Page 26 of Falling for the King

Mesmerised she watched him reach for her tiara as her nervous energy began ebbing away to be replaced with something she wasn’t sure she wanted to identify. Releasing one comb, then another, he pulled the tiara away careful not to catch any of her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed at the instantaneous relief as his fingers massaged into her scalp. She wanted to purr with satisfaction as he freed bobby pin after bobby pin and section by section her high tight bun fell loose cascading down her back to her waist. He ran his fingers through her hair again and again, the only contact he made. She wanted to lean back and press against him, all of him and feel his—

‘I like your hair,’ he said softly.

Startled, she snapped her eyes open catching his in the mirror, dark and intent staring back at her. Words she couldn’t, wouldn’t form hovered on her lips. I want you to like my hair. I want you to want me. Instead she stood silently as his gaze dropped down her body and despite the chilly night heat pooled between her breasts where his eyes lingered. A telling blush exploded across her cheekbones, the polar opposite to her response when Edgar stared.

‘Take it off,’ he commanded.

‘Excuse me?’

‘The flower.’

Relief and disappointment danced inside. Of course he meant the flower, he’d hardly mean her dress.

She could tell him no, ask him to leave, walk through the connecting door to her bedroom. She didn’t have to do what he requested, she knew it and so did he. Still her hands, with an unwelcome tremor, moved to the flower fumbling to free it. Finally, she held it out in front of her and let it slip between her fingers dropping it to the floor.

‘Happy now?’ she asked his reflection meaning to sound sassy, smart. It came out low and husky in a timbre she didn’t recognise as her own. Her unbound hair seemed to loosen her resistance to him as if it was tied to her strength like it had been for the ill-fated Samson.

A tic pulsed at his jaw, a sure sign he was mulling something over. She wanted to pry to know what he was thinking until she realised she did, and the pain of his rejection crashed into her. She moved one, two, three steps forward squashing the rose underfoot before grabbing the back of a nearby chair and placing herself behind it.

Chapter 9

‘Thank you for the debrief, for the help with my jewellery and now, as you can see—’ she raised her arms, ‘—all’s good.’ Katerina finished with an insincere laugh while staring at the door dismissing him like he was a schoolboy, all the more horrific as he was acting like one. A jealous, horny one.

Earlier today when he’d shared his concerns about Edgar’s motives with her, having a conversation that went against the teachings of his upbringing, he’d been surprised how good it’d felt. Discussing the pros and cons of different courses of action, bouncing ideas off each other. And ultimately while Katerina speaking to Edgar hadn’t been his preference, he’d agreed. She’d been right, it was the best plan of action, although the fifteen minutes outside the door had seemed like hours. Not because he was used to always being the one in the driver’s seat, it was his responsibility and he wasn’t used to sharing it. But she’d pushed him during that meeting making him question what he’d always believed and he’d trusted her enough to share it with her. It gave him a great deal of satisfaction that she’d stood up for herself and handled him, handled Edgar, as much as he’d hated the thought of her being alone with him.

He paused to collect himself, to get back under control as feelings he didn’t want to examine too closely pushed to the surface. Feelings for her that continued to grow.

‘What about that rose?’ he asked unable to prevent himself. Seeing her wear that flower had unleashed something primitive within him. Hours later he still struggled to push it back into its deep, dark home. Coaxing himself to cool down he wondered where his unexpected and unwelcome volatility had come from. Giving her a wide berth, he ended up in front of the windows covered by heavy drapes that blocked out another frigid night.

Dropping her arms she frowned from behind the chair using it like some kind of shield, from him.

‘What would you have me do? Ignore it? Ignore him?’

Yes. And. Yes.

‘I wanted to make sure he hadn’t done anything, said anything, that we haven’t discussed.’

‘Why? I’ve told you everything. He behaved like he always has by …’

‘Go on,’ he urged when she jammed her lush lips together.

‘Directing all conversations to my chest.’

‘That bastard.’ A rush of heat raced across his cheeks, he who hadn’t blushed since he was a boy disgusted at Edgar and most damningly at himself. Did she think him no better than Edgar? Is that what she thought when she felt the heat of his stare? When his body had pressed into hers?

She remained completely still except for her eyes which tracked him as he moved to the mantlepiece, unable to keep stationary. She looked familiar in her unrevealing floor length black dress, modest make-up and killer heels. Yet at the same time unfamiliar and effortlessly alluring with her silvery blonde mane tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. He’d never thought of himself as having a penchant for hair … until tonight. Now he ached to run his fingers through those silken locks again, entwine it around his fists and bring it to his lips. To breathe in a lungful of the scent of berries that’d been released as the strands had tumbled free.

I like your hair.

He withheld a groan, his metamorphosis tonight complete, he’d sounded like a schoolboy. He wasn’t, he was the king. He’d escorted her to her rooms, found out what he needed to about Edgar, there was no need for him to stay any longer. Why then weren’t his feet heading towards the door back to his cold and empty bed? Because that wasn’t the only thing that had grated him all night, that now lay discarded on the table, glittering under a chandelier that outsized its room.

‘You wore the rubies again?’ he asked dismayed to hear the criticism that’d crept into his tone.

‘Is there something wrong with that?’ A hand went to her throat, a little blotchy from where the heavy jewels had pressed against her pale tender flesh. ‘They were a present from Max as you well know,’ she said with an angry snap.

He pictured her walking up the aisle of the cathedral on her father’s arm who’d strutted like he’d been in one of his casinos. The contrast to his shy, modest daughter couldn’t have been more profound except on the day she’d been decked out in more rubies and diamonds than a Maharaja. A mass of red overwhelming delicate features, stunning eyes. For reasons he’d never been able to fathom it had unsettled him. Because they didn’t suit her, were too obvious and overdone? Is that why whenever she’d worn them since, although rarely all together, he’d always thought how wrong Max had been in choosing those stones. Because without being informed otherwise he couldn’t imagine she would’ve ever picked them for herself. Her tastes were classic and understated, she didn’t use nor need clothing or any kind of enhancements. In fact she seemed keener to draw attention away from herself. Her dress tonight another example of that, dark and too large it almost bordered on ill fitting. Like she tried to hide her figure, although there could be no reason for that as his body responded to the memory of its perfect proportions gliding against his.

He shifted his footing dragging his mind and body away from that unwelcome track. ‘They’re heavy. There are others at your disposal.’