The Anti-Cinderella Conquers the World

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Just stupid work stuff. Nothing huge, and I honestly don’t want to talk about it right now. If I dredge it all up again, I’ll start brooding, and at the moment, I only want to think about my husband’s hands on me.”

  His answering laugh was soft. “And your husband is happy to have his hands on you.” His fingers left my neck to trail down my front and nudge beneath the neckline of my dress. “In case you need further incentive to appreciate your husband, he also made dinner.”

  “Did he really?” I stretched my head up, arching my neck and smiling at Nicky upside down. “He really is a keeper. I think I’ll stick around and see what else he might have up his sleeve.”

  “Well, making dinner might be stating the case too strongly,” Nicky admitted. “I actually brought in take-away food from your favorite pizza place down the street. But I made a salad to go with it, because I remember you telling me that you didn’t care for the ones they make.”

  “That is close enough to making dinner in my book.” I sighed happily, feeling some of the stress drain away. “It gets you all the points.”

  “Oh, are there points?” His hands stilled. “I had no idea. You should’ve told me this sooner. You know, I’m competitive my nature, and the idea of winning might spur me on to bigger and better deeds.”

  “I have no complaints about your deeds now—ohhhh, right there. Right—exactly—there.” I moaned as he hit a particularly painful spot. “A little harder. Don’t stop.”

  “Holy God, Ky.” Nicky’s voice was low and rough. “Keep that up, and the food’s going to get cold while I ravish you right here in the sitting room.”

  I had come in our front door with no other thought in my head than eating something fast and then crawling into bed to sleep, but now, hearing Nicky’s rasp close to my ear and feeling the way his fingers were decimating the tension in my neck, hot desire flared in my blood and made me want so much more.

  “Let it go cold.” I lifted my arms to twine around his neck, tugging him down to me. “Suddenly, I want to be ravished more than I want . . . ravioli.”

  His shoulders shook as he chuckled, even as his breath came faster and his fingers began to venture down over my breasts. “Good thing, as I didn’t get any ravioli at all.”

  “It was a figure of speech.” I gasped out the last word, not even caring what I was saying since Nicky’s forefinger and thumb had just closed around my nipple.

  With admirable agility, he managed to leap over the back of the sofa, ranging his body alongside mine. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me make you forget about ravioli and figures of speech and shit that went on today at work. Just . . . be.”

  I might have replied, but Nicky began easing the skirt of my dress up my thighs, and the way it felt as the silky material dragged along my thighs drove me crazy. Dropping to the floor, his hands on my knees as he parted them, his eyes fastened on mine.

  “Look at how pretty you are,” he murmured. “Half the time, you’re going about your day, getting ready to leave for the office or to complete some engagement on behalf of my family, and you have no idea how beautiful, how sexy you are. You don’t realize how completely you undo me, just by the simplest movement or the way you glance at me over your shoulder. Your brand of sexy destroys me because it is so effortless. You’re simply you, who you always are, who you’ve always been. And you, my Ky, are the sort of sexy that I will crave and desire for the rest of my life.”

  With fingers that weren’t quite steady, I reached my hand down to cup his face. “Nicky,” I breathed. “I love you.”

  His lips curved into a smile, and he moved between my legs, his fingers venturing up my inner thighs. I watched, entranced, as he spread me open and teased my pulsing core before slipping my panties out of the way.

  “When I drive you over the edge in a moment, I want to hear you scream my name. I want to know that you’re thinking of me, to know that I’m filling every fiber of you.” His mouth covered me, and suddenly, my entire world shrunk to the space between us. Nothing else existed but Nicky’s lips sucking, his tongue stroking and the subtle vibration as he spoke softly against my aching, needing flesh.

  I arched my back, needing him closer, climbing ever higher and ever closer to the pinnacle of pleasure I was blindly seeking. My hands gripped Nicky’s head, my heels dug into the floor, and I thrust myself against him, mindless of anything but the two of us, here, now.

  And when I plunged into the swirling miasma of ecstasy, of course it was his name tumbling out of my mouth until I was hoarse, shaking and completely spent.

  As bad days went, this one ended on a surprisingly high note.

  Later, as we sat at our table eating the salad that my husband had made, I glanced up at him, my brows drawn together.

  “Nicky.”

  “Hmmm?” He smiled at me, but the expression in his eyes was almost absent-minded, as though he were thinking about something else entirely.

  “Do you think we make love too much? Do we use sex to solve our problems? Or to avoid them altogether?”

  Nicky choked, coughing violently on the bite of lettuce he’d just taken. Once he could speak again, he shook his head and glared at me. “Where the devil did that come from? My answer, by the way, is hell, no. We don’t have too much sex. I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I was just . . . thinking.” I twisted my napkin between my fingers. “Sometimes I’m a little annoyed with you, or I want to talk about things, and instead, we end up in bed.” I jerked my head back toward the living room. “Or on the sofa, as the case may be.”

  “So you feel as though you’re using sex to avoid conversation?” Nicky took a long drink of his water. “Or that somehow, I’m subtly re-directing us down that path, rather than discussing our problems?”

  “Well, when you put it that way, not exactly,” I admitted. “I was just musing that we have a lot of sex.”

  “And thank God for that,” he replied fervently. “I like that about us. It works for me.”

  “I’m hardly complaining, either.” I shrugged. “But I just came home, preoccupied about a situation at work, and instead of telling you all about it, I asked you to, you know.” I rolled my hand. “Do what you did for me.”

  “I’d do it again.” Nicky winked, and then his expression faded into something more serious. “Do you want to tell me about whatever happened at work? You know, I’m more than happy to listen to you. Any time.”

  I considered. “Not really. It’s probably nothing, just my over-active imagination at play. I think I’m so worried about not doing a good job at Honey Bee, at the prospect of letting down Honey now that my focus is split, that I tend to see problems where none exist.”

  “Do you need to cut back on your engagements for the Queen, so that you feel better about your job?” Nicky slid his salad bowl aside and reached for the takeaway containers.

  “No.” I shook my head emphatically. “I like doing both. I’m actually not doing badly at juggling both.”

  “Okay, then.” He scooped a healthy portion of penne onto his plate. “Here’s my take on everything. We’re newlyweds. Not only that, we’re newlyweds who spent a long time apart during our courtship, because of the whole you-living-in-America deal, while I was here in Britain. So we’re not only expected to be having lots of sex as a couple who are just married, but we’re also making up for lost time.”

  I laughed. “All right, then. I feel totally justified now.”

  “Plus, sex is an expression of the depth of love I feel for you, Ky. I never want you to doubt that love. I’m male, and it’s my favorite way to show you how much I care.”

  “Now that is something I can run with.” I reached across the table and linked my fingers with Nicky’s. “Thank you, sweetheart. I feel much better now.”

  He nodded. “Would you feel even better if we followed up this healthy discussion with some vigorous romping in the sheets?”

  I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hold
back the wide grin that curved my lips. “You’re incorrigible, Prince Nicholas.”

  My husband waggled his brows at me. “I am, indeed. But that wasn’t a no.”

  Digging into my pasta, I heaved a long, happy sigh. “You’re right. It wasn’t a no. It was more like a . . . convince me to say yes.” I paused. “After I enjoy my dinner, that is. And maybe after we cuddle a little and catch up with each other’s days.”

  Nicky nodded. “I get it. Priorities.”

  As it happened, that night we didn’t, uh, romp in the sheets as my husband had phrased it so eloquently. But we did end the evening wrapped in each other’s arms, content.

  And that was perfect bliss, in its own way.

  I ALMOST ALWAYS KEPT MY phone on silent mode at night. Since most of my family and friends lived in a completely different time zone, if I didn’t do that, I’d be hearing notifications and alerts while I was trying to sleep. After I’d moved to England, Harold had showed me how to change the phone settings so that only certain people’s messages or calls could override the silent mode.

  So when my phone trilled in the early hours of the morning, while it took me a moment to blink awake, my first thought was panic. If my phone was ringing, it was because there was some kind of emergency, something bad . . . something wrong.

  “Relax.” Next to me, Nicky slung an arm around me and pulled me tight against his warm chest. “It’s probably something about work, or one of your sisters needing advice. Don’t freak out.”

  “Yeah.” I reached for my phone. “Let’s hope.” Frowning, I squinted at the read out on the screen. “It’s Simon. What on earth could he want? I’m supposed to see him in a few hours, for the groundbreaking on the new field at the Tottenham gardens.”

  Without waiting for Nicky’s answer to my rhetorical question, I hit the button to answer. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, ma’am. I apologize for the early telephone call, but something came to me through Palace channels, and I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.”

  I cleared my throat and shifted my pillow to cushion my back. “What’s going on?”

  “Apparently, there was a break-in last night at Lackett Nursery. Someone went into their growing areas and greenhouses and sprayed pesticides on all of their plants. They’ve lost thousands of pounds worth of inventory.”

  “What?” My brain was still sleep-addled, and what I’d just heard didn’t make any sense. “Why would anyone do something like that?”

  “The police don’t have any suspects yet, but it’s early, of course. Whoever did it set off an alarm before they left, which is how the crime was discovered so quickly. But the owners did indicate that they’d received some anonymous emails and voice messages since the announcement of their involvement with the Tottenham gardens.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of that.” I’d met the owners of the nursery before we’d announced their sponsorship, and then again at the time of the official statement. I was supposed to see them today, when we cut the ribbon on the new field, the one their help was making possible. “Did they file reports with the police? About the messages, I mean.”

  Nicky sat up, frowning, his eyes questioning. I gripped his arm and squeezed before I held up one finger to indicate that I’d explain in a moment.

  “Unfortunately, they did not.” Simon’s tone didn’t fluctuate. “They thought them nothing more than annoying pranks at first. And then they thought perhaps the calls came from business rivals, jealous of their new opportunity, and they didn’t want to make waves.”

  I sighed and covered my eyes with my free hand. “This is terrible. Are they horribly upset? What a stupid question—of course they are. All that waste and loss. Are they cancelling for today? Should we call it all off?”

  “Actually, ma’am, the Lacketts are not cancelling at all. They insist that they are going ahead with the partnership, despite all of this. But the police felt that the Palace should know, of course, and we’re increasing security measures for the ceremony today. Also, considering the connection with the Royal Family, the investigation will be taken over by Scotland Yard.”

  “I understand.” I nodded, my eyes sliding to Nicky. “Is there anything else I need to know, Simon?”

  “At this point, ma’am, you know everything I do. I’ll be happy to provide you with an update on our way to the garden this morning, if there is any more information available by then.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you at nine, then.” Ending the call, I dropped my phone onto the mattress and fell back against my pillows. “Holy shit, Nicky. Someone sabotaged Lackett Nursery.”

  As I filled him in on what Simon had just told me, I watched my husband’s face darken and his eyes narrow.

  “They don’t have suspects? Isn’t there a security camera at this nursery?” he demanded. Without letting me answer—not that I knew whether or not they did—Nicky picked up his own telephone. “I want to know everything. I want to know what evidence they already have, and I want to know if someone has taken credit for doing it.”

  I tilted my head, my forehead wrinkling in confusing. “Taken credit for it? Why the hell would anyone announce they’d committed a crime? This isn’t terrorism, Nicky. It’s probably as the Lacketts thought—jealous business rivals.”

  “I can’t see anyone who works with plants willing to destroy them, even if they are upset about the Lacketts’ opportunities with you,” he retorted. “And it is, in fact, terrorism, Kyra. Just because something happens in our own country doesn’t mean it isn’t. The purpose is to disrupt, to engender fear and to cause panic. All of those are the earmarks of terrorists.” He scrolled through his contacts, glancing up at me. “You’re not going to the ceremony today, clearly. They’ll have to postpone it.”

  I straightened my back. “Um, no, they’re not postponing the opening. Simon said the Lacketts were adamant that it should go on.” I shrugged. “There’s going to be extra security, if that makes you feel better, but I’m absolutely going to be there. This is something I’ve worked hard on for a long time, Nicky. It’s my baby. I’m not going to miss it.”

  “You’re going to willingly put yourself in danger because you don’t want to miss a photo op?” Nicky glared at me. “No. You’re not going. I don’t care how much security they plan to add. I don’t fucking care if the head of Scotland Yard and MI5 both show up and flank you. You’re not going to be there.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and returned his icy stare. “You are being ridiculous and over-protective. I have never cancelled or backed out of a commitment as a member of the Royal Family, and I’m sure as hell not going to start today. Not when it’s so important to show whoever perpetuated this senseless act that we’re not going to be cowed by what they’ve done.”

  “Bullshit. This is a community garden, not some lunch counter during your country’s civil rights movement or Tiananmen Square or the Temple Mound in Jerusalem. It’s not a milestone for freedom or rights. Put everything in perspective. You don’t need to make this stand, Ky. It’s not a hill you need to die on.”

  I scrambled out of our bed, not caring one whit that I was still naked. “Thanks for letting me know how you really feel about the importance of my work. Nice to hear that you look at it as just something to keep me busy—a good enough cause for a lesser member of the Royal Family who doesn’t matter anyway. And believe me, I don’t plan to die on a hill today, Nicky.”

  “No one plans to die,” he thundered, standing up on his side of the bed and reaching for his boxers. “No one plans to be a victim of brutal violence. But it happens anyway. And when the work you do offends a group of people to the point that they’re willing to destroy and kill—yeah, that work is definitely important. I never said it wasn’t, and I never thought for one moment that it isn’t. I’m proud of you, dammit, and I always have been.” He took a deep breath, as though he was trying to calm himself, and then spoke more slowly, his words measured. “But proud or not, important or no
t, I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger for anything, not even for your very important work. Do you not understand, Ky, that you are everything to me? If something happened to you, I couldn’t live. Just the idea of you being out where some lunatic could hurt you—or worse—it drives me mad. I want to lock you in this room and never let you out.”

  Nicky raked his fingers through his hair, his bare chest heaving as he bit off the last words. I was at a loss, unsure how to answer, taken aback by the ferocity of his response. I remembered then my conversation with Daisy a couple of weeks ago, when we’d talked about why Nicky seemed to be trying to keep me from traveling with him. If he truly was as wracked with worry as he seemed this morning, it all made sense.

  All of the fight and indignation drained from me. Silently, I skirted the bed and went to my husband, circling him with my arms and holding on tight.

  I pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Nicky, I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t mean to make light of anything. You’re right—these things are frightening, and the idea that anyone is so against our work that he—or she—might destroy property is awful. But even though I understand what you’re saying, you have to agree that it’s pretty far-fetched to think that the same individual might make the jump from property damage to hurting a person. And I really feel strongly about being at the opening today. Maybe what I’m doing in Tottenham doesn’t make much of a difference on the world stage. We’re not ending world hunger or bringing about peace in the Middle East or finding the cure for cancer. But it’s making a difference to that community. It’s changing lives there, and it’s bringing together generations. People who work at the gardens are taking ownership of their food and of their care of the earth. They’re learning, and they’re excited. It matters. If I’m not there today, it won’t change the work, but it will disappoint people I don’t want to let down. Can you please understand that?”