by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
"Fun. Pleasure," Max supplied, gently beginning to tease the first button on her blouse out of its hole. "Use any word you want." He separated another button from its hole. "But use it later. Because I need to kiss you now."
She had to swallow before she spoke. The words were sticking in her throat. "Need?"
"Yes," Max whispered, his lips almost touching hers. "Need."
It was the word that defined what she was feeling as well. Need. A huge, overpowering need that quickly ate through her like a hungry shrew, chewing away at all the walls of resistance she was so vainly trying to reconstruct.
The last time they had been made of steel, and still they had crumbled. This time, they were hardly as strong as papier-mache.
Because she had made love with him.
Because she knew how tender he could be.
She was drowning in her own needs. Cara told herself that what he was saying, what he was doing to her, was all a ruse. Men like Ryker knew how to play women, knew how to make them want what wasn't any good for them. It didn't matter, she couldn't convince herself. Couldn't pull away from him.
She wanted it as much as he did. Maybe even more, though she hated to admit it, even to herself.
But this was good for her, she argued silently. However fleeting, however invisible its foundations were, this wild, heady feeling, this rush of adrenaline and desire, was good for her.
It amazed Max that the fire he felt inside his loins and belly was even greater this time around than it had been the last. It was his experience that mysteries that had been breached were not as tempting the second time around. Somehow, that didn't seem to be the case this time around.
She was still a mystery to him, still an unsolved puzzle. They were dancing to a tune that was unfamiliar to him. Unlike other women in his life, Cara wasn't eager to please him, wasn't eager to be with him every waking moment, and yet despite this, or perhaps because of this, he found her fascinating. And heady.
Like alcohol consumed on a stomach too empty to offer any resistance.
Just as her head went spinning out of control and her knees threatened to buckle humiliatingly, Max surprised her by scooping her up in his arms.
Drawing her lips back from his, she looked at him, a question in her eyes.
He gave voice to his. "Where's your bedroom?"
The feel of his breath on her skin excited her. "There." She pointed off into the distance, her sense of direction all but stripped away from her, along with what she'd once thought was her common sense. "Why?"
"Because—" he pressed a kiss to her throat"—if I don't get you there in the next five seconds, I'm going to make love to you right here on the floor."
Make love.
Not have sex, make love.
Cara wrapped herself up in the word, pretending it was real. That he meant exactly that. She had never heard the word applied to her. No one had ever told her they loved her.
Just for now, with her heart swelling in anticipation, she pretended that someone had.
Trying not squirm as a myriad of delicious feelings battled for control of her body, Cara pressed a kiss to his neck.
"I like the floor," she whispered, feeling decadent and wildly innocent at the same time. He made her feel an entire spectrum of diverse, opposing emotions and it was wonderful.
The next moment, as a rush of adrenaline pulsated and surged through his veins, Max set her back on the floor. Her arms wound around his neck, rejecting a separation.
She wanted him. Here and now. Wanted this man right here on her rug.
She was a tigress, there was no other way to describe her. On some distant plane, Max had thought he knew what to anticipate, at least as far as the physical mechanics of lovemaking went.
He was wrong.
This time, if anything, she was the one who took charge. She was the one to make love to him. Though he had made the first move by beginning to unbutton her blouse, it was she who began to undress him.
Her fingers flew nimbly, teasingly over the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one by one, pressing a kiss to his chest each time a little more skin appeared. She drew the shirttails out of his waistband and then pulled the material from his shoulders, all but ripping it off his arms.
Flinging the shirt behind her, Cara unnotched his belt, then flicked apart the snap to his jeans. Jeans on a duke. The world was a funny place.
Her mouth curved.
Her eyes were wicked as she looked into his. Hypnotizing him. And then her fingers began to delve beneath the barriers of the material, slowly slipping down to touch his flesh. Making him quicken with anticipation, making him groan as just the barest hint of the tips of her fingers skimmed along the length of him.
She was making him crazy.
Gripping her shoulders, Max pulled her to him, sealing his mouth to hers. Feasting on her lips.
Making love to her face, her limbs, her very being.
A voice within his brain cautioned him to go slow, but it was merely a vague, almost muted hum somewhere in the background.
He didn't listen. He didn't want to.
His hands flew over her body, divesting her of her clothes quickly, hardly able to hold back the raging hunger he felt eating away at him. Quickly, as he caressed her, he rediscovered what he already knew was there.
Finding her for the first time.
Again.
If possible, her body was even more magnificent this time around than it had been the last. He touched, caressed, tantalized, worshiped. And with each pass, he discovered that he couldn't get enough of her.
Every kiss gave birth to another, more urgent than the last.
He hardly recognized himself, but there was no time for thought, for analysis. There was only time to react, to savor.
To make love.
Bringing her as gently as he could to the floor, his body poised over hers, he momentarily pulled back, looking at her. Memorizing the features that his fingers had already committed to memory.
"You're magnificent," he whispered.
His mouth over hers, he gave her no time to respond. No time to think. He took her because she was already his. And he was already hers.
Chapter 14
Afterglow, Cara discovered, had staying power. It was still with her the next morning as she boarded King Marcus's private jet, a luxurious Gulfstream. Her body throbbed like a timpani drum solo every time she thought of the night she'd shared with Max.
They'd made love three times. On the living-room floor, on her bedroom floor and then in her bed. Exhausted, contented, she'd finally fallen asleep in his arms, which to her was even more intimate than the lovemaking. It meant that on some level, some part of her trusted him.
She didn't want to. Because trusting someone meant giving up her defenses. It meant surrendering and being left completely exposed.
She didn't seem to have a choice.
Last night, the dream, the nightmare, hadn't come. It was as if, subconsciously, she'd felt that there was someone to protect her now.
But that in itself, was a dream. A fantasy. This affair had no future. How could it? Max was someone whose lineage could be traced back for dozens of generations, planted in the garden of a country she'd never even really been aware of until just a few days ago.
Her lineage stopped with her. The only person who she felt was part of her family wasn't even related to her by blood. Instead it was a woman who had taken her under her wing and into her heart.
What sort of future did that give them? The answer was simple. None.
And yet...
And yet, she wanted desperately to go on pretending that, based on yesterday, there was a tomorrow for the two of them.
Cara looked out the window at the endless clear sky that stretched out before her, searching for a sense of tranquillity, however fleeting.
She supposed, in the literal sense of the word, there was a tomorrow for them. Tomorrow and the day after and the day after that until she finally returned wit
h Weber to American soil. And then she and Max would part company.
They might even part company now, she thought. After all, once his king was done with Weber, there was no need for Max to hurry back to the States. Maybe he would decide to stay in his native country for a while. Absence did make the heart grow fonder. Maybe now that he had something to compare it to, Montebello would seem better to him.
But she had a life waiting for her in Shady Rock, such as it was. And she would have to leave.
"You're awfully quiet," Max commented. Weber was in the small cargo compartment, guarded by two of the soldiers that his uncle had sent over along with the Gulfstream. Max could afford to sit back and relax. And study the woman sitting in the seat beside him. She'd been pensive for a long while now. "What are you thinking about?"
That this is going to be over soon. "That I hate plane rides."
Flying had been part of his life for as far back as Max could remember. One of his first memories was sitting beside his mother as they went on a royal visit to see Queen Elizabeth II of England. Getting around by plane was almost second nature to him. He'd never given it much thought.
"There's nothing to worry about," he assured her. "It's safer than driving a car."
She'd heard that before and wasn't sold. "Never heard of a car falling out of the sky."
The wisecrack, he noted, was without its customary bite. Something was bothering her. Something she didn't want to discuss.
"You're safe, trust me."
Trust me. There it was again, the call to surrender, to give up who she was—a woman who had built in so many safeguards in her life against getting hurt, she was completely swept up in the mechanics and had entirely forgotten how to feel.
Until the other night.
Whether he meant to or not, Max had unlocked something within her, had shown her what it was like to feel again and suddenly, nothing was the same anymore.
This had to stop, she upbraided herself.
She'd never been some moonstruck, feeble-minded female before. She knew better. She was tough and strong and didn't need anyone, least of all a man, to make her life meaningful. She did that all by herself.
By herself.
Alone.
The word taunted her. She was always alone, even in a crowd. Even when she was the center of it, the way she had been that last time when she had brought in that rapist who had jumped bail in Denver.
Max had made her feel as if she wasn' t alone, as if she...
Stop it, she ordered. You'll make yourself crazy.
Maybe it was already too late for that.
"We'll be there soon," he was saying to her, his voice breaking through the clouds that were swirling around her brain.
She looked out the window. They were passing through endless sky and had been for hours. There wasn't even a single cloud formation to break up the monotony. She felt completely disoriented. "How can you tell?"
He tapped his wristwatch. "Because we've been in the air for a little over eight hours and I know how long it takes to reach the capital of Montebello."
She nodded carelessly, suddenly wishing that this was behind her and she could go on with her life.
Hoping that somehow, time could stand still long enough for her to harvest these moments.
And wasn't that crazy?
Maybe what she really needed, she decided, was to get away. To go somewhere on a vacation. A nice long vacation to recharge, reenergize and hopefully get her head together.
"Why don't you just sit back and enjoy the plane ride?" he suggested. Max called over the flight attendant and asked for a little light white wine for both of them.
"Trying to get me drunk?"
"As I recall," he thought back to the bar where she had drugged him, "it would probably take a dozen glasses to do that. I just want you to unwind a little before your spring pops out of its casing."
It was an odd thing to say, but she understood. And then, just before the wine arrived, Max placed his hand over hers and squeezed it.
Cara stopped wrestling with her thoughts.
* * *
The plane touched down at the airfield right on schedule. As Cara got out behind Max, she could see an extra-long black stretch limousine waiting for them. It reminded her of a panther that only gave the appearance of dozing in the hot sun. At any second, it could rev up and come alive.
Behind them, Weber was being hustled down the ramp, a guard at each elbow, his hands handcuffed behind him. A wealth of curses littered the air. Once on the ground, he was taken to another car, a far more functional, smaller one, and quickly whisked away to what she assumed was prison.
Who the hell was this man, she couldn't help wondering again. The king of a country didn't go through all this trouble just for a common American bail jumper, even one who, she was beginning to think, probably had an extensive rap sheet under several aliases.
"Please, come this way," a tall, elderly man with impeccable posture instructed.
"Hello, Albert, how are you?" Max asked, recognizing his uncle's personal secretary. He introduced Cara, who looked bemused.
"Very well, sir. It's a pleasure to see you here again, and with such a lovely companion." His expression never changed. "The king is looking forward to seeing you." Placing himself directly behind them, he escorted them to the waiting vehicle.
Getting in, Max was surprised to see that his uncle had come in person to meet them at the airstrip.
Even wearing a black blazer and gray slacks, he couldn't be mistaken for an ordinary man. In his late sixties, with a thick mane of almost white hair and dark eyes, Marcus Sebastiani was still very much a handsome man. His aristocratic bearing made it abundantly clear to anyone within ten yards of the man that they were in the presence of royalty.
Max made himself comfortable in the seat that faced his uncle, leaving plenty of room at his side for Cara. "Uncle Marcus, I didn't expect you to be here."
"What, and miss the chance of greeting my favorite nephew after all this time?" He smiled warmly at Max, leaning forward and gripping his hand in a firm handshake. "Not likely. We missed you at the wedding," he confided, referring to marriage of his daughter to the sheik's son. He didn't pause for a comment from Max.
"By the way," he winked, "don't tell your brother about that favorite nephew business. After all, he is my godson and it would only dishearten him." His eyes alighted on Cara. There was approval in them almost instantly. "And who have you brought me?"
Max nodded toward the airstrip. "The guards just took—"
"No, not the prisoner," Marcus clarified. "Who is this lovely creature?" His eyes were warm as he took Cara's hand in his.
Max knew that, unlike his father, Marcus had a genuine affection for people, all people. His manner was not intended to disarm women he wanted to use for his own purposes.
Max's voice became more formal. "King Marcus, may I present Ms. Cara Rivers."
"Charmed, Ms. Rivers." His eyes holding hers, Marcus brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. As he lowered her hand, he still maintained a light hold, as if to form a link. "And how is it that you are traveling with my nephew?"
The man was charming, but she was certain that his antennae had gone up. Off the top of her head, she guessed that the king was probably afraid she was some kind of gold digger.
"The duke and I share a common interest," she told him. "Weber."
Her answer couldn't have surprised Marcus more. He glanced at Max for an explanation. "I don't think I understand. Are you somehow involved with that man?"
The king knew, by the very hue of her skin, that the young woman couldn't be related to Salim. And Marcus couldn't see the two of them together. The young woman before him looked too sharp to be taken in by the terrorist.
"Very much so," Cara responded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a look of amusement on Max's face. She pressed on. "He's my bounty."
This time Marcus really did look to Max for help. "I beg your pardon, I am not up o
n the latest American expressions."
"It's not an expression," Max told him. "It's a condition. There's a bounty out for Weber. He was involved in a burglary out on a ranch in Colorado. He fled the state after someone posted his bail. The bondsman needed to have him brought in before the trial date."
The king looked back to Cara. It was hard to believe she could be involved with something like that. "Which was?"
"Today," Cara told him.
"Oh, then we have cost you money." There was regret in the king's voice. "Allow me to—"
Generosity—or guilt—seemed to be a family trait, she thought. There were worse ones to have. "Thank you, Your Highness, but your nephew has already paid me for what would have been my loss."
"Oh. I see." He felt a surge of pride when he looked at Max. The young man was honorable, as always. As, apparently, was she. Otherwise, Marcus had no doubt that she would have attempted to extract money from him as well. He had known many women like that, women who had flocked to his late brother. "She is an honorable woman, Max. A rare find." His dark eyes shifted back to Cara. "So, am I to take it that you are—"
"A bounty hunter," she concluded for him, not sure if he was familiar with the term.
"A bounty hunter," Marcus repeated, shaking his head. He liked to think of himself as a progressive man, but this seemed to be beyond the pale. "Is this profession a wise choice for a young woman?"
"It is if she wants to eat and has limited avenues open to her. Besides—" Cara smiled at the king "—we can only follow our talents, Your Highness."
Tickled by the fire in spirit, Marcus laughed. "And yours is tracking men."
"Dangerous men," she qualified.
His eyes shifted to Max. The smile was slow, understanding.
"I see." He made up his mind about her. When it came to people, he never deliberated too long. "Will you do me the honor, Ms. Rivers, of joining us for dinner? I am holding a small dinner party in honor of Max's homecoming. Just a few friends, nothing formal."
She had a feeling that the king's idea of "nothing formal" was light years away from hers. "Which means what, leave my tiara in my room?"
