A Royal World Apart

by Maisey Yates

  She was wearing red. A deep, rich satin that crossed at the bodice and flowed away from her body. The neckline was low, revealing the plump, golden curves of her breasts, her glossy brown curls tumbled over one shoulder, full lips painted scarlet to match the gown. She was perfection. She was everything a man could want in a woman, a lover.

  His body tightened, need, the sort he had spent a lifetime denying, coursing through him. Every tendon of his body, every muscle, held tight so that he couldn’t scoop her up into his arms and kiss the makeup from her sexy mouth. And she was all the way across a crowded ballroom.

  If she were to come near him, if she were to touch him, his control, control he had held onto for twenty-nine years, might break beneath the strain of his desire.

  He needed release. The kind he had sought in the gym for the past ten years, punishing his body, pushing it to the limit until he was too exhausted to dwell on the needs that went unsatisfied night after night.

  He tightened his hands into fists and watched as she was approached by a man. He was tall, Eva only coming up to his shoulder, which put him near Mak’s own height. He looked familiar too.

  When he leaned down and kissed Eva’s hand, recognition hit him. He was Bastian Van Saant, the man who was, in all likelihood, Eva’s future husband. Assuming the man didn’t find some fatal flaw in her as a choice.

  Which would be impossible with her in a gown like that. She was simply flawless tonight.

  Van Saant took her into his arms and swept her to the dance floor. Eva’s face looked strained as they moved in time to the music, her posture stiff.

  Mak moved around the edge of the crowd of people, behind the pillars that bordered the edge of the dance floor, circling to keep tabs on Eva and her suitor. King Stephanos had been concerned that Eva might try to sneak out during the ball. Or to sneak off with someone unsuitable. Though Mak doubted she would do that.

  She’d been with men at the casino, but he believed her when she said it hadn’t gone farther than having them on her arm. He believed her, because her brown eyes shone with sincerity, transparence. And also because it made him grit his teeth so tightly he feared they might shatter when he thought of the alternative.

  Eva turned her head and her brown eyes locked with his. Her mouth opened slightly and the tip of her tongue darted out, sliding across the full surface of her bottom lip. He felt it, felt it hit him hard in the gut, sending a rush of heat down to his groin.

  He had no control over his body, not now. A cruel joke.

  He’d had nothing but control over himself and his baser urges for more than a decade. He’d had beautiful clients, women he’d been forced into close proximity with before, and he’d never felt the rush of temptation.

  The few times he had felt tempted, he’d turned away without so much as a pang of regret.

  And those times had been with women who’d been trying to seduce him, women with a lot more experience than Eva had. And yet, he felt on edge now, more than he could remember being since he was a teenager. Since Marina.

  He’d managed to cap his passion then, to wait in the interest of doing what was right, and with so much practice at doing it since, he ought to be able to do it now. Eva was under his protection, which meant that the dark, predatory feeling rushing through him had to stop.

  What was it about her? Was it her body? Those perfect curves? Or was it the challenge that lit her eyes when she looked at him? Her lightning-quick wit, her misplaced bravado? She certainly wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met.

  Eva kept her eyes locked with his as she moved with Bastian. Her petite hand was rested on his shoulder. She flexed her slender fingers and Mak felt a kick in his stomach, as though she’d slid her hands over him.

  He leaned against one of the heavy marble columns, never taking his eyes off her. And she kept her focus on him as well. She never looked at her partner. He took a kind of sick satisfaction in that that he had no business feeling. That he was the man who held her focus. That no matter how close Bastian held her, she was not with him. Not truly.

  The song ended and Eva pulled away from Bastian. She said something to the other man, inclined her head and made her way off the dance floor. She paused for a moment, her eyes sweeping the crowd of people before locking with his again. She inhaled a sharp breath and moved toward the back door of the ballroom. Mak pushed off from the pillar and followed her, ignoring the hot pumping of his blood.

  He was doing his job. He was keeping track of her. Nothing more.

  She walked out of the room and went left, toward the exit of the castle. Mak wove through the crowd as quickly as possible, making it to the vacant corridor just in time to see Eva slip out the door that led outside.

  He followed her, closing the door behind him. The garden was empty, light from the ballroom casting rectangular spots of light onto the grass. Eva was standing at the center of the lawn, just out of reach of the lights, her red dress visible in the dark.

  “Where are you running off to?” he asked.

  “Nowhere,” she said, turning to face him. Her expression, her eyes wide, her lips parted slightly, full and inviting, drew him in closer. “I just needed some air.”

  “Dancing with Bastian had such a strong effect on you?” he asked, advancing further.

  She turned her head, casting her face into shadow, her expression obscured. “No. It had no effect on me. As usual. But it was more disturbing this time since the date of my official engagement is set now. And he’s very likely the one I’ll be engaged to. If his bid is high enough. I’ve been too cowardly to ask what the price is on my head, or hand, as the case may be.”

  “You want to feel attraction for him?”

  “I want something. Anything. As it is, he might as well be my brother.”

  Mak stopped right in front of her, noticed a shimmer in her dark eyes, pale moonlight reflected there, betraying the depth of her emotion. He put his hand on her face. Just to offer comfort, just for a moment. There was no harm in that.

  The feel of her smooth skin beneath his palm sent a shock of desire through him. Strong. Foreign. Intense. It was almost enough to simply feel that need. To revel in it, the desire of a man for a woman. Almost.

  She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, the warm air skimming the inside of his wrist.

  “Will you dance with me?” she asked.

  “What?” He dropped his hand back to his side.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Dance with me. Please.”

  Without thinking, he put his hand on the indent of her waist. Lust, real, raw, undiluted, shook him. She was soft, warm. She was alive. She took a step toward him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder now, as he’d imagined in the ballroom.

  He clenched his teeth together and took her hand in his, weaving their fingers together as he lifted their arms into position. She pressed her body against his, and he could feel her heart beating hard against his chest.

  Touch. Real human touch, had not been a part of his life for so very long. To have a woman active beneath his hands rather than simply passive. Conscious. It was so very different from lifting his wife so that he could change her position in her hospital bed. So different from the experience of changing Marina’s clothes for her. Every day, touching her, knowing she still breathed but wasn’t really there.

  His throat constricted and he pushed the memory aside. Marina was gone now. Truly gone. Not simply in spirit, as she had been since their first day of marriage, but in body now as well.

  “I’m not very good at this,” he said.

  “I’m not either.”

  For a moment he didn’t move. He simply let every nuance of the moment sink into him. The feel of her gown beneath his hand, the heat of her body beneath that. The subtle scent of bougainvillea in the warm evening breeze, mingling with the scent of Eva. Teasing. Tantalizing. The way her hair tumbled over her shoulders, dark, silken curls that begged for his touch.

  He closed his eyes and focused on the fa
int strains of music coming from the ballroom. It was soft, but he could still follow along with it. He took a breath and the first step. They moved in time with the song, or perhaps they didn’t. He was too lost in the feeling of her body against his to care. He slid his hand down from her waist to the rounded curve of her hip.

  Then suddenly, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. To feel her skin beneath his palm instead of the heavy silken fabric of the dress. To feel the press of her body on his without his suit between them.

  Her fingertips moved over his shoulder and he pulled his head back so he could look at her face. Their lips were so close. Kissing her would be the simplest thing in the world. Much easier than keeping his eyes on what he was here to do. Much easier than continuing to cling to his control.

  He released his hold on her and stepped away.

  “Mak?” There was a questioning note in her voice. “The song isn’t finished yet.”

  “We’re through here,” he said, his voice rough, his words forced. He turned away from her, his heart raging, his body protesting. “Come, Eva. You need to rejoin the party before your absence is noticed.”

  “I … Yes. I’m sure I do.” She walked past him and headed back into the palace.

  Eva sucked in a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears that were forming at bay. She’d thought about what it might be like to dance with Mak earlier. Had imagined what heat she might feel in his arms.

  Her imagination had been wrong.

  She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, holding herself tight, trying to keep herself from melting into a puddle. Maybe wrong wasn’t the right word. Maybe she’d underestimated.

  Saying that being near Mak generated heat was like comparing a hot stove to molten lava. It was right, but it was far too weak. What Mak made her feel went beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

  She burned where he’d touched her, a trail of fire that was sinking through her skin and igniting a trail along her veins, rushing through her body. Leaving an emptiness behind as it faded, devastation.

  She didn’t understand it. Couldn’t fathom how a man who was as cold as stone could make her feel as if she was going to go up in flames.

  But Mak wasn’t the man she was going to marry. The desire for anything else, no matter how deep, no matter how it made her breath shorten and her stomach tighten, was as impossible as it was forbidden.

  Even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t want her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “YOU have to get her out of Kyonos. Now.” King Stephanos slapped the day’s paper down onto the polished surface of his desk.

  It had been three days since the ball. Three days since Mak had held Eva in his arms. Every one of those days since had made seeing her a sweet torment that he found he almost enjoyed. To want her as he did, to have the memory of what it felt like to have her heat beneath his hands … it kept him awake at night. Kept his body on edge. Made seeing her and not taking her into his arms again a near impossibility.

  And yet, he had not done it. He had not touched her since.

  Three days since that dance, more than two weeks since he’d dragged her out of the casino, but that event was now coming back around to bite Eva in a very big way. Or perhaps it was an example of things finally going according to her plans.

  “Father …” Eva stepped closer to her father’s desk and touched the edge of the paper.

  “You have done enough, Evangelina,” King Stephanos growled. He turned his focus on Makhail. “How do we solve this?” The king pointed at the offending headline, one that promised an interview with both men who had spent a wild night with Princess Evangelina Drakos before she was dragged out of their private room by her other lover.

  “You’re right in suggesting she leave Kyonos. She needs to lie low until it all calms down, which it will, once the story is proven false. Easy enough to do, since I imagine I am the man they’re attempting to paint as her lover, and the room I took her from was anything but private.”

  “I didn’t do anything with them,” Eva said, her voice shaking with anger.

  “Don’t pretend this isn’t the headline you were after,” Mak said.

  “Not this one specifically!” Eva said.

  “You can’t control the media,” Mak said.

  “You made this mess, Evangelina, you can hardly act indignant about it now,” Stephanos said. “This is why we have to be careful. This is why I have to hire someone to make sure you’re making appropriate decisions. A hint of anything scandalous and the press twists it into the most perverse version they can think of, better if a couple of fame-seekers are involved.”

  “I have a place,” Mak said, his stomach tightening even as he suggested it. “There are very few people who know of its existence. It’s completely private. A couple of weeks there should help get her away from the worst of it. You can tell everyone she’s gone on a personal spa holiday.”

  “Good. Take her there. I don’t even want to know where it is,” Stephanos said.

  “Father …”

  “No, Eva. We’ll talk later. For now, you’re going with him. And you will do as he says.”

  Mak could see Eva tense, could tell she was grinding her teeth together in protest, holding in words she wouldn’t say.

  “Come on,” he said, gesturing to Eva. “We’ll go and get your things together.”

  Eva looked at her father one more time before heading toward the door of his office. Mak let her go through first, then followed her into the corridor. He closed the office door behind them, leaving them alone in the empty hall.

  Her stomach lurched. Two weeks. For two weeks they were going to be alone. She and Mak. Just here, in the corridor, with her father in the next room, being alone with Mak made her heart pound faster and her hands shake.

  To really be alone with him … She expected to feel a bit of fear at the thought. But the dominant emotion was excitement. A sort of limb-weakening excitement that she’d never experienced before.

  She shook her head. There wasn’t anything to be excited about. Her name was splashed all over the tabloids, shocking claims attached to it. Blood flooded her face, making it feel hot, prickly, at the thought of what those two men claimed she’d done with them.

  “Don’t look like that,” he said. “You wanted to get out.”

  “I didn’t really want to be barricaded in your secret…. panic house, or whatever it is.” She swallowed hard, her heart fluttering.

  “It’s a chalet. In Switzerland. It’s more Ritz Carlton than Alcatraz.” She barely smiled, her full lips turned down as they made their way toward her chambers. “What’s the problem?”

  “I’m embarrassed,” she said.

  “You are?”

  “How would you like it if a couple of women told the world that you’d … scratch that, you’re a man. You would probably crow about it. But that’s the thing, if I were a man it would be presented as an exploit. Ah yes, very amusing, he’s added to his list of conquests. As it is, something that never happened is being portrayed as my great downfall. Sinner that I am.”

  “We’re all sinners,” he said.

  “True enough,” she said, pressing in the code to her rooms and opening the doors. “I know I did some stupid things, but I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I have morals.” She flicked the lights on in the entryway and continued on through the sitting area and into her bedroom. “I was trying to get myself a bit of a bad reputation, yes, but not … not that bad.”

  She bent down and pulled out a suitcase and put it on the bed.

  “Do you want to call someone to do that?”

  “I’ll do it myself,” she snapped. “I’m not an invalid. I’m not a child. I’m not a slut, either.” She pulled clothes out of her large freestanding wardrobe and started shoving them into the suitcase. “I don’t … I don’t want anyone to think I let those two …”

  “No one will think much about it.”

  “Yes they will, that’s why I have to leave.”

 
“Maybe Bastian will think about it and decide not to marry you,” he said, watching as she put shoes into the large suitcase. “Or maybe he’ll be intrigued and decide it gives him even more reason to marry you.”

  She paused, her head snapping up, a look of horror crossing her face. “That’s … awful.”

  “We’ll go to Switzerland, we’ll lay low for a while, and when you come back, it will have blown over. Of course your family representative will give a statement and make sure it’s known that this isn’t true. But why invite a firestorm when you can go away for a while and wait for it all to die down?”

  “What are we going to do for … weeks on end?”

  He could think of a few things, things that made his blood run hotter, faster. But he refused to give them voice. Refused even to let them morph into a full-color frame in his mind. The idea of two weeks alone with Eva … it brought playing with fire to mind. Like lighting a match and seeing how close he could get to the flame without burning himself. “Play board games.”

  She gave him a baleful look. “Scrabble? Could be interesting. We can play in Greek, Russian and English.”

  The look in her eyes, strong, her wit a bit wicked, even under the circumstances, was unexpected. She truly was an unusual woman. And far too intriguing. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her. An inch closer to the flame. “Italian and French too, if you’d like.”

  “I don’t speak Italian.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll teach you Italian.”

  “A productive use of time,” she said, shutting the lid on her suitcase and trying to push the locks into place. “Help me.”

  She stepped out of the way and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her expression imperious. He laughed and moved into position, pushing the lid down with one hand and locking it into place with the other.

  “I helped get it started for you,” she sniffed.

  He turned his head, their faces close for a moment. He stepped back before he could get a hint of her scent. It would be too much. Too hard to overcome the need to lean in and see if her skin tasted as good as it smelled. To get bolder still with the fire he knew could easily rage out of control. “Of course you did,” he said, picking the suitcase up from its place on the bed. “Ready for your very luxurious exile?”