Emotionless, she thought, not just cold in the sense that he might have been looking at a roach that had had the audacity to creep out from under the rug. His eyes, his expression, had been as cold and distant as if there was no soul in the body.
She’d seen a flicker of … something, though, she realized after a while. Fleetingly, so briefly she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been staring into his eyes, she’d seen something pass through them, an acknowledgement of her presence, she supposed. Surprise, maybe? As if it had been so unexpected for him to discover an actual living, breathing being cleaning his house that it had jolted him out of that faraway place where his mind ordinarily dwelt.
* * * *
Such turmoil churned through Simon as he left the house that it was only habit that guided him down the path he’d worn over the years from the house to the sea. He found he could not sort the confusion of thoughts and impressions, even though he felt a need to do so, and that disturbed him almost as much as the fact that he was in a state of disorder at all.
He had not expected to encounter the woman--his people knew he did not like to deal with outsiders--but he was not unaware of the woman’s presence in his house. As little interest as he had in such things, he was kept informed of everything that went on around him. That was a given. Whether he was interested or not, his rank placed as many obligations upon him as it did his people.
And that being the case, he should not have felt such a jolt of … shock upon encountering her. Should not have felt even a great deal of surprise, let alone stunned to such a degree that it seemed to suspend him in time so that he’d found himself unable to move, or think, or even breathe for a seemingly endless time.
It was shock that he’d felt, though, he finally acknowledged, an unpleasant jolt of stunned … what?
He still was not sure, but his mind obligingly recalled every image it had recorded in those moments, every impression, and tumbled them around again in an effort to find some explanation, some logical reason for the disturbance.
A small, pale face surrounded by untidy locks of dark, reddish brown hair emerged dominate, and most strongly of that impression was the eyes--because they seemed larger than anything else about her face. More vaguely, he had had the impression of clothing that had seemed far more suitable for a man--at least the men of his culture--fitted, though there had been nothing at all mannish about the body the clothing so faithfully conformed to--large, soft breasts, a narrow waist, nicely rounded hips and shapely thighs.
He had noticed everything about her body, he realized with a mixture of surprise and irritation. Without any actual intention of doing so, without even a conscious awareness of it, he had catalogued every pleasing curve, could remember very clearly every detail of shape and size, even a calculation of firmness and softness.
Arousal, he realized as he felt his body stir again only at the memories. Part of it, at least, had been desire.
He examined that with suspicion, searching for a reason to dismiss it, and realized that he could not. The potent attraction, unwelcome as it was, unfathomable as it was, had been the greatest part of the jolt to him.
He had not been with a woman in …. He could not exactly remember the last time. He had a vague memory of expending himself on some nameless, faceless female, but nothing beyond that--no perception of time. In truth, he had ignored his physical needs so long he rarely felt it to any great degree anymore and he could not even recall when he had managed to quash even the call of his manhood.
That explained it, though--need. It was not want. It was only nature demanding he remember that his body had needs besides the intake of nourishment and the need to rest.
That did not explain why, though, the eyes bothered him so much, why the expression on her face haunted him.
She had felt it, too, he realized after a few more minutes of thrashing the idea around in his head, feeling almost more stunned by that realization. That was why he had felt such a jolt. The look in her eyes, on her face--it had mirrored the same, inexplicably powerful force of attraction that he had felt.
Reflected back at him, he wondered? Overlain there by his mind’s eye only because it was what he felt? Or had she actually felt it, too?
Frowning, he examined that more carefully.
He did remember it correctly, he finally decided, but the attraction wasn’t all that he’d seen. It might not even have been the emotion that dominated that little face that he’d found so appealing, so strangely fascinating.
She’d been focused on his eyes, paled as she stared him, froze like prey that has sensed the interest of a predator.
He hadn’t been wearing his glasses, he realized abruptly, feeling anger and far more disappointment than he should have.
He had scared the hell out of her.
* * * *
The conflicting thoughts and impressions did nothing to settle Raina’s nerves. As tired as she was by the time she’d managed to finish, she was still jumpy. The faintest sound made her stiffen and cock her ears to listen intently until she’d identified it.
She was frantically polishing the last segment of the balustrade when she heard the sound she’d been listening for--the faint scuff of soles on the walkway outside the front door. For a split second, she froze like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. As she stared at the door, though, and saw the door knob begin to turn, she grabbed her cleaning tray and darted toward the formal dining room on tiptoe.
God only knew why she thought that would help anything. The cleaning supplies jiggled and rattled with each step, noisily marking her quick retreat. She almost spilled the thing in her haste to clear the doorway and close the door behind her.
Struggling not to pant for breath like an obscene phone breather, Raina, inspired by some insane impulse she couldn’t resist, paused before closing the door completely. Holding it with no more than a thin sliver between the door’s edge and the frame, she peered through the minute opening as the men entered the foyer.
He was in the forefront again. Despite the panic that threaded through her veins, she allowed her gaze to take a full sweep of him before she focused on the hard planes of his face, studying his profile as he came into full view.
He hesitated fractionally as he placed one boot clad foot on the first stair. For a split second, she thought he knew she was there, that he was going to turn and look straight at her.
He didn’t. He mounted the stairs and disappeared from view, leaving her to wonder if she’d just imagined that slight hesitation.
When the last of his escort had disappeared up the stairs behind him, she very carefully closed the door, wincing as she heard the click as the door caught and wondering if it only seemed loud to her or if it actually had been loud enough to carry up the stairs.
After glancing around the vast dining room vaguely for a moment, she finally moved to one of the dining chairs that lined the wall nearest her and collapsed weakly on the seat.
Staring at nothing in particular as her mind focused inwardly, she tried to sort the unfamiliar riot of emotions inside of her. With a touch of surprise, she finally realized that uppermost was almost a sense of awe, giddiness--vague hysteria--as if she’d discovered herself in the presence of some rock star or god of the silver screen she’d lusted over and fantasized about for years--except this man was a complete stranger. She was absolutely certain she’d never seen that face before. She would never have forgotten it. So how, him being a nobody as far she was concerned, could he have had that kind of effect on her?
Chapter Two
Audric studied the prince surreptitiously as he followed in his wake, ostensibly scanning their surroundings for any sign of an assassin. He knew the others were alert for the possibility, though, and only half his mind was focused on that constant vigil. The other half was focused on the prince himself, searching for some outward sign that his ruse had been detected.
Simon had seen the woman. There was no doubt in his mind that, for the first time since he
could remember, something had finally penetrated the shield of ice Simon had erected around himself. Unfortunately, since he’d been behind his half-brother, as was his place, he hadn’t seen what sort of effect it had had on him.
He was still heartened. Even a tiny fracture was welcome after all these years when he’d almost lost hope that he would ever again see the man he’d worshipped since he was child, guarded with his life since he was old enough to take his place in the royal guard.
When Simon stopped at last on the promontory where he always stopped, staring out at the sea, Audric motioned for the royal guard to take up stations and then moved to a position that would allow him to keep watch and still catch an occasional glimpse of Simon’s profile.
Uneasiness filtered through him when Simon turned his head and stared at him for a long moment before his gaze focused inward again and he turned to stare out to sea as he had ritualistically once a week since his exile from his homeland. He knew, if the others didn’t, that this was Simon’s penance for living when the woman he’d loved more than life had died, taking his heart and soul with her.
To everyone else, it might seem as if Simon was hardly aware of where his eyes focused. It was just a sea, not the sea that had swallowed Evangeline and taken away the light in Simon’s eyes.
He knew, though. The very first time they’d come this spot and looked out at the sea the image that had been printed indelibly on his mind forever had surfaced instantly and he’d thought for several moments that he would throw up.
That was why Simon came here, not because this sea reminded him of home, but because every time he looked at it, he saw Evangeline’s long black hair drifting in the tide, saw her lifeless eyes staring back him.
He came to torture himself. For living? Maybe. Probably. But Audric thought it was also because he was searching for his lost soul, trying to figure out why he was still alive--or still breathing. What Simon had been doing since he’d been exiled didn’t actually constitute living. Existing more accurately described it.
Despite every effort he’d made himself to banish that nightmare, Audric felt it grip him again the moment he acknowledged it, felt the memories wash over him in a sickening tide.
He’d been afraid and struggling mightily with the effort to hide it and maintain his dignity when they’d been brought out, they thought, for execution after the months they’d spent in that stinking prison. He’d told himself he’d expected nothing less, that he was surprised they’d even waited as long as they had. He’d told himself it was better to get it over with than to die by degrees, slowly rotting in prison, becoming less of a man and more of an animal every day.
When they’d brought Evangeline out, he’d felt sick, certain they’d brought her to watch, fearful that he’d shame himself when he died. He’d been so focused on that that it had taken him a while to figure out what they were doing.
Disbelief, he thought, had gripped all of them as they watched the executioners bury Evangeline in the sand up to her neck, and comprehension was slow in coming. For a long while, he had simply stared at her, the men around him, the men standing on the beach, watching the slow, inevitable approach of the tide. Even when it had finally clicked in his mind what they were about, he hadn’t been able to believe it.
It was just Jaelen’s sick way of tormenting them to the bitter end, he was certain.
And it was.
What it was not, was a show merely to torment them.
He should have known that when he saw how excited Jaelen was, but there was no reason to kill Evangeline. It served no purpose. Killing them served a purpose. Killing Simon would have served a purpose, because he was the rightful emperor. He should have ascended to the throne upon his father’s death--not Jaelen, the treacherous, backstabbing little worm.
There were times when he was not certain which part of that nightmare sickened him the most, watching Evangeline die, or watching Simon slowly fall apart; remembering the terror in Evangeline’s eyes, or remembering the terror in Simon’s; watching her slowly swallowed up beneath the sea, or Simon, tearing and clawing at the chains that bound him like a raving madman, sobbing and begging like a child for them to kill him instead.
Audric’s stomach lurched sickeningly with the memory.
He’d loved her, too, fallen in love with her long before she had caught Simon’s eye and captured his heart. No one could be around her for any length of time and not love her. He had understood that, understood that Simon could no more help loving her than he could and, moreover, that she had never been meant for him. She had been Simon’s long before he had finally noticed, or acknowledged, the woman his father had chosen for his bride.
For the most part, the same could’ve been said of Simon, that it was impossible not to love the man himself completely aside from his title. His men and his subjects had loved him, worshipped him as a god, as flawed and imperfect as he was as a man. In fact, it had almost seemed as if his flaws were as integral a part of why he was so beloved as his perfections, as if everyone had been drawn closer, felt that they could love him and not merely hold him in the awe and respect his birth entitled him to.
It was their love that had destroyed him, just as it was his love for Evangeline that had destroyed her. If he’d been hated, or if his people had even been indifferent, his enemies could’ve simply disposed of him, given him the death that was all he’d wanted when they were through with him. As it was, Jaelen had deduced fairly quickly that killing him would only make him a martyr for rebellion, would bring the entire realm into revolt. So instead, he’d broken Simon, crushed the life from him, and left the shell to appease the people, held him ransom for their behavior by sending him into exile.
As long as they knew he was alive, that he would pay in blood for any attempt at revolt, the people endured--ever hopeful, as he was, that one day Simon would return and destroy the usurper.
Which was why, as much as he loved Simon himself, he’d been willing to risk being accused of treachery by bringing the woman into the house.
It had seemed safe enough. He’d checked her out thoroughly before he’d allowed the interview. She had no one. If she had to go missing, no one would be looking for her.
It seemed unlikely, too, that Simon would realize what he was up to. Physically, she looked nothing at all like Evangeline, which was hardly surprising since she was human. Still, there was something about her that had instantly arrested his attention, something in her wide green eyes and delicate features that had snared him once he’d managed to drag his attention from her body.
Clad in snug fitting jeans and a body hugging top, every lush mound and curve was blatantly evident. He hadn’t needed to see what was beneath the clothes to know that body was a siren call to any lustful male, human or draconian, and his mind had already been churning with possibilities even before he’d examined the face that went with it.
Viewed dispassionately, he supposed she was more ‘interesting’ than beautiful, but he doubted very much that many men realized she wasn’t. He wouldn’t have if not for the fact that his lustful thoughts had abruptly shifted to possessiveness and from there, naturally enough, to what sort of opposition the others might present … which had brought Simon to mind.
That had brought her into clearer perspective, impelled him to take a step back and try to view her with more objectivity.
She wasn’t beautiful, but she had a way of looking at a man that blinded him to her slight imperfections--a strange mixture of boldness and shyness, of frankness and mysteriousness, of appreciation and wariness--that aroused every hunting instinct. From the moment he’d first met her gaze he’d been drowning in conflict. He wasn’t sure which instinct was most dominant--the primal and purely male need to conquer and dominate or the urge to protect, but neither could be ignored and he knew, if he felt it so powerfully, Simon would not be able to resist those urges either.
The last time he’d tried to divert Simon with a woman, though, the results had been disastrous. S
he’d been too blatantly sexual, too obvious a plant to tempt his appetite because he’d been stupid enough to choose a woman that bore too striking a physical resemblance to Evangeline--not that she’d really looked like Evangeline. Tall and elegant and shapely enough to tempt most any man, her hair had been long and black like Evangeline’s, her complexion like fine porcelain.
But, unlike Evangeline, the woman had been all too aware of her appeal. She had been too focused on her appearance, too aware of her sexuality. Every move she made had seemed calculated. Every toss of her midnight hair, every faux shy glance and timid ‘come hither’ smile had been as blatant an enticement as if she’d stripped naked and waved her tits and ass in their faces.
She’d pierced Simon’s self-absorption, all right. He’d taken one look at her and shut himself into his rooms for weeks, staring at the wall and refusing to eat more than a morsel of food as he had in the first months after Evangeline’s death until they’d thought he would starve himself to death.
He let out a disgruntled sigh as Simon turned at last and headed back to the house, disgusted that he’d succeeded in getting no more of a rise out of Simon than that brief flicker of surprise and interest.
If Simon didn’t want the woman, he was going to have her himself, he decided--assuming he could grab her before the others managed to.
They had noticed. Simon might be dead to the world around him and everything in it, but the rest of them had blood in their veins, and a woman like Raina caused that blood to heat and centralize in the groin effortlessly. She didn’t even have to look interested. The sway of that delectable ass of hers, the bounce and sway of her pert breasts was enough to make a man instantly forget where he’d been going and follow her off hopefully, sniffing for just the hint of her womanly scent.
Despite his abstraction, as the others fell into formation beside him, he noticed Haig was trying to catch his attention. Frowning, he glanced at the man questioningly. Haig lifted his right wrist and tapped the face of the watch he wore.
Dragon Lord Page 2
