“Now that’s a glorious wake-up call.”
Even in the dark, he saw the blush across her cheeks.
“Sorry to wake you.” Her voice caressed his ears better than the ocean’s waves. “I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”
He sat up, adjusting his shorts. With her bare breasts filling his view, she was an inspirational muse come to life. “Worthy sacrifice.”
She chuckled.
A crunch pulled her attention to the nightstand. The champagne bottle he’d brought up to the room after the State Dinner nestled in a bucket of melting ice. Two unused flutes sat beside it.
She sighed. “Double sorry. I missed our private date.”
He shrugged. “Your excuse is better than most others.”
When Stefano had pulled her aside after the receiving line incident, Flynn figured it would be just a quick security debriefing. In reality, not so much. She’d been bombarded with more meetings than imaginable. But the security briefings were clearly the most draining.
Her sigh trickled down her body in a trail of goosebumps. Must not have been a good report.
She kneeled on the bed in front of him, so innocent and irresistible, wearing only a tiny thong the same color as the gown. She licked her lips and dragged her nails down his bare chest. His dick jumped again, and his skin warmed.
“I love how you sleep with just a pair of shorts. And no covers.”
“I love how my body naturally knows you’re near. Even when I’m sleeping.”
She grinned. “Would you like to try the champagne? It should still be cold.”
Flynn couldn’t help himself. He grabbed her hips and hauled her on top of his lap. Threading his fingers through her hair, he tugged her close and smothered his mouth against hers.
Her soft moan went straight to his cock, stretching him more.
Insomnia be damned…she was worth every sleepless night. He’d learned every inch of her body to memory and, more importantly, the sounds she made when he gave those lovely corners of her anatomy expert attention. Their tongues continued their dance, thoroughly and invigorating. Satiating.
“You’re intoxicating enough,” he rumbled, savoring her sweet taste. But the tension in her neck and back muscles bunched under his hands. “You definitely need a drink.”
Her posture stiffened, even more so when he lifted her off of him to pour her a glass. He pressed a button on the wall, and the light dimmer switched on over their heads.
She snuggled in the covers while he filled the flutes nearly to the top.
“These debriefings get longer every time. Even the quick ones.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He handed her a glass.
She shook her head and sipped, then downed the whole thing in one swoop.
He stopped mid-pour on his. “That bad?”
She coughed through the last swallow and held it out for a refill.
He raised a brow. “Don’t tell me Gemma’s receiving line incident bugs you that much?”
She rolled her eyes. “I seriously could have gone without that reminder. It’s the last thing the monarchy needs with everyone questioning every move André and I make. But, no, this briefing didn’t touch that.”
He couldn’t even remember the name of the brunette who had started the whole thing with Gemma. Nothing new for him. Eye contact was hard for Flynn, except when those eyes were Alanna’s.
Nor was he any good with recognizing emotion in most others. But after tonight, André’s pissed-off expression was unmistakable.
He refilled her glass, and she downed only half of it this time.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
Her face darkened, setting off an alarm in his head. “You’re not sleeping enough as it is.”
He put the bottle back in the ice and sat on the bed beside her at eye level. “This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me.”
“What won’t work?”
“Us.”
The second that passed felt like an hour. “I trust you, Flynn.”
“Then tell me.”
She pressed her lips together, the champagne remnants glistening in the dim lights overhead. Then she leaned forward, grasped the back of his neck, and pulled him in for another kiss. He relented, massaging her tongue with his own. The distraction was working, combined with her naked form only inches from his hands…begging to be caressed. Instead, he pulled away.
She groaned at the space between them. “Please, not tonight. Can’t we just—”
“That’s your go-to response any time the discussion gets too intense.”
She chuckled, although he could still see the dark circles under her eyes. “Can you blame us?”
Granted, he loved every second of their sexual adventures. It was an extra turn-on knowing that he’d been her only one. A virgin only two weeks before, he’d unleashed a ravenous appetite in Alanna Peralta that intimidated as much as it depleted him.
“I know the statistics of relationships based on extreme and dangerous circumstances. Our introduction fits into that category.” The second he read that study, he’d wanted to throw the laptop across the room. The one person he could look in the eye had become his sole focus and reason for living. Losing her would be the end of him. Even his self-therapeutic repair work in the marina on boats wouldn’t overtake his fear of losing Alanna.
Every day, something pulled her further away from him.
She surged from the bed and grabbed the robe from the other side of the chaise. The silk wrapped around her perfectly, her puckered nipples pressing against the fabric. Then she approached him, grabbing his waistband. “Flynn, I love you. I need you with me now more than ever.”
“But you won’t let me help you.”
“You are helping me. Just by being here. Distracting me from all the stress that comes with royalty.”
He huffed out a long breath. “Of your dozen advisors and experts around you every day, do any of them ask you what you think? How you feel?”
She pursed her lips. He already knew the answer to that question. “That’s not their role.”
“Exactly. I consider that my responsibility. Your mental wellbeing. And you’re making me fail.” In two weeks, she’d been run ragged over her country’s recovery and the constant threat of the Lozano cartel. He’d have been just as overwhelmed in her position.
Her flowery coconut scent washed over him when she rose up on her toes to cup his cheek. “When the attorneys determine who ascends the throne, all this will be easier. The back and forth uncertainty won’t exist anymore.”
He held her wrists under his chin and breathed in her skin. He kissed each of her knuckles, as if they could wipe away his fears. “What happens when they determine you’re queen?”
Her loving expression faltered. “It could just as easily be André.”
He shook his head. “Everything will fall on you to decide. Will you open up to me then?”
A shadow crossed her face. “I thought I already had.”
“Physically. But you’re hiding something from me. Something you’re scared of.”
Her neck flexed as she swallowed, and her eyes glistened. “The right people are handling it.”
Something short-circuited in his mind. The dimmer overhead buzzed louder than his own voice. “The right people?”
Her eyes softened. “I meant the experts.”
He nodded, but he didn’t process what she said. He stepped back, and her hand slid off his face.
“Flynn, don’t,” she pleaded.
He retreated toward the window and leaned against the sill. In the distance, the marina was lit in spotlights, the restoration and construction continuing non-stop until the work was done. “Queen or not, I never cared which role you held. I just wanted to be with you. The only thing I didn’t want was to feel useless. I’ve had enough of that in my life.”
“Just because I don’t want to tell you every sordid detail does not mean you’re use
less to me.” Her growing anger tinged the edge of her soft voice. She was getting irritated with the discussion. So was he.
He turned and took in her makeup-covered face, with the most glorious waterfall of dark hair. She was more than a foot shorter than he, yet so intimidating at times. Her eye shadow had matched the gown she wore earlier, designed to make her eyes appear more prominent than they already were.
“Let’s sleep on this.” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “It’s been a long day, and we’re both not resting well.”
“You looked really pretty tonight.” His heart ached.
“I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU HUSBAND and wife.”
The breeze whipped through the flowered archway on the top balcony of the Marina Bay Sands Casino, where Lozano’s son kissed his new bride. All of the guest chairs were empty and only one bridesmaid made it to the new ceremony time. Lozano took over as the best man position so he could get the proceedings over with.
The original best man, Julius, was now in the hands of the authorities. Ricardo had been furious when he heard the news. Lozano was more concerned with the possibility of the little prick squealing to save his own neck. But there were bigger events to plan first.
His son had only smiled once, right before their kiss. Everyone wore a distinctive scowl. The bride’s father, Maximilian, his wife, Amelia or something, even the pudgy priest. But none wore a glower as blatant as Sophia’s. Hers was plastered on her face through the entire service.
Her gown was immaculate. Champagne silk hugged her thin frame, accentuating her bust in a graceful, sweetheart neckline. An overlay of custom lace bejeweled across the bodice was truly a masterpiece of fabric. Complete with a floor-length veil so thin, it could have been made out of stardust, worthy of bridal magazine covers the world over.
Such a shame she refused to enjoy it.
Ricardo turned to him, his face blank, but eyes full of something. “Satisfied?”
“Cheer up, boy. You have a ball and chain now.” Without waiting for whatever response his son wanted to give, Lozano turned to Maximilian. “Saturday, midnight, as instructed?”
Maximilian grimaced, like he was sucking on a shit lollipop. He glanced to his daughter, who returned a cautious, warning stare. He finally gave the drug cartel boss a nod, then approached Sophia.
The two of them shared a secret moment of quiet words, the bride’s eyes filling with tears. Her mother watched with a less-than-joyous expression.
One of his bodyguards leaned in beside him. “Sir, there’s chatter on the police scanners.”
“Time to go,” Lozano announced, and turned toward the glass elevators.
“Go ahead without us, Father.”
Lozano stopped and slowly turned back. “Did you say something?”
Ricardo stood next to his bride, who still hugged her father. Lozano’s eldest son lifted his chin with a sudden overconfident air. “We’ll see you after our honeymoon. Please, go ahead. We’d hate to interfere with your work.”
Lozano’s chest twinged again, then settled. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the tremble in his fingers, and slowly stepped over to the quartet. Everyone’s eyes widened, and the air on the roof seemed frozen.
A few long seconds passed, staring down his son’s defiance before he opened his mouth. “I have the perfect honeymoon bungalow picked out for you to ensure your safety as Maximilian and I conduct our business. To do that, we have to leave now. I won’t repeat myself.”
Ricardo’s chest inflated, and his chin lifted higher. “Father, if you have any love for me, any respect for your own blood, allow me this.”
Lozano smiled. He finally stands up for himself. Pity, that he chooses the wrong moment to do so.
Ricardo’s body barely shifted, his confidence flickering. Lozano turned to Sophia and held out his hand. Sophia glanced back and forth between the two Lozanos, and finally slipped her gloved hand in his. The cartel boss lifted her knuckles to his lips, kissing them twice with a gracious smile. The corner of her mouth lifted into a scared smile.
“Thank you, Fath—”
Lozano pulled the pistol from his back holster, gripped Sophia’s arm, and pressed the barrel of the gun into her hand.
Sophia gasped. Her father yelled and tried to pull her away. Lozano kept a firm hold. Ricardo blanched, choking on fear. The girl’s mother fainted, landing on one of the empty chairs.
“Do you want me to blow this pretty rock off her finger? Ruin all the hand jobs she can give you before your marriage starts?”
Sophia started crying, then stuffed her other gloved hand into her mouth to stifle the sobs.
Maximilian glared. “Lozano, you son-of-a—”
He ignored him. “Your choice, Ricardo. Three…two…”
“Fine! All right. Let her go.”
Maximilian shifted his glare to his new son-in-law, incoherent words blubbering from his lips. Lozano released her hand, holstered his weapon, and readjusted his suit coat. “Grab your things. We have to be in that car headed to the plane in two minutes.”
Ricardo tried to wrap his arms around his bride, but she shoved him away and ran to the stairwell. The boy chased after her.
“If you ever want to see your daughter again,” Lozano continued, “you’ll make sure that arms delivery is on time to Solana without any hassle as promised.”
The man’s face paled, his dirt-brown eyes glazing over.
Lozano slapped his hand on Maximilian’s shoulder. “Welcome to the family.”
The Texas heat suffocated Gemma the second she stepped out of the Abilene airport. The oppressive, dry air smelled of dirt and hay.
It was a smell she’d once loved, spending her life working in it. Now it felt foreign.
What’s wrong with me?
Probably all of the time spent in the humid tropics. Climes meant for the exotic royal Casanovas who stole hearts.
She slung her simple black duffel bag over her shoulder—containing Lil’ Pete—and put on her black sunglasses. Despite the change of heart toward the hot air of her childhood, she still relished the feel of her ratty cowboy boots and hip-hugging jeans.
“Gemma Westfall.”
She turned at a loud, gruff voice. A massive gold star attached to a silver badge filled her view.
“I’m Deputy Dormund. The sheriff’s office needs to talk to you. You’re coming with me.”
The scraggly, adolescent-looking deputy grabbed her arm and tried to turn her around. She yanked back and fisted her hands.
“Am I under arrest for something?”
“Not yet.” His lips turned down, but it was hard to read his exact expression behind the massive brown shades over his eyes. Cuffs dangled from his hand.
“Then what are those for?”
“To make sure you comply. I’ve been informed you’re…”
Gemma raised a brow.
“Feisty,” he finished.
“Boy, you haven’t seen feisty yet.”
“You’re suspected in the murder of Reyna Lawson and the destruction of private property.”
Gemma sighed. She expected that at the very least. Guilt had eaten away at her soul over leaving Reyna’s body on the couch after assassins had found André and attacked the ranch. But she’d had no choice. There was no time to bury her, or even call the police.
She’d become a fugitive.
“All right. Let’s get this over with.”
Dormund looked sideways at her, and then cuffed her hands behind her back.
For Reyna.
DAWN ON SOLANA HAD ALWAYS been Alanna’s favorite hour of the day. The humid air was still cooler, bringing more of the exotic corners to life. Even the flowers opened wider as she walked through the palace gardens. The heavenly aroma of the hibiscus and roses were more potent, peaceful, and full of hope.
Flynn had left only a short while earlier to start his long day repairing the marina and boats. Their argument overnight ruined the romantic mood. But she still cherished sleeping in the s
ame bed as her savior. If only he would’ve slept as well.
“Your Highness.”
She turned, her geranium chiffon pants flaring in the breeze, designed to make them appear as a long skirt, cooling in hot climes, like today. Mathis Arias, the once-pudgy parliament representative of the northern province, strode through the pathway.
“Representative Arias.” She grinned. “I hope you don’t mind our meeting outside today.”
When he reached her side, he bowed his head. She extended her hand out of protocol, and he softly kissed her knuckles. His hand was rough, but gentle. “Of course not. I will never turn down an invitation to this masterpiece.” He gestured to the large fountain: twenty feet of pink marble water sirens and naked mermaids reaching toward the heavens. The loose skin around his face stretched further as he grinned.
Stress had taken its toll on him. On everyone, herself included.
The soft, trickling water from the mermaids’ mouths harmonized with the distant chirps of exotic birds. The symphony of Solana had thankfully survived the destruction.
“Your father, God rest his soul,” he began mournfully, “loved these gardens. We used to have our monthly reports given out here.”
She grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I remember. He looked forward to those. Always left my dance lessons a few minutes early on those days, with an extra lift to his step.”
Arias nodded and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Though I suspect it had more to do with the company than the venue.”
He glanced at her. “What gives you that impression?”
She stopped walking and mirrored his posture. Be open with your gestures, and they will open to you. It was a lesson from her mother she would never forget. “He never held those monthly reports out here with any other province representative.”
The old man’s expression humbled.
Her father had always spoken highly of Arias and had valued his opinion. She pressed her lips together, wondering what the parliament representative thought of her. Would he treat her as if she were too young to understand what was going on? Would he respect her decisions? Granted, she was still royalty, which warranted respect from all Solanian citizens. But she was only twenty.
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