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First, a hard kick in the vicinity of Cairo’s chest, making him clasp Brittany tighter as he fought it off. He tried to tell himself he didn’t know what it was—but he did. Of course he did. Anticipation, desire... As if he wanted this to be real. As if he wanted this to be the mad, epic romance they were pretending it was.
As if it already was.
But that wasn’t possible. He knew that as well as he knew his own, cursed name.
Because the second thing that happened was a vicious punch, straight to the gut. Cairo knew what happened when lovewas involved. He’d lived it. He was still living it. Grief and horror and crushing, interminable loss. A lifetime of pain and guilt when the people he’d loved were taken. He wouldn’t go near it again. Hecouldn’tgo near it again.
But God help him, he wanted things today he’d never imagined he’d ever want.Ever.It was the way she’d come apart for him earlier, so soft and hot beneath him. It was the way she’d watched him in the chapel, her eyes solemn on his.
It was the simple, searing fact that no one had ever had her but him. No one had ever touched her and therefore nobody truly knew her, except him. Cairo didn’t need to be told that she’d given him a gift far more precious than her maidenhead today.
He’d spent his whole life doing what he had to do, not what he wanted to do. He always made the smart choice no matter how it hurt him, no matter what it cost. He’d learned long ago to think of himself and his own feelings last, if ever, because what the hell didhematter when there were so many lives on the line? He’d never questioned any of it. He’d become his own worst nightmare, an utter disgrace to all he held dear. And because of that, he’d survived.
He gazed down at the woman who fit as perfectly in his arms as he had inside her, and he didn’t know if he could do it this time. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Cairo wanted to do more than simply survive.
He wantedmore.
“You’re staring at me.” She sounded edgy, despite the smile she aimed at him. Because, of course, they were still in public. They were always in public.
“You are my wife.” He sounded like the man he’d taken such care, all his life, to keep from becoming in word or deed or public perception. He sounded like his memories of his father, commanding and sure. His father, who had refused to fight the coup because he’d thought that meant fewer of his subjects would die. His father, who had always viewed his exile as a mere interlude. His father, the king of Santa Domini Cairo would never, ever become. “My queen.”
Her dark eyes glittered despite the sunlight, and she seemed as far away then as if she was up on the stage in that club again. On display to all, available to none.
But he’d seen beneath that mask. He’d removed his own.
Everything was different now.
He didn’t want to watch her distance herself from him or what had already happened between them today.
He wanted anything but distance, even when they were out in public for all to see.
He dipped her then, slow and romantic and not entirely for show, and let himself enjoy the way her gaze spit fire at him despite the smile she kept welded to her lips. He pressed a kiss against that smile when he pulled her back to standing, and let that kick between them.
That lick of fire. That spiked edge of need.
And the murmurs and applause from the crowd he’d half forgotten all around them.
“That felt like a threat,” she told him through her teeth, her smile as bright as her clever eyes were dark, making her even more beautiful to him, somehow.
“It was a promise,” he retorted.
Searing and hot, that promise.
One he had every intention of keeping.
And keeping and keeping, until he wore them both out.
Soon.
* * *
Brittany woke up sprawled across the wide bed in one of the private jet’s guest chambers. She was still wearing the pale yellow shift dress that had been set out for her to change into after the wedding breakfast, and in which she’d been photographed by a sea of paparazzi as she and Cairo had boarded his plane in Italy the night of their wedding.
She’d staggered on board, put as much distance as possible between her and the brand-new husband who’d gotten under her skin in more ways than she could possibly count already, and then slept like the dead the moment she’d tossed herself across the soft coverlet.
She was all too aware he’d let her go. Let her retreat from him.
And now you’re waking up married,she told herself—perhaps a little more sharply than she should.
