Nudging Fate

by E. J. Russell

  Rey focused on a point above Andy’s shoulder, shifting uneasily. “Well, surely your first mate deserves consideration, don’t you think? Or suppose you’re the first mate and get set aside for the One? How would that make you feel?”

  Or what if you meet the One but can’t have him? Oh, gods. “I’m not sure.”

  “No?” With a sigh, Rey met Andy’s gaze squarely again. “Even if your mate stays with you after meeting his One, you’d always know that you weren’t good enough. Would happiness turn to resentment?”

  “I guess… I guess the worlds aren’t very well regulated when it comes to love, are they?”

  Rey’s eyes, so dark and secret and warm, turned suddenly intense. “No, Andy, they’re not. They should be, but they’re not. I don’t think we can depend on destiny to be fair, do you?” Rey’s arm had been lying along the sofa back, but he raised one finger and trailed it along Andy’s jawline. “Maybe we should take the chance when it presents itself.”

  “Um….” Why couldn’t he think? The stroke of that finger, the look in those eyes—it was as if Rey had mesmerized him.

  “If we don’t at least make the effort,” Rey murmured, “if we let the worlds crash along as they always have, with decisions being made for us, in spite of us, how will anything ever change?”

  Then Rey leaned forward and kissed him.

  Andy gasped at the touch of Rey’s mouth, at the way his lips fit over his own, at the flicker of Rey’s tongue against his own. Before Andy could think of how to respond, Rey had moved on, pressing kisses to Andy’s cheek and nose and forehead.

  Oh, sweet Fate. While Andy’s brain was flashing danger signs—Warning! Prince! Do not touch!—when he opened his eyes (difficult to do when Rey was kissing his eyelids that way), he didn’t see royalty. He saw the man who spent a morning reading under a tree, who preferred a quiet, anonymous walk along the river to a raucous, high-profile rugby scrum. Who worried about his old friend’s health more than his own comfort. Who granted as much dignity to the hotel staff as to the high-ranking consort candidates.

  “Prince” was his birth, his blood, his heritage—but it wasn’t him. Rey shouldn’t be pigeonholed by things he couldn’t control any more than Andy should be condemned for being a norn. Rey’s actions, his behavior, his goodness—those defined him as a person.

  And that person was someone that Andy was falling in love with.

  “I know I promised I wouldn’t ask any more of you,” Rey said between kisses, his lips moving against Andy’s cheek. “But after that movie… what if it’s true, Andy? What if, against all the odds, among all the realms, all the species, all the eons of time, we’ve found our perfect match right here—when we were actually looking for it?”

  Andy steeled himself, wanting nothing more than to bury his hands in Rey’s hair, to find out if it was as soft as it looked, to bare his throat to Rey’s mouth and beg to be taken. “You forget, I wasn’t looking. I was just doing my job.”

  “But your job brought you to me. Are you trying to tell me that’s not Fate?”

  Andy froze. Not again. Sure, he’d fantasized about spending time with the prince, but he hadn’t gone any further than that. He hadn’t willed Hashim to leave. He hadn’t coerced the prince into refusing Nils. And he certainly hadn’t nudged Rey into this… this… gods, these kisses.

  “I don’t believe in… in Fate.”

  “No? It’s starting to be my very favorite thing.” Rey drew back and focused that smoldering gaze on Andy’s face. “Please tell me it’s not just me. Please tell me you want this. Want me.”

  Andy was tempted to lie, because seriously? He had some sense of self-preservation. But this might be his only chance to experience desire fizzing in his veins like electricity. Besides, he was incapable of meeting those fathoms-deep eyes and saying, “Nope, not interested.” Because he was. Desperately.

  It didn’t matter that having sex with a prince who was about to get married—even if he didn’t know to whom—was close to the stupidest thing Andy had ever done. When Rey’s lips trailed soft kisses along his jaw, the only coherent thought in Andy’s mind was Yes. Please. More.

  So he said, “Yes. Please. More.”

  THANK the Goddess. For a moment, Con had been afraid Andy would refuse, that he’d misread the mutual attraction. A little part of him had warned him it would serve him right—he was still operating under false pretenses. But afterward, when Rey is safely married, I’ll confess. I’ll court him as myself. Tell him everything. After all, Con was still the same person. He hadn’t pretended to be Rey in anything other than appearance and privilege. His hopes, his dreams, his likes and dislikes—everything he’d bared to Andy without thinking—were all his own.

  He and Rey looked enough alike without the spell that he knew Andy wouldn’t be totally disgusted once the spell vanished. If it was true, if they were perfectly matched, surely Andy would forgive him, especially once he knew the whole story.

  He placed one last kiss on Andy’s lips, then stood, holding out his hand. “There’s a very large, very comfortable bed just beyond that door. Would you join me?”

  Andy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly, and nodded, placing his hand in Con’s. Con drew him up into the circle of his arms, enfolding the smaller man in his embrace.

  “Goddess, but you feel good—and smell better.”

  Andy laughed shakily. “I was about to say the same thing about you.”

  Con leaned back, lifting Andy’s chin with one finger. “I told you. A perfect match.”

  He skimmed Andy’s arms with his hands, laced their fingers together, and drew him toward the bedroom as his smile grew into a grin. Once inside, he pushed the door closed with his foot, then thought better of it and let go of Andy long enough to throw the handy dead bolt.

  “Your staff is a little too efficient for my liking.”

  “They’d never enter your closed bedroom!” Even with his pupils wide with desire, Andy didn’t abandon his loyalty to his people. Perfect.

  “I know. Consider this insurance against my staff. They’re not as respectful of privacy as one could wish. And I don’t want to expose you to any vicious gossip.”

  The look on Andy’s face…. Goddess.

  “You’d do that for me? Protect me?”

  “Of course. I want to take care of you, as you’ve taken care of me. A perfect match, in my opinion, is an equal match.”

  A small, sly smile curved Andy’s mouth. “I don’t believe I ever agreed that this was a perfect match.”

  “No?” Con pulled his sweatshirt over his head. “Then I guess I’ll have to convince you.” He tossed the shirt onto a nearby chair, pleased that Andy’s eyes widened at the sight of his chest. His woolen trousers took longer—another argument for fleece—but he didn’t waste any time. He stood naked in front of his lover, baring all of his skin as he wanted to bare his soul.

  “Oh gods,” Andy breathed. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “So are you.”

  Andy screwed up his face. “Not so much.”

  “Let me prove it to you. Come here.”

  For an instant Andy hesitated, and then he took two determined strides until he was a bare inch away. He placed his shaking hands on Con’s chest, causing Con’s arousal to grow—which he hadn’t thought was possible.

  “May I?” Con hooked his thumbs under the lapels of Andy’s blazer. When Andy nodded, he eased it off Andy’s shoulders and draped it over the chair. When he turned back, Andy was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Con caught his hands. “Let me?” Again Andy nodded, and Con removed the pristine white shirt, revealing the even more pristine skin underneath.

  “Like I said. Gorgeous.” He rested his hands on Andy’s hips. “Do you want to do the pants, or shall I?” He was hit by a sudden wave of uncertainty. “Unless you’d rather not go any further.”

  “I do.” Andy clutched Con’s arms, and Con took that opportunity to nuzzle the enticing curve where Andy’s shoul
der met his neck. “I totally do. But I’ve never… that is, I don’t have much experience with this.”

  Con pulled back from tasting Andy’s intoxicating skin. “By ‘this’ do you mean—”

  “This. You know. Sex.”

  “You’re a virgin?”

  Andy blushed—all the way from his navel to his forehead. “Yeah, but you don’t need to make it sound like I’ve got the Cyclops plague.”

  “No. But with the way you kiss… the way you know how to touch me—”

  “I’ve fooled around. I mean, I’m not completely clueless. But it never felt right to go below the belt, if you know what I mean.”

  Con rested his palm against Andy’s cheek. “And it does now?”

  He nodded. “You have no idea.”

  Con grinned. “Oh, I have a very good idea.” Like I said. A perfect match.

  He raised an eyebrow as he hooked his fingers under Andy’s belt, asking for permission. Andy nodded. Rather than give in to his baser nature, which urged him to strip Andy as quickly as possible, he teased it out, unbuckling the belt. Drawing it from the loops with excruciating slowness. Popping the button at the top of Andy’s fly. Lowering the zipper inch by teasing inch.

  He was rewarded by the way Andy’s trembling increased, but then Andy huffed an exasperated breath.

  “To the hells with it.” He shucked his pants down his legs, taking his briefs along with them, and kicked them aside. “Augh! Socks. So not sexy.” He stripped them off and tossed them aside. “There. Now we’re even.” His tone was defiant, but his voice trembled.

  Con’s breath caught in his throat. He took the half step forward that brought them chest to chest, skin to skin. Now he was the one trembling, because whatever happened next, the way he showed Andy how he felt, the way he hoped Andy felt about him—it mattered.

  I can’t take him the way I want. Not as long as he doesn’t know who I really am.

  So instead, he laced their fingers together, drawing Andy to the bed, laying him down on the whisper-soft sheets, covering him with his own body. Trading kisses, trading touches, trading heat and breath and exquisite release.

  Trading hearts.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE morning sun peeped through a gap in the curtains, shining straight into Andy’s eyes. He blinked, disoriented for a moment because the window was in the wrong place. Not my room.

  Yikes! Not my bed. His bed had never had a large warm naked body in it, cuddled up against Andy’s back, nudging his ass with some very impressive morning wood.

  The prince. Last night. Naked. Gah!

  What had he done? He’d slept with a prince, for sweet Fate’s sake. He knew better. Rey’s arm, thrown across Andy’s chest, pulled him closer and he nuzzled the back of Andy’s neck. Andy couldn’t help it, as embarrassing as it was, as revealing as it was—he almost purred with contentment.

  I don’t care. The whole evening—the whole night had been perfect. He refused to regret it, even if he didn’t see any way for it to work out well in the end.

  You could make it work out.

  Andy swallowed a gasp. Rey had been nothing but sweet and passionate and caring. How could Andy even consider violating his trust that way? All talk of perfect matches aside, I can’t make him love me. And even if I could, what would that mean? I still wouldn’t be worthy of him. An aitcher as consort to the one true prince of Faerie? Think of the scandal. Think of the gossip. Think of the hate.

  I could stand it, though, if Rey loved me.

  And that was the issue, wasn’t it? If Andy nudged Fate enough to make Rey choose him, then he’d never know whether Rey really loved him.

  As much as he didn’t want to leave this cozy nest where their lives and responsibilities were locked safely beyond the door, Andy eased himself out from under Rey’s arm.

  “Mmmmph,” Rey protested, grabbing for Andy’s hip. “Come back.”

  A laugh caught in Andy’s throat, turning into something that might be a sob if he thought about it too much. “I can’t.” He lifted Rey’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you.”

  Rey blinked sleepily from his pillows, then raised himself on one elbow. “I believe I’m the one who should offer thanks. You saved me yesterday—by not giving me away and by giving me one of the best days—” He grinned. “—and nights of my life.”

  Oh gods, that smile. Andy’s belly knotted as the urge to stay battled with his desire to do the right thing. “It was good for me too.” Good? What kind of an understatement is that? “But I have a job to do. And you? You have a consort to choose and a realm to govern.”

  Rey frowned. “Andy. Please. Stay. We need to talk.”

  Andy shook his head and stood up. Where are my pants? I can’t say goodbye while I’m naked. He scooped them off the floor and rescued his briefs from inside them. “We knew this couldn’t go any further.”

  “I know nothing of the kind.”

  “Rey.” Although Andy tried to infuse his tone with steel, it was tough to be intimidating while wearing nothing but lavender briefs. “You came here for a reason, for your people, for your realm. It’s my job to make sure everything leading up to your choice goes off without a hitch. Although….” He couldn’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “I’d say I’d managed to add more than a few complications, which could be catastrophic for you, for Enchanted Occasions….” For me. “Let’s not make this any more difficult than it is.”

  Rey threw off the covers and rolled to the edge of the bed. Clearly he had no trouble conducting difficult conversations naked. And unfortunately, a naked Rey was almost more distraction than Andy’s conflicted heart could handle. I have to get out of here.

  He gathered his other clothes and scurried to the door, losing precious seconds fumbling with the dead bolt, slowing himself enough that Rey caught up with him, his big solid body radiating heat.

  “You can’t convince me that this meant less to you than it did to me.”

  “I’m not—” Success! Andy opened the door—difficult with Rey so close behind him, but he cracked it enough to slide through. Rey—of course—flung open the door and followed him. “But you have to admit that this can’t go anywhere. You’re a prince. I’m an aitcher.”

  “So what? I am too.”

  Andy whirled, his clothes clutched to his chest. “I never told you about what kind of non-human blood I have.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. I’m a norn, Rey. My mother is Skuld, one of the big three, the norns-with-a-capital-N Norns.”

  Rey took a step back. “Norn? You mean—can you—”

  “Alter Fate? Why, yes. Yes, I can. I’m not allowed to influence the destiny of any person, under pain of eternal drudgery, but that doesn’t mean anybody believes that I don’t. Nobody trusts a norn, Rey. And everybody blames norns—that is, they blame Fate—when things don’t go the way they want. Even if I was of the appropriate rank, how likely is it that anyone in your realm would believe that you chose me of your own free will? That any decision you make in the future won’t be affected by me? You’d be viewed as a puppet, and I’d be hated even more than usual. Does that sound like a rosy future to you?”

  Rey’s gaze slid away, and Andy could practically see the doubt creeping in. “See, you’re wondering now yourself, aren’t you? Maybe you didn’t like me as much as you thought you did. Maybe I made Hashim leave early. Maybe I caused Kjersti to act like an entitled jerk.”

  “Andy—”

  “No, Rey. It’s better this way. Let me leave now, while we still have last night—and I swear to you by the roots of Yggdrasil that I did not influence your choice.”

  Rey nodded, a frown pleating his brow. “I believe you.”

  “Gee. Thanks.” Andy lifted his chin. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a bit of privacy to finish getting dressed.”

  “Of course.” Rey opened his mouth as if he were about to say something else, but closed it
instead, turned, and walked back into the bedroom, closing the door with a final snick.

  Andy sighed—although he would have preferred to kick a convenient piece of furniture. He struggled into his clothes. His pants and shirt were hopelessly wrinkled, although thanks to Rey’s consideration, his jacket was fine. He extracted his earpiece from the jacket pocket. The status light was blinking red then green then blue—meaning Smith, Brooke, and Forrest were all trying to reach him.

  He couldn’t face any of them without a shower and a change of clothes, though. He scuffed his loafers on, shuffling to the suite door. When he peeked out, the hallway was clear. He scuttled into the stairwell, wincing at the clang as the door closed behind him.

  Stupid stupid stupid. Or maybe weak weak weak. He should know better. Of all people in the multiverse, he had the least margin for making mistakes. His own father had had a typical Viking tantrum when he’d discovered who he’d bedded. He’d never believed Skuld hadn’t coerced him.

  Imagine what people—what the Faerie Queen would think if she found out the event coordinator she’d personally selected had screwed up so royally that he’d… well… screwed. Royally.

  He made it to his room without encountering anyone—although given how fast the headset lights were flashing, he half expected to find all three of his colleagues camped out in front of his door.

  He hurried through his shower, got dressed, and headed down to the EO suite while still knotting his tie. He looked down to make sure he hadn’t done anything stupid in his rush—like leave his fly open—as he walked into the room.

  “Good morning. Sorry if I….” His mouth dried when he looked up. Smith was at his desk as usual, Forrest looming like a birch tree at his shoulder. Brooke gazed at him, wide-eyed, her face frozen in a grimace, because standing in the middle of the room, facing the doorway, with her flame-red hair rippling in a nonexistent breeze, was Gloriana herself.