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He waited for Sofi´a outside on the checkerboard marble terrace that overlooked the sea, resplendent with its stunning statues of Achilles in various poses and battles. Queen Evangeline had been a lover of Greek mythology, her obsession with the stories she’d adored apparent not only here, but in the frescos that covered the ceilings of the villa and the magnificent artwork on the walls.
The sun began its slow descent into the horizon, a golden-orange ball of fire sinking toward an endless horizon of blue. He wondered, as he drank in the spectacular sight only an Akathinian sunset could provide, about what Sofi´a had said earlier. About his wanting to become king. What made him so restless it was hard to be in his own skin at times...? What drove him?
He knew the answer lay here, in the heritage he had tried so ineffectively to distance himself from in New York. How every time he was in his father’s presence, that interaction seemed to strip away every success he’d racked up until he was no more than the black sheep he’d always been.
Had he really loved his life in New York that much? Or had he convinced himself he didn’t want to be king because that had been easier to swallow than being second best? It had been simple to tell himself his adrenaline-inducing life in Manhattan had given him the freedom and power he’d craved. Honest to a degree. He’d had the ability to determine his own destiny, what more could a man want? But now he wondered if he’d been running away from the one thing he’d needed to address. To conquer. The need to prove he was not second best. That his father had been wrong about him.
Was that why he’d felt unfulfilled in New York of late? Unsure where to go next? Because until he wrestled this particular demon to the ground he would never find peace?
He had outmaneuvered a tricky player in Idas and found a solution that benefited both countries, one which would hopefully keep his people out of a prolonged and bloody war. He had put what his father thought behind him and focused on what the country needed now. It wasn’t about winning, defeating Idas, it was about leading.
“No thinking about work.”
Sofi´a’s husky, sensual voice slid over his senses. He turned slowly, drinking her in. Her dark wavy hair was loose around her shoulders, her olive green dress simple, her feet bare.
The connection they shared enveloped him; drew him in. He had never wanted her more.
“I wasn’t thinking about work,” he drawled. “I had a far more compelling subject on my mind.”
She swallowed, the muscles at the base of her slim throat convulsing. He held out a hand. She walked to him and slid her palm in his. “Would you like to share?”
“I would like to show. But first we should drink a toast. And eat before you pass out on me.”
“A toast?” she queried.
He handed her a glass of the nonalcoholic champagne he’d had chilled. “To us. To a new beginning.”
She lifted her dark gaze to his and raised her glass. “To new beginnings.”
They drank as they watched the sun sink into the horizon, a hazy pink lancing blue as it made its fiery descent. When it took its final dip into the ocean, bidding adieu to the spectacular show, Nik turned to Sofi´a. “We should eat.”
She stood on tiptoe, brought her mouth to his ear and told him, very explicitly, what she was hungry for. And it wasn’t food.
His blood fired. “You won’t pass out on me?”
“Depends on what you do to me.”
He picked her up in his arms and headed for the villa, his heart pounding with anticipation. Heading for the wide set of stairs, he carried her up to their room, set her down on the floor and flicked on a light.
He reached for the buttons of his shirt while Sofi´a walked to the window to look at the pink sky the sunset had left behind.
“I can’t imagine a more spectacular view than this.”
“I can,” he growled, his frustration bubbling over as he ditched his shirt.
She turned, an amused smile twisting her mouth. “I’ve kept you waiting long enough, King Nikandros?”
He collected her from the window by way of response, picked her up and carried her to the bed. Depositing her on the silk coverlet, his hands moved to the zipper of her dress, yanking it down to expose the creamy skin he coveted.
He stripped the dress off her shoulders and pushed it down to her waist. Her breasts had swelled, bursting from the lacy cups of her bra. The blatant reminder of the child they had conceived together stopped him in his tracks. Stole his breath. The heir to this country, yes, but also their baby. The product of that mind-numbingly sensual night they had spent together.
