by Riley Pine
I’m not proud, but good god, he is a perfect male specimen, hard-bodied with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His faded black denim makes love to his body, and I search out all the secret, intimate places where I’ve kissed, licked and bit him. I might be furious with him for forgetting me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m drenched between my legs.
“That should do. Come on, hop up,” he says, offering me a hand.
I don’t need it, but I find myself taking it with a curt “thank you.”
Once I’m positioned on the animal, the horse stomps once, and the pressure reverberates through my sensitive skin.
You are Juliet of Nightgardin, Protector of the Northern Ranges, Keeper of the Gardinian Legacy, Lady of the Seven Mountains and Defender of the Faith.
But these illustrious titles don’t change the fact that at this moment, I’m simply a woman turned on by the father of my child, a brooding man who has forgotten my very existence.
Bitterness sours my stomach, pain eating into me like acid.
But maybe that’s good. Anything is better than this unwelcome sexual craving.
“Step aside,” I order Damien, seizing the reins.
“Not so fast.” His arrogant brows shoot up. “You need a lesson.”
My frown turns into a scowl. “I said, stand aside.”
His glare could melt the polar ice caps. Why does that make him appear even sexier? I don’t have time to ponder such mysteries. I must escape. Get away. Bolt to fresh air.
“Suit yourself.” I tap my gelding’s haunches and he responds in an instant. Damien, to his credit, assigned me to a placid beast, one who would be perfect for a beginner. My husband isn’t the monster he wants to pretend. Nor does he wish to risk my neck—or the life of his unborn child.
But this animal is clearly well-schooled, and when urged knows how to run. And right now that’s what I need...speed.
I’m galloping halfway down the road when Damien catches up with me. He’s bareback on an Arabian.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he rages. “You told me that you couldn’t ride.”
“You didn’t listen,” I fire back. “You assumed I had limited equestrian experience.”
“You answered no!”
“Because I have advanced experience, Your High-and-Mighty-Ness!” I veer off the road, click my tongue, and my horse flies over a fence with feet to spare.
“Good boy,” I murmur, patting the side of his thick neck, feeling the corded muscles and pure strength. I haven’t been on a horse in months. Good lord, it feels good.
From the crash behind me, it sounds like Damien isn’t an amateur. He rejoins me and our horses race, stride for stride. My hair flies behind me, the ribbon tying my plait unable to withstand the wind we create.
Something rips loose within me and I let out a whoop of delight, reveling in this one heady moment of freedom, of just being a girl in the sunshine and fresh air, going faster and faster until my heart threatens to pound out of my chest.
We reach a river by an ancient stone bridge. “You deserve a drink, my friend,” I croon to my horse, dismounting and leading him to drink.
“Pudding,” Damien says flatly.
“Excuse me?” Is the prince hungry or has he become addled by the ride?
“The horse I gave you. His name is Pudding. Or as the groomers call him, Puddin’. He has never been considered a racehorse. If I hadn’t seen you ride him with my own two eyes, I would never have believed it.”
“I see. Well, it appears there is more to Puddin’ than meets the eye.” I tie him off to a willow tree next to the water where he can slake his thirst and enjoy nibbling the thick sweet grass.
“And you.” He dismounts and draws in close. So close. And when he reaches out and lifts my chin, forcing me to stare directly into his eyes, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“What are you doing?” It’s a wonder that I can whisper the question with my mouth this dry.
“I don’t know.” His voice is flint on steel. “Fuck.” The desperate rasp sends a shudder along my spine. “Back in the meadow, when you were riding? You cried out, and for a moment, I swear, I remembered.”
“What?” My hand trembles. “What memory did you have?”
“I don’t know. It’s like trying to look underwater. Everything is murky. Time feels distorted. All I know is that I was there with you, and you made a sound.” He frowns. “Do I sound insane? Do you have any idea what I am talking about?”
A faint flush creeps up my cheeks. I pull my hand from his and walk to a small cluster of wildflowers, bending to pick a few. “Who can say? Apparently I have a reputation for being...noisy.”
I think of the sounds I made in his arms. Whimpers. Cries. Gasps of pure pleasure.
I toss the blossoms to the grass. How I wish I could forget. My curse is that I can remember everything in perfect detail.
“My brother Nikolai used to bring me here to go fishing,” Damien said after a long moment. “That is a memory that I cannot erase. He loved this bridge. It was always one of his favorite places. I hated to fish but always agreed to go.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I idolized my brother. Both of my brothers. I’m sure they considered me a pain in the ass, but they never told me I couldn’t tag along. And they looked out for me.”
“You aren’t close now.”
“No.” Darkness returns to his eyes. “I’m better off alone. People who get close to me have a nasty habit of winding up hurt. Or worse.”
I don’t want to give him comfort. I don’t want to risk touching him and seeing what feelings might rise to the surface for me while I’m nothing but a stranger to him. But my heart overrides my head.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I approach him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“No one is better alone. Trust me. I’m something of an expert in the subject.”
He is stiff, but eventually his hands find their way to my waist, and he holds me tight, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
He lets out a shuddering breath. I take one in return. And at this moment, that’s enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Damien
SHE CRADLES MY face in her palms. Her eyes search mine, and I know what she wants to see. Recognition. But other than a moment of déjà vu, this woman is a stranger to me. A beautiful, headstrong, drive-me-crazy stranger.
She reaches up, rubs a thumb along the scar above my brow.
“Does it still hurt?” All of the earlier haughtiness disappears from her voice.
I shake my head.
She strokes a finger gingerly along my nose, and I close my eyes.
“Why does this injury seem fresher than the others?”
“It didn’t heal correctly,” I tell her, then blink my eyes open to meet her gaze. “After weeks of recuperation, I was rewarded with having the doctors break it again. Though I’m not quite sure I approve of their handiwork.” I grab her wrist and lower her hand, but for some reason I don’t let go. “Still crooked, but it’s the best they could do with how badly it was injured.” I paint on my devil’s grin. “Now I have a whole face full of reminders of all that I’ve done to put my family in danger.”
“You’re beautiful,” she blurts.
Her words are too unexpected for me shutter my reaction. My eyes go wide.
“I don’t see your scars, Damien. I don’t see your past. All I see is a man who has punished himself for far too long. A man who suffered great loss in his life before I even met him—and who suffers even more so because of me.”
A tear streaks her cheek, and I instinctively wipe it away. Whatever happened or did not happen between us, she suffers now because of me. And I can’t help think that in her eyes, I have failed her.
Just like I fa
iled Victoria.
My father and brothers.
“Are you still angry at me?” I ask, releasing her hand.
She lets it fall against my chest. “Furious,” she says, but there is no fury in her voice. “Are you not angry with me for barging into your life and messing it up even more?”
My hands rest on her hips, my fingertips kneading her soft skin beneath her riding clothes. “The angriest,” I lie. Because the truth is, while I am definitely in one royal fucking mess I don’t know how to clean up, right now I care nothing for the fate of Edenvale or Nightgardin. I care only that this woman has not run from me screaming. This woman I do not know who claims she carries my child.
“Juliet,” I say, my mouth going dry.
“Damien,” she responds.
“I—” I don’t know what the hell to say, so I brush my lips against hers, testing the waters, and she whimpers, and that is answer enough.
I scoop her into my arms, and she yelps with laughter.
“What are you doing? Do you not have broken ribs that are still healing?” she scolds.
“I don’t care,” I growl, leaving the horses to drink while I take her to a place I have not been since I was a young teen. We weave through a copse of trees until we emerge at a circular clearing small enough that most would pass it by, but I know better.
Before fast cars, there were horses. As much as I loved my brothers, it was when I grew older that I realized I’d always live in their shadows—that there was no true place for me in the palace. So I’d ride far and fast until I found a place I could get lost.
I set Juliet on her feet, and she spins to take in the lush green canopy of the tree branches, the purple wildflowers that grow at the bases of the trunks, and a small space where a fourteen-year-old boy could hide away from the life of a prince—and where a twenty-five-year-old man can get to know the stranger who is his wife.
“Damien,” she whispers. “How did you know this place was here?”
She spins to face me, a wondrous smile spread across her face.
“Let’s just say I was a broody teen,” I chuckle.
She brushes my hair from my forehead. “So not much has changed, then?”
I narrow my eyes, then hook a finger in the belt loop of her body-hugging jeans. “Are you teasing me, wife?”
She skims her teeth over her bottom lip, and I wonder for a second if I’ve seen her do this before. I wonder how many firsts she experienced with me that I don’t even remember. And it’s this that makes me step away.
“We should go,” I say.
Juliet squares her shoulders. “Why, Damien? Why now are you running? I am your wife. Do you still think I have ulterior motives? That I am here to be the ruin of Edenvale?”
“I don’t know!” I snap, but she doesn’t shrink away. She is every bit the regal princess. “I don’t know you. But if you are telling the truth, then I have already failed you in so many ways. And if you are lying, then I have failed my entire kingdom. So tell me, Princess. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
She presses a palm above my heart. “What does this tell you?”
“Christ, Juliet. It’s not that simple.”
She doesn’t falter. “I have never in my entire life believed that love was real. Only duty. My own parents would sooner hang me than show me an ounce of affection, and the one man I thought could change my mind does not remember me or trust me. Yet I’m still willing to hope. So tell me again, Damien. What does your heart tell you?”
I pull her to me, then lower her to the ground, spreading her out on her back. Her hair spreads above her like a wild crown, this princess and almost queen.
“It tells me to forget about trust and just take what I fucking want.”
“Do you want me?” she asks, chest heaving.
“Yes,” I grind out.
“Then take.”
Juliet
He hesitates, and for a moment I think he is going to climb off and stalk away with one of his famous scowls. But then his shoulders slacken, tension releasing as he loses whatever silent battle he wages with himself. Uttering a muffled curse, he slants his full lips over my mouth. I moan as his hot tongue slides over mine in a punishing caress. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon and a flavor that is so deliciously and indescribably Damien that my heart contracts, squeezing until I’m writhing in equal parts agony and pleasure.
He presses his hips down, pinning me in place with the raw power of his erection. I’ve been starved of feeling, frozen like a block of ice. He burns away my defenses. I can’t resist his heat.
My hands fly to his buckle as if they have a life of their own. Despite our three days of passion two months ago, I’m not an expert in the art of initiation. Instead, I fumble with the clasp, my growing determination overcoming my artlessness.
Dear God, I need to feel, to have a cathartic release.
“Juliet. No.”
“What more damage can be done?” I protest. “I’m already with child.”
“I don’t have sex, not the way you want.”
I roll my eyes, molars locked in frustration. “Hate to repeat the bad news, but you already did with me. Countless times. Multiple positions.”
“I’m not denying your words.” He frowns, sweat sheening his temples. “But if I can’t remember being inside you, then it might as well have never happened.”
“You have taken so much from me,” I yell in his face, raking my nails into his neck. “Must you take even my few memories of happiness?”
One of the horses stomps in the distance, snorting a restless breath.
He blinks as if in surprise. “Juliet. I didn’t mean to—”
“Forget it, Damien. Forget it...and...go fuck yourself.” I choke out the profanity.
Something gleams deep in his eyes. “You’re a hellcat under that prim exterior.”
“Oh I’ve got claws.” I dig deeper, and he hisses, nostrils flaring. “And if you’re this committed to being miserable, then you aren’t a Backdoor Baron at all...you’re a Brooding Baby.”
His eyes widen. “No one speaks to me this way.”
“I just did.”
He does something then that I never would have expected. He bursts out laughing.
This only frustrates me more. “What is so funny?”
He shrugs, a gesture so un-him. “It feels awesome to have someone bust my balls,” he says. “Normally I intimidate people or piss them off.”
I shoot daggers with my glare. “Well, I’m going to bust your balls with my left knee if you don’t allow me to pick up what remains of my dignity and return to the stables.”
“Wait one minute.” He eyes me, thoughtful. “I’ll let you go if that’s what you truly wish. But if you do truly need...a physical release... I can help you.”
My heart rate speeds up. “You’d make love to me?”
A shadow crosses his gaze. “I cannot. But I can give you pleasure. Relieve some dynamic tension.”
I purse my lips. “Oh? I’m listening.”
He ducks his head, inches from my face, and presses his cock right where I need it most.
I whimper. “That’s not bad.”
“Is that a challenge, Princess?” A wicked grin spreads across his face.
“Most assuredly.” Damn the eyes of this infuriating man. I half hate him and half want him more than my next breath.
He frees his cock from his jeans and it’s every inch as magnificent as I remembered. Long. Thick. Cut.
My mouth waters.
“Just as I suspected. Inside every good girl there is a bad girl waiting to come out,” he drawls.
“Then free me, Prince.” I roll my hips up, eager for attention. “Let’s see you do your worst.”
He has my pants around my ankles before I can think a coherent thought.
> “These are cute.” He takes in my Nightgardin-issued white cotton panties with a wolfish expression.
“Please,” I plead. “I need... I need...”
“This?” He fists his cock, giving himself a slow stroke.
“You said I couldn’t have that.”
“Not inside,” he mutters, working his fist from root to tip. “Outside? That’s a whole other matter.”
“Outside?”
He yanks my innocent panties to the side. “Look at your sweetness,” he rasps. “Is all that honey just for me?”
Then he slides the head of his shaft over my slit. The pressure is extraordinary. He uses his length to massage my sensitive damp skin, finally centering on my bud, rubbing me in relentless circles.
I moan.
“You are a noisy one, wife of mine,” he observes, eyes bright with something like approval.
“So I’ve been told.” My toes curl. By you, I mentally add, before grabbing his head and hanging on as if I am drowning.
He doesn’t stop or slow, and soon both of our breaths are coming fast.
He pushes his tongue into my mouth while opening my shirt, popping open the clasp to my bra.
“Jesus.” He pulls back, shaking his head twice as he drinks me in. “How the hell could I forget these perfect tits?” He dips to lave one of my nipples until it pebbles and stretches taut. He is sucking me straight to heaven. Despite the sun, I swear that I see stars. The aching clench of need between my legs migrates to my chest until my entire body is primed. Even though a part of me knows that I am damned, I can’t retreat from this madness. For better or worse, this man has stolen a piece of my soul. More than any spoken vow. As if we were formed of one flesh and cleaved apart in some primal severing.
Soon I feel it. The release. It hovers before me, tantalizingly close.
He taps my clit with a clever finger, pulling back the hood and stroking the delicate bundle of nerves with all the pressure of a butterfly’s wing.
I lean up and suck his neck, licking his flesh and reveling in the tangy taste. He grunts and flutters against me again and it’s enough. It’s more than enough.
“Damien,” I moan again, unabashedly as I come as fast as an arrow shot from a quiver. “Oh God, Damien.”
