Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2015 Books 5-8 - Мишель Смарт, Kate Walker - Страница 18
ОглавлениеIT TOOK A FEW beats for Amalie to regain her composure. ‘Did you get to take part in proper boxing matches?’
‘I was school champion for four years in a row—a record that has never been broken.’ He placed a finger to the scar on his eyebrow. ‘That was my most serious injury.’
She winced. ‘Did you want to take it up professionally?’
‘I’m a prince, so it was never an option—royal protocol.’ He gave a rueful shake of his head, then flashed another grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. ‘I did win every amateur heavyweight boxing award going, though, including an international heavyweight title.’
‘No!’ she gasped. ‘Really?’
‘It was six years ago.’
‘That is incredible.’
‘It was the best day of my life,’ he admitted. ‘Receiving the winner’s belt with the Agon National Anthem playing... Yes, the best day of my life.’
She shook her head in awe, a thrill running through her as she saw a vision of Talos, standing in the centre of a boxing ring, perspiration dripping from his magnificent body, the epitome of masculinity...
‘Truly, that’s incredible. Do you still compete?’
‘I haven’t boxed in a competitive match since. I knew if I couldn’t fight professionally I wanted to retire on a high.’
‘You must miss it, though.’
She tried to imagine having to stop playing her violin and felt nothing but coldness. Her earliest concrete memory was receiving her first violin at the age of four. Yes, it had partly been forced on her, but she’d loved it, had adored making the same kind of music as her papa, revelled in her parents’ excitement when she’d taken to it with such an affinity that they couldn’t resist showing her off to the world. She’d loved pleasing her parents but before she’d reached double digits the resulting attention from the outside world had turned into her personal horror story. She might have inherited her parents’ musicality, but their showmanship had skipped a generation.
He shrugged. ‘I still spar regularly, but in truth I knew it was time to focus my attention on the business my brothers and I founded. Theseus had gone off on his sabbatical, so Helios was running it almost single-handedly along with dealing with his royal duties. It wasn’t fair on him.’
‘I don’t understand why you all put so much into the business when you have so much wealth.’
He eyed her meditatively. ‘How much do you think it costs to run a palace this size? The running costs, the maintenance, the staff?’
‘A lot?’
‘Yes. A lot. And that’s just for one palace. Factor in the rest of our estates—my villa, for example—travelling costs, security...’
‘I can imagine,’ she cut in, feeling slightly dizzy now he was explaining it.
‘My family has always had personal wealth,’ Talos explained, ‘but a considerable portion of our income came from taxes.’
‘Came?’
He nodded. ‘My brothers and I were determined to make our family self-sufficient, and three years ago we succeeded. Our islanders no longer pay a cent towards our upkeep. I might not compete any more, but I get all the intellectual stimulation I need.’
Amalie swallowed, guilt replacing the dizziness. She’d been so dismissive of his wealth.
Talos Kalliakis might be unscrupulous at getting his own way but he had a flip side—a side that was loyal, decent and thoughtful. He clearly loved his island and his people.
‘What about the physical stimulation you got from competitive boxing?’ she asked. ‘Have you found a replacement for that?’
His eyes glistened, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. ‘There is a physical pastime I partake in regularly that I find very stimulating...’
The breath in her lungs rushed out in a whoosh.
When he looked at her like that and spoke in that meaningful tone all her senses seemed to collide, making her tongue-tied, unable to come up with any riposte—witty or otherwise.
For the first time she asked herself why she should. Why make a joke out of something that made her blood and belly feel as warm and thick as melted chocolate? Why continue to deny herself something that could take her places she’d locked away?
Hadn’t she punished herself enough?
That thought seemed to come from nowhere, making her blink sharply.
Punished herself enough?
But there was something in that. Her fear was wrapped in so many layers, with her guilt over her role in her parents’ divorce bound tightly in the middle of it.
Talos had confronted his fears and mastered them. Wasn’t it time she allowed herself the same? She didn’t have to suppress her basic biological needs and be a virgin for ever out of fear. Or guilt.
She wasn’t her mother. Allowing herself to be with Talos and experience the pleasure she just knew she would receive at his willing giant hands wouldn’t be a prelude to falling in love. A man holding one hundred musicians’ livelihoods to ransom for the sake of a gala could pose no risk to her heart.
She cleared her throat and dropped her voice to a murmur. ‘Would you care to elucidate on this stimulation you speak of?’
She would swear his eyes darkened to match the melting chocolate in her veins.
He leaned his head forward and spoke into her exposed ear. ‘I can do much better than that...’
The chocolate heated and pooled down low, right in the apex of her thighs...the feeling powerful enough to make her lips part and a silent moan escape her throat.
Just when she was certain he was going to kiss her—or, worse, she was going to kiss him—activity around them brought her to her senses.
They were in the Banquet Room of the royal palace, surrounded by almost two hundred people, the heir to the throne sitting only six seats to her right. And she was bubbling up with lust.
During the rest of the banquet she made a studious effort to speak to the gentleman on her right, a prince from the UK. Through it all, though, her mind, her senses, her everything were consumed by Talos, deep in conversation with the woman to his left, a duchess from Spain.
Somehow their chairs had edged closer so his thigh brushed against hers, and when their dessert of loukoumades—a delicious Greek doughnut, drizzled with honey, cinnamon and walnuts—was cleared away, and they were awaiting the final course of fresh fruit, a shock ran through her when his hand came to rest on her thigh.
She wished she’d tried to talk Natalia into a different material for the dress; something lighter. The heavy fabric suited the theatricality of the dress beautifully, but while she could feel the weight of Talos’s hand there was none of the heat her body craved.
It wasn’t enough.
She wanted to feel him.
Sucking in a sharp breath to tame the thundering of her heart, she casually straightened, then moved her hand under the table to rest on his. As she threaded her fingers through his he gave the gentlest of squeezes, and that one simple action sent tiny darts of sensation rippling through her abdomen.
Strong coffee and glasses of port were poured, whilst the British Prince chattered on about one of the charities he was patron of. Amalie tried hard to keep her attention fixed on him, smiling in all the right places, laughing when appropriate, all the while wishing every guest there would magically disappear and leave her alone with Talos.
She hadn’t drunk much wine—a couple of glasses at most—but felt as if she’d finished a whole bottle, because at that moment she felt giddily out of control.
Talos still had hold of her thigh, his thumb making circular motions on the material so torturously barricading him from her skin.
She had no idea where her nerve came from—maybe her fingers had a life of their own, because they moved away from his hand to tentatively brush his thigh. He stiffened at her touch, his own hand tightening its hold on her.
The British Prince chattered on, clearly oblivious to the undercurrents playing out beside him.
Slowly her fingers crept over Talos’s thigh until her whole hand rested on it. The fabric of his trousers felt silken to her fingers, contrasting with the taut muscularity they covered. She could feel him.
He sat as stiff as a statue, making no attempt to move when, with a flush of heat she realised her little finger was right at the crevice of his thigh, the line of the V that connected it to his groin...
A feeling of recklessness overtook her and she swiped the little finger up a little further—deeper into his heat, closer to the source of his masculinity.
The statue came to life.
Talos swept his hand away from her thigh to reach for his port, which he swilled down before putting the glass back on the table. Not that she saw him do any of those things, rather she felt them, her attention still, to anyone interested enough to be watching, fixed on the British Prince.
Then Talos’s hand was back under the table and clasping hers, which was slowly stroking his thigh, her little finger brushing the V of his groin. Twisting it so he could hold it tightly, he entwined his fingers in hers.
‘Are you okay?’ the British Prince asked, pausing in his talk on water sanitation in developing countries. ‘You look flushed.’
She felt her neck and cheeks flame. ‘I think I need some air, that’s all,’ she said to the Prince, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt inside.
A warm arm slipped behind her back and round her waist and Talos was there, pressing against her, ostensibly having abandoned his conversation with the Duchess to join in with theirs.
‘Don’t worry, little songbird,’ he said, his deep voice sending reverberating thrills racing through her. ‘The banquet will soon be over.’
Talos felt as if he needed air too...
If her hand had moved any higher and actually touched the hardness that was causing him such aching pain he would have come undone on the spot.
Never in his life had he been so aroused, not even yesterday in the cottage where, despite their lack of clothing, it had been a different arousal.
He sensed no fear in Amalie now.
No, this was a special kind of sweet torture and in front of all Helios’s guests he was unable to do a damn thing about it.
So long as he kept her hand away from his crotch he would master it. The most sensible option would be to stop touching her altogether, but sensible didn’t count for anything—not when it was Amalie Cartwright he was touching.
He let out a breath of relief when the palace quartet entered the Banquet Room, mandolins and banjos playing out the guests with the folk music beloved of all Agonites.
The Agon royal party rose first. Keeping her hand firmly clasped in his, Talos led Amalie through to the adjoining ballroom, delighting in her gasp of pleasure.
The ballroom was by far the most majestic of all the palace rooms, both in size and stature. With high ceilings and a black-and-white checked floor, even Talos experienced a thrill of stepping into a bygone age whenever he entered it.
As soon as the royal party entered, the orchestra, situated in a corner, began to play.
Most of the guests took seats at the highly decorated round tables lining the walls, free to choose where they wanted to sit. The two ornate thrones at the top of the room shone under the swooping chandeliers. Looking at them sent a pang through him. They would remain empty for the duration of the evening.
He wondered how his grandfather was, his stomach twisting at the remembrance of the vomiting episode he had witnessed just a few short hours ago. He consoled himself with the knowledge that should his grandfather take a turn for the worse he and his brothers would be notified immediately.
Talos guided Amalie to a table and poured them both a glass of wine. Theseus joined them and, as was his nature, soon had Amalie giggling as he regaled her with tales of their childhood.
A strange tightening spread across his chest to see her so clearly enthralled, and with a start he realised the cause. Jealousy. His jealousy. She’d never laughed so freely for him.
This was becoming dangerous.
Desire was one thing, but jealousy... That was one emotion too far and too ugly.
That was what you got for spending so much time with a beautiful woman without bedding her. If he’d bedded her from the start her allure would have vanished already and he would now be focussing on getting her performance-fit without wasting energy wondering how she looked naked or whether she moaned loudly when she came.
For all his words about ‘partaking’ regularly, he hadn’t been with a woman in months—not since his grandfather’s diagnosis. It was as if his libido had gone into stasis.
And now his libido had gone into hyperdrive.
Forget noble thoughts about not taking advantage of her position on the island, or that she was there because of his blackmail. The chemistry between them had gone off the charts. All they needed was one night to detonate it. One night. Come the morning, their chemistry would be spent. If not, they still had three weeks to expel it completely, but they would have tamed the worst of it. They would be able to concentrate on nothing but her gala performance.
At that moment the orchestra broke into a waltz, indicating the start of the evening’s dancing. Talos watched Helios take a deep breath, fix a smile to his face and cross the ballroom to tap a princess from the old Greek royal family on the shoulder. She was on her feet like a shot, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. It was the cue for the other guests who fancied trying their hands at traditional ballroom dancing to get to their feet.
‘Shouldn’t you find a lady to dance with?’ Talos pointedly asked his brother in Greek.
Theseus’s smile dropped. He grimaced, his eyes darting around the room as if he were searching for someone. ‘I’ll have a drink first. But don’t let me stop you—you two make a beautiful couple.’
Talos narrowed his eyes and fixed Theseus with his ‘stare’. Theseus pulled a face and swigged his wine.
‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked Amalie. Talos might loathe dancing, but the thought of having her in his arms was a temptation not to be resisted.
‘I’ve never waltzed,’ she said dubiously.
‘Most of our guests have never waltzed. I will lead you.’ That was if he could remember. He hadn’t waltzed since the Debutantes Ball in Vienna, which his grandfather had forced him to attend when he was twenty-one. If his brothers hadn’t already been forced into attendance at the same age he would have put up more than an obligatory protest.
She allowed him to help her to her feet and guide her onto the dance floor.
Facing her, he dropped her hand, took a step back and bowed. ‘You must curtsy,’ he instructed.
Her luscious lips spread into a smile. ‘Certainly, Your Highness.’
He returned the smile and reached for her right hand with his left and held it out to the side. ‘Now, place your other hand on my bicep.’
‘There’s enough of it for me to hold on to,’ she answered, that same smile still playing on her lips, her eyes glimmering with a private message to him—a message he understood and that made his blood pressure rise so high his heart felt in danger of thudding out of his ribs.
To hell with the traditional hold, he thought, placing his right hand on her back and resting his fingers on the bare flesh above the lining of the dress.
She felt exquisite.
Soon they were swirling around the room, the enchantment on her face making all the ridiculous ballroom-dancing lessons he and his brothers had been subjected to in their teenage years worthwhile—something he had never thought would happen.
Amalie felt as if she’d stepped into heaven. She’d never waltzed before but it didn’t matter; Talos guided her around the dance floor with a tenderness and grace that was as unexpected as it was heavenly.
She had never felt so feminine before either, the security of his arms something she would savour and relish.
The original gap between them when they’d started dancing had closed, and suddenly she was very much aware their bodies were pressed together.
Releasing her grip on his bicep, she smoothed her hand up to clasp the nape of his neck, glad a slower waltz was now being played, one that allowed her time to do nothing but gaze up into his eyes. Her legs followed his lead with no thought.
The heels she wore elevated her enough that her breasts pressed against his chest, his abdomen against the base of her stomach, but to her intense frustration she couldn’t feel him anywhere other than on her back, where his hand rested, his heat scorching her skin in the most wonderful way imaginable.
‘Your brothers seem nice,’ she said, frantic to cut through the tension between them before she was forced into something drastic—like dragging him away.
‘They’re good men,’ he agreed, his gaze not dropping from hers.
‘What did you mean earlier, when I asked if they had dates and you said that was the whole purpose of the evening?’
He laughed lightly. ‘It is time for Helios to end his bachelor days. He is hoping that tonight he will meet someone suitable.’
‘Someone suitable? For marriage?’
‘Yes. A woman of royal blood.’
‘That sounds clinical.’
‘He is heir to the throne.’
His fingers were making the same circles on her back that he’d made on her thigh, but this time she could actually feel it. And it felt wonderful.
‘It is traditional for the heir to marry a woman of royal descent.’
‘Is there a reason why he’s looking for a bride now?’ She thought of their absent grandfather, the King, and wondered if there was more to his illness than Talos was letting on.
‘He’s of the right age.’
She felt his muscles ripple as he lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
‘He wants to be young enough to enjoy his children.’
‘If you marry, will it have to be someone of royal descent too?’ As she asked the question a strange clenching gripped her heart.
‘No.’
‘So if you marry it will be for love?’
His lips twisted into a mocking grin. ‘If I marry it will be because someone has placed a gun to my head.’
‘Marriage is a piece of paper. It doesn’t mean anything.’
Love was the state she’d always feared—not a commitment so easily broken it wasn’t worth the paper it was signed on. It was passionate love that made fools of people. A piece of paper could dissolve a marriage into nothing, but a severed heart never fully healed.
‘It means a lot if you’re a member of the Kalliakis royal family. Divorce is forbidden.’
That’s fine, she thought. I don’t want to marry you. All I want is to touch you. Everywhere.
That was why she would be safe from the threat of a severed heart. Her passion for Talos was purely physical. When she returned to Paris her heart wouldn’t feel a thing, would only skip at memories of being with him.
‘Is divorce forbidden for everyone on your island?’
‘Only members of the royal family,’ he murmured.
‘And are you allowed lovers? Before you marry?’ she added, dropping her voice even lower.
His eyes were a blaze of molten lava, his strong nose flaring, his jaw clenched. ‘If I want a lover no decree is going to stop me.’
Nothing and no one could stop this man doing anything he wanted.
The thought should appal her, but it didn’t—not when the thought of allowing him to do whatever he wanted was so strong she dug her nails into his neck to stop her fingers yanking at her dress so she could press her bare skin to him. Her desperation to feel him was matched only by her desperation for him to feel her.
A finger tapped her shoulder. It was the British Prince. ‘May I have the next dance?’
‘No,’ Talos growled, not looking at him, but tightening his hold on her back and his grip on her hand.
‘You can’t blame a chap for trying,’ the Prince said, laughing ruefully before striding off to find another dance partner.
Talos stopped dancing. The clenching of his jaw was even more pronounced. ‘I have an apartment here in the palace.’
She didn’t miss a beat or fake coyness. ‘Is it far?’
‘It’s closer than my villa or your cottage.’
A spark passed between them, so real and powerful she felt it in every atom of her being.
He brought her hand to his lips. ‘Follow me,’ he murmured.
