Crown of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  His hands dug into her fleshy hips, gripping her firmly in place. Then he finally opened his eyes again, the hot and savage gaze catching her breath.

  With the initial thrust against him, she unleashed her worries. “The U.N. and United States want more than we can rightly offer for these agreements.”

  He gnashed his teeth and gripped her skin harder, trying to slow her down. But she pushed again.

  “Lozano has sent an assassin after me.”

  His eyes flashed open at that one, but she refused to let him interrupt, and ground against him faster. “The security team thinks there are still sleepers on Solana, waiting for the right time to strike.”

  She increased the pace, bringing him out just to the tip and slamming back down against his pelvis. Harder with every turn, allowing that intense heat to fill the rest of her body, climbing up her spine and into her face. Letting the power flow to her fingertips.

  “What are…they doing to…find them?” Flynn struggled to get the words out between her thrusts and his own lustful moans.

  “The U.N forces are searching for anything suspicious, and security has been tightened on all government buildings.” Sweat trickled down her back, and her words came in lengthy gasps. That exquisite burn climbed higher and hotter.

  “But several parliament members want the monarchy abolished all together.” Rage filled her mind on that statement. She grabbed his hands again and pressed them onto her breasts, the sensitive tips screaming for attention. Sparks ignited deep in her gut, and her core flinched. “But I won’t let them,” she panted.

  “What can I do to help?” His palms massaged her aching breasts, and then his lips wrapped around one of her nipples. Strong, forceful, sucking the flesh deep into his mouth and swirling it with his tongue.

  She wanted to scream, but she was so close. Right on the edge of that irresistible mountain, where she’d plunge into ecstasy and peace.

  “First, remind me how strong I am. That I’m capable and powerful.”

  He released her nipple, his lips still swollen and red. When he looked at her, she cupped his cheeks, careful not to touch his ears. His one trigger point that would shut him down. “You’ve always been that way to me.”

  She covered his mouth with her own, sliding her tongue to claim him, then ground against his dick once again. He growled into her, on the edge of release himself.

  “You have one more job tonight,” she whispered, her breaths releasing in repetitive gasps.

  “Anything,” he rumbled.

  With a tight grip on the back of his neck, she leaned back. “Make me come harder than I ever have.”

  STEFANO’S WEIGHT LEANED AGAINST GEMMA as she helped him up the ranch house steps. The wood planks creaked under their feet as he stumbled.

  Carrying a drunkard home. What a blast from the past.

  But a small part of Gemma was grateful for the distraction. If she weren’t so focused on keeping the brawny bodyguard upright, she’d have been overtaken with grief walking into the horrific memories this house held.

  “Some of those vultures in parliament want to do away with the Royal Family all to—hiccup!—gether. Just vote them out of existence. I pray to God that Alan—hiccup!—na will keep him in line. From drowning in his—hiccup! sorrows.”

  “How about you pray we make it into the house without a broken neck first.”

  Several windows to the wrap-around porch were blown out from the gunfight two weeks before. But the glass debris had been cleaned up, along with the front door covered in yellow caution tape from the following police investigation. The wooden patio table still rested to the side, a chair overturned, and the white porch swing hung on its chains, several bullet holes in the planks. Gemma ripped off the caution tape and opened the front door. Unlocked, after all this time.

  They stepped into the darkened interior, and Gemma held her breath. She waited for a cold chill to wash over her, the sound of Reyna’s spirit to wail through the hallways, or the whole house to creak in protest to her arrival.

  But there was only silence.

  The couch in the living room was gone. The couch where Reyna had choked on her last breath. But the bloodstain on the rug remained where the sofa had been. The holes in the walls from all the shots ripped at her soul, but at least all of the casings had been removed, probably by the police as evidence.

  Reyna had died protecting Prince André. Literally stepped in front of the bullet meant for him. The thought of his own people voting him out of relevance after everything Reyna had done to save him left a bitter taste in her mouth and an unsettling roil in her gut.

  They staggered forward, Stefano’s head hanging low, but his feet still moving. Gemma led him to the rocking chair on the other side of the room, and he plopped down.

  Stefano let his head fall back against the chair, his eyes closed toward the ceiling. “He wanted me to come after you. Keep you from coming back here. Said you were walking straight into death.”

  “Sounds like him.”

  “But I told him no one would change your mind.” He lifted his head, his eyes trying to focus on her. “You’re as stubborn as he is. That’s why he was exiled for so long. So that’s where I’ve been. Wasting years of my career, keeping my promise to King Rodrigo that whole time, just waiting for the moment when André decided to put his family over himself.” Every word was more slurred than before. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small black box. His fingers fumbled with the opening. Gemma reached to help him, but he pulled back and growled at her. “No one touches this but the king!”

  Gemma reared back. It was the first time she’d ever seen the man snap. Then again, it was also the first time she’d seen him ten sheets to the wind. He’d spoken more to her in the last hour than he had the entire two weeks she’d known him.

  “Then put it away, old man! I’ll get you some water.”

  “And I almost saw it,” he continued, even more slurred than before.

  “Saw what?”

  “When he met you, he started to change. I saw a glimpse of the man Rodrigo wanted to see in his son. Only then. Not before.” Stefano studied the palm of his hand, like it held all the answers. “When did I become a fucking Hobbit?”

  Gemma looked sideways at him. This man does not hold his liquor well. “I think I’ll get you a strong coffee instead. We have work to do.”

  “But I told him,” he held up his finger and hiccupped again, “never underestimate a woman…in cowboy boots.”

  She sighed, her heart as heavy as Stefano. “I’ll put you to bed right now, if you make me a promise.”

  Stefano scoffed, then swallowed back a productive hiccup. “Is that all I’m good for? I’m full of unfulfilled promises. Don’t trust me to hold another one.”

  “Don’t become like my father. When you sober up, you will help me put this place back together. Then, when Vasco is dead, you will not become a useless human being. You’re better than that.”

  Stefano sighed and closed his eyes. A long moment passed, and he still kept his eyes closed. Did this shithead just fall asleep on me?

  “Fine, Gemmita. I will help you keep your promise.”

  “Your promise.”

  He shook his head, his eyes still firmly closed. “When Vasco is dead, I will help keep you from becoming a useless human being.” Then he threw up. All over the bloodstained rug.

  FLYNN SHOOK MARCUS’ HAND, A strong yet defeated one after their long poker night in one of the palace studies. The dark and masculine furnishings matched the sullen mood of their host, Prince André, now sulking on the outdoor patio just beyond the bay window doors.

  “You’re a vicious player.” Marcus shoved his empty wallet back in his pocket. “With an equally vicious poker face. But I don’t feel so bad, knowing even royalty can’t call your bluff.”

  Flynn cleared his throat, keeping his gaze just over Marcus’ shoulder. The Thai national was the closest he had to a friend on Solana. But he still had a hard
time looking people in the eye, an unintended advantage for gambling. “Don’t think I made any friends tonight.”

  “I’d be more concerned about that one.” He nodded toward the open doors. “He’s more torn up than we thought.”

  Flynn frowned. “I doubt he’d talk to me.”

  Marcus shrugged. “You never know.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bet your ass. Lunch is on you too, Deep Pockets.”

  Flynn smirked and closed the door behind him, ever aware of the royal guards standing outside the door. André’s other guests had left moments before, each with empty wallets. A son of a former parliament member André had attended primary school with and a college buddy from Oxford, who happened to be visiting family, were the only friends of his on this island and available. Everyone else wouldn’t risk returning until the threat was over. Both sported diamond watches and equally expensive suits.

  And spoke the whole night of their inherited business kingdoms.

  A whole world to which Flynn wasn’t accustomed.

  Yet none of that mattered to him. Wealthy or not, they all still had to piss in the same toilet after five rounds of liquor and a few beers. Equal pissers.

  A harsh breeze poured into the room from the open doors, foreboding of an oncoming downpour. Yet it barely moved the heavy damask curtains. Flynn’s footsteps echoed across the black walnut floors. He tossed a purple ceramic chip on the table, which landed with a thud on the full house ten-high hand on which he’d won the game. André leaned against the stone balustrade, brooding. He’d removed his tie hours ago, and now his vest was unbuttoned and draped open in the breeze. Even his hair was ruffled.

  “Come to gloat?” He hadn’t turned to address Flynn and just continued to stare across the palace pool, three floors below, all backlit in blue and gold underwater lights, with the seal of Solana, a hawk with wings wide in flight on the bottom of the pool in amber tiles. The lagoon-style pool with a dozen waterfalls was large enough to fit a hundred-foot schooner.

  “Alanna is frustrated with you.” The words came out of Flynn’s mouth before he could check them. Then again, he was never one to sugarcoat things; one of the catalysts for his discharge from the Navy.

  André’s shoulders tensed. He turned his head an inch, and his five o’clock shadow grew more pronounced in the dim lighting. “Careful.”

  “She needs your help.”

  The prince shook his head. “You’ve known her a few weeks. Don’t think because you’re sleeping with her that makes you worthy of my family’s inner circle.”

  “You’re just mad because you lost.”

  His scowl deepened, but he didn’t respond.

  Flynn sighed and pulled out the roll of cash he’d won. “Take it back.”

  When André turned to face him, he tossed it at him. The prince caught it on reflex, and the creases in his forehead deepened. “And now you’ve insulted every man who sat at that table.”

  “I don’t care about the money.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Why did you invite me?”

  André lowered his hand but didn’t put the cash in his pocket. “You’re my sister’s guest. It would’ve been impolite not to.”

  A guest. I’m a hell of a lot more than that. The breeze pulled a little harder on his hair, and his buttoned powder-blue shirt plastered against his back. “I came because Alanna is worried about you. She’s better when the two of you are talking to each other. I don’t care about your love life with Gemma. That’s your business. But Alanna is my business. I love her.”

  André rolled his eyes and turned his back again. “I don’t need a pep talk from an outsider. Goodnight.”

  “For what it’s worth, I liked Gemma. She was nice.”

  “Go away,” he growled.

  “Alanna says she’s never seen you happier than with her.”

  “Last warning, Flynn. Seriously.”

  “But your brooding is making life very difficult for Alanna. She’s fighting those wolves by herself.”

  The prince turned and charged at Flynn. He grabbed his shirt, wrinkling the fabric in his grip. André was strong and powerful, but Flynn didn’t even flinch. That didn’t stop his skin from crawling and his brain fuzzing over with annoyance. Yet as much as he hated people touching him, he knew he couldn’t back down. Not if he needed the prince to respect him. Or at least listen.

  “I don’t care if she loves you, I don’t like you,” André seethed. “You’re rude, too direct, and deliberately insolent of our customs.”

  “Some of those things your sister likes about me.”

  Looking at him overloaded his mind to the point of pain. Too many flickers in his face. The dark circles under his eyes competed with the wrinkles in his forehead, and the stench of whiskey bombarded his concentration.

  “Look at me, dammit!” André barked.

  He forced himself to look at the guy’s nose, though every detail on the enraged prince’s face continued to stab his senses. Focus. “I don’t like you either. You refuse to help yourself, even when you have every means available. But you still feel like life handed you the short stick.”

  André shoved him back hard, only to push himself away. Flynn hardly staggered. “Stay out of my family’s business.”

  “I would.” He kept his voice even, knowing that yelling back never worked before. “If you’d take care of it yourself.”

  The prince’s face changed, darkened somehow. But Flynn paid more attention to the shift in the folds of André’s shirt. And the wide fist heading toward his jaw.

  Flynn lurched back, and the fist missed by mere inches, followed by his other fist. Yeah, I probably went too far there.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from engaging. “She’s scared.”

  “I know!” he bellowed.

  Instantly, the two doors burst open and the royal guards raced in, each with a pistol drawn. “Step away from His Highness—”

  “I’m fine.” The prince rolled his eyes and shoved his fists in his pockets. “I apologize, Cortez. Please, resume your duties.”

  “Are you certain, sir?” The two had positioned themselves in front of Flynn, blocking his view.

  “Just a disagreement.”

  When the guards left—very slowly—the silence extended between them longer than two minutes. André turned away and placed his hands on the table. “Marcus is right. Your poker face is ironclad.”

  Is that a question? Should I say thanks?

  “I took you for an icy bastard, only interested in your twenty minutes of fame.”

  Now I say thanks, right? But that feels like an insult. He shifted on his feet, unsure of how to reply. “I don’t do so well with public attention.”

  André scoffed. “If you want a long-term relationship with the Royal Princess of Solana, you’ll need to get over that—fast.”

  Flynn bit his tongue to keep from responding, but even that wasn’t enough. “Like you and Gemma.”

  André’s frown morphed into a glare. “You have no idea what happened.”

  “She didn’t want the attention anymore? Even I admit those people at the State Dinner were intimidating.”

  “This has nothing to do with those insufferable vultures.”

  “Then she’s scared about the assassin?”

  André’s jaw twitched, and he rose to his full height. “How did you…that was confidential intel.”

  “Alanna has to vent to someone. You’re not around anymore.”

  “Cristo!” He dragged his hands down his face.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t repeat anything. But you have to start helping Alanna. She feels like she’s doing everything alone.”

  The lump of money lay between them on the floor, a stark green contrast against the dark wood floors. The prince buttoned his vest, and knelt to pick up the cash. He rolled it around in his palm. “In many ways, this life is a short stick. Everything is a lose-lose choice. If you’re aro
und long enough, you’ll see that for yourself.”

  He tossed the roll of money back on the table and started to walk out.

  “I’m not the religious type,” Flynn started, staring at the money. “But I remember reading something about Moses having a stick. Even he leaned on family.”

  André stopped just before the doors and raised his face to the ceiling. His posture sagged, and he mumbled something in Spanish. Then he pushed through the doors.

  Fatigue ripped through Flynn’s body with a sudden whoosh. The mantel clock chimed twice in a high-pitched tone, echoing through his mind. He grabbed the roll from the table and strolled out of the door, stopping just beside the royal guard who hadn’t followed Prince André. Without a word, he handed the guardsman the money.

  “I don’t expect you do this job for the money. But I think everyone will be putting in overtime soon.”

  GEMMA’S BOOTS CRUNCHED ALONG THE gravel road leading to her private cabin on Reyna’s ranch. Dusk in the dry prairie was hardly quiet, but still peaceful. Crickets buzzed continuously, harmonizing with the toads and occasional coyote howl in the distance. Grasshoppers flitted away if her steps shifted too close to the fields. Yet the sky was cloudy, blocking out most of the beautiful sunset and oncoming starlight.

  The warm air held a cooling breeze, welcoming her home as it kissed her face. The walk to her cabin was pleasant, all mile and a half of it. She would’ve taken her truck from Reyna’s house, but the police had impounded it. Murder investigations tended to do that.

  Stefano slept off his drunken insights in the guest room at Reyna’s ranch house, having thrown up a few more times. Tucking in the hard-core soldier was a bit awkward, in the same room he’d stayed in during their initial hideout before the attack. He didn’t seem to notice.