“I was busy,” Leander said.
“See? I told you so.” Chey, wearing a smug expression, cheek pressed against Sander's jaw, stared Wynn's way. “I tried to explain that when you're gone, you're always busy, but she wouldn't listen.”
Sander and Leander both gave Chey a knowing, wry look. As if to say, you're one to talk.
Wynn belly laughed when the men both called Chey out. “I'm so not the only one. She tried to call Sander when she went to the bathroom earlier.”
“Be quiet, Winnie.”
“Don't call me Winnie.”
“What's all this?” Leander broke into the banter, staring at the array of wedding supplies on the table.
“All the stuff you said you didn't want at your wedding,” Chey said.
“Thanks, Chey.” Wynn shot Chey a dry look.
“You're welcome.” Chey smiled girlishly.
“You look nothing like a Queen right now. I'm just mentioning,” Wynn said with a laugh.
“That's because she's just my wife right now, and my wife has things to do. It was good seeing you, Wynn.” Sander hauled Chey up into his arms.
“What happened to your throat?” Wynn frowned when she caught sight of red marks on Sander's neck.
Chey glanced back to Sander, then frowned and ran her fingertips over the wound. “What's this?”
“Don't look at me, look at Leander. Or did you miss the growing bruise on his jaw?” Sander pointedly glanced Leander's direction.
“Thanks a lot for pointing that out,” Leander said to Sander.
Wynn used her fingers to gently turn Leander's chin the other direction, and gasped at the darkening blue-black mark spreading from his jaw to his cheek. “What happened?”
“Someone was somewhere they weren't supposed to be, that's all. It's no big deal.” Leander brushed the minor injury off.
“You mean to say that someone attacked someone else without even checking to first see if he belonged there,” Sander countered. A grin flirted with the corners of his mouth while Chey kissed a line from his jaw to his neck.
Leander laughed. “Aren't you late for a session with your throne?”
“With the bed, you mean.” Sander turned from the kitchen, Chey secured firmly in his arms, and strode for the back door rather than the hallway.
“Good to see you, too, Sander!” Wynn called out. “I'll talk to you tomorrow, Chey.”
“Goodnight!” Chey didn't glance back.
“Twenty bucks says they won't even make it back to the castle before he accosts her, then there'll be another baby on the way,” Leander retorted, watching the king and queen go.
Wynn put her attention back on Leander, refusing to release him yet. “And you'll be first in line to hold him or her. We can hardly pry their kids out of your hands as it is.”
“That's a wild exaggeration.” Leander scoffed, then swooped in to kiss her mouth.
Wynn let him part her lips and seek the sweet hollows past her teeth, trading the taste of wine across their tongues. She wound the ends of her fingers in his neck length, brown hair—which had a small leaf sticking out of it.
“What did you both do, wrestle on the ground?” Wynn whispered against his lips.
“Yes.” Leander tipped his head back, making eye contact. “I didn't mean to scare you. Next time, what you should do is go for a weapon. That sword is here in the kitchen, remember. In the pantry.”
Wynn smiled when Leander veered off into self-protection suggestions. It was just like him to think of security and safety above all else. It was part of his 'job' with the royal family. Wynn wasn't convinced Leander hadn't popped out of his mother's womb ready to do battle with how focused the man was on his craft.
“I don't like the sword,” she said, just to see him go into what she called 'lecture mode'. When that happened, his brows drew, his eyes got even more serious than they were right now, and he took on a different tone when he spoke.
“I know you don't, but it's a silent weapon so you can fight back without alerting anyone else who--” Leander paused and narrowed his eyes.
Wynn arched her brows, inviting him to continue. Baiting him.
He leaned in with a sudden arch and bit her neck. Soft bites, making a trail toward her ear.
“If you keep that up, good sir, I'll be obliged to drag you into the bedroom and have my wicked way with you,” Wynn said.
“Why go all the way to the bedroom?” He rasped the words just beneath her earlobe.
Wynn shuddered, scraping her nails across the back of his neck. She gasped quietly when he lifted her feet off the ground an inch and backed her into the nearest wall. Connecting with a gentle thud, spine flush against the surface, Wynn tugged on his hair. He snarled a sound and used his chest to brace her while his fingers deftly unclasped the button of her black slacks. The material slithered to the ground, the scrap of her matching underwear flying off a toe when she kicked her foot.
Their kiss became more demanding. Wynn returned the favor of divesting Leander of his pants, ignoring the knife sheath that hit the ground with a muffled thunk. In three motions each, the rest of their clothes fell away.
Needy, Wynn got her nails on his back, reveling in the feral sound he made as he got his hands on her waist, her breasts, mercilessly tweaking her nipples until she cried out. He'd discovered she liked it a lot when he did it just right. One of the many secrets Leander had cracked in their time together.
Between kisses, he whispered sexual and sweet things, alternating between rough and tender. He drove into her, drove her against the wall in a devastating rhythm that tore apart her resistance and brought her to the brink of ecstasy in a scandalously short amount of time. She cried out his name, then gasped on the final thrust, long and deep, that pinned her hips against the wall.
Breathing her praise against his throat, she hung on with both arms, a sheen of sweat on her skin. The hot gust of his groans ruffled her hair near her ear. She shivered.
“Did I forget to mention that I missed you?” Leander said, sounding drugged.
“Yes.”
“I missed you.”
“Tell me again.”
He kissed his way along her cheek to her jaw, and then to her mouth, where he pressed a whisper. “I missed you.”
Wynn shuddered and held on tighter. When he tilted away from the wall with her still in his arms, legs around his hips, Wynn didn't protest. Through the cottage, up the stairs, and into their bedroom, Leander carried her as if she weighed nothing at all. On the thin side anyway, she wasn't hard to tote from one place to another.
Tumbling into bed, Wynn wound up curled on her side against him, fingers trickling over the lean muscles of his chest and abdomen. Sleek and honed, his body was a testament to the hours and hours of brutal activity he put himself through.
“You're staying home now, right?” she asked.
He arched one arm behind his head, the other draped under her neck and around her shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, I'm here until the wedding.”
Wynn studied his profile, the glint of gray in his eyes. “Promise?”
He ticked a look her way. The stubble of his whiskers added a rakish air to his already rakish expression. “As long as there isn't an emergency, then yes.”
“Leander. I can't have you rushing off on the eve of our wedding. Promise me you're here until the wedding.” Wynn couldn't fathom being stood up at the alter, even if her friends and family would understand.
“I promise I'll try very hard to be here.”
“That's cheating.”
“It's the best I can do, baby.” He sifted long fingers through her hair, dragging the tips against her scalp.
“I don't understand why you have to do what you do. I mean, can't you find another kind of job around here? Or stay closer to home with your security tasks?” If Wynn was honest with herself—she didn't know exactly what Leander did for a living. Once or twice, it had been a bone of contention between them, causing a few disagreements a
nd a bit of tension. She knew he 'helped' Prince Mattias with security matters of a sort, but beyond that, she was clueless. Whenever she mentioned his 'work', Leander didn't correct the term, or offer to better explain any details.
“I like my job.”
“Yes, and it keeps you away from here for days and weeks—sometimes months at a time. It's not like you're military or anything.” Wynn had thought so when she first met him and he'd been in a guard uniform.
“No. I'm not military.”
Wynn clamped her lips over a tart reply. She didn't want to make him tense the second he walked in the door from a month's absence. “Well, anyway. I think most everything is ready for the wedding. Chey and a few other girls and I are going to the mainland to decorate the chapel--”
He frowned and interrupted. “Wait, what? We decided to get married outside under that stone gazebo near the beach.”
“Oh. I had to change all that.” Because you weren't here to consult. But she didn't say what she was thinking.
“Is that why you and Chey were out there making all those frilly wedding things? How many people are coming? I requested no more than ten or twenty.”
Wynn squirmed on the bed. “...probably like, eighty.”
The twitch of his body gave away his surprise. “Eighty? Have you met eighty people since you've lived on the island—wait. Don't answer that.”
“But Leander. There are a lot of people I have to invite. All the girls at the castle, the friends I've made between here and the mainland and people from home.” Home, Seattle Washington, was a long way from the shores of Latvala.
Leander groaned and rubbed his eyelids with two fingertips. In a quiet voice, he said, “I really wanted something much smaller.”
“I know, and I'm sorry. This was the bare minimum though.”
“What would you say to getting married on the shoreline tomorrow? At sunset?” He uncovered his eyes and glanced her way.
Wynn sucked in a breath. “What?”
“Marry me. Tomorrow at sunset.”
“It sounds like you're inviting me to the O.K. Corral for a duel.”
He laughed.
Wynn smiled to hear the raspy, low sound that never failed to shoot heat through every part of her body. Addicting and sexy, Leander's laugh was one of Wynn's favorite things about him.
“I see that you didn't say no, though,” he said.
“I really want to get married at the chapel on the mainland. You should see it! Stained glass windows, tall beamed ceiling, and stone pews. It sits right in the middle of a giant meadow, the only structure in sight for miles. Really something.”
“It's one of those old places, right? That looks like a strong wind might blow it down?”
Laughing, Wynn said, “No. It's solid stone. Nothing short of a ten-point earthquake or an asteroid the size of a mini-van will bring those walls down.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you exaggerate a lot?” A thread of amusement colored the words.
“It's the truth and you know it. I really like the place. We're going to put up just a few decorations--”
“Besides floral arrangements? Like bows on the ends of the pews, candles in tall holders and streamers on the walls?”
“Streamers are for children. I'm using netting and tiny white lights.”
He groaned. Loudly.
“It'll be painless, you'll see,” Wynn whispered.
“About as painless as a nail in the eye.”
Laughing, Wynn said, “That's my man. Ever the optimist.”
“Marry me. Tomorrow. Sunset.”
Wynn hesitated, then whispered, “We'll see.”
Chapter Two
The 'cottage' was the most misnamed structure on all of Pallan Island, Leander decided. It wasn't so much a cottage as a mini-castle. There was even a little turret that Wynn had loved from moment one. For the better part of the first year they'd dated, Wynn lived in the big castle, Kallaster, that housed the king and queen. Being close to her best friend after moving from the United States to the Baltic Kingdom was high on Wynn's list of priorities back then. After his proposal, they asked Sander and Chey if they could move into the abandoned cottage with its spectacular view of the shore and ocean. They'd been here ever since. Leander enjoyed the break from the chaos of Kallaster, enjoyed the peace of the shore front and the water beyond. It suited both him and Wynn to be close to Kallaster—within walking and viewing distance—in case of emergencies. Above and beyond all that, he thought it was a sin to allow such a charming house (such as it was) sit empty and unloved.
Standing in the kitchen, hip against the counter, cup of coffee in hand, he considered the view while thinking about whether or not Wynn would take him up on his offer. A simple wedding on the sand would suit him fine. The last thing he wanted was to stand up in front of eighty people to get married.
Running a hand through his hair, he brought up the mug for another swallow. He didn't want to deny Wynn the wedding of her dreams, either, which put him in a unique and slightly uncomfortable place.
“You look thoughtful.”
His attention veered from the view out the window to the rumpled woman he now called fiance, and in less than a week, would finally call wife. Her hair resembled a rats nest of curls, a different take than the usual sleek bob he was used to. He liked it like this. It made her oval shaped face softer, her big dark eyes more prominent and alluring.
“Contemplating the day,” he said, and took another drink of coffee. The way her eyes traveled his half naked body, landing on the cockeyed band of his pajama pants, made him want to drag her right back to bed.
“Contemplating whether I'm going to marry you this evening or not, you mean.”
That was Wynn. Typically blunt and forward. His lips ticked with mirth. “All the things I need to do around here before that.”
Striding up to him, Wynn wrapped one arm around his waist, tucked herself against his chest, and stole his mug for a sip. The plain baby blue tee shirt she wore kept a layer between their skin. He plucked at the waistband of her plaid pajama pants, tucking just the first inch of his fingertips into the elastic.
“If you throw away everything on the kitchen table, I'll beat you senseless,” Wynn said, as if she'd read his mind.
Leander cut her a grin and re-stole his mug. “Thief.”
“Scrooge.”
He kissed her on the mouth. “Tastes minty.”
“Wish I could say the same for you. Use mouthwash now and then, it helps.”
Leander pinched her backside, earning a swat to his chest for the effort. “I brush every morning, thoroughly mind you, unlike some people who think ten seconds is too long to clean their teeth.”
Wynn flashed her teeth at him, perfectly straight and prettily shaped. She took excellent care of her dental hygiene but it wouldn't be a typical morning in the Morgan-Hudson household unless he was heckling her.
“Looks good. All except the piece of pube hair left over from earlier this morning,” he retorted with a downright indecent grin.
“Leander!” Wynn blushed and laughed and peeled away from his body. Leaning over the sink, she turned the water on and cupped her palm beneath. Scooping water into her mouth, she rinsed and rinsed and rinsed.
He laughed and finished off his coffee. Giving her backside a firm swat, Leander caught her hips and dragged her away from the sink. Once she shut the water off, he hauled her into his arms and stole her away to the stairs, which he trotted up with no trouble.
“Did you decide, yet?” he asked as he walked into the master bedroom. Large and airy, the suite boasted a high, domed ceiling decorated with a hand-painted mural in the tradition of Michaelangelo. It was old, done by the hand of a talented artist sometime in the eighteen hundreds, and the highlight of the cottage's many charms. With a sitting area, rows of windows, french doors leading to a quaint balcony and a master bathroom half as large as the bedroom, there was nothing more to want for a place to live.
Leander
, although he enjoyed the age and uniqueness of the cottage, preferred it's security features over all else. The secret doors, basement passages and high walls made for excellent protection. Unless one knew where to look, it wasn't an easy place to break into.
“I'll decide if you come with Chey and Sander and me to see the chapel on the mainland.”
Leander bit back a groan. He set her down near the shower and began methodically stripping off their clothes. Twisting the lever for the water, he stepped in before heat infused the spray and hissed as a rush of icy needles broke against his skin. The age old habit invigorated him for the rest of the day, usually, and helped clear any lingering cobwebs from his mind.
“Do I have to?” he asked, tipping his head under the spray. The water shifted from icy to lukewarm.
Wynn dipped her hand under the deluge to test the temperature. Never, ever, ever had she been cajoled into trying his method of waking up. Leander snatched her wrist and gave a gentle tug, pulling her into the stream with him. The tiled shower was roomy enough to fit five people comfortably.
“Leander! I hate cold water!” Wynn danced out of range, hugging her arms over her chest.
“It's not cold. It's tepid and getting warmer by the second now.” He splashed her and laughed when she assaulted him with pinches.
“And yes. You have to go. I'm putting my foot down.” Wynn kissed his mouth, then turned to the built in shelf and sorted through no less than eight bottles of shampoo and conditioner for the one she wanted to use today.
“All right, all right. I guess you better get on the horn and arrange it. It's already after nine.” A late, late start to the day as far as Leander was concerned. Normally up before the sun, he was a man used to getting a full day's work in before most people's alarm went off.
“Thank you, Leander. It means a lot. Then we'll know if we're getting married later today.” Wynn winked over her shoulder.
He slapped her flank, playful and light, and reached for the lone bottle of shampoo-slash-conditioner he always used.
No muss, no fuss. Just the way he liked it.
. . .
Royal Elite: Leander Page 2
