough to pluck two strangers off the street, one in Rio and one in Las Vegas, pay for their education and give them a job on Larikos, his most exclusive property. A second lease on life...

  He liked to paint himself as the devil beyond redemption, but he was far more than that. It was dangerous to even let herself go there; she knew it as she lifted the glass Aristos had refilled and sipped her wine. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “What about your reading?” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them with a return to their earlier discussion. “You said you love to read. Why not literacy as a cause? Youth illiteracy is a major issue. You could team up with Stella on activities...”

  She thought about it. She had never thought of her reading that way, as a privilege, when in fact, it was. For her, a story that transported her to another world had always been a part of her life. Her mother had taught her English as a little girl, considering it an invaluable skill. The nook in her family’s hotel where guests left their discarded books had become her gold mine. And yet not everyone had been granted that privilege, even for critical, life-sustaining purposes.

  “I love that idea,” she said quietly, recognizing it as the peace offering it was.

  “Then use the time here to pick a short list of organizations you might like to work with.”

  She would. She attempted to focus on her salad as a silence fell between them again. More peaceful this time. But she found her appetite had waned. Or was it just difficult to concentrate on anything with Aristos sitting across a candlelit table from her? When it looked as if he had been poured into the white T-shirt and dark blue jeans he had on, his current level of intensity only making him that much hotter.

  “Enough about me,” she said, offering a peace branch of her own. “What’s been keeping you up at night?”

  An amused expression crossed his face. He sat back in his chair, his wineglass cradled in his palm. “The list is too numerous to bore you with.”

  “You have to be worried about the casino.”

  “Yes, but much of that is out of my control. All I can do is try to convince my investors there is no need to worry.”

  “And is that working?”

  “Most seem fine. One in particular, Dimitri Smirnov, a Russian oligarch, seems shaky. I’ve invited him to come to Larikos for the poker game, so I can firm him up.”

  Her stomach sank. “Which you could be doing now if you weren’t babysitting me.”

  He shot her a reproving look. “We’ve had this conversation.”

  Yes, but she hated that she was standing in the way of something so important. “How does the game work?” she asked. “Who gets to come?”

  “I thought you found my profession distasteful, Princess.”

  She sighed. “Hector Rigatos, my best friend’s father, lost all his family’s money gambling in Las Vegas. I know it’s an extreme case, but that’s why I have a problem with gambling. And could you please stop calling me Princess? You know very well I dislike it.”

  “There are some unfortunate cases like that,” he acknowledged. “Most people, however, learn to enjoy responsibly. As for calling you Princess,” he drawled, “I like it. I find it reminds me who you are.”

  As if he’d forgotten for one second. She shook her head. “How long has the game been going on?”

  “Five years. The players like it because it’s private. They can let their hair down. What happens on Larikos stays on Larikos, so the saying goes. Social media, any type of reporting, is banned.”

  She could only imagine what happened when men, money, power and competition got together. “Do they get up to very naughty things?”

  “Sometimes. Nothing that’s fit for your ears.”

  “Please. How much is the opening ante?’

  “One hundred thousand US dollars.”

  Thee mou. “And by the end of the game?”

  “Last year it went as high as one point three million. We ended with twenty million worth of chips on the table. Which,” he advised, “is not a public figure.”

  Her head spun. This was beyond fascinating. Unlike poor Hector Rigatos, these men knew what they were doing.

  “You give a percentage to charity,” she guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you play?”

  “Sometimes.”

  She’d bet he’d be the most formidable of players...bet he looked smoking hot doing it.

  She pursed her lips, regarding him thoughtfully. “So how do we get Dimitri Smirnov here?”

  “You mean how do I get Dimitri here?”

  “I can help. I can do some research... We’ve done some really great events at the hotel to draw in high-profile guests.”

  “I run a poker game, Princess, that’s all. Dimitri’s always wanted to play. We’ll see if he bites.”

  She chewed on her lip. “Why the hesitation, then?”

  “It’s his wife’s birthday that weekend. I already offered them an extended stay on Larikos to celebrate. If that doesn’t do it, I’m not sure what will.”

  She couldn’t imagine what woman in her right mind would turn down a week on Larikos. When they weren’t in captivity, of course... But maybe, she thought, her brain percolating, there was more, something personal they could offer Dimitri Smirnov’s wife as a birthday present. An experience she couldn’t find anywhere else.

  Her lips curved. Research was what was needed. Good thing Aristos had given her a laptop. If she just so happened to surf up some information on Mrs. Smirnov that might help, was that a crime?

  Aristos eyed her. “No, Alex.”

  “No, what?” she countered innocently, spearing a tomato with her fork.

  The conversation remained on neutral, innocuous topics after that, topics Aristos seemed to handpick to keep their interaction in a safe zone. She played along with it because she knew it was the smart thing to do.

  After dinner, he walked her upstairs, likely to ensure she was ensconced in his heavily guarded fortress for the night. Each step along the long hallway, toward a bedroom, another foreign existence that was now hers for weeks, perhaps months, brought with it a low-grade anxiety. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted her life back. Which one she wasn’t sure.

  “Can I get you anything?” Aristos asked as they reached her bedroom door.

  It was the wrong question to ask. She bit her lip, hot tears burning the backs of her eyes. “No,” she said huskily, blinking them back. “I’m fine.”

  He reached out and traced her cheek with the tip of his finger. “Alex—”

  She flinched. Shut herself into her room with a murmured thanks and told herself to stay there before she did something really, really stupid.

  * * *

  Aristos stood outside Alex’s room for a good minute, torn between the desire to go after her and comfort her and knowing exactly where it would be headed if he did. In the end, he turned and went to his own room, where he answered a few last emails from his overseas teams.

  The storm rolled in about an hour later. One of those vicious assaults
that came out of nowhere and packed the wrath of God. It brought with it a stunning display of thunder and lightning that seemed to shake the walls of the Great House, although in reality it was far too well-built for that.

  He got up from his chair on the terrace, went inside and checked that the lightning strike detection system was activated. When he saw that it was, he poured himself a drink and went back outside to watch the show.

  White and gold streaks of lightning arced across the inky black tropical sky, jagged, intricate fingers of pulsing light that dazzled the eye with their spectacular patterns. The thunder grew louder with every pass, its powerful roar shaking the floorboards beneath his feet. Faster and more frequent it came until there was virtually no pause between the cracks of thunder. It must be close. Almost directly overhead.

  He wasn’t sure what alerted him to Alex’s presence on the terrace adjacent to his. The storm was too loud for him to have heard her. She stood, wrapped in the white silk robe the resort provided its guests, her arms wrapped around her. A bolt of lightning zigzagged through the sky, hitting the water not a hundred feet from them. It illuminated Alex’s pinched white face. She was terrified.

  Turning on her heel, she ran inside. He headed toward her room, expecting the door to be locked. She must have forgotten to do it, because the handle turned and he walked into the room, colliding with a wall of frightened female.

  “Whoa.” He gathered her into his arms. “What’s going on?”

  “Th-that strike,” she stuttered. “It was too close. It was—”

  “We’re fine.” He ran a soothing hand down her back. “We get these storms all the time.”

  “So do we. I h-hate them.”

  “They sound worse than they are.”

  “What if it hits us?”

  “We have sophisticated detection systems. We’d be on it in a minute.”

  A crack of thunder made her jump. She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. Uttering a curse, he set her away from him, walked to the bar and poured her a finger of cognac. Drawing her down on the sofa, he pulled her into his arms, her back nestled into his warmth.

  “Drink,” he said, pushing the tumbler into her hands.

  He was staying for a few minutes until she calmed down. That was it.

  She curled her fingers around the glass. Took a sip. “That’s really strong.”

  “It’ll calm your nerves.”

  She took another sip. He smoothed his palm over her hair, still bound in the tight plait. It made him hurt to look at it. “This has to be giving you a headache.”

  “My hair was a little wild. I’ll take it out before I sleep.”

  He undid it for her, sliding the elastic from the bottom of the plait and methodically working the braid free with his fingers as the storm continued to roll over them. “Why are you so frightened? A bad experience with a storm?”

  “My uncle Rasmus was hit by lightning when I was a little girl. He was a fisherman. He went out on his boat one morning, early, very early, when a storm like this rolled in. Luckily, one of his fellow fishermen saw it happen. They took him to the hospital, but his left side was paralyzed. He could never man a boat after that.”

  “That must have been frightening for a little girl.”

  She nodded. “I know the chances of it happening are one in a million, that it’s an irrational fear, but you think if it can happen once, it can happen again.”

  He worked the last section of the braid free. Her hair fell around her shoulders, like warm silk under his hands. It was beautiful. She should never wear it up. If she were his, she never would.

  The bizarre train of thought made him scowl. He never kept women around long enough for them to be “his.” Where was that coming from?

  The beats between thunderclaps lengthened, the bright bursts of lightning lessening in their intensity, becoming fewer and further in between. He moved his fingers to her scalp, his slow, easy massage meant to distract.

  “Aristos...”

  “Mmm?”

  “Your two roads. What were they?”

  His fingers paused in her hair. “Ancient history. Like I said.”

  She twisted around to look at him. “If it’s ancient history, why won’t you tell me?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “If it doesn’t matter, why can’t you tell me?”

  Because it involved intimate details of his personal history. Because barely anyone knew the story. Because she would know him if he did.

  And yet she’d had the courage to tell him her deepest fears. Had taken a massive leap few would ever have had the courage to take in leaving her life to become a princess. Surely he could tell her a story that didn’t matter anymore? That had nothing to do with the man he was now?

  Or perhaps had everything to do with the man he was now...

  He pulled her back against his chest, his hand returning to the satiny fall of her hair. “When I was sixteen, I was living on the streets in Athens. Running with a gang. I was distanced from my family for various reasons, bitter about the lot the world had handed me and headed down a very dark road. My mentor, David Tennyson, one of the men who revitalized Las Vegas, was visiting Athens. He was in front of a restaurant one night, smoking, when I attempted to relieve him of his wallet.

  “He was too street savvy to let that happen. But instead of turning me in to the police, he wanted to know why I was on the street. I told him my story. He saw something in me, saw past the anger and the bitterness. He wanted to help me, he said, but only if I gave up my lawless ways. He handed me twenty one-hundred-dollar bills and a business card that night and told me if I wanted to learn the casino business to come to Las Vegas.”

  She twisted around to face him. “You went.”

  He nodded. “You only get a chance like that once in your life.”

  “Or never.” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, a habit he found himself once again wanting to correct. Only, he knew how he’d do it, and there wasn’t anything innocent about the vision that filled his head. “That’s quite a story.”

  “It wasn’t a match made in heaven. Not in the beginning. I had a lot of baggage I had to work through...anger issues. David has a tough background himself. He wasn’t about to put up with me breaking the rules. There were no easy shortcuts, I would come to realize. The path to success was a great deal of hard work.”

  “What’s your relationship like with David now?”

  He thought about it. “Like father and son, really.”

  “And your own family? Did you reconcile?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Some paths you can never reconcile.”

  His tone was hard. Final. She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Does David come to your poker game?”

  “Yes.” He held her gaze. “That story is not for public consumption, Alex. David and I are the only ones who know the history, the only ones who ever will.”

  “I won’t tell a soul,” she said. “Thank you for telling me. I understand now about the choices you were speaking of. How difficult it must have been for you to choose. How we all have a choice.”

  He tucked a chunk of her hair behind her ear. “What were you upset about earlier?”

  “I was homesick.” She waved a hand at the sea. “It’s so beautiful here. Your island is incredible. But it makes me think of Stygos. How much I miss it...”

  “Did you call home?”

  “Yes. It’s just...I feel lost. I want to know I’ve made the right decision giving up my life. I think I have, then the doubts creep in.”

  “That’s when you have to stay the course,” he said firmly. “It gets harder before it gets easier, just as I said about my early days in Vegas. Once you’ve passed the point of no return, doubt is normal. It’s what you do with that doubt, the strength of spirit you put behind it, that makes the difference.”

  Her lips curved in a heartbreakingly vulnerable smile. “You are wise, Aris
tos Nicolades.”

  “Along with being insufferable and rude?”

  “Yes.” Her smile grew. “Perhaps you are my David. Pushing me on the right course...”

  He shook his head. “I identify with your struggle, that’s all. I know how hard it is to walk away from everything you know. To tell yourself you’re doing the right thing even when it’s terrifying. Even when you know it’s right.”

  Her gaze darkened. Stayed on his. The moment hung, suspended between them. She was soft and warm against him, still within the circle of his arms, that brilliant blue gaze of hers eating him up.

  “Alex,” he growled, blood drumming in his ears. “We have rules.”

  “I know.” She whispered the words even as she drifted closer. Her scent, a mix of jasmine and something he couldn’t put a finger on, wound its way around him. To have all those curves within touching distance, that amazing mouth close enough to touch, taste, was playing havoc with his common sense. His rules.

  She had drifted so close now, her lips were mere centimeters from his. He could have stopped the madness; he was still in possession of all his faculties, whereas Aleksandra was on the far side of vulnerable and clearly not. Perhaps because of that and not in spite of it, he didn’t push her away. Didn’t listen to the voice in his head asking him if he had a death wish.

  She was seeking comfort. Surely he could keep it to a kiss? One kiss. Then he’d put her to bed, alone, and be on his way.

  He could do that.

  He let his breath mingle with hers. “What’s the matter, angel? Don’t have the guts to take it all the way?”

  She brushed her mouth against his. He almost groaned out loud at the pillowy softness of it...how good she tasted.

  The alpha in him couldn’t leave it like that. Capturing her jaw in his fingers, he took control. Firmer, lusher, the kisses went until they had fully explored the texture and shape of each other. Then he slid his tongue into her mouth and rediscovered the intoxicating flavor of her. She tasted like peaches and pears from the wine she’d consumed, as heady as he remembered.

  His blood heated, his body responding to the perfection of their connection. He should stop it now. Do what he’d said he’d do. But when he moved to disentangle them from each other, Alex protested and moved closer. “Soon,” she murmured against his lips.