Seduced by the Prince's Kiss

by Bronwyn Scott

  She let her eyes hold his, let him know she saw everything that he’d done for these boys, that she understood his fight, that she knew it could be no other way for him and, because of that, it could be no other way for her. ‘You’ve a good heart, Stepan.’ She moved into him, wanting to draw him to her. She was so hungry for him. She’d never felt closer to him than she did in these moments. He’d exposed himself utterly in bringing her here, stripped himself bare. He had entrusted her with his life, with the lives of the boys who worked for him and all those who counted on him.

  ‘Don’t, Anna. If you kiss me now, I will be lost.’

  ‘I want to be lost, lost in your world, lost with you. That’s what coming down here is all about,’ she insisted, moving towards him again. Why did he continue to resist when the battle was won?

  ‘I should send you home where you will be safe.’ He was still trying out the old argument. Did he think seeing all of this would change her mind? If anything, it had only intensified her commitment.

  ‘But you don’t want to,’ she argued softly, watching the truth of it play in his eyes. His desire was rising.

  ‘No, God help me and Dimitri forgive me, I don’t.’ Stepan’s voice was a fierce whisper. ‘Anna, I gave up any future I might have had when I chose this. But I will not take your future from you.’

  The fire between them stuttered. There was something new in his tone. This was not the old argument about her Season in London. This was not about smuggling, but something new, something more.

  ‘I don’t want to go back.’ In any way. Not back to Dimitri, not back to the innocence she’d had yesterday. She met his gaze. ‘I thought I had made that clear upstairs.’ His hand drifted down the curve of her cheek, raising the hairs on her arms in a delicious thrill.

  ‘I need you to be safe,’ he murmured, perhaps one last attempt to dissuade her. ‘Not just from Denning’s retribution.’ She searched his face, not understanding. ‘I need you to be safe from me.’

  She gave a soft smile. ‘I am safe enough with you, I always have been.’ She licked her lips in a delicate gesture, watching his eyes go dark, this time with desire.

  ‘You don’t know me, not like you think you do.’ He moved closer to her, letting their hips brush against one another. ‘This is a dangerous game.’

  ‘We’ve played dangerous games before,’ she reminded him. ‘Leaving Kuban was a dangerous game. We might have been hunted.’ Their foreheads pressed together, his head bent to hers, his hands at her hips.

  ‘No,’ he corrected. ‘I don’t mean smuggling or exile. I mean this.’ He made a small gesture with his hand in the tiny space between them. ‘Us. This is dangerous. We’ve never played with us before. There is no coming back from it, only going forward. I promised myself I wouldn’t...’

  ‘Shh.’ Anna pressed a finger to his lips. ‘There’s been no coming back since you’ve told me. We are in this together. We cannot control Denning, we cannot control what happens tomorrow, only what happens now, only what happens between us. All you have to do is choose me, Stepan.’

  ‘I’ve always chosen you, even when I didn’t want to, even when I knew I shouldn’t.’

  He kissed her then, long and slow, in the private chamber with the thundering pulse of the waves in the background, the curtain shutting out the world, shutting out all thought and all time. This room was a world of its own, a place where they were safe, where nothing could reach them, not Denning, not London, not her brother, not their pasts, a place where they might be together as Anna and Stepan. It seemed right that the place was a magical cave filled with silk beside the sea.

  Stepan’s mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of her neck. ‘Should we go upstairs?’ His breath was coming faster now. ‘There is only the trunk and the sand.’

  She didn’t care. She breathed the only word that came to her. ‘Either.’ All that mattered were Stepan’s hands on her, his mouth on her. She wanted her hands on him, too, wanted to feel the hard maleness of him. She reached for him and this time he did not deny her. She felt the length of him, the heat of him through his trousers, proof of his intentions and his readiness. There would be no going back indeed. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb running over its tip, bringing the familiar pleasure and her body thrilled to it, her knees buckling with the intensity and the anticipation of more to come.

  Stepan lifted her then with a hoarse instruction. ‘Put your legs about my waist.’ He bore her to the cavern wall, balancing her carefully as his hand worked his trousers open. ‘This will be far better than either the trunk or the sand.’ He kissed her hard and her desire ratcheted. She gripped him tight between her legs, her skirts falling back. The cold air of the sea hit her bare skin, an erotic contrast to Stepan’s warm hand at her core, that hand stroking and readying her until she could feel her slickness on his fingers, and her own pleasure rising. His phallus pressed against her thigh, priming her for his entrance, reminding her of his length and power.

  She gasped her invitation in a low moan. ‘Stepan, please.’ She didn’t know what it was she wanted, or sought, only that she wanted as she’d never wanted before and, whatever it was, he alone could provide it.

  Anna felt the push of him as he entered, felt herself stretch and give as he sought compliance. She gave a mewl of protest as he withdrew, feeling empty without him. ‘Shhh, Anna,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘I’ll be back. We must go slow this first time.’

  Slow would be the death of her. With each foray he gained ground and with each foray the anticipation in her grew until she thought she’d burst from it. One last time and he was in, fully sheathed. He kissed her then, his body starting to move in a new rhythm, his hips against hers inviting her to join him, his mouth swallowing her moans as her hands fisted in his coat and her pleasure grew. She did not care that the rock was hard at her back, or that too many clothes still separated them. She cared only that he was inside her and that they were together, moving as one towards an unseen cliff where ecstatic madness awaited.

  He gave a hard thrust that wrenched a cry from her. They were nearly at that cliff. She felt the change in his body, as it was gathering for a final effort, a final thrust and then they fractured against the cavern wall, his dark head buried against her shoulder, his own shoulders heaving beneath her hands. So entwined were they it was hard to tell where one of them began and the other ended. Anna stroked his hair, a soft, secret smile on her lips. Perhaps that had always been the case. Perhaps this was no different. Ah, but, no—this was different. It was unlike anything she’d ever known. The exquisite violence of shattering was followed by peace, like the thunderous crash of waves against the shore leaving behind a placid foam.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Stepan whispered.

  ‘I want this peace for ever. I want to stay like this for ever.’

  He chuckled. ‘You’re a greedy girl.’

  She sighed, sleepy and unbothered by the argument. ‘Tell me you don’t want this. Just us, the waves and peace.’

  ‘Perhaps I can tempt you with a bath?’ Stepan shifted. He was leaving her, as he must. The practicalities of their situation came to her. How long did she expect him to bear her weight?

  ‘A bath sounds nice.’ She unwrapped her legs and he set her down gently.

  ‘All you have to do is climb the stairs.’

  Right now the long staircase seemed impossible, so boneless did she feel. She laughed softly. ‘There’s always a catch.’

  Stepan pressed a soft kiss to her lips. ‘It will be worth it, I promise.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stepan did not disappoint. Anna sank into the bath’s steamy depths and closed her eyes. She let the hot water soothe her tender parts. As baths went, she would long remember this one—the deep, hot water in the exquisite white-porcelain slipper tub, soft, thick towels laid out beside it, and carefully carved cakes of French milled
soap scented with lavender. This was a luxury nonpareil to have such a bath at her disposal; the high slipper back of the tub made for comfortable lounging and the tub’s long body made it possible to stretch out.

  She’d not had such an extravagance since she’d left Kuban. Between the fine crystal and this elegant tub, Preston Worth knew how to live. But she had little thought to spare for the elusive Preston Worth and his luxuries. Her thoughts were firmly centred on Stepan. How could they not be when her body carried the echo of the afternoon with it? She sponged her breasts with a washcloth, feeling the tender throb of them where Stepan had cupped them, where his thumbs had run over her nipples beneath the fabric. The ache of her breasts matched the ache between her legs, an ache that carried pleasantness along with soreness. Anna arched her neck and sighed, letting her mind recall every moment in the cavern’s alcove.

  ‘May I join you?’ Stepan’s quiet baritone cut through her daydreams.

  Her eyes flew open and her body sank further beneath the bubbles. How silly of her to be modest now. She’d had her legs wrapped around him and his phallus deep within her just an hour ago and suddenly she was concerned about a little bare skin? She studied Stepan. He was still fully dressed and he must be cold. She’d been more chilled than she thought when she’d got into the tub. ‘You’re wearing rather a lot for bathing.’

  ‘So I am.’ Stepan’s grey eyes teased. His fingers worked the length of his cravat free, his waistcoat and then his shirt until he stood before her bare chested. She forgot her own nudity—his was much more interesting. The musculature of his torso was carved into well-defined ridges, each set leading the eye downward to the flat plane of his stomach cradled between the defined jut of hip bones. Those hip bones disappeared beneath the snug fit of his trousers—a fit that did little to hide, but much to enhance, the maleness within.

  Her gaze focused on the heavy bulge in his trousers, perhaps because she was curious to see with her eyes what her hand and her body had already felt. Stepan met her gaze, his own eyes hot and knowing as his hands undid the fastenings of his trousers. He pushed them off until he stood before her naked and entirely exposed, every glorious, male inch of him.

  He reached up to the thong that held back his hair and pulled it, letting his dark hair fall loose. It barely skimmed his shoulders, not nearly as long as it had been in Kuban, but it was long enough to frame the sharp lines of his face. It gave him the primal look of a Cossack and her breath caught at the sheer beauty of him. ‘I had not imagined...’ she murmured, awestruck.

  Stepan gave her an utterly seductive smile, bearing her frank appraisal unabashedly. ‘How could you have?’ They both knew he was the first naked man she had seen, that hers were the eyes of both the virgin and the vixen. Gently bred Kubanian girls did not look upon any bare male skin after the age of twelve. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of him, a sight that was supposed to be reserved for a girl’s wedding night. Anna thought this was something far better.

  Stepan stepped into the tub, sliding his big body down behind her, his long legs wrapping about her. This was going to be no ordinary bath. This was to be an introduction to further intimacy, further proof of their togetherness. She leaned her head back against his chest, his hands cupping her breasts in the most natural of gestures, as if those hands belonged on her. He nuzzled her neck, placing slow kisses along her throat. This was a new kind of intimacy and she revelled in it, this feeling of being naked together, skin against skin in the tub, hands and mouths languidly exploring with no pressure to rush. She felt the muscled ridges of him against her spine, the hardness against her buttocks, but there was no hurry. That would come later.

  * * *

  He was hard against her, his sex rigid and aroused by her nearness. Later, he counselled himself. Now was for touching, for talking. He wanted to show her intimacy could be more than sex.

  Anna trailed a hand through the water, her voice quiet. ‘Do you miss Kuban, Stepan? Do you think about it?’ She stretched her neck back to look at him upside down and he was nearly undone by the gaze in her eyes, so soft and so trusting, so giving.

  He answered honestly. ‘I think about it sometimes. I miss images of the place: the winters, the snows, the howl of wolves at night. Those are only moments. I don’t miss the reality of Kuban, not court life, not the politics, always manoeuvring. Perhaps it’s different now because of the revolution, but I don’t want to go back. What would I go back to? I have no one there, just empty houses. There’s no one waiting for me, no one caring one way or the other.’ Because everyone who mattered to him was here.

  Stepan took the washcloth and drew it down her body, delighting in the goosebumps it raised on her skin despite the water’s heat. ‘Do you miss it, Anna?’ It had not occurred to him that she might.

  ‘No. Everyone I love is here.’ He envied the ease with which she spoke of her feelings. ‘But leaving Kuban didn’t solve my problems as I thought it would—’ She broke off. ‘I don’t know who I am here. I feel as if everyone expects me to be a copy of Princess Anna-Maria, a girl who waited for people to make decisions for her, about her. But I can’t be that any more—maybe I never was. Maybe you’re lucky, Stepan. You have no one. There aren’t any expectations for you. You can’t disappoint anyone,’ she hypothesised out loud. ‘Can I tell you a secret? I used to think you were the luckiest child ever having palaces to yourself and money to spend.’

  Stepan didn’t laugh. ‘Don’t ever think I was lucky, Anna.’

  ‘Was it bad, Stepan?’ she whispered.

  Bad? Beyond bad, but how could she know? Certainly, she knew the facts of his upbringing. He’d been the Orphan Prince. Every family at court had known that. But she would not know what that meant. She’d been too young. He supposed it had looked like heaven to a girl who’d been unwanted and unloved by a father who blamed her for his wife’s death.

  ‘You didn’t know my father. He was dead before you were born. Even when my father was alive, he was not interested in me.’ Stepan started soaping her again; the feel of her body beneath his hands helped him relax and made it easier to talk. He never spoke of his past, but here in the tub, with her and nothing else around them, he found he wanted to tell her. She deserved to know the sort of man he was. ‘My father liked reckless living in whatever form he could find. I remember he rode a horse into the main hall one night on a dare. I was six and I was terrified. The horse was a huge stallion and when it reared up, I screamed. My father was furious. He scolded me and sent me to bed, called me a coward and the next day he set me on a horse of my own and insisted I have riding lessons. I was terrified of that, too. Other boys my age had ponies, but my father insisted no son of his was going to ride a pony. It was the one time he took an interest in me. It wasn’t pleasant.’

  ‘I can’t imagine you being afraid to ride. By the time I knew you, you were glued to a saddle and fearless.’ Anna laughed softly.

  ‘Shall I tell you a secret, now?’ He had his mouth at her ear, her body pressed to his as close as two people could get. ‘I was relieved when he died. I was nine and I could stop living in fear of him coming home. Before I went to school, I spent my childhood at the Shevchenko summer palace, away from the city, out of his sight, but every so often, he’d come crashing in. He never stayed for long, but those were awful weeks. I practised staying out of sight. I’d leave the house early in the mornings and stay out until dark, just roaming, anything to be alone, to be safe.’

  ‘It sounds like a hard way to grow up,’ she said softly.

  ‘It was the only solution available. I wanted to protect myself, but I wanted to protect others, too. I was a danger to them. My father knew I would do for others what I wouldn’t do for myself. I couldn’t bear to see someone else suffer on my behalf.’ His hand stilled, the memories coming evil and swift. He held them back. He would not pollute the light of her with his darkness.

  ‘Tell me,’ she urged and
the piece of him that wanted someone to know him body and soul pushed against his caution.

  ‘He would use the tenants’ children against me. Whenever he wanted me to do something I disliked, or whenever I disappointed him, he would whip them instead of me and he’d make me watch. No one wanted to be my friend, as you can imagine.’ Until Dimitri. Oh, how he’d craved that friendship. Would she see now how much her brother meant to him?

  ‘I was very unpopular in my father’s village. But that was all to the good. I decided it was better for everyone involved if I did not love, so that any affection I might hold for another could not be used against me. And I decided it was better to be alone, so that no one would suffer for me.’ He didn’t talk to anyone like this, not even Dimitri.

  ‘I learned the lesson so well I wasn’t even sad when he died. I remember the day my nurse told me he was dead. He’d been dead for three days before any of his friends thought to send word to his son. I just stood there, hearing the words. I was simply relieved.’

  She sighed. ‘Thank you for telling me. That explains so much.’

  Stepan tensed. Did she see the monster in him now? The monster who couldn’t love? Who didn’t know love? A monster who’d been created out of necessity? Would she give him pity now? He wanted that the least.

  ‘If there’s anyone who knows love, it is you, Stepan. Love for those boys in the caves, for your fellow man, for your friends,’ she said fiercely, her whisper an absolution of his past, a hopeful benediction of what the future could be. For a precious moment, her light was holding his darkness at bay, but he could not let her believe the lie she’d spun for herself. He was no hero. Her light would simply not allow her to see the truth.

  Stepan shifted his body sending the water sloshing, and finished his story. ‘Even though I was relieved when he died, it didn’t solve the loneliness. The emptiness had already taken root. I had learned my lessons too well, as had those around me. His death freed me, but it did not lift the curse. I was raised in palaces by servants who had no real affection for me for the most part. What does a ten-year-old boy want with money, palaces and vaults full of jewels? They meant nothing to me. I wanted friends, I wanted a father who played on the lawn and wrestled—one like Nikolay’s and like yours.’