by Maisey Yates
“That’s true.”
“Dance with me like you did the night at the ball. In the beginning.” Rather than here, at the end. Her stomach ached and she closed her eyes against the pain.
He drew her to him, pressing her body against the length of his. “Very true,” he whispered.
She laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart pound beneath her ear. She wanted to tell him, so badly. The words hovered on the edge of her lips, sweet on her tongue, but threatening to burn her if she released them.
If he rejected her love, it would ruin what they had. They could never be together. Not really. So it was better to just preserve it as it was. To hold the love she felt for him close to her chest. To use it to warm her through her cold marriage. And maybe someday it wouldn’t be Mak’s face she saw when she closed her eyes.
Doubtful. But maybe.
It made her want to cling to his image even more tightly.
They swayed, not keeping time. There was no music here, no noise from her engagement party reaching in to disturb them. She pushed back the despair that was threatening to crowd in. There was no room for it now. This was her time, her moment.
“Back at the chalet, I thought that moment in the living room would be our last kiss,” he said, his voice rough.
She swallowed. “So did I.”
“I don’t want it to be our last kiss.”
“I don’t either.” She didn’t want there to be a last kiss, she wanted there always to be another kiss on the horizon. To have years of them. To fall asleep to them and wake up to them. But no one ever asked what she wanted.
He tilted his head and brushed her lips with his. Every pore of her body sighed with relief. For now, there would be more kisses. Maybe too many to count. And she would take that. Happily.
He deepened the kiss and she met him, sliding her tongue against his, spreading her hands over his shoulders, down his back, holding him to her, as he tightened his hold on her.
A sob climbed her throat, but she suppressed it. She didn’t have time to cry. She couldn’t waste one moment of this time with him by being sad, or by regretting what wasn’t to be. She had to seize now. She had to live in it completely.
She loosened his tie and undid the top four buttons on his shirt, spreading it as wide as she could so she could reach her hand in and brush her fingers over his muscles, letting them follow the contours of his body, the gorgeous, defined lines that were so sexy they made her hands tremble.
He slid his hands down her waist, to her hips, gathering the gauzy fabric of her gown in his hands and bunching it into his hands, moving the hemline from the ground to her mid calf. She tilted her head and he kissed her neck, her shoulder, running his tongue along the edge of her gown’s neckline.
She shivered beneath the sensual friction and he brought the hem of her gown up higher, to her knees, before lowering one hand and sweeping it beneath the fabric. He moved his hand up her thigh, cupping her bare hip, finding her panties and drawing them down. She kicked them to the side and he moved his hand around to palm her butt.
“Please tell me you came prepared for this,” she said as he walked her backward toward the stone bench.
“I did. Though I’m not certain that’s something I should be proud of.”
“I’m happy about it,” she said, trying to lighten the moment, trying to move some of the heavy weight off of her chest.
“That’s a relief.”
She sat on the bench and he knelt before her, pushing her dress up past her hips, exposing her body to his gaze. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. She shivered, anticipation tightening her stomach. He’d done this quite a few times during their stay in Switzerland, and he never disappointed.
He zeroed in on her most sensitive spot, his tongue lavishing her with attention on that one place that sent waves rippling through her entire body. She could feel herself getting close to the edge, feel her orgasm building, like water contained by a splintering wall of glass. Slowly, slowly, building pressure.
He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, fishing a condom out of one of the sections.
“You’re a regular pro,” she said, trying not to sound, or feel, too bad.
“Necessity,” he said.
She reached for his belt buckle and undid it, her fingers shaking as she pushed it through the loops and opened his fly. She could see the outline of his erection pressing against his underwear. She pressed her palm over his hardened flesh, testing his weight.
His breath hissed through his teeth and he moved nearer to her. She pushed his underwear over his shaft, encircling him with her fingers, squeezing him. He handed her the packet, and she tore it open, rolling the condom down over his length.
The pause in full-on contact had helped some of the pressure ease, but the moment his body was back up against hers, his hardness pressing against her, it all crashed over her again.
She hooked her legs over his hips and he angled himself, pushing inside her slowly.
“Oh, Mak,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, hiding her face against his shoulder as a deep, overwhelming sense of satisfaction spread through her.
“Eva,” he ground out, his hand on her lower back, drawing her forward. She tilted her head back and looked at him, completely captured by the expression of dark sensuality etched into every line of his face.
He thrust into her, his eyes never leaving hers, unless he was leaning in to kiss her lips, to whisper hot, forbidden words in her ear.
Every thrust, every word, pushed her higher, put more cracks in her control, until it all burst, pleasure rushing through her. Uncontrollable, unstoppable. Mak’s pace increased, every movement forcing a small aftershock every time his body pressed against hers.
He froze against her, a harsh sound escaping his lips as he dropped his hand from her back, his palm braced hard on the bench as he embraced his own release.
She cupped his face in her hand, moving her fingers over his sweat-dampened skin, pushing her fingers through his thick hair. A tear slid down her cheek and she didn’t even try to stop it.
“How much time,” she whispered, her throat so tight it was almost impossible to speak.
He shifted, his focus drifting to his watch. “Twenty minutes.”
Her chest trembled, shaking as she held a sob at bay. “Okay.” She pushed gently on his shoulders.
He stood, turning and rounding a corner for a moment, returning a moment later with his clothes righted, the condom discarded.
She stood then, her knees unsteady, and brushed the front and back of her dress, trying to make sure everything was lying as it should. Checking to see if her hair was in place, her bodice tugged up where it should be.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his hand hover by her cheek for a moment before curling his fingers into a fist and dropping it at his side.
“I’ll escort you back.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
The walk back seemed so much shorter than the walk into the garden had been. They came out of the foliage and back into the light, the noise of the party.
She went through the same door they’d used to exit the palace. The corridor was strangely empty now. She looked at the door to the ballroom, partially opened. She could see impressions of people moving around inside. Waiting for the announcement. Waiting for her.
“Eva,” Mak said, his voice broken. “I’m sorry. That was …”
She pulled back from him, feeling a break between them, anger tightening her chest. “Don’t. Don’t apologize to me for what just happened. Don’t apologize for any of it. Ever.”
She walked away from him, toward the ballroom … closer. She stopped just outside the door. Her feet felt stuck to the spot. She turned and looked at Mak, a shiver racking her body, even though she felt no cold.
Bastian walked out of a side door, his fair good looks stirring nothing in her but the desire to run. To run toward Mak. She looked f
rom her soon-to-be-fiancé, back to the man she loved, Mak, who was standing with hands at his sides, his expression one of barely suppressed violence.
“Evangelina, are you ready?” Bastian asked, his tone so polite, so detached, that not even the use of her name seemed personal.
She looked back at Mak, willing him to stop things. Willing him to ask her to stay. He didn’t. He only stood, frozen, watching her, his eyes cold. “Yes.”
She took his arm and headed into the ballroom with him, leaving her heart outside in the corridor, with a man she loved more than words could express.
She felt sick. She felt wrong. Her entire body felt branded by Mak, and now she had her arm looped through another man’s. Her body still ached, her lips were still swollen from kissing Mak. She felt as if what she had done, what she desired, was scrawled across her face for anyone to see.
She wanted to run. Away from Bastian. Away from everything.
But Mak was about honor. Mak lived it, he breathed it. Every line in his face spoke of the desire to go after her. But she knew he wouldn’t.
He had just broken every rule. For her. She knew he wouldn’t do it again. And she could never ask him to.
Because this was about more than one person. It was about the alliance of countries. It was about duty. And she knew that in Mak’s world, duty reigned. It was one of the things that made him so wonderful. One of the things that made him the man she loved.
She turned her back on love and turned toward duty. The pain coursing through her body protesting each step she took into the ballroom. Each step she took away from the life she desired, and into a life she would never have chosen. A life she would never be able to escape.
“The wedding will take place in just over three weeks.” King Stephanos made the announcement and the entire ballroom erupted into a collective sigh.
The prodigal princess, finally taking her place.
Mak watched from his position in the back of the room, his hand wrapped around one of the stone pillars, decorated with an intricate twining vine of bronze. A thing of beauty. And only one of the many things in the palace he would happily tear apart in that moment.
Eva looked waxen, her expression serene, guarded. He feared she might have learned that from him. He couldn’t spare a moment to look at the man standing at her side. He was unimportant. Mak wouldn’t waste one moment when Eva was in his sight.
Then Bastian Van Saant, began to speak and Mak tightened his hold on the pillar. So easy to imagine he was squeezing the other man’s neck. Far too easy. He talked about time-honored traditions, and uniting two powerful families. The unification of Komenia and Kyonos. He didn’t speak of love. Of why Eva was essential. Why she was special.
Mak knew why. Wherever Eva went, she would bring brightness, a sort of sparkle that was unique to her. Unlike anyone else in the world. She would bring energy, humor and a bit of scandal. And he doubted Van Saant would appreciate any of that.
She was right. She was nothing more than an item to these men, to her fiancé, to her father. A stock to be bought and sold when the market price was right. Van Saant had gotten a hell of deal since the value on his recent purchase was down, thanks to the salacious stories in the news.
The very idea made bile rise in his throat. Eva was a pearl beyond price. If it were but a matter of selling every last possession to have her, he would. He would give up everything to have her.
But it was more than that.
It was the cost to her, that was the cost that was unacceptable.
Finally, Van Saant quit speaking and music began playing again. Bastian took Eva’s hand and led her to the dance floor. Mak tightened his grip on the pillar, holding himself in place, willing himself not to cross the room and carry her out of it, just as he’d threatened to do at the casino so many weeks ago. Weeks that seemed like a lifetime ago.
Even if she ran from her fiancé’s arms now, there was nothing. He could do nothing. Give her nothing. Nothing but the shell of a man, a shadow of who he’d once been.
For a brief time, she’d brought something more back into his life. She gave him light again, in that way only she could. But he would steal it all someday, if he let her keep giving.
He would leave her as dry as he was now.
The dancing couple turned and he caught Eva’s eyes, saw a weight, a haunting sadness in the dark depths he’d never seen before. He saw how much this marriage would cost her and it made his stomach burn.
He released his hold on the pillar and felt sharp pain he hadn’t been aware of. He looked at his palm, blood dripping from there down his wrist. There were thorns on the bronze vine. He hadn’t even realized.
Physical pain was nothing in the face of the pain in his chest. It was almost welcome, because it helped dull the edge. He brushed his hand down his pant leg, not caring if he left a stain. This entire night would leave a stain inside him. Forever. Why not have a bit of external proof?
He walked out of the ballroom and into the corridor, his heart raging. His tie suddenly felt too tight, as if it was choking him. He tugged on the knot and cast it onto the floor, walking toward the front entrance.
The front of the palace was lit up by hundreds of lights strung overhead. There were staff cars parked along the front, and even a horse-drawn carriage, as if it was a ball from a bloody fairy tale.
He stalked down the drive. He would have to come back. He was still working for the king. But he couldn’t stay now. He couldn’t bear to watch Eva with another man. With the man who would be bound to her for all of his life. The man who didn’t know what a gift that was.
“Mak!”
He turned and saw Eva running to him, her skirt balled up in her fists, tugged up past her knees, showing delicate, glittery shoes that glinted in the lights.
“Mak, please stop!”
He did and so did she, a few feet in front of him, her breasts rising and falling in time with her breathing, her heavy eye makeup smeared down her cheeks.
“You left your tie,” she said, her breathing heavy.
He noticed that she had the tie wadded up in the same hand that was gripping her skirt. “I have other black ties.”
“I know.”
He started to turn from her. “I’ll be back, Eva, I’m just leaving for a while.”
“Give me a reason, Mak,” she said, her voice breaking. “Give me just one. I’ll go and tell him it’s off. I’ll announce it to the whole damn country myself.” She raised her hand to wipe a tear from her cheek, her fingers trembling.
He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t do it for me, Eva.”
“What other reason do I have?”
He closed the distance between them, taking a chance, a big chance, by touching her arm. “You’re worth more than that. Do it because you deserve happiness. Because you deserve to live for more than this outdated idea of what honor is. You are more than a possession, you’ve said it to me many times, so show your father it’s true. Those are good reasons, real reasons, to call it off. But don’t do it for me. I’m not worth it.”
“Yes you are,” she said, her voice thick.
Pain burst through him. “No. I have nothing to give you. Nothing.”
Eva looked at Mak, desperation gnawing at her. How could he see nothing in himself when she looked at him and saw her whole world.
“I don’t care,” she said, the words bursting from her. She didn’t care about her pride, not in that moment. “Let me take care of you. Let me give to you. Take from me. Take it all, I don’t care.”
He advanced on her and wrapped his hand around her wrist, tugging her up against him. He dropped his head and kissed her lips, fiercely, intimately. Like a man who knew every inch of his lover. A man who was desperate. Desperate for her.
He pulled away from her abruptly, taking a step back. “No, Eva. Don’t ask me to do that. Don’t tempt me. My honor has its limits. I know the cost of those kinds of relationships. I had no choice in mine. The only sins committed belonged to me.
You have no obligation to me. Don’t sign yourself up for a life of me taking from you, because damn it, Eva, I’m tempted to take you up on it.”
“Do. Please do.” She said, desperation tugging at her.
“No. Because you want love. You deserve love and I can’t.” The words sounded broken, torn from him.
“I don’t love Bastian, so what difference does it make?”
“Every difference. He wants you. I don’t.”
She looked at him, at his cold, dark eyes. And she knew he was lying. She also knew she couldn’t drag the truth from him. This man, the love of her life. The man who had been a virgin at twenty-nine because he had chosen loyalty, strength, over any physical desire. And she knew he wouldn’t break now.
“But I love you,” she said. “And I don’t love him.”
Mak barely moved when she said the words, but she could tell they’d hit him. Hard. “All the more reason for me to walk away.”
He turned. “Don’t walk too far,” she said. He looked back at her. “Aren’t you doing security for my wedding?”
She watched a muscle in his jaw tick. “That’s right. I’ll see you then.”
He turned away, cold as ice, composed as ever.
And every piece of her heart shattered, raining down like ash as it settled in her stomach. Nausea pervaded her body. She put a hand to her stomach, trying to fight the urge to vomit.
She looked down at the black silk tie, still in her hand. She felt as though she’d been left holding the glass slipper. Except she knew who it belonged to. She knew her perfect fit.
She walked over to the expansive grass lawn around the circular drive. She sat down, letting her dress fan out around her, and pressed the tie to her chest. Moisture seeped from the grass through her dress. She didn’t care.
“Princess Evangelina?” One of the security guards approached her. “Are you all right?”
“I just need to think,” she said. “Just a minute.”
Do it for you.
Suddenly reality crashed in. She’d been unhappy for a long time, and she’d fought her fate like a rebellious teenager. By acting out, by causing a scene. And never once had she stood before her father and told him what she wanted from life. Never once taken a stand.
