Reining Him In (Chinese Zodiac Romance Series Book 5)

by Rachael Slate

  She followed his perusal. Her Council had filed from the chamber, abandoning her to her new mate.

  A chuckle rumbled in his throat as he stepped around the room, inspecting the treasures within. A gold vase, a painting of a rolling hillside. “I could get used to being a King.” He strode into the adjoining room—her chamber.

  No, no, no. She steeled her shoulders and marched into the room. Price had sunk onto her massive four-poster bed, the luxurious crimson sheets strewn around his nude body.

  “You are not a King. This is my chamber. Leave.” She folded her arms and tapped her foot.

  He angled his head at her, his appreciation passing in leisure across the apex of her thighs. Was he able to peer through the ends of her locks? She should not even care.

  “We’re mated, emphasis on the ‘mate’ part, right?” He winked and rolled onto his side, propping his weight onto his elbow. The bulge of his bicep flexed with raw power.

  She tore her ogling from the tempting display of masculinity and focused on his eyes. Lies weren’t something she was used to spinning, even as a Queen, yet this one was a necessity. “You must be purified first. No male is permitted in the Queen’s bed without first undergoing the ritual of cleansing.” She notched her chin and locked firm. The spirit animal in this male was not unlike the fox spirit inside her. Creatures that sensed what most humans didn’t.

  Beasts capable of sniffing out untruths.

  He held her glare, those azure depths searing into her. An intelligence shone from within, one he shielded with his carefree attitude. She recalled the flying beast he’d slain using his bare hands. The Lotus tattoo he bore did not speak false.

  Beneath his casual exterior lay a dangerous man.

  She must choose her fabrications carefully, and wield them with expertise. Or the dark cunning in this male’s eyes would ruin everything.

  Let the games begin.

  ***

  She was lying to him. A big, fat, juicy whopper. Price perched on the edge of the bed. Fine with me. If Daji didn’t want him in her bed, he wouldn’t stay in it.

  He’d never had to fight for a female’s interest, and he didn’t plan on doing so now. Although he wasn’t accustomed to celibacy, he’d last however long this mission did without getting laid.

  Despite what everyone thought of him.

  Let them have their judgments. He didn’t answer to any of them. Yeah, he played the role, and enjoyed it most of the time, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t more to him.

  He just wasn’t willing to share his personal self with judgmental pricks.

  Price was used to that expression—the one on Daji’s face right now. Disdain mixed with…let’s face it, a hint of curiosity. Because as much as they judged him, they also aspired to be him—or be with him.

  Not only did he offer the fulfillment of wicked desires, he could make good on his promise. No one left his bed unsatisfied. Power like that drew in people as much as it pushed them away.

  Everyone knew Price Wentworth didn’t do long-term.

  He’d come close to being tempted once—with his Lotus partner, Natalie Quan. A tough-ass chick with a good heart who’d made him consider the path of commitment, but he’d had to go and fuck that up too.

  Story of his life. Every good thing in it had been ripped from him. Everyone except his brother, Ryden. Now, he was so damned close. Inches from the only thing he’d ever sought.

  If Daji chose to play games to prevent him from chasing her tail, so be it.

  She’d soon learn there wasn’t a game he wasn’t master of.

  “Where do I bunk?”

  “Hmm?” She blinked at his question and bit down on her lip. “Ah, over there.” She jerked her chin toward an adjoining door.

  “Okay,” he rubbed his hands together in eagerness, “and when do I begin the cleansing ritual?”

  A crease formed in her brow. Huh. She was actually a bad liar. Terrible. It almost made him like her.

  Almost.

  She cleared her throat. “Tonight. My maidens will attend you.” Straightening her shoulders, she folded her hands in front of her. A practiced move, and so regal. She was an ice Queen, no doubt, and beyond thawing.

  The myths surrounding her weren’t pretty. She had a nasty past, so he had to question, was the act an act? Did she pretend to be bad at lying? His mind went round and round in circles trying to reveal the real Queen. Frankly, he didn’t care enough. He had his reasons for agreeing to this, and none of them included going deep with Daji.

  Unless she changed her mind about sharing her bed.

  “Mr. Wentworth, you are a free man. Don’t let our union disturb your sense of liberty.” She turned her back on him with a slight dismissive shrug.

  Frowning, he strode through the door and into an identical chamber. Except, this one contained three maidens, the middle one bearing a familiar crop of dark red curls on her head. She’d been dancing around him for months, her coy eyelash flutters and suggestive flirts drawing out the suspense of when she’d finally sleep with him.

  Clearing his throat, he strolled to the closet and dug out some clothes. At least they’d got his size right. After tugging on a pair of jeans, he faced the maidens. “Ah, Mila. Imagine seeing you again, and in my chambers.” He winked at the other two while she sashayed forward, a pretty pout already forming on her coral lips.

  “Price, we haven’t been out for weeks and I’m so bored I’m going to stab myself with Suya’s hairpin.” She indicated the blonde with a tilt of her head. “Will you take us?”

  He fought back an eye roll at her drama and instead chose a pale blue dress shirt from the closet, shrugging it on. Mila continued batting her lashes and twisting her locks through her slender fingers. He was supposed to attend a cleansing ceremony, but since it was obviously an excuse Daji hadn’t planned through, his schedule was clear. She’d told him he was a free man. Yeah, he’d been tasked with babysitting the Queen, but she’d be safe enough inside her palace. “I would love to.”

  Mila giggled and clapped her hands, whirling to the other two and hurrying them out the door. He followed the females to the portal, hidden in a gilded mirror on the wall. A simple stroke from Mila and the mirror’s surface liquefied, revealing a familiar closet inside SUTOL, his favorite nightclub.

  Nice. After the day he’d had, he’d love a dose of normality. As he stepped through into the custodial closet, Mila draped an arm around his waist and slid along his body, pressing her full breasts into his chest. “We could skip the club and you bring me home instead.” She purred against him, snaring her claws around his neck.

  No doubt about it, Mila was gorgeous. Damn well she knew it too, but she’d been toying with him since they’d met. This sudden change in his response pricked at the back of his neck. He should be into her, but he wasn’t. Strangely, his interest had waned.

  “Why don’t you dance, I’m going to have a few drinks and celebrate my non-single status.” He plucked off her hands and led the ladies through the closet into the club. A deep bass vibrated from his toes, through his muscles and veins. The strobe lighting flashed across the dance floor. A flick of his wrist toward the bartender, and the man nodded, twisting to snag a bottle of their best whiskey.

  The good man poured four shots. Price offered them to the ladies first, and clutched his, downing it and spinning to lean back against the bar.

  As the burn eased from his throat, he perused the dance floor. The music changed, switching to a lower, more sensual beat. Mila and her friends scurried to the center. The lights dimmed and the crowd clustered. He scanned the floor, searching for a partner to show a good time to. A muffle and a grunt thumped to his left, followed by a sharp, feminine voice cracking a reprimand. Curious, he twisted toward the commotion.

  Long, coiled locks cascaded over a tight halter dress. The black leather hugged every inch of the woman’s luscious curves. He grinned. This one.

  Her back was to him as she planted her hands on her full hips
and apparently gave a tongue lashing to the man who’d bumped into her.

  Price could definitely imagine better uses for her tongue.

  The man raised his hands and muttered something like an apology. The woman brushed past him, providing Price a clear view of sexy, toned legs and a pair of five-inch black heels.

  With that outfit, she sought one thing—to get laid.

  Better not disappoint.

  Price rose from his stool at the same time the woman veered in their direction. He froze. She wore a boatload of makeup, but fuck, that was Daji.

  Her eyes widened then narrowed as she stormed toward him. “What is the meaning of this?” Her burning glower not tearing from his, she jerked her chin toward his companions.

  “We’re out celebrating.” His stiff stance eased. “Didn’t you hear? I got hitched.”

  “Mated.” The word grated between her teeth and a flash sparked in her eyes, which weren’t entirely copper as he’d noted earlier. A swirl of gold glinted in them, heavy with emotion. Yep, she was pissed.

  “My handmaidens are not to be touched, and certainly not to be dragged into this…brothel.”

  “It’s a club, Daji. Have you ever been to one?”

  “Of course.” She set her shoulders. “I’ve been to this club before.”

  That impressed him. He didn’t peg her for the loosening-up type. Or the fun-to-banter-with type. He flashed her a smile. “When? I would’ve noticed you.”

  A flush crept into her cheeks and just as fast, it dissipated, replaced by a grimace, as if she’d bitten the inside of her cheek. “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah, well, you should probably go back to the palace.” The sight of her in that stripper-esque dress set him on edge, making him paranoid that all the other males in this club were gawking at her like he was. “This isn’t really your scene.”

  “You do not order me.” Her haughty tone turned mischievous. “Besides, perhaps I also wish to celebrate our union.” She marched to the bartender and pointed at the empty shots. “I’ll have one of those, please.”

  “You sure?” One thing he’d learned about fox spirits—they didn’t always take well to alcohol. Especially not if they weren’t accustomed to liquor. With their diet, food was more of a curiosity than a necessity.

  Instead of answering, Daji snatched the glass and slugged the whiskey, wincing as she swallowed. After a second, she unfroze and waved for another.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.” Her flushed cheeks indicated she wasn’t much of a drinker. This wouldn’t end well.

  “You aren’t the only one with sorrows to drown.” She plucked the glass and gulped, hissing this time.

  He frowned at the odd behavior, but Mila tugged on his arm. “Price, dance with me.” He was about to ask Daji if she’d mind, but she’d turned her back to him and ordered another shot.

  Right. He wasn’t her damn father, and the title of “mate” didn’t mean a thing. She’d survived centuries without him. She’d be fine for a few hours in a club.

  He nodded at Mila and allowed her to lure him onto the dance floor, far enough away to enjoy himself.

  But close enough to keep an eye on his Queen.

  Daji didn’t desire another dose of the horrid liquid humans enjoyed so much, but neither would she back down from her declared intentions.

  Her new mate had escaped the palace at the first opportunity, hauling her ladies with him to this loud, clustered, heated room. Why the gyrating of bodies against each other appealed to mortals, she would never grasp. Yet she’d instructed her maids to dress her to blend in, even though she felt ridiculous with this heavy paint on her face. Worst of all, the dress she’d borrowed clung to her so tightly she couldn’t inhale a full breath.

  “Here you go, darling.” The serving man slid the shot toward her, sending her a deeply appreciative wink.

  Ugh. Human males. He was as bad as the one who’d groped her bottom on her entry. In her world, no one dared touch the Queen. Let alone spread his grimy hands across her flesh. If she hadn’t been so desperate to keep her identity a secret, she would have slashed her claws across his ass.

  The other two who’d joined his party had found themselves dance partners as well, so she was alone at the bar befriending another glass of putrid liquid.

  She hadn’t formed a plan, other than to place Mr. Wentworth in an uncomfortable position. How would he enjoy the evening with his new mate casting her disdain upon his activities?

  He was, after all, her spokesperson in this realm. She did not welcome the lack of control or choice of representation. At least she might observe him in his element and collect the evidence for when she would have him deposed.

  The man used his body well, a slow, masculine display of raw sex, swaying rhythmically to the beat of the music. He ground his body against Mila’s, gliding his hands along her arms and swerving his hips in an erotic gesture. They twisted around, Mila facing him, and his searing scrutiny landed on Daji. He danced with his partner, but his focus fixed on Daji, a silent dare for her to watch him. Mr. Wentworth might be many things, but she did not doubt his prowess. The man knew how to seduce. Her body flushed and heat spread through her core.

  The liquid churned in her belly, so she spun around on her stool. Pressing her lips together, she fought back the urge to expel her stomach’s contents.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad, but she hadn’t fed in weeks. One feeding would sustain her for months, yet lately, the curse’s hold had dug deeper, and she required greater sustenance to maintain even the slightest glimmer of strength.

  He was sinking deeper into the pits of Dìyù—Hell—and with him, her essence slipped farther and farther from her reach.

  It wouldn’t be much longer. The time would soon come when even feedings wouldn’t replenish her.

  Daji seized the drink, shot back the burning liquid, and slammed the glass on the bar top. If Mr. Wentworth wished to battle for power in this relationship, she would not disappoint.

  She rose, planting one foot in front of the other and blinking while the room spun a little to the left. No doubt the work of that foul liquid. She set her shoulders and marched toward a man seated at the bar. “You will dance with me.”

  His blue eyes widened. A pity they were not the same lovely shade as Mr. Wentworth’s, nor his frame as solid, but this male would suffice.

  “Uh, sure.” He extended his hand, which she seized as he guided her to the floor. Daji didn’t dance. A Queen did not dance; she sat upon her throne and was entertained by the court performers.

  Yet, she’d been studying the humans on the floor for several minutes and it did not appear difficult. The man planted his hands on her hips, gripping around to her bottom, and jerked her forward into his pelvis.

  She forced her hands to his chest, pressing against him in an effort to procure distance between their lower bodies, but his fingers dug into her backside. His nearness compelled painful memories to flash through her mind. Dì Xīn settling between her legs, his sweaty hands pawing her bare breasts…

  “No!” She shoved at the male, and he flew backward. Daji gaped; Mr. Wentworth had placed himself between her and the man. One of her mate’s hands opened and closed, fisting. Her dance partner scrambled to his feet and slunk off.

  A fire lit Mr. Wentworth’s azure eyes, burning them incandescent. He’d hauled the man off her? Humiliation slivered her pride. She could defend herself. She had defended herself.

  Her ex-husband was dead… Dead but not gone. She closed her eyes, inhaling deep.

  “You want to tell me what that was about?” His tone was soft, gentle.

  She lifted one lid open. “I did not require your aid.”

  “Maybe not for that asshat, but you could use a lesson in dancing.”

  She huffed at his use of humor to diffuse the tension, but he extended his hand and his offer appeared genuine.

  And eager.

  Don’t show weakness. Right. She had to prove to this male s
he ruled over him, and that he must act as she decreed.

  Daji slipped her hand into his. Rough fingers enclosed hers, embracing her in an electric warmth. At once making her both jolt and draw closer. His muscles tightened, so she shifted her gaze to his. Did he suffer the same spark? The same pull?

  He cleared his throat and spun her around. His hands did not grab for her as the other man’s had. Instead, he rocked behind her, inching closer, luring her into the heat of his large body. She stilled, unsure of how to move to match him. With her back to him, he was the one exerting power. She couldn’t see him, but she sensed his undulations. Her ears detected the placement of his feet on the floor, the brush of his clothes as he rolled his hips. The scent of him filled her nostrils, dark and enticing. Ensnared as she was, she didn’t blame any female for succumbing to Mr. Wentworth’s charms.

  “Sway your hips, back and forth to the beat.” Heat caressed her skin while he purred into her ear. He didn’t grope her, but as she undulated, he hummed praise. “Nice, now hug your arms in a rolling wave down your body.” She did, adding in her own flourish, a sensual caress, copying the females she’d observed. His breath caught. Her pulse raced and she detected his interest rousing. Currents of desire spread low in her belly. A hunger she never entertained grew, its demand pulsing deeper.

  “I’m going to touch you now, turn you around. Okay?” The loud beat forced his mouth next to her ear, the intimacy driving them closer. His not handling her earlier—it was more than simple courtesy or his following of her rules.

  Rumors claimed Price Wentworth delighted in breaking rules.

  He’d noticed it—her panicked reaction to an overly eager groping. He’d recognized why.

  A gentle caress skimmed across her hips, his strong, sure fingers gripping enough to coax her to spin around. The air froze in her lungs as she faced him and tilted her chin up. He’d stopped dancing, his throat bobbing thickly. Raising her lashes, she met his hooded stare.

  The wanting in his eyes crushed any notion that attraction did not exist between them.