KING OF ME (THE KING TRILOGY Book 3)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Ugh. Dammit. I knew my modesty was a product of my times, but…“Are you sure everyone is going to be naked from the waist up?”

  She nodded.

  “Fine. Give me the dress.”

  ~~~

  After I took the world’s fastest sponge bath and Mela did my hair, we were out the door and speed-walking our way through a labyrinth of temples and lush gardens toward the opposite side of the compound. Yes, I wore the dress, but I’d strategically wrapped a festive-looking piece of red and orange fabric I’d found in King’s room around my shoulders like a shawl. Mela, too happy to have me wearing the dress and attending at all, said nothing.

  When we arrived to a football-field-sized, overly crowded plaza situated in front of an elevated temple—about twenty feet up—I spotted King almost immediately. He sat on a stone carved throne at the top of the steps, underneath a red and orange sail.

  I glanced down at my shawl. Great. I’m wearing his backup sunshade. I could only hope no one noticed.

  Mela ushered me over to a long line of bare-chested women amidst the crowd, holding everything from baskets of grapes to stacks of flatbread. No one seemed to give a hoot about their state of dress.

  “What do I do?” I asked Mela.

  She shoved a basket of mixed grains into my hands. “It is simple. When it is your turn, you raise your basket to the sky, wait for the king’s nod to confirm the gods have seen your offering, and then you lay it at the foot of the temple.”

  I tried to see through the crowd, but the bodies were dense with men of every age, even children.

  Okay, Mia. This is not a porn festival. No big deal. I nodded politely and took my place in line. The crowd, almost exclusively men—with long black hair tied back, deep brown skin, and brightly colored fabric around their waists—watched each “donation” with a seriousness that indicated the importance of this ritual. They really, truly believed that the offerings would bring them good luck the following year.

  After almost half an hour, I was one body away from making my very innocent, topless offering to the gods.

  The woman ahead of me offered a pastry of sorts, raised her arms, got the nod from King, and laid it on the giant, growing heap of food.

  When I stepped up, I was sure my face matched the red in my “shawl,” and I froze up.

  “Well?” King said. “What are you waiting for, Seer?” His face held a hint of a wicked smile I recognized to mean he enjoyed watching me squirm.

  All eyes were on me, and the silence in the air was palpable as King and I stared at each other. I tried not to react to the strange feeling in my stomach and much lower down, but it was impossible. The thought of showing him my breasts combined with the lustful, hungry look in his eyes triggered an unexpected arousal. He wanted to see me, and I wanted to show him.

  Oh Lord, what’s wrong with me? But even as I thought those words, my mind couldn’t help focusing on those hypnotic, fierce blue eyes sinfully drilling into me. Then there were those wide, strong shoulders, his chiseled tan chest, and a set of abs so perfectly defined that I could easily count eight little squares even from my distance. The man was just as sinfully tempting now as he he’d ever been. Even without the fine Italian suits or expensive cars. Even without radiating that seductive, supernatural power that seemed to ooze from his every pore.

  Get a hold of yourself, Mia. Seriously.

  I was about to get on with it and bare myself when a man to my side—older, hairy, with a bitter scowl—reached for my shawl. “Make your offering properly, bitch. Before you bring down the wrath of the gods upon our heads.”

  Instinctively, I tugged back my shawl. “Get your hands off me.”

  The man slapped me hard.

  I blinked away the pain, and before I could react, King marched down the steps of his temple, sword unsheathed. The crowd drew a breath, and the man instantly fell to his knees.

  “You strike my guest?” King growled, raising his sword into the air.

  I reached up and gripped his arm, knowing that I would not and could not watch this man lose his head. Yes, he deserved an ass whooping, but losing his head?

  “Please, King.” I begged with my eyes. “It’s okay.” No it wasn’t, but we had much bigger issues to deal with, versus some asshole chauvinist from 1500 BC.

  King’s eyes drifted down to my chest. Yes, I’d let go of the shawl. A look of brazen lust washed over his face.

  “Get a good look? ’Cause it’s your last,” I whispered.

  King dipped his head, amusement flickering in his wickedly handsome face. “We shall see.”

  He lowered his sword and bent down to retrieve my “shawl.” He inspected it for a moment with a confused face—Yes, it’s your sunshade, I thought before wrapping it around me.

  He turned and marched up the steps of his temple with defiant, confident strides. At the top, he turned and sheathed his sword while looking out across the shocked, silent crowd. “This woman,” he pointed to me, “is my guest. She is not from our lands, yet she has decided to make an offering to our gods today. I consider this a very great honor, as do they. If anyone should lay a hand on her, anyone, the gods would surely see it as an insult, one that I will be forced to address.”

  The nervous crowd dropped to their hands and knees, the looks on their faces telling me they feared him as much as they trusted him.

  It nearly took my breath away. I had never seen that sort of power before—one that came from deep inside a person’s soul, from sheer conviction, but it was more hypnotic than anything I’d ever witnessed.

  He took his seat, turned his vivid blue eyes back to me, and then gave me a nod and a smile. I stood there for a moment in awe before Mela appeared and poked me in the arm. “Mistress, put the basket down.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I did my part and quickly turned to hightail it out of there before I provoked any more incidents. Almost to the furthest edge of the plaza, I flashed a glance over my shoulder at King. His fierce gaze was still on me, and my body instantly reacted—weak knees, sensual heat and tingles—the whole sinful nine yards. I felt more in danger with this King than I ever had with the other. This man had the power to get inside my heart.

  ~~~

  I spent the rest of the day hiding out in my chamber, waiting for King to return and fully expecting him to give me a tongue-lashing of epic proportions for messing up his harvest ceremony.

  Instead, just after sunset, Mela appeared with three other ladies, holding a new clean blue dress and a multitude of hairpins.

  “Please don’t tell me I have to go bottomless to a dinner party,” I said.

  “No, mistress,” she said, not getting my joke, “the king has requested you dine in his chamber tonight.”

  “Alone?” I swallowed.

  “Yes.” She flashed a confused look at me. Clearly she thought we’d already slept together. “This is his request.”

  I nodded slowly. “Oh. Okay.” This couldn’t be avoided, anyway. He’d had almost an entire day to digest the bad news and think up some sort of a solution. If there was one.

  Yes, I’m sure that’s what he wants. To talk. Nothing more.

  Within the hour, I was once again bathed, coiffed, and my teeth were scrubbed to a pristine shine, but I procrastinated leaving the room.

  “You are ready, mistress,” Mela said.

  I sat at the edge of the bed. “I think I need to scrub my teeth again.”

  “No. I assure you, three times is more than sufficient, and the king does not appreciate being kept waiting.”

  I blew out a breath and nodded.

  “Are you all right, mistress?”

  My body felt like it had been wound up in giant knots, and my heart raced at a million miles per hour. Images of King staring at my bare breasts, that sinful pleased look in his eyes, made me feel heated up all over again. I wanted him, and I wanted to continue the nonverbal conversation we’d started earlier. The problem? My liking him in any way, shape or form would not be a smart idea
. There was no future in it. Especially if I prevented him from becoming cursed. The man would hopefully live out his life, grow old, and die in this time as he should. I, on the other hand, hoped to get back home to a new, evil-King-free life.

  “Yes. I’m good. Just a little tired, I guess.” I stood and walked as slowly as I could out the door to his chamber.

  When I entered, there were only a few oil lamps lit. King lay with eyes closed in his steaming tub of water, his bare, muscular chest gleaming with drops of water.

  I was about to turn and leave when he spoke. “Come in and sit.”

  He hadn’t opened his eyes or looked at me.

  “Okay.” I looked around the room. Against the wall, there was a table with enough food to feed ten men. I sat and waited, trying to keep calm. If I’d found it hard to keep my wits around the evil King, this version of him was proving impossible.

  “So,” I said. “Did you have time to think?”

  King remained still and quiet, his muscular arms extended across the edges of the tub.

  I waited for a response, but he said nothing.

  “King?”

  “You sound nervous. Why don’t you join me?” he said.

  I blinked. “Thank you, but I already had a bath today.”

  He slowly opened his blue eyes and smiled. “Ah yes. You do not like baring your naked flesh. Exactly why is that?”

  I shrugged. “It’s just not something I generally do unless I’m intimate with a person.”

  He suddenly stood up and removed himself from the tub in all his naked glory. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him nude, but my feelings for him at the time felt infinitely different.

  My eyes drank in every towering, lean, chiseled inch.

  “Like what you see, Mia?”

  My eyes snapped up to his face. This time, I didn’t want to deny it. “Yes.”

  He smiled. “Good. At least you are honest.” He reached for piece of white cloth and wrapped it around his waist. “Care for some wine?” He strolled toward me, poured a glass, and offered it to me.

  “Thanks.”

  “So.” He sat in front of me and poured his own chalice. “I have some questions for you.”

  “All right.”

  He gulped down his wine and set down the empty cup. “You say you do not know how you came here to me.”

  “I think it was the bracelet. But I’m not sure.”

  “You also say you were running from me,” he said sharply.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “But you are here to help me.”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Why?” His gaze was steady and harsh.

  “I already told you that.” I didn’t think it was fair what had been done to him.

  “Yes. But there is more to our story, isn’t there?”

  I nodded but stared at my glass.

  “What are you not telling me?” he asked.

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try.”

  I lifted my eyes. “I can’t.”

  “Cannot or will not?”

  “Can’t. I don’t know how.”

  “But you are my woman, yes?”

  “Yes. I mean—you claimed me as yours, but we’ve never…”

  “I have never lain with you,” he said, completing my sentence.

  “Why are you asking me all of these questions?”

  “I am not certain I believe your story.”

  “Which part?” I asked. “The part about my being from the future, being yours, or your fate?”

  “All three. Who is to say this is not a ploy to win me, to be my queen in Hagne’s place?”

  Dammit. So stubborn. If he didn’t buy my story, then we were all screwed. History would repeat. Unless you do something to stop Hagne on your own. Which I was fully prepared to do, but wouldn’t get the chance if King thought I was bonkers and had me thrown back in a cage.

  “Then ask me anything.” I lifted my arm to remind him of the “K” tattoo.

  “You could pretend your words.”

  “You saw me jump with your own eyes,” I pointed out.

  “Perhaps you knew I would catch you.”

  “That’s ridiculous; I almost died.” I took a moment to catch my breath. This conversation felt useless. “You know what? Fine.” I stood up. “Don’t believe me. Go ahead and marry Hagne. Kill your brother. Enjoy your cursed life.”

  “Where do you think you are going?” he asked.

  I’m going to find Hagne and take care of this mess on my own.

  “I thought you were stronger than this,” I said, “but I was wrong.”

  “You think me weak because I do not believe your wild story?”

  “I’m saying that there is nothing I can say to convince a man who refuses to accept the truth.”

  He rose from the table, fury pouring from his eyes. “You will sit, Seer. Or I will have my guards tie you to that chair.”

  I hesitantly sat back down. “What do you want from me?”

  He poured himself another cup of wine, drank it down, and then returned his sharp gaze to me. “The truth.”

  “About what?”

  “Prove that you are not trying to manipulate me.”

  “What do you want?” I barked.

  “The truth!” He slammed his fist onto the table, causing the plates of food to jump.

  “I don’t know what that is,” I yelled. “That’s the truth. I go to you for help. You claim me as your property. I find out you’re cursed and looking for a way out. You manipulate me, use me, and try to hurt me. Then poof, I’m here.”

  “So you are saying you fear me. Completely.”

  “Yes.”

  He reached across the table and grabbed my wrist with the tattoo. “Remove your clothes.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Silence. Do it.”

  Without giving my body permission, I rose from the table, fearing why he would ask this. Sheer panic took over as my brain began recalling the horrible memories of the future.

  King’s intense blue gaze focused on my angry horrified face as I slipped the dress off my shoulder and allowed it to fall to the floor.

  His eyes looked me over hungrily for several moments before he stood, gripped my wrist and leaned in. At first, I thought he might kiss my neck or touch me, but he didn’t. Instead he placed his nose at my nape and smelled me.

  What the hell?

  Still gripping my wrist, he whispered, “Tell me you love me. Tell me to make love to you.”

  The nightmares of his private island came crashing down. I could taste the fear on my tongue.

  “I love you. I want you to make love to me,” I said unwillingly.

  King released my wrist and stared deeply into my eyes. I could feel his wine-scented breath on my face and hear my own heart pounding away.

  I began to pray I’d find the strength to release myself from his command as I’d done once before in a state of panic.

  “I believe you.” He turned and sat back down at the table. “You may get dressed.”

  I blinked and then reached for my dress. The moment I was covered, my eyes became glued to a sharp knife on the table. I’m going to kill him.

  “Go ahead,” he said, also staring at the knife. “If it will make you feel better.”

  “What the hell was that?” I fumed.

  He poured another glass with a cool, calm, and steady hand. “I smelled the fear on you, saw it in your eyes. You really do hate me.”

  “Your fucking point?”

  “Emotions like that cannot be faked. You truly believed I would hurt you, which means I’ve hurt you before.”

  He rose from the table and glanced at the food. “Enjoy your meal.”

  He was leaving? Before I had the chance to stab him? How ungentlemanly.

  “Where are you going?” I seethed, expecting him to say it was none of my goddamned business.

  “I do not wish you any further distress this evening, and I
have some difficult decisions to make. I will return later. Rest. You will be safe here.”

  He stopped halfway out the door. “By the way, Mia. I would never take a woman against her will. But I did enjoy seeing your body. The gods will surely give the people a plentiful harvest next season.”

  Completely shocked, my mouth hung open. Who is this guy?

  I sat at the table for the next hour pondering that question. More precisely, I pondered how he made me feel. Angry, overwhelmed, crazy.

  I couldn’t deny that being around him was like a highly addictive narcotic I couldn’t get enough of.

  And that little move of his hadn’t been simply about proving I feared him. It was also about making me trust him. He’d put me in a position where I felt exposed, where he could do anything he liked. Yet he hadn’t, and made a point of it as if he felt the need to win my trust.

  Staring at the food and unable to eat, the cool breeze drifting through the open doorway finally got the best of me. I nestled into King’s bed and covered myself with the soft silky red blanket. His delicious masculine scent—a sort of citrus and musk—enveloped me, and I closed my eyes, thinking of him. This King was seductively strong and fearless. He was human, yet somehow bigger than life—utterly powerful, but kind, too. He was that part of future-King who left me breathless and speechless with his brutal honesty and beauty. That was the man who’d saved my mother. He’d held me when I felt like my life was ending. Yes, now my mind clearly saw two completely different people living inside that future version. One I hated and wanted to kill. The other was this man…

  Goose bumps broke out over my body thinking of him—shirtless with that long black hair—and those vivid blue eyes. And that body. Holy Christ, did that man have abs. And thick muscled arms and legs. And…

  The tension pooled between my legs, and I shook my head. How fucked up am I? There was no possible scenario resulting in a happy ending for me. Regardless, I couldn’t help wanting this untainted version of him. He was the entire package without the baggage.

  Except…he lives in 1500 BC, give or take a few centuries as I wasn’t sure about the exact year. Care to think these feelings over?