Wicked in Your Arms
Page 23

“Yes.”
She smiled, enjoyed the way his voice rumbled up through his chest and vibrated against her cheek where it rested. “I miss Wales,” she announced, her voice whisper-soft. “It’s so green there it almost hurts your eyes. And the wind is different. The air smells fresh and new.” She released a breathy laugh. “If that makes any sense.”
“It does. Maldania is like that. Green hills and mountains. Forests so deep you can walk through them and believe you’re the last person on earth.”
“I know that feeling.”
His hand brushed through her hair, pulling back when catching in the snarls, and then starting again.
“My brother taught me to fish and hunt in those forests.”
“Tell me about your brother.”
His chest lifted on an inhalation beneath her. “He was to be king. Not me. I was simply the spare. I should have been the one killed. No one would have missed me.”
Her heart clenched at his words. She would have missed him. And the notion terrified her. She could have gone through life never knowing Sev. Never knowing this. Never having him. It was torment to consider. “I don’t believe that. It’s not true. You would have been missed—”
“You’re sweet.” He kissed her forehead. “But my brother was essential. I was not. He was born to the position, brought up always knowing who and what he was. I only became necessary after his death.”
“He was killed during the war?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure everyone is just happy and relieved that they have you.”
“Oh yes.” His chest tightened beneath her cheek. “To be sure. That’s what they tell me—every chance they get.”
“They?”
“My grandfather, the consul, people I come across in the streets. They’re all so relieved . So very relieved that they have their crown prince.”
Crown prince . Not Sevastian.
And then Grier understood. In that moment, it all became glaringly clear. She understood his austerity. His lack of levity. His life was not his own. He did not have a right to such emotions. He belonged to Maldania.
She suddenly felt hollow inside with the knowledge that he could never be hers . . . and yes, a secret part of her had begun to long for that. He could belong to no woman because he belonged to Maldania.
She struggled to find something to say. Something heartening. “You have purpose. That must count for something. You can do so many good things for so many people.” Even as she said this, she felt only numb inside. He’d have his purpose in life. And she would never have him.
“I know.” His voice rang grim, but no less determined. “That’s why I’m here.”
“England, you mean?” Not with her, of course. It would be just silly of her to think he meant with her.
“For my country to even begin recovering I must marry.”
An awkward hush fell between them. Everything changed. Their tender intimacy shattered.
Her fingers stilled on his chest. If marriage to a wealthy, respectable woman was his agenda, then what was he doing here with her? Wasting time.
She was sure his thoughts echoed her own. Painful but true. She might have the fortune he needed, but she wasn’t the queen he sought. She began to pull away.
In one swift move, he flipped her on her back. She gasped as he slid his very muscled thighs between hers.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice an eager tremor on the air.
His face stared down at her. Hard. Determined. “I think that would be obvious.” The tip of him nudged at her opening. “You were trying to leave.”
“And this will keep me here?” She could not even recognize the hoarse croak of her voice.
“You tell me. Will it?” The head of him pushed a fraction inside her before slipping out again.
Tormented, she whimpered, her fingers rising to dig into the smooth flesh of his shoulders. “Please,” she begged.
“Please what?”
She breathed heavily beneath him, the tips of her br**sts pebble-hard and rubbing his chest in the most arousing way. He propped himself on his elbows and eased slightly inside her again, the tip of him barely inside her. Her head thrashed on the bed, in agony.
“Take me.”
 T ake me.
He wanted to. God, he wanted to have her. Again. And again. And that was just the crux of the matter.
“Grier,” he began, determined that tonight would not be the last time . . . that this could somehow continue as long as he was in England. The need to have her again burned within him. He refused to examine why. It didn’t matter why. It simply . . . was .
He’d have this woman again, as often as he could. Every chance. Even if he had to go out of his way to invent those opportunities.
“Hmm.” She arched beneath him, moaning. Even in the gloom, he detected the hot need in her gaze.
“I want to see you again. In Town.”
Her eyes widened at the suggestion, and he knew he had her attention. “Discounting social gatherings we both might attend, I don’t see how.”
“It can be arranged. I can arrange it.”
She bit her lip. He caught sight of the flash of white teeth. “I don’t know.”
She pushed at his shoulder, managing to scramble free. “What can come of it?”
He hauled her back and kissed her soundly until they were both panting and clinging to each other.
“This,” he growled, sliding his hands beneath her and dragging her thighs apart again. He slid inside her slick heat in one smooth thrust. She arched beneath him, meeting the invasion with a moan of welcome. “And this.”
She cried out, dropping back on the bed as he worked over her, taking her in deep, slow strokes, lifting her h*ps higher until he found the right spot for her to reach cl**ax again. She shrieked when he found it, and he smothered the cry with his lips, drowning the sound as her inner muscles clenched and squeezed his cock, wringing him of his own shuddering release.
They collapsed against each other, clinging and panting. For several moments neither moved, too spent, too overcome.
“I’ll leave it to you,” she finally said, her voice whisper-soft. “I know we should end it tonight before we’re caught and my reputation is truly beyond repair, but my will is weak when it comes to you. So if you wish to meet again—” She stopped, unable to say anymore.
“I do. We shall.” He tightened an arm around her waist as if someone threatened to steal her away.
He knew it was foolish to feel so attached to her. Plenty of women had shared his bed before and he’d never felt this . . . this desire, this deep attachment, this need . Especially after sex.
Sex was fun. A physical release. Usually after he’d had a woman in his bed, after the chase ended, his interest ended, too.
Something told him it would never be that way with Grier. He would never tire of her.
Her soft sigh brushed his cheek. “Should you go now?”
“No. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” Until it wasn’t so hard to tear himself away from her. Regrettably, that moment never came and he wondered if it ever would.
An hour before dawn he slipped away, leaving Grier lost to her dreams.
 S he had a lover.
The thought reverberated through her head countless times as she sat in the carriage beside Cleo. Jack slept across from her, snoring loudly, but she was glad for it. Glad she did not have to hear reminders that she must renew her search for a husband upon their return to Town. She bit her lip until the pain lanced sharply along her nerves. She welcomed the sensation, preferring it over the unease knotting her stomach at the prospect of finding a husband—of letting another man into her bed, her body. Swallowing the sudden surge of bile rising in her throat, she turned her face to the tightly drawn curtains as if something of interest could be seen there.
They made a caravan of sorts, the dowager’s houseguests all departing at once for London. Occasionally she would part the velvet curtains to glimpse outside, acting as though she merely studied the countryside, but she actually searched for Sev atop his stallion. Several of the gentlemen rode alongside the carriages. Grier longed to ride outside among them. Another reason to loathe the constraints of Society.
“Close the curtain. Letting in a draft.” Jack opened his eyes long enough to complain before turning on the squabs and settling back into his nap.
Grier dropped the curtain and resettled back against the squabs. Her mind drifted to the evening ahead when they would stop at the inn. Her heart raced to consider that she would see Sev again then.
She had no expectation that they would manage to steal a moment alone . . . but just to see him again . . . to feast her gaze on him made her belly flip and her heart ache in the most alarming way. This really was getting out of hand. How was she to let another gentleman pay her court when she could only think of the Crown Prince of Maldania in her bed, doing the most sinful, improper things to her? She had to put a stop to this at once. Such thinking would lead her nowhere but heartache.
She’d caught a glimpse of him this morning before ascending the carriage but it had been reminder enough. One look into his gold eyes and her face caught fire as memories of the night before—mere hours ago—consumed her.
Color had heated her face at the sight of him. How could she function in his presence without drawing suspicion? Cleo especially would be certain to notice.
Last night she had been weak to agree to an affair. Could she find the strength today to tell him she’d been wrong? Senseless and lost to passion. Her thoughts spinning, she sighed.
“Tired?” Cleo spoke from beside her.
Grier nodded. “Yes. A bit.”
Cleo parted the curtain on her side of the carriage. “We should be at the inn soon. It’s dusk now.”
Grier nodded mutely, a thick lump rising in her throat that she shouldn’t feel.
More encounters with Sev and the more attached she would become until it was impossible to disengage herself without breaking her heart.
She rested her head back against the seat. They’d be there soon—and she’d find the strength to tell the prince that she’d been wrong. That they could not continue their affair. Their one night together had been just that—one night.
T he dowager’s house party occupied every table in the inn. While their evening fare was being fetched, Grier stood before the giant fireplace, thawing herself by holding her bare hands out to the welcoming heat.
The dowager herself sat in a hardback chair, complaining of her sore muscles and the long days left until they reached London. “I’m too old to keep making this journey. It’s a misery.”
“No one said you had to return to Town, Grandmother,” the duke intoned from where he stood beside her chair, one hand behind his back, the other propped upon the top of her chair. He looked bored and disdainful all at once. Had she ever thought him and the prince alike?
“And miss all the excitement when it’s learned that the scandal of the year took place beneath my very roof? Indeed not.” She huffed mightily and took the cup of chocolate her maid fetched from the serving girl. She sent her grandson a glare as though he had lost all sense. He rolled his eyes.
The serving girl moved along with the tray of steaming cups, stopping before Grier to offer her one. Grier took the proffered cup, glad to wrap her chilled fingers around the warm ceramic. She carefully sipped the rich, steaming liquid. Her gaze drifted, finding Sev where he stood at the second fireplace several yards away. His cousin hovered beside him, as always.
Sev’s gaze collided with hers almost as though he felt her stare. Finding herself under his scrutiny, she sucked down too much drink and scalded her tongue. She hissed at the burn.
People moved about the room. Conversation rumbled on the air, but she could focus on nothing save Sev.