“How do you feel?” she asks, almost whispering.
“Amazing,” he says, and her gaze snaps to his. She’s stunned by his smile, the relief in his dark, exotic eyes. Eyes that reminded her, so long ago, of the thing she could never have.
Tears burn in her eyes, and concern fills his face. He reaches for her, wincing as the movement pulls at his wounds. “What’s wrong, mali?”
“You were shot, you idiot.” She sniffles, hating that she’s crying. “What were you thinking?”
“Better me than you.”
She stares at him. She had known, of course she had known, that the bullets were meant for her. That he had kept her from being shot. She forces a wry smile. “This alliance is that important to you?”
Rama goes still, watching her with too-dark eyes. “I don’t give a damn about the alliance,” he says, clearly. “Haven’t you figured it out, yet, mali?”
“What?”
He tugs until she relents and steps closer. “I seem to have a weakness for fair-haired royalty,” he murmurs, and she shudders. Caleb has never felt more present than in this moment. “I took those bullets because your cousins aren’t the only ones who will protect you, Emma. I accept the alliance because I trust you. I don’t need this as much as you think—the Ratchaphure are fine without the Morgan’s backing. I want you.”
She frowns. “I don’t need another family threatening us.”
He sighs, an aggravated noise. Ignoring the bandage on his chest, he reaches up and pulls her down, moving with lithe grace and speed that makes her blood heat. “Would you, for one second, forget that you are the heir to a syndicate? I’m not here as that—I didn’t take a bullet from your uncle because of that. I don’t give a fuck about your syndicate.”
She goes stiff in his arms, and his hand comes up, smoothing over her hair, easing a worry line that’s formed around her eyes. “I care that you are safe. I care that you aren’t hurt. I love you, mali. You. Not the syndicate or your cousin, or your king. Just you.”
“Rama,” she whispers, stunned. He kisses her before she can protest, his lips hot and hungry on hers. There have been too many secrets, too many lies. She hasn’t truly been in his arms, without the threat of being found, or the watching eye of her cousin, in too long. Now he is in the very heart of the empire, the heir in his arms, and he doesn’t care. He’s tired of waiting for the perfect moment—there never will be one, not with her.
He feels the moment she surrenders, her body going soft and pliant, even as her hand comes up to twist into his hair, holding him at the precise angle she wants as she kisses him.
Even in this, she is a queen, taking what she wants.
Dimly, he is aware of the door behind them opening, slow steps crossing the room. Not for all his kingdom would he pull away from her, right now. Her lips whisper over his, softening, pulling away slowly. It’s a kiss full of promise, one that makes his heart trip.
Emma blinks slowly and twists on the bed. She should be surprised to see Seth—he’s been confined to bed rest after the surgery to remove the bullet in his shoulder—but she’s not.
She squeezes Rama’s hand, aware of Seth’s hot gaze on her. “Get some sleep, Rama,” she says. “I need to speak with Seth.” She starts to rise and take Seth’s arm. He stops her, stepping toward the bed.
“Thank you,” he says, hoarsely. Something flickers in his eyes, and he looks down, taking a steadying breath. “You took bullets meant for my family—and you saved the life of the only person who matters to me. I’m in your debt for that.”
The world bottoms out. Seth Morgan does not owe debts. Not to anyone—certainly not a foreign syndicate. Rama inclines his head, slightly. “She is worth two bullets, and more, my friend.”
A smile twitches Seth’s lips, and he nods.
“You need rest,” Emma says firmly, and he reaches down, placing a steady hand on Rama’s blanket clad ankle. Then Seth allows himself to be led back to his room.
Emma fusses over him, plumping his pillows and twitching his blankets straight. He lets her, without protest—the past few days have been hell on her, and she needs to burn off the restless energy.
And it is soothing, being near her. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Mikie, the gun pointed at Emma, feels that insane, spine-crushing fear.
He had gambled that Mikie would never hurt the favorite princess. Emma was sacred, in their family. It was a gamble that he almost lost, and the fear is still there, strangling him when he thinks about it too long.
“I’m right here,” she says, dropping into the chair next to his bed.
He flinches. She reads him so well. Too well. “You should have listened to me,” he says, without heat. “I told you to leave.”
“Would you have left me?”
His glare is answer enough. “Do not ask me to do something that you wouldn’t do yourself,” she says, quietly. Seth is still, staring at her. “We can’t keep doing this, Seth. You have to trust me—no more secrets. The entire family is stumbling, wondering what’s next. We have to stand together—and I need you to trust me to do that. You can’t protect me to the point of suffocation.”
He stares at her, and she meets it levelly, her eyes bright and determined. “You know,” he says slowly, “the family will not be happy about the coup.”
She shrugs. “We control the majority of the shares, and enforcement belongs to Tinney—no one has enough backing to dethrone you.”
It’s an ice cold assessment, and he smirks. The brat prince stirs. “The Olivers will demand recompense for Nicolette.”
Her expression doesn’t change, doesn’t falter at all at the mention of the woman she killed. “I know.”
Seth leans back on the pillows in the room his father died in. His head falls to the side, and together, they watch the sun set, the city coming to life with brilliant shining lights. A sea of light, the burning heart of the city they rule.
About the Authors
AJ and Nazarea became friends in a writers group. Drawn together by a love of fictional bad boys and good wine, they are best kept several states apart but rack up a ton of emails and text messages arguing plot points.
Nazarea is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves chocolate and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, and overgrown dog.
You can follow her on Facebook and Twitter.
Nazarea Andrews Official Website
AJ has seven tattoos, two dogs, and a bachelor's degree in journalism. She enjoys live music, and a diverse range of writing styles and genres. She has been writing creatively and therapeutically since childhood. She also supports artist collaboration and cross-media projects. She is an advocate of experience as inspiration. She lives and works in southern West Virginia as a bartender novelist.
Keep up with her on Facebook and Twitter.
Twitter: @MissVish
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Aj-Elmore-author-muse/329812783118
Acknowledgements:
N: Oh, man. Who should we thank?
AJ: Um.
N: there are so many people, dude. SO MANY.
That’s how our conversation went the day it came to write our dedication. A lot of people were mentioned. The guys who sell us wine. The inventors of texting. Pandora radio and Imagine Dragons. A few that won’t be repeated.
But in all seriousness, a massive thank you to the following:
Our characters, who became so very real for us. Seth, Emma, Rama, even Caleb and Nic—they became part of our lives and we have had so much fun—and headaches—telling their story.
Mel Stevens who created an amazing cover, and when that wasn’t enough, did another in less than a week. Seth looks gorgeous.
KP Simmon and Jessica Estep for marketing and getting the word out and just being amazing. So glad we have such rockstars in our corner.
Rachel Bateman, our
crazy talented editor who made our nonsense make sense. And gave awesome lessons in vomit and jewelry.
Our original writing home—and the people there—where Seth’s story first began.
Chantee Hale, who keeps the website running and Nazarea a few steps away from crazy and formats like a freaking boss.
Brianna for her awesome beta read and the amusing notes she left. And for shipping with me.
I would also like to thank my husband, who tolerated me stopping in random places to take pictures for later settings and muttering while writing, “Dude. Seth is hot.” You’re the best, babe. And AJ, for sharing the first tidbits of this story and graciously putting up with me when I said, “Dude. Can I write Emma?”
AJ would like to add: yeah. Thanks, N, for putting up with all my crap.
And, finally, to the readers. We hope you loved the brat prince as much as we do.
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