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“Neil,” she whispered.
I nodded. “Never thought I’d say this, but he deserves Shah’s head on a platter more than anyone I know.”
“There isn’t a scale of comparison, Sam. What each of you experienced made you into the men you are today.”
The limo stopped outside Devani’s high-rise. Paparazzi lined various spots along the walkways and sides of the building as a multitude of security staff guarded the pathway leading to the doors.
“Looks like news of our grand exit from the hotel has circulated to the masses.”
“You would have told your driver to take us to your place if you truly wanted to avoid the attention.”
Cupping her face, I ran a thumb over her lower lip. “Ready for the public to know you’re mine?”
“Since we’re arriving at my place, wouldn’t I be the one making a claim?”
“By all means, Highness. I’ve waited three years for this.”
I knocked on the window, indicating to one of my security detail that he could open the door.
The next ten minutes went in a blur of flashes, shouts, and maneuvering through a crowd of reporters. I’d generally kept a low profile regarding societal news, and spectacles on this level were rare.
Now with the Queen of Diamonds as my lady, I had a feeling all that was a thing of the past.
The second we stepped into Devani’s private elevator, she asked with a smirk, “Rethinking our relationship, Mr. King?”
“Not a chance.” I crowded her back against the wall of the cab. “Plus, you should know, once a King accepts terms, there’s no getting out of them.”
She skimmed a palm up my chest and grasped the lapel of my tuxedo jacket. “Good to know.”
We held each other’s stares as the elevator chimed and opened into the foyer of Devani’s penthouse.
“Well, Mr. King. Would you like to come in through the front door of my home?”
I smiled down at her. “Absolutely.”
In the next second, she pulled me toward her, sealing our mouths together. I lifted her into my arms and walked her into the apartment.
Her clutch fell to the floor as she threaded her fingers into my hair and wrapped her legs around my waist. Somehow, we stumbled to her bedroom, losing her heels along the way.
When I set her on her feet, she gazed up at me with utterly unguarded desire-clouded eyes.
“Stop staring at me like that and do something,” she ordered.
Instead of saying anything, I grabbed the shoulders of her gown and ripped the material from her body, leaving her clad only in her black lace bustier set and thigh-high stockings.
She pursed her lips as if she held in a knowing smile.
“You knew what you were getting when you picked me.”
“I did.” Turning, she lifted her hair and offered me her back. “This may not be as easy to discard. I suggest using the fastenings and zipper.”
With slow, precise movements, I removed her corset and skimmed my lips up the soft skin along her spine and shoulders. Once finished, I fisted her hair, tilted her head back, and took her mouth again in a searing kiss.
I slid my palm over the slight curve of her stomach, chest, and up to her throat, giving her the slight squeeze she craved so much.
A low moan escaped her lips, and goose bumps prickled her skin.
I savored her taste, loving every bit of her. She filled my senses. Her fingers flexed against my thighs, kneading the material of my pants.
