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"I went to see my father," I say softly. James’ face gentles.
“Baby" he says, obviously understanding that I’ve just found out that my father had passed. Apparently, he had assumed before today that I was already aware of that. I give a little shuddering gasp as my misery tries to rush out of me.
"Everyone out," James orders.
His advisors leave, Richard shooting me a loaded look as he left. I’m sure he was wondering if I was going to say something to James.
And of course, I was. I wanted to know what was going on.
But all thoughts of Richard and Francesca leave my mind as James gathers me into his arms.
"I didn't know that you weren’t aware he had passed," he says, confirming the thoughts that I have just had. I pull back from him, suddenly feeling exhausted.
"I told you where I’ve been, James," I say tears choking my voice.
He nods, his eyes still not displaying any sign that he believed anything I was saying.
"I need some answers," I tell him, swallowing down my grief as I take a step back from him.
He sighs, obviously knowing what I’m talking about.
"I'm debating," he says, closing his eyes briefly as if he’s debating it in his mind right at that moment.
"Debating what?" I ask. He opens his eyes. The blue has leaked out in his current mood, leaving a silvery grey color in its place. I wondered how I'd forgotten that they sometimes change to suit his mood. What else had I forgotten?
"I'm debating whether I trust you,” he answers.
Trust was a valid question. He was the King and I had appeared out of nowhere six years after I had left him at the altar. But somehow it still killed me to hear him say it. There had been a time that he trusted me with everything. Who knows if I would be here long enough to gain that trust back?
"You sure made love to me last night like you trusted me," I retort immaturely, biting back at the guilt and sadness that I feel.
His eyes darken even more. "Don't mistake love for lust,” he says to me.
Now I was really angry. I pull back to slap him, but he catches my arm. “I hate you,” he says.
“Let me go,” I spit out.
“I hate you almost as much as I love you. Six years later and I’m just as much wrapped around your thumb as ever, maybe more. But you don’t care do you. You don’t care that I’m half the man I was before I met you.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “There is no life where I could ever hate you.” I respond brokenly.
I move to storm out of the room.
He grabs my arm again. “Don’t walk away from me,” he snaps.
“Why, because you’re my King?” I ask sarcastically.
“No,” he says, a still intensity in his voice that sends unbidden shivers down my spine.
"Then why?" I say, my voice coming out breathier than I intended.
"Because I'm never going to let you walk away from me again."
With those words I was back in his arms, our lips crashed together, my body melting against his. My gasp is muffled by his lips and I want him with an instant urgency. My hands are nestled in his hair and I cling to him, feet barely skimming the cold, stone floor. James’ touch is tempting, seductive as he removes everything between us—nothing separates him from me and we come together, skin against skin.
Enfolding me in his arms, he worships my mouth with his; my body heats under his touch as he caresses every whispered shadow. He captures my groan, taking it in to mix with his. I whimper as he kisses across my cheek to my ear and down my neck, nibbling at the hollow above my collarbone. My hands move: they’re everywhere, his shoulders, arms, running over the hard lines of his back.
The passionate need is replaced with veneration, a worshiping glint as he drinks me in.
