The Princess in His Bed

by Lila DiPasqua

  Adam sensed it wasn’t going to take much longer. Then she’d be all his.

  And he had six years of pent-up fantasies to indulge in with her.

  Robert walked over smiling, and stopping on the opposite side of the desk, pressed his palms down onto the surface. “Please tell me you fucked her. Any man who’s been walking around with a stiff cock for another man’s wife for six years deserves some relief.”

  Adam looked him square in the eye, grasping for patience with his irksome friend. “Remind me again why I tolerate you?”

  Robert laughed and straightened. “You’ve got that wrong. I tolerate you,” he teased. “What happened with Aimee? Out with it.”

  Adam pushed himself off the desk and blew out a breath. “Robert, she’s never had a lover.” Of that he was certain. Since Marc’s death, he’d kept his ears open, always listening for news about her.

  While in mourning she’d kept mostly to herself at her country château, her main company, her cousin Louise. But once the mourning was over, she’d returned to Paris. Adam knew whenever she was in the city and he’d made it a point of attending those salons and fetes she’d be at. He’d kept his distance, sensing the timing wasn’t right, sensing she wasn’t ready to take a lover, though controlling his gaze whenever she was in the room was a different challenge altogether.

  “If I push for too much too soon, she’ll bolt.” He was approaching this the way he’d approach any challenge, methodically, carefully, with well-thought-out steps.

  “So you didn’t bed her.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?”

  “It was more of a sampling.”

  “You sampled her?” Robert burst out laughing.

  Adam rested his hands on his hips. “What about that amuses you?”

  Robert shook his head, still chuckling. “Nattes, you are either losing your touch, or you have the worst tendre for this woman. Which is it, my friend? I’m starting to strongly suspect it’s the latter.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Once I have her, the fascination will be over.” Adam instantly quashed the doubts that assailed him. He had this under control.

  Last night was a perfect example of how he had mastery over himself.

  “Well, it’s fortuitous that the King has moved our meeting up. By the time we’re done here, it should be midday. You’ll have the entire afternoon and evening free to find the lovely Comtesse de Gremont and break your ‘fascination’ with her.”

  True enough. The moment his morning meeting with His Majesty was over, he planned to return to his rooms, refresh himself, and seek Aimee out.

  She didn’t know about his change of plans and thought he’d be occupied most of the afternoon with the King.

  He couldn’t wait to surprise her.

  Aimee’s heart pounded as she approached the doors to Adam’s apartments. She couldn’t believe she was doing something like this. For the last three years her life had been a staid, quiet existence. Stealing into a man’s rooms was much more adventure than she’d ever known.

  Or ever wanted to know.

  In truth, her entire visit to the palace had been one unprecedented experience after another.

  There were so many apartments at the palace—housed in the various outbuildings—that it had been quite the chore simply learning where Adam’s rooms were located. She’d been forced to make careful, discreet inquiries.

  Fearing she’d be seen in the corridor by someone she knew, Aimee picked up her pace and rushed to the door. The last thing she wanted was to be questioned about being in an outbuilding that was not where her apartments were located. Or even close to it.

  Standing before Adam’s door, she paused, her left hand clutching his justacorps in a white-knuckle grip. If caught by a servant, she’d simply say she was returning the Marquis’s overcoat that she’d borrowed the other day—because she was cold.

  In the middle of a hot summer’s day.

  Most definitely a weak and sorry excuse, Aimee.

  Sadly, it was the best she could come up with.

  Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly. She was doing this alone. Louise was so nervous, she’d trembled and babbled uncontrollably, leaving no doubt in Aimee’s mind that her cousin would have foiled the plan.

  Get on with it. You can’t stand here staring at the door all afternoon.

  Aimee raised a shaky hand and lightly rapped at the door.

  Silence. An excellent sign!

  Placing a hand on the door handle, she turned it and opened the portal, her heart galloping wildly. A quick peek told her no one was in the antechamber. She slipped inside and closed the door softly.

  Aimee looked around the elegant room. White and gilded walls. Tall windows overlooking the gardens, and two doors. One ajar. The other closed. Approaching the open door, she could see it led to the bedchambers, the floral-patterned carpets on the floor muting her footsteps.

  However, nothing quieted the thundering of her heart. It was so loud in her ears next to the stillness surrounding her.

  Entering Adam’s bedchamber, she couldn’t miss the massive four-poster bed with its blue counterpane and matching bed curtains. Seeing it made her insides dance and conjured up heated images of last night in her mind. This was not the time to think about that.

  Pulling her gaze away from Adam’s bed, she glanced to the right and spotted exactly what she was looking for.

  Two large ornately carved armoires.

  This would be so much easier if the man hadn’t had the amount of clothing that required a second armoire.

  She walked to the closest one and opened its doors. Numerous suits of clothing, in various colors, were folded and stacked high in neat piles. Throwing open the doors to the second armoire, she found it just as overflowing with clothing. My God. It was going to take hours to unfold, search, and refold each justacorps and return it to its spot.

  Frustrated, Aimee cast a glance heavenward, needing a miracle. Why couldn’t it be as simple as reaching in—she shoved a hand in to one of the piles—and pulling out the ring? As she was sliding her hand back out, her fingers stroked over something small and hard inside a pocket.

  The ring!

  “May I help you?” A male voice made her jump, tear her hand out of the pile, and spin around.

  Her knees almost buckled when she saw Adam leaning against the doorframe wearing nothing but a bath linen around his waist. Riveted, she moved her gaze over his magnificent sculpted chest, each beautiful dip and ripple. He was nothing short of breathtaking. Pure masculine perfection. Mesmerized, she watched as he ran a hand through his wet dark hair, then crossed his muscled arms over that powerful chest.

  Gracious God . . . As handsome as her husband had been, he’d never looked like that.

  “What are you doing here, Aimee?”

  Stop ogling him.

  She tore her eyes away and glanced back at the armoire. Her heart plummeted the moment she realized she couldn’t remember which pile she’d stuck her hand in, or the color of the justacorps she’d been touching in the stack.

  “Aimee, I asked you a question.”

  Her gaze shot back to him. She quickly averted it when she got another eyeful of his glorious—mostly naked—physique.

  “I came to return this.” She held her arm out, the justacorps she was holding now dangling from her grip, purposely blocking the sight of him. “I was . . . going to place it back in your armoire. I didn’t know you were here. I am sorry to have interrupted you. You’re clearly busy. I’ll go.”

  She placed the justacorps down on his bed and, with her heart pounding in her throat, turned to leave.

  “Come here, Aimee.”

  That arrested her steps. His voice was low and so wickedly sensual. She had to swallow hard before she could speak, her insides frenzied—a dizzying combination of dread and something else she didn’t want to name.

  “That’s probably not a good idea,” she said without turning around. Waving her hand in
his direction behind her, she added, “You’ll want to get dressed, lest you catch a chill.”

  “It’s a warm summer’s day outside and it’s quite pleasant in here. I’m not in the least bit cold. Are you chilled, Aimee? Do you need warming—”

  “No!” She winced, not intending the word to come out quite so forcefully. “No . . . I’m fine . . . Warm enough, thank you.” Get out now or you’ll end up being warmed in ways best avoided. As it was, the sight of him was already heating her blood.

  “Aimee, come here,” he repeated. By his tone, it was clear he was insisting.

  Did she have a choice? Adam and Renault were friends, and they were both in the King’s inner circle. She had to get out of this situation as smoothly as she could.

  Which meant she couldn’t bolt out the door as she wanted.

  Keeping her eyes averted, she turned around and approached him, praying he couldn’t tell just how discomposed she was.

  Aimee stood before him and purposely kept her gaze fixed to the wall past his shoulder. She clasped her hands in front of her, then quickly unclasped them, realizing that she’d brought her hands near that particular part of his male anatomy. The one covered by the bath linen she was trying not to think about. Or peek at.

  He slipped his fingers under her chin and tilted her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “What are you doing in my bedchambers, Aimee?”

  “I told you. I wanted to return the justacorps . . .”

  He gripped her shoulders and pressed her back against the wall, surprising her with his actions. He braced his hands on either side of her head, his body hemming her in.

  Adam dipped his head, bringing his handsome face closer. “Why don’t you try again.”

  “Try again?” she asked.

  “With a better answer. One that’s honest.”

  Her heart lurched. Aimee forced herself to look him firmly in the eye.

  “I was returning the justacorps,” she insisted. Could he hear her pounding heart? How she wished he had on clothes. The lack of which was making this entire episode even more distressing. His skin was driving her to distraction. It looked warm and inviting as it covered all that impressive muscle and sinew.

  “Aimee, you have servants. There is no need for you to come here, unless you had a reason for wanting to be in my bedchambers yourself.”

  She didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. Unsettled, she wanted out of his chambers. Right now.

  “You have my answer. Please step back. Now.” Her response was sharp.

  He blew out a breath. “I’m not trying to upset you. I simply want to hear the truth from your beautiful mouth.” He pulled a hand away from the wall and lightly brushed his fingertips across her bottom lip. Leaving a tingling in its wake. “Dieu, I have fantasized about this mouth, your sweet form . . . you . . . for a very long time.”

  That, too, took her by surprise.

  He ran the back of his fingers gently down her cheek, the side of her neck, and onto the swells of her breasts. Her breathing quickened. Ever so slowly, his fingers grazed her skin, following the contour of her décolletage, his soft touch sending her nerve endings into a frenzy, making her nipples harden and her sex slick. “I enjoyed making you come last night. I only wish I’d seen your face when you came . . . And as for these lovely breasts, I still don’t know the exact shade of your nipples.”

  He stroked the tip of his finger down the front of her gown, directly over one distended tip. She gasped, the sensation intense despite the clothing. “I’ve lost count how many times I imagined touching you. Tasting you. In my mind, I have fucked you a thousand times.” He cupped her breast and caressed her nipple with his thumb, the rhythmic strokes making her shiver in delight. “That is honest. That is the truth. Now I want the truth from you. Why did you come into my chambers? I know you feel the heat between us. Admit that you want me as much as I want you.”

  Oh God. And here she thought she’d stirred his suspicions. She’d no idea that desire was the truth he wanted to hear—to admit to the hunger he incited in her. Nor did she have any idea he’d desired her “for a very long time.”

  “I didn’t know that you have—”

  “Wanted you for years?” He shrugged. “You were married to Marc and he had your affections. Why let it be known?”

  Years? “How many years?”

  “From the moment I first saw you.”

  Six years? She wanted to discount what he was saying, to believe it was just the kind of lie a libertine would tell a woman he wanted to bed, but there was such touching sincerity in his dark eyes, she couldn’t dismiss it, no matter how much she wished to.

  When Marc had stopped wanting her, stopped touching her, and left her feeling undesirable and empty, Adam de Vey had wanted her. From a distance he’d craved her—for six years . . . It was stunning. Incredible . . . Unbelievably stirring.

  “This is our time, Aimee. I want to share more carnal pleasures with you, but first I’m going to need to hear from your lips that you want it. That the reason you came to my rooms is because you’re hungry for what I can give you.”

  With his thumb lightly tormenting her nipple, she could barely think. He had her cornered into quite a predicament. If she denied her desire for him, then she’d have to convince him that her original excuse for being in his rooms was the truth.

  The problem was, she didn’t want to deny her desire. Every fiber of her being wanted him with shocking desperation. Wanted to tell him the truth on that score.

  He dipped his dark head and brushed his mouth over the sensitive spot below her ear; a frisson of excitement quivered through her. “Last night, while you were lying in bed, did you think of me?” His warm breath caressed her ear.

  She licked her lips, starved for his taste. “Yes . . .” she whispered.

  “Did you imagine me in your bed with you?”

  Her core clenched. “Yes.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “Did you imagine my cock inside you, Aimee? Did you imagine me fucking you?”

  He was trailing knee-weakening kisses down her neck. Briefly she closed her eyes, the sensations so decadent. She’d never had a conversation like this in her life. She would have been too embarrassed to tell Marc about any sexual thoughts she’d had, but with Adam the words slipped past her lips with ease. “Yes . . .”

  “I’m pleased to hear that.” She could hear the smile in his tone. “Last night, I thought about you, too. I thought about that perfect sweet sex of yours and how delicious that slick, snug heat would feel around my cock.” He pulled back, looked into her eyes, and slipped his fingers under her chin. He tilted it up, bringing her lips so temptingly close to his seductive mouth. “It seems we are of like mind,” he murmured, then swooped in for a kiss, his tongue possessing her mouth immediately. She all but swooned. The intensity of his kiss was inebriating.

  She wanted to touch him so strongly—but hesitated. This man was far too devastating on her famished senses. He had the uncanny ability to arouse her to a feverish pitch and had her saying and doing things she’d never said or done before. Last eve he’d driven her so wild, she’d allowed him to have shocking liberties and in a public place—the palace gardens surrounded by the King’s court. Everyone knew her as a dutiful wife and at present a respectable widow. Yet in his arms, she was uninhibited and undone.

  Aimee pressed her palms to the wall behind her back, but let the delicious fire emanating from Adam burn through her, unable to help herself.

  By the time he broke the kiss, she was utterly breathless.

  Desperate for more.

  “Tell me, Aimee, are you here to give yourself to me?”

  5

  All right, perhaps it wasn’t the real reason Aimee had entered Adam’s chambers. But Lord knows she wanted to give herself to him. Again. The bud between her legs pulsed fiercely and her sex, soaked with her juices, ached to be filled. By Adam de Vey. She never thought she’d ever desire another man as much as she’d desired Marc
.

  She desired Adam more. With a reckless abandon she didn’t know she was capable of.

  Why couldn’t she help her cousin and enjoy Adam’s sexual skills? The last few years had been devoid of joy, why deny herself some pleasure? This man knew how to give it in wicked abundance.

  “Answer me, chère. Did you come here to give yourself to me?” His sinfully seductive eyes were locked with hers, waiting for her response.

  “Yes” tripped off her tongue.

  He smiled, clearly pleased by her response. “Open the front of your gown and offer me your nipples.”

  Hot excitement melted down her spine. Everything he said to her was so deliciously carnal. It amazed her how much she liked it. Marc had never spoken to her like this in or out of the bedchamber.

  Without another thought, her fingers flew to her bodice, opening the fastenings. Her nipples were so hard, she couldn’t stand having them confined any longer. Bracing his palms against the wall, he watched, patient yet hungry. She yanked at her clothing, pulled at her stays, her fingers fumbling a bit, until she reached her chemise. Grabbing its lace neckline, she pulled it down, revealing herself, and tucked the neckline under her breasts.

  Her breathing sharp and shallow, she watched as he took her in. Her body so eager, it trembled with anticipation.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he breathed. She felt a quickening in her belly. His palms were still pressed to the wall. How she wanted his hands to be on her. “Tell me, Aimee, what is it you want me to do to these pretty pink nipples?”

  Her head fell back against the wall. It was getting more and more difficult not to squirm and beg. “Whatever you want.”

  The look in his eyes darkened immediately, almost as though a feral need rolled through him. Softly he swore. “I like your answer . . . very much.” He lowered his head. She braced herself for the thrill of his mouth.

  He swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip of her breast. She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally willing him to take her into his mouth. He then sucked her nipple in, wet heat closing around her, tearing a cry from her throat. Her hips jerked forward, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him tightly against her.