by Gemma James
“She was a virgin to only one.”
“Which one?”
A shadow seems to cross his face. “The House of Leo.”
I’m curious about his issue with Leo, but I don’t want to risk shutting down this conversation. We take a few more steps toward the open doors leading into the dining room, and I wait for the furrow between his dark brows to disappear before asking my next question. “What happens if one of the houses can’t produce an heir?”
“If fertility issues arise, we do whatever is necessary to produce an heir. Surrogates have been used in the past. So have mistresses.”
Something close to possessiveness rushes up inside me, and I imagine the man I’m to marry in bed with another woman. I don’t like that idea at all. And I don’t like that the man in my hypothetical vision is Liam. I’ve only known him for a day, but I’m becoming…attached.
How will I navigate the next twelve months without crushing my heart in the process? The potential for total annihilation is too great. No matter the outcome, someone will get hurt.
Several someones.
“What if a member of the Brotherhood is the one with the fertility problem?”
Liam stops, and the look he gives me is so intense, I’m tempted to take a step back. “That’s never happened, Novalee.”
“That’s…improbable at best and impossible at most.”
“The tradition hasn’t let us down yet.”
He urges me forward, and we arrive at the entrance of the formal dining room where my ladies are waiting. As Faye greets Liam with an air of coldness degrees below her usual aloofness, I suddenly remember my conversation with her before my bath.
The bath.
The one he interrupted and punished me for.
How could I forget, even for a moment, how absolute his power is? He pulled me in with his history lesson in the hall, seducing me with the mystery of the Brotherhood’s origins. Liam stimulates my mind as much as he stimulates my body.
What a dangerous combination.
“Ready to go in, ladies?” Liam gestures for us to enter first. I step into the elaborate dining room, my ladies on either side of me, and take in the circular space. Above a giant round table hangs a massive chandelier. There are no windows in this room, as we’re deep in the middle of the tower on the first floor.
It’s a stifling place, especially with eleven sets of eyes gawking at me from their thrones around the table.
Liam moves us forward, and I realize the table is sectioned into twelve slices. He clears his throat. “I’m pleased to present our queen, Novalee Van Buren and her ladies, Faye and Elise.”
I bow my head in a show of respect. Liam gestures for me to take a seat, then he settles into the chair on my right as my ladies sit on my left. We’re all connected at this table—a continuous circle that never ends.
“Before we make formal introductions,” Liam says, “I’d like to present Novalee with a gift.” He waves a hand at Selma, who crosses to the table carrying a white round box sitting on a gold tray. Liam picks it up and opens the top before setting it on the table.
A humongous diamond ring glitters under the light of the chandelier.
His brown eyes are warm, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he takes my left hand in his. “Every member of the Brotherhood will present you with a gift at the beginning of his time with you. This ring is mine. It symbolizes the Brotherhood’s commitment to you and your duty to us.”
He slides it onto my ring finger, and I can’t help but gawk at the brilliance of the stone. It’s beautiful and weighs down my hand as much as the next twelve months weigh on my shoulders.
But I’ve recently learned that beautiful things come with hard realities.
“It’s stunning,” I whisper.
“So are you.” He raises my hand to his lips, the one he just put a ring on—the one he punished earlier that evening—and places a kiss there.
And he says I’m an anomaly.
Liam is a contradiction of harsh and tender.
“Gentlemen,” he says, facing the men at the table, “please stand and announce yourselves in the order of your houses.”
The man sitting on the other side of Faye rises. His dark hair is cropped close to his head, the line of his nose aristocratic.
“Heath, House of Taurus.”
There’s a stoicism about him that makes me uncomfortable, and I’m already dreading the following month with him.
The next man in the circle stands, and I narrow my eyes as I try to recall how I know him. Technically, I met all twelve of these men six years ago, but this man—with his emerald eyes and easy-going smile—seems especially familiar.
“Landon, House of Gemini.”
Then his smile widens, and I remember. He was the eldest of the twelve, and he laughed at me, taken aback by my young age. He still seems to laugh at me, eyes twinkling in some private joke of which I’m not partial.
A man with a blond ponytail takes the floor next. “Vance, House of Cancer.” His smile isn’t as inviting as Landon’s, but I sense a gentleness in him that puts me at ease. Vance reclaims his seat, and my attention lands on the man next to him.
His blond hair sticks out in careless abandon, and his rumpled clothes make me think he fell out of bed and threw on the first pair of jeans he found. There’s an air of haughty boredom about him as he rises to his feet.
I’m taken aback by the hostility in his blue eyes. They bore into me, and I remember the way he taunted me the first time I met him.
“Sebastian, House of Leo.”
The lion. I should have known. I expect him to settle into his seat again now that he’s introduced himself, but he doesn’t.
“How do we know she hasn’t spread her legs already?” the lion asks, directing the question at the chancellor, though his obvious distaste of my existence shreds to the soul. My jaw hangs open, and I’m about to object when Liam squeezes my knee in a silent command to stay quiet.
“Watch your mouth, Sebastian. The queen has done nothing to earn your scorn. She deserves your respect.”
“Respect is earned. Isn’t that what our fathers always told us?”
“I’m done with this conversation.”
“But you never answered my question, Chancellor. Just because her uncle promised us a virgin doesn’t mean she hasn’t fucked half the male population of her nation.”
Liam slams a fist onto the table. “Enough!”
Vance clears his throat. “Tomorrow, I’ll conduct an exam to confirm her virginity.”
“And what about her willingness to cooperate?” Sebastian says. “I have no interest in babysitting a brat.”
The rage wafting off Liam is tangible. “Her obedience has been tested.”
“I need my own reassurances.” Even as he says the words, I sense Sebastian is only trying to provoke the chancellor.
“Then you’ll get your damn reassurances,” Liam snaps. “Tomorrow, during the examination, you’ll all have the chance to confirm her virginity and test her willingness. Satisfied?”
Sebastian smirks. “For now.” He settles into his chair with a vibe of smugness that pokes at my indignation.
I’m barely present, my mind spinning in righteous anger at the man whose aqua gaze is still burning a hole through my armor.
A chair scrapes the floor, and a voice startles me to attention. “Let’s get back to the introductions, shall we? I’m Miles, House of Virgo.”
Then the next stands. “Pax, House of Libra.”
One by one, the remaining members of the Brotherhood arise and announce their names and zodiac signs…as if I’ll remember them all after the argument that just took place.
As if I can concentrate on anything but the festering hatred of the man sitting six seats to my left.
Determined to do just that, I force my gaze on each man as he stands, studiously ignoring the lion and his display of contempt.
“Ford, House of Scorpio.”
“Ta
tum, House of Sagittarius.”
The houses of Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces close out the round of introductions.
Oliver.
Hugo.
Sullivan.
Twelve gorgeous men, dressed in everything from expensive Armani to Levi denim, and at this overbearing roundtable of testosterone and power, only one other thing besides the zodiac unites them.
Me.
Chapter Five
“Time to arise! The sun is shining, and it’s a warm day.” Movement draws my eyes open, and I find Selma parting the floor-length drapes, allowing the light of day to spill into the room. I hide my face in the soft pillow with a groan.
“Did you not sleep well?” she asks.
“Not really.” What an understatement. After Liam escorted me to my suite last night, pressing his lips to my forehead in a brief kiss goodnight, I tossed and turned for hours, my mind galloping ahead with memories of my first day on Zodiac Island.
Liam’s confident control.
Sebastian’s casual cruelty.
“Chancellor Castle is expecting you on the main balcony in twenty minutes.”
I veer up in bed too fast, making my head woozy from the rush of blood. Selma enters the adjacent closet that’s bigger than most people’s bedrooms, and I spy my clothing hanging on racks and taking up the space on the shelves. She slides several hangers to the side, apparently searching for something specific.
“Where are my ladies? They usually help me dress.”
“The chancellor wishes not to be disturbed today. He gave them the day off from their duties.”
I slide out of bed and frown, not liking his high-handedness. Selma exits the wardrobe room, clutching a white negligee that leaves little to the imagination. That scrap of material definitely didn’t come with me to the island.
“Chancellor Castle wants you to wear this to breakfast.” She drapes it over the back of a burgundy lounge chair, the dark suede leather offering a stark contrast to the purity of white.
“And if I don’t?”
“Well, that’s your choice, but just know the chancellor doesn’t let disobedience go unpunished.”
I fist my hands, remembering the sting that disappeared overnight during my fitful sleep, though the phantom of the burn lingers.
As Selma makes my bed, I grab the piece of lingerie and escape into the bathroom.
Several minutes later, after a solitary pep talk, I stand in front of the full-length mirror with my dusty rose nipples on display in the fitted lace cups. The skirt flares down to my knees, giving a false sense of modesty because the material is sheer, and underneath I’m wearing a thong. My long hair is my only option for modesty, so I arrange it over my shoulders to cover my breasts.
When I return to the bedroom, teeth freshly brushed and bladder emptied, I find the room deserted and as clean as it was upon my arrival yesterday. The curved outer wall is a wondrous panel of oversized windows that reveal a breathtaking view of the sea, and just like in Liam’s quarters, a set of French doors opens to a balcony.
I wander to the glass, brushing my fingers against the spotless surface, and wish I could stay inside this private sanctuary all day, safe from the lustful attention of a man who makes me feel shameful things.
But a glance at the clock startles me into motion. I spent more time in the bathroom than I realized, and now I’m already ten minutes late.
This isn’t good.
It’s the only thought bouncing around my head as I rush through my private sitting room and into the main part of the penthouse. The scent of food—a mixture of cinnamon and sausage—wafts through the open doors of the balcony where I find him sitting alone at a table.
“I assume Selma told you twenty minutes?” He doesn’t look at me as he asks the question, and the nature of his nonchalant tone makes me nervous.
I’m tempted to lie, but I don’t have it in me. Not with him. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time in the bathroom.”
He finally raises his head, his brown eyes a rich caramel from the warm sunlight. A slight breeze disturbs my hair, causing my nipples to poke through the strands. His attention lowers to my chest, and a furrow forms between his brows. Scooting his chair back, he picks up a wooden serving spoon from the table, and I stiffen, assuming he’s going to use it to punish me. Instead, he uses the thin handle to secure my hair into a messy bun atop my head.
“Bend over the table,” he says, gesturing to the end free of breakfast clutter. When I don’t move to follow his command, he takes me by the elbow and leads me to where he wants me, and I feel him behind me as I splay my hands on the smooth surface. My breasts smash against the wood.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I have zero tolerance for tardiness.” His shoe nudges the inside of my foot. “Spread your legs.”
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask, voice shaking as I widen my stance.
“Not what I’d like to do.” His fingers graze the back of my thigh, and slowly he lifts the skirt, bearing my ass cheeks to the temperate spring air. “If you were mine to fuck, I’d take you right here on this table.” He pauses, and I sense the heat of his gaze on me, spreading gooseflesh down my back.
I shiver, though whether from the mild temperature or Liam’s words, I don’t know.
“If you were mine,” he says, pressing into my back as he brings his lips to my ear, “I’d get you worked up enough to beg, but I wouldn’t let you come.” He tucks the skirt around my waist, leaving my backside vulnerable to his every whim.
I swallow hard. “I won’t be late again.”
“When I say twenty minutes, I mean twenty minutes. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Since you’re still learning your boundaries, I won’t use my belt this time, but you’re getting a swat for every minute you were late.”
The idea of his hand on my ass turns my insides to molten desire. “A total of ten?”
“Eleven, Novalee.” His warm palm settles on my right cheek, fingers squeezing the flesh there. “But I wonder, my sweet girl, will my hand punish, or will it turn you on?”
I’m already turned on, but hell will ice over before I tell him that.
His palm lifts from my ass, and a second later, he lands a sound smack. I jump, unable to hold back a yelp because his hand hurts more than I thought it would. He lands another, and another, each one escalating in force. Gnawing on my lower lip, I fist my hands against the table, hoping to find the strength to get through the last half of the spanking.
His hand comes down again, and I can’t help but cry out. “You’re hurting me.”
“Yes. That is the idea behind a corporal punishment.”
“But it was only ten minutes!”
“It was eleven.”
Whack!
A pitiful whimper escapes my lips. I never knew a spanking could be so painful, could humiliate to this degree. My face burns, undoubtedly as red as my ass.
He issues the last strike—an especially harsh blow of his hand—and then he makes me sit on my hands at the table.
“Now you’ll wait eleven minutes before you eat.” He reclaims his seat and casually lifts his coffee cup to his lips.
“Why are you so cruel?” He’s better than this, better than Sebastian and his caustic personality. I’ve seen it.
Liam meets my angry gaze, and I think I detect an apology there; one he doesn’t want to give voice to.
“What you call cruelty, I call consistency. As the first in this tower to spend time with you, it’s my job to make sure you know your boundaries.” He pauses, and a beat passes, laden with importance. “I’m not being cruel, Novalee. I’m arming you against those who will take discipline and control to especially Draconian levels.”
Fear flourishes in my gut, unstoppable. It’s a weed I can’t control. An invasive sickness I can’t cure.
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper past the aching lump in my throat.
“I’m scared for you.”
>
“Why?” I ask, running through the events of the previous day, and the introductions at dinner. “Is it Sebastian? Is he dangerous?”
“Sebastian should be the least of your worries, my sweet girl.”
“Then who should I be worried about?”
“Truthfully? All of us, myself included.” He blinks, and something close to hesitation crosses his face. “I’ll do my best to prepare you, but I can’t protect you after you leave my house.”
“Why not? Aren’t you the chancellor?”
“My power only goes so far. Every man in this tower has authority over you until the auction.”
“But I get no say in who I marry, isn’t that right, Chancellor?” The title slips out, as does the testy note in my tone. I don’t apologize for it, or take it back—I’m too angry at the situation that’s been forced upon me.
He grips me by the arm and hoists me out of the chair. “Is your ass not red enough, my queen?”
His threat does little to put me in my place, which is where he wants me. I’m too busy recalling the warmth of his hand on my backside. His punishment was painful, but the memory of it doesn’t overshadow the way this man makes me feel when he puts his hands on me.
“You don’t scare me, Liam Castle.”
“That makes one of us.” He releases my arm, and the warmth in his eyes deepens as he pulls the impromptu hair stick from my bun. My blond locks cascade around my shoulders, free for the tangle of his fingers.
“How do I scare you?” It’s a preposterous concept that this strong, confident man fears me.
“You behold more power than you realize.” His breath dances on my lips, suddenly quick and shallow. Three eternal seconds pass, heavy with mutual yearning.
Then he slams his mouth on mine with a groan. A gasp escapes me as I part my lips for his insistent tongue. His kiss, deep and consuming, sears me to my soul. I whimper into his mouth, fingers clutching his suit jacket as heat ignites between my legs.
I’ve never been kissed until now. Have never known what it means to burn for a man until Liam lit the match.
He groans again, and I reciprocate his vow of surrender. He lifts me onto the table amid rattling china and settles between my thighs. His hands are in my hair, his hot, open mouth devouring the column of my throat, cock hard and snug against the wet center of my innocence.
