King's Ransom

by Amelia Autin

  Sabrina made a sound of pain and her eyes squeezed shut. “It’s nothing...just a twinge,” she said at last.

  Juliana knew it wasn’t just a twinge. It was the cancer. But she was torn. If she told Sabrina she knew the truth, knew about the cancer and the pregnancy, Sabrina would know Dirk had told her. And she didn’t want to betray Dirk’s trust. “Do you have something you can take for it? Aspirin? Ibuprofen?”

  “Aspir— Oh!” She whimpered in a little voice, “It hurts.”

  “Aspirin? Is it in the bathroom? Tell me where it is, Bree, and I’ll get it for you.”

  “Bathroom.”

  Juliana flew into the adjoining bathroom and scrabbled through toiletry and makeup bags until she found a bottle of aspirin. She ran water into a glass, rinsing it out before filling it halfway, and flew back into the sitting room. She put the glass in Sabrina’s hand, then fumbled with the bottle until she got the childproof cap off, and shook several tablets into her hand.

  “How many? Two? Three?”

  “Two.”

  “Stick out your tongue.” Bree did so, and Juliana deposited two tablets there. “Sip the water,” she ordered, “and chew the tablets but don’t swallow. Put them under your tongue for as long as you can—they’ll be absorbed faster that way.” When Sabrina was done, Juliana took the glass from her hand and set it on the side table. Then she knelt in front of her friend, clasping her hands. “Can I do anything else?”

  “Dirk,” Sabrina whispered. “I just want Dirk.”

  Juliana sprang to her feet and whirled toward the door, but just before she reached it the door burst inward and suddenly Dirk was there. His face was white with repressed anger, but before Juliana could say anything he took everything in with one comprehensive glance, and his anger was replaced with concern.

  “Bree...” He was at his wife’s side in an instant.

  “Dirk...” She reached up to him, her lips pressed tightly together to hold in the pain. He swept her into his arms and swiftly carried her to their bedroom.

  Juliana stood rooted where she was, not sure if she should wait or leave the two of them alone. Wishing there was something she could do. Soft, deep murmurs from the bedroom told her Dirk was comforting his wife, and she turned to go. But then Dirk came back into the sitting room, softly shutting the door to the bedroom.

  “Don’t go yet,” he told her. “Bree’s resting now. What happened?”

  She shook her head. “I really don’t know. We were talking, and then...all of a sudden, she got this sharp pain.”

  “Did you tell her you know?”

  Juliana shook her head. “I just got her some aspirin. I felt so helpless. God, it’s just not fair. Bree doesn’t deserve this.”

  Dirk’s mouth twitched into a travesty of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No. She doesn’t. At least I had the chance to tell her I finally understand what she’s going through right now, before we were interrupted.”

  “I’m so sorry about that,” Juliana said. “I didn’t think Andre would really...” She trailed off. She glanced at Dirk uncertainly. “What did he ask—”

  “What did he ask me? Don’t you mean what did he accuse me of?”

  She cast him a wounded look before turning away. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I told him it wasn’t true. I guess he didn’t believe me.”

  “He’s very possessive of you,” Dirk agreed. “So...are you going to tell me why?”

  “He has no right to be possessive,” she said, still with her back turned. “Maybe eleven years ago, but not now.”

  Dirk considered her statement, then shook his head as if something didn’t make sense. “According to him, you left him.”

  “That’s a lie!” Juliana whirled around, anger rising to the top. “He—” She cut off the rest of her sentence, unwilling to admit—even to Dirk—the scars Andre had left on her heart. It had been hard enough confessing to Sabrina the few things she’d shared with her. She couldn’t tell Dirk what she couldn’t bring herself to tell Sabrina, what she’d never told anyone.

  Dirk looked as if he were going to say something, but then thought better of it. He reached out one hand, tucking behind her ear a strand of hair that had fallen down. “He believes it, babe. I don’t know what your history is with him, but I can tell you this. He believes you deserted him. Despite that, he’s determined to win you back.”

  * * *

  “It’s a lie,” Juliana told herself as she stormed back to her own suite and locked the door behind her with a savage twist of the bolt, something she didn’t usually do. “A damned lie.” A lie she was shocked to discover Andre had told Dirk. Why are you shocked? she asked herself. A man who will do what he did to me has no honor. None. So lying about it shouldn’t be a shock. But it was. Andre had never lied to her—not in so many words. And he’d never lied to Mara as far as she could recall. In fact, she couldn’t think of a single instance when he’d lied. “Except by his actions,” she reminded herself with a cynical twist of her lips. “Except when he let you think he loved you the night he made love to you.”

  No, he didn’t make love to you, she corrected herself. He had sex with you. That’s all. Lovemaking on your part, yes. But just sex for him. Fantastic sex, maybe, but sex all the same.

  Still, she couldn’t deny Andre’s growing tension and possessiveness. The edge of command, of a hint of savagery, was clear beneath his royal restraint. And she was responding to it. To him. Since the moment she’d seen Andre at the reception, she’d wanted him—a visceral response she’d fought that night...and every moment since. Her body had recognized what it wanted, what it needed, even though her brain said no. What she feared most wasn’t that Andre wouldn’t take no for an answer—he would never force her—but that her traitorous body wouldn’t take no for an answer. And that he knew it.

  Still thinking about ways and means to protect herself from herself, Juliana wandered into the bedroom, where the bed had already been turned down by the maid assigned to her from the palace staff. She made her way to the dresser and pulled out a nightshirt to get ready for bed. It was early, but it wouldn’t hurt her to have a quiet night. She shut the drawer, laid the nightshirt on top of the dresser and unbuckled her belt. She’d just unbuttoned the line of tiny buttons running from neck to waist when out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement in the old-fashioned cheval mirror standing in one corner. She turned toward the mirror, then swung sharply around. Andre stood there in the middle of her bedroom. Watching her. Just watching her as she undressed.

  She was so startled to see him there that at first she couldn’t speak. Anger, outrage and fear—of her own weakness where he was concerned—surged through her in a riptide. Then she found her voice. “Get out!”

  He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move, either. Just stood there, his gaze sliding from her face downward, lingering on her bared skin, and then back again. Juliana clutched at the bodice of her dress, holding the two edges together in sudden desperation. Only then did he move, walking toward her with an unhurried gait. She backed away, unable to tear her eyes away from the determination in his face, but she didn’t have far to go before she backed up against the wall.

  She wanted to say, “Don’t touch me,” but she couldn’t get the words out because he was already touching her, caressing her cheek with fingertips like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. Not an overtly sexual move, but unbearably arousing all the same.

  “Do not be afraid of me, Juliana,” he said. “You know I would never hurt you.”

  “You are,” she whispered. “You did.”

  “When?” he asked softly, his hand sliding down to cup her breast through her dress, and the nipple tightened of its own accord beneath that sure but gentle touch. His breath rasped in his throat. “When did I hurt you? When I took you that first time? But I made it beautiful for you first, yes?” He kissed her just behind her ear, then her neck. Then his lips moved tantalizing to the open bodice of her dress, kissing her betw
een her breasts but making no attempt to go further. “You knew there would be pain the first time. But did I not promise never again? And did I not prove it to you that night, twice over?”

  “Don’t.” It was just a thread of a sound, and it was directed more to her treacherous body than it was to him. Don’t respond to him, she was saying. Don’t let him make you want him. Don’t let him do this to you again. But his words, his touch were bringing all those memories vividly to life, and she shuddered as a wave of heat began in the core of her being and swept outward, bringing her body to life along with the memories.

  His warm, caressing hand left her body, but he didn’t move away. “‘Don’t?’” he asked softly. “‘Don’t?’ That is not what you told me then,” he said, his deep, seductive voice telling her he knew what he was doing to her. His head moved until his lips were a tantalizing inch away from hers when he whispered, “‘Please.’ That is what you said to me that night. ‘Please.’ Do you remember, Juliana? I do. ‘Please, Andre.’”

  “Please, Andre.” Was that her voice saying those words? That breathless, desperate, needy sound? Her brain wanted to retract her plea but her lips refused to obey, and then it was too late.

  His lips took hers. Warm. Firm. Sensual. Seducing her with no more than a kiss. “I did please you, little one,” he breathed when he raised his mouth from hers. His tongue touched her lower lip. “Each time.” His teeth caught her lip and tugged delicately. “Every time.”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t denying his statement; she was trying to tell herself no, not to let him seduce her this way.

  “Yes, Juliana. Do you think I could not tell?”

  His hands slid beneath her skirt, pulling it up until it bunched at her waist. Then he lifted her effortlessly, sliding her body against his until she could feel him at the crux of her thighs—throbbing through the scant protection of her panties the way she remembered. Only then there had been nothing between them. Nothing but hard male flesh against tender female flesh. More than anything she’d ever wanted, she wanted him in that instant. Wanted him to rip away the barriers between them, to thrust himself into her the way her body ached for him to do. Wanted him to take her with that controlled male power she remembered so vividly, and in taking give and give and give.

  “No!” She wrenched against him and he let her go immediately, let her slide down his body, then stepped back. She put distance between them, and her trembling fingers buttoned as many buttons as she could as quickly as she could. “You have no right,” she told him, panting a little, trying to catch her breath. “No right.”

  “You gave yourself to me once,” he told her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I would have let you go untouched. But you came to me.” His jaw tightened. “Do you think it was easy for me? Two years. Two years I fought against taking you, knowing I had no right. I was one day away from letting you leave Zakhar a virgin. But then you came to me and you gave me that right. You cannot take it back. Not now. Not ever.”

  He turned on his heels and strode toward one of the wall hangings, not toward her sitting room, where the door to the outside corridor was. Juliana’s gaze flew to the outside door just visible through the sitting room doorway, and she realized it was still firmly bolted. How did he get in? “Andre!” she called. He paused and turned back to her. “How...how did you get into my bedroom?”

  The corner of his mouth curved upward in a faint smile. “Are you just now asking yourself that question?” he said, unexpected amusement in his face.

  “I want to know,” she insisted.

  “You are occupying the Queen’s Suite,” he told her, as if that should be answer enough. When she shook her head, puzzled, he lifted a hand and raised the heavy tapestry on the wall, revealing a doorway cunningly concealed in the masonry behind it, with an ancient wooden door that opened inward into a passageway. “The King’s Suite is at the other end,” he said, letting the wall hanging fall back into place.

  When she gasped in comprehension, he said, “The passageway lends credence to the legend that this suite of rooms began as Eleonora’s. I discovered it when reading some old manuscripts from that era. After I ascended the throne and occupied the King’s Suite that had been my father’s, I located the passageway and had it cleaned out. At the same time I had the iron hinges on both doors oiled, and the rust removed from the locks and keys.”

  “You mean you can just walk into my bedroom whenever you want?”

  That faint smile came and went again. “Whenever I want,” he agreed.

  “You can’t,” she protested angrily. “I won’t stay here. I won’t! Even if I have to move out of the palace, I won’t stay where I have no privacy.”

  At first he didn’t say anything, as if assessing the sincerity of her threat. “No need,” he told her finally. “I only came to apologize for not believing you about DeWinter. But then...” He shrugged his shoulders. “You are a temptation that is hard to resist, little one.”

  “Don’t call me that!” she said sharply. “Don’t call me ‘little one,’” she insisted, hurt by the memories it evoked of happier days with Andre.

  “I cannot promise that,” he told her in his deepest voice. “It is what you are to me—small and precious. But I can promise I will never again use the passageway to come to you.” He indicated the key in the ancient lock. “Lock this door, and your privacy will be inviolate, Juliana. I will not use my key.” His words, his tone, the expression on his face told her he meant it. “But know this—I will not lock my door against you. You are welcome to use the passageway to come to me, if you choose. Anytime. Day or night.”

  “Never.” She shook her head, remembering telling him the same thing at the reception. “Never again.”

  Again there was that faint, tantalizing smile that reminded her of how she’d responded to him only a few minutes ago. Of how her body had fought her mind and had almost won. Of how much her body still wanted him, even now, even when he wasn’t touching her. But he didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. He merely turned, moved the tapestry to one side and disappeared into the darkness.

  Chapter 9

  Back in his bedroom Andre paced until his body calmed down, until his heartbeat slowed and the blood no longer raced in his veins. But a flicker of hope had been ignited. He’d been so close. So close to having Juliana again he hadn’t wanted to let her go when she’d struggled against him—but he had. Instantly. He’d sworn to himself he would wait until she came to him.

  He hadn’t intended to seduce her. Hadn’t intended to touch her at all. He honestly had gone to her room merely to apologize. He’d considered going to her suite via the main corridor, but he hadn’t wanted to compromise her. In addition to his own bodyguard and the ones assigned to her—the ones she still didn’t know anything about—anyone could have seen him in the hallway, knocking at her door, and at that time of night it would seem...curious. Possibly suspicious. Certainly worthy of comment. While his bodyguards were discretion personified and the household staff knew better than to gossip outside the walls about anything going on in the palace, he didn’t want backstairs gossip making the rounds about Juliana.

  He hadn’t seen her in the corner of her bedroom when he’d first entered it through the passageway, and he’d thought she wasn’t there. He’d planned to enter the sitting room to wait for her return, apologize for not believing her about DeWinter and leave. Simple. Straightforward. But when he turned and saw her reflection in the mirror, saw her undressing, he’d been frozen. Unable to move. Unable to speak. Then she’d seen him. Ordered him to leave. And when she’d clutched the bodice of her dress like an outraged virgin, he’d moved. Not to leave, as his brain told him to do. But toward her. Needing to touch her the way he needed to breathe.

  To hear her accuse him of hurting her had been more than he could bear. He had to remind her of what it had really been like all those years ago. Had to remind her that she had come to him. But when he touched her, when he smelled the delicate sce
nt that rose from her heated skin, he couldn’t stop. His brain kept telling him to stop, but his body refused to obey. Because every word he whispered to her reminded him of what it had been like to make love to her. What it had been like to know she loved him enough to come to him.

  And her body had responded to his. Finally. She didn’t want it to—oh yes, he could tell she was fighting her body’s response—but he knew she wanted him, too. At last. Not enough. Not yet. But it would happen. He knew it in his heart. He could wait until then. He’d waited all these years, hadn’t he?

  With that realization he finally let himself grow calm enough to focus on something else. Something that had been weighing on his mind for several days. Juliana was in danger. She didn’t know it, seemed totally oblivious to the fact that someone had deliberately tried to run her down the day she’d visited the royal cemetery. But he was as sure as a man could be. The Mercedes had turned out to be stolen. That meant someone had planned the attack on her.

  Should he tell Juliana? Warn her? If he did, would she believe him? Not unless you tell her how you know, he admitted to himself, and he wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet. Because he didn’t know how she’d react when he told her his men had been guarding her for the past three years. That his men had surrounded her in the first-class cabin on the plane bringing her here. That she hadn’t taken a single step since she’d been in Zakhar without men following her, keeping her safe.

  Not stalking her. That wasn’t it at all, but she might feel that way. Might feel it was an unwarranted intrusion into her life, and he couldn’t take that risk—he had to keep her safe no matter what.

  He’d already doubled the surveillance and protection on Juliana, which meant he ran the risk she would notice she was being guarded. But that was better than the alternative.

  * * *

  Juliana tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Unable to erase the evening from her mind. Not just Andre appearing in her bedroom, but earlier, in the little library. All the different ways he’d looked at her. The way he’d held her in his strong embrace, his voice tenderly coaxing her to confide in him while his heart beat so reassuringly beneath her ear. The emotions in his voice, his face, his eyes. Sweet, then autocratic. Demanding, then tender. Gentle, then implacable. All the facets of his personality she remembered from her growing-up years. Her beau ideal prince.