The Prince She Had to Marry (13 page)

“Oh, yes. I tiptoed in. I was very quiet as I gathered up your things. But you were dead to the world. I would say you had at least a half hour’s nap—and what are you grinning at?”

“You. Princess Lili, the laundress.”

She picked up the skirt of her borrowed nightgown and curtsied. “I shall be a real housewife before you know it.”

“I believe you might. And I don’t suppose you found any extra pants while you puttered about, dusting and sweeping?”

“I did, yes.” She held up a finger. “Wait right there.” She vanished into the dressing room and came back with a pair of worn, baggy jeans. He took them from her and put them on. They were too short and a bit loose around the waist, but they were better than going naked or wrapping himself in the towel. “There are some old shirts, too,” she offered. “One printed with giant orange hibiscus flowers, another with horizontal black-and-white stripes.”

The night was mild and the AGA still burned in the kitchen, keeping the house quite warm. “This will do, thanks.”

She grabbed his hand. “Come to the kitchen, then. I’m starving.”

They had canned pears, little canned sausages, a can of baked beans she’d heated on the AGA and all the water they could drink.

He said, “Tomorrow, I’ll try my luck with the fishing kit from the survival pack.”

She swallowed a bite of sausage and a look of concern drew her dark gold brows together. “Fish. That means there will be cooking, doesn’t it? Real cooking, more than just warming up a can.”

He arranged his face in a solemn expression to mirror hers. “There will be cooking, yes.”

“Hmm.” Looking very serious, she considered. “Remember that cooking class I mentioned?” She waited for him to make a vague sound in the affirmative and then explained, “It was a French cooking class. We did lobster thermidor, chicken cordon bleu, coq au vin and beef bourguignon. But never just plain fish.” She was frowning intently now, deep in thought. “I would imagine one might use a frying pan, wouldn’t you think? There’s one on that shelf above the AGA. Yes. A frying pan. And butter to keep it from sticking—it’s too bad that we have no butter.” She brightened a little. “Olive oil might do. There’s a can of olive oil in the pantry.”

He’d never been able to resist teasing her. “Before the cooking, you have to clean them—slit them open down the belly and remove the guts.”

She had been about to go to work on another sausage, but she set it back on her plate instead and chided in her most regal tone, “I don’t believe I wish to discuss the removal of guts over dinner.”

“I suppose not.” He forked up half a pear, bit off one side, chewed and swallowed. “It’s a dirty, slimy, smelly job cleaning fish.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that—for your sake. Because I’m going to let
you
do the cleaning. And I know you are trying to torment me, Alex. It’s childish, you know that.”

“I know, but I enjoy tormenting you.” Once, when she was five and he was nine, he had chased her through the statuary garden at the Prince’s Palace brandishing a headless snake. “And another thing about cleaning fish, you have to really dig around in there, make sure you get every last sticky bit of intestine out.”

She wrinkled up her fine, patrician nose at him. “You are impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Next you’ll be calling me Silly Lili.”

“I just might.” He ate the other end of the pear half.

She straightened her shoulders. “Fine. Go ahead. Torture me with stories of disemboweled fish, call me Silly Lili. I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of bursting into tears—or running away screaming. In case you haven’t noticed, Alex, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

He gazed at her. At length. It was pure pleasure gazing at Lili. It always had been, although he’d spent most of his life denying that fact. In the candlelight, her skin seemed to glow from within, her eyes shone cobalt-blue and her gold-tipped eyelashes were impossibly long and thick. “No, Lili,” he said softly, “you’re not a little girl. Not anymore....”

“Well, then. Stop treating me like one.” She reached for her water glass. “And stop behaving like a bratty little boy.”

He caught her hand, brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the tips one by one. Just touching her hand excited him. And heat seemed to shimmer in the air between them.

She whispered, “Alex...”

And then they were both rising, reaching. She laughed as she fell against him. He gathered her close, dipped his head and took her mouth. She tasted of pears and tender desire. She smelled of sunshine and fresh air and crushed lavender. And she felt like heaven in his arms.

He couldn’t resist her. He
refused
to resist her.

Not now. Not here. Not tonight.

Yes, it was foolish. He knew it. He should maintain at least this one barrier between them. He didn’t need her in his arms to keep her safe.

He didn’t need...

But that wasn’t true. He
did
need. He needed
her
. He needed the cool velvet of her flesh under his hand, the scent of her filling him, the sound of her sighs and her laughter seducing him. The touch of her hands against his chest, the warm silk of her hair, falling, sliding against his shoulder, a golden veil along his arm.

“Lili...” He framed her face between his hands. “Lili...”

And she whispered, “Yes. Oh, Alex, yes...”

Yes
. It was the only word. The word that mattered. The word that bound them. Made them one.

At least for now.

For tonight.

For whatever nights they might have until the real world came to claim them.

He bent enough to slide an arm beneath her knees. She laughed as he scooped her up and lifted her high into his arms.

“Oh, Alex,” she whispered. “At last.” She buried her face against his neck, pressed her soft lips to the side of his throat. And then she looked up at him again. “Wait.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “What?”

“The candle...” It was a fat one, with a big wick. She’d used an old dish for a base. He turned her, so she could pick up the dish. She held it out in front of them. “All right. Let’s go.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He headed for the bedroom, with her in his arms. She held the candle out in front of them, so the golden light could lead the way.

Chapter Ten

I
n the bedroom, he took her to the edge of the bed and turned again, bending at the knees so she could set the candle on the roughly made bedside table. Then he gently laid her down.

She gazed up at him so trustingly, her hair a golden halo, her eyes a strange and marvelous shade of deepest violet in the soft candlelight. “Alex, it’s been too long.”

He had that one word. The word that mattered. “Yes.” Swiftly, he shucked off his too-short borrowed jeans.

He wanted to join her, to take her in his arms again.

But he also couldn’t seem to get enough of just looking at her, just knowing that for now at least, she belonged to him, truly. Openly.

And he belonged to her.

He belonged...

It was the most important thing. For once in his life. To simply belong.

It seemed to him that never ever until now, had he belonged. All his life he had been the outsider, bound truly to no one. Not even his twin.

Until now. Until Lili.

She sat up. He knew a moment of stark fear. Of aching loneliness. He was sure she would slide off the bed and walk away from him.

But then she grabbed the hem of the worn white gown, lifted her hips enough to free it from under her—and pulled it off over her head. It disappeared over the far side of the bed. Her shining hair fell about her shoulders, down her back and over her round, perfect, pink-tipped breasts. She was just so unbelievably beautiful, almost otherworldly in her golden perfection.

Laughing, she beckoned him, crooking a finger.

He needed no more encouragement. He went down to the bed with her, the old springs beneath the mattress creaking as they took his weight.

She curved her hand around the nape of his neck, pulled him close and kissed him, a soft brush of her lips to his. “It’s a noisy old bed, I’m afraid.”

He kissed her cheek, her nose, the other cheek. “I’m not complaining.”

“What’s gotten into you? You’re becoming so good-natured, so easy to please. You’re not at all the angry, unsatisfied, aloof Alex I’ve always known.”

He kissed her lips, fast and hard. “It’s all your fault. You’ve cast a spell on me. You’ve made me into what can only be called a nice person.”
For now, anyway
.

“I have? How very clever of me.”

He took her velvety shoulders, guided her down to the pillow again. “I want to kiss you all over.”

She assumed her most queenly expression. “I will allow that.”

He cradled one of those round, sweet breasts. “I was hoping you might....” And then he lowered his head and captured the nipple.

She gasped, so sweetly, and he felt her cool, soft fingers threading into his hair. “Alex...”

He indulged himself in the taste of her, sucking, drawing the little bud of flesh against his teeth, then rolling his tongue around it and sucking some more until she clutched him closer and arched her back, lifting up off the mattress, trying to get closer still.

She made a low, pleading sound deep in her throat as he moved to the other breast. He took care to lavish the same attention on it. And then, remembering his promise to kiss her everywhere, he licked his way up to her throat, scraped it with his teeth, drew on the smooth, lavender-scented flesh—not hard, just enough to make her moan and whisper his name again.

He moved on, higher still, to the pure, clean line of her jaw, the sweet jut of her chin, the tempting lobe of her delicate little ear. With small, nipping kisses, he attended to her temples, her forehead, the sleek dark gold brows, that adorable, queenly nose. And then there were her cheeks, her other ear, the smooth line of her neck, that tender indentation between her collarbones...

It took him a while to kiss her all over. And he didn’t hurry the task. With his lips and his tongue and the gentle rasp of his teeth, he worshipped every beautiful, silky-smooth bit of her, top to toe, only leaving out the feminine heart of her.

He saved that for last.

And when he eased her sleek thighs apart and settled between them, she was clutching the sheets in her strong little fists, urging him onward with soft, hungry cries. By then, he couldn’t wait any longer, either. He parted the dark gold curls and kissed her there, intimately. She cried out and clutched at his shoulders and moved so eagerly against his questing tongue.

He drank from her, his body aching to claim her fully, but his mind set on other pleasures, on the rich, musky taste of her, on her sweet, pleading cries, on the need to feel her shatter against his tongue. His mind spun with images of her, memories from long ago and yesterday and just that afternoon. Memories of Lili that he would always have. That even his guilt and his gut-deep knowledge that he didn’t deserve her couldn’t take from him.

She rose to the crest of her pleasure. He continued to kiss her. As she found the peak, he felt the sweet, delicate sensation he’d been waiting for, the butterfly-wing beating of her climax against his tongue.

Still, he kissed her. Until she went limp against the sheets and moaned and pushed at his shoulders, protesting softly, “Too much, no more. I need a moment, to catch my breath...”

He moved up her body then, pausing to dip his tongue into the well of her navel, marveling at the slightly rounder curve of her belly—hardly enough for anyone to notice yet.

But
he
noticed. There was nothing about her that he didn’t see, didn’t know, didn’t claim. Now was his chance, at last, to touch her, to kiss her, to catalog her perfections. He didn’t want to miss a millimeter of her. For this magical moment in time, he could pretend she was his forever.

And when the real world claimed them again, he would have new memories, a treasure chest of them, to open in the dark heart of the lonely night. To keep him company in all his solitary days to come.

He gathered her close, turning her and himself, so they lay facing each other. He smoothed her hair. She stroked his shoulder, her rapid breathing slowing now, the hot pink blush on her cheeks and breasts slowly fading, leaving a trace of redness from his day-old beard.

“Oh, Alex,” she said in a breathless whisper. “We should always be like this....”

He combed her hair with his fingers, petted her cheek with the back of his hand. “Stubble burn. Sorry...”

She caught his fingers, kissed them. “It’s nothing. It was worth it. Very much worth it.” She dipped her head closer, kissed him so sweetly. “Wonderful.” She kissed the word onto his mouth. “And we aren’t even close to finished yet. In fact, we are just getting started.”

“You have plans?” He traced the full, luscious shape of her lips with his tongue.

“I have...designs,” she said, kissing the words onto his mouth.

“Designs?” He was aching to have her. But it was a good ache, one he could easily bear, one that, tonight, at last, he knew would be fully satisfied.

“Designs on
you,
” she explained, her lips still brushing his, her little hand busy between them, tracing the long scar that ran from his left shoulder diagonally across to a point under his right arm. “Designs on your body. I love your body. Did you know that?”

“I’m very pleased to hear it, as I adore
your
body.” He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, scraped it lightly with his teeth. “This could be good.”

She sighed. “Oh, it could be much, much better than merely good.”

“Show me, Lili.” It came out on a rough rasp of breath.

She smiled her sweetest smile against his mouth. “Yes, Alex. I do believe I will.” Her hand brushed his neck, caressed his chest, moving downward. She rubbed his belly, a low, purring sound coming from deep in her throat.

And then she went lower. Her smooth, cool fingers encircled him. The sensation was exquisite.

He closed his eyes, swallowed a groan, ordered his starved, too-eager manhood not to lose it, to hold out. Hold on.

And that was before she started to stroke him, before she pushed him over onto his back and rose up above him, golden and glorious in the soft candlelight. Before she bent close, her hair falling all around him, brushing his chest, his belly, his arms, falling like a thousand silk feathers along the side of his hip, making a spun-gold veil to cover him, a web of silk to hold him.

That was before her wet, hot mouth encircled him and her little hand held him in place, before her clever tongue explored him and she began to gently, insistently draw on him. To slide up and down on him, taking him in all the way and then, slowly, so slowly, letting him out—only to lower that impossibly sweet, hot mouth around him all over again.

It was heaven. It was torture. It was a perfect, agonizing, painful, delicious combination of both.

He didn’t last long. How could he?

Too soon, he had to act. He took her slim shoulders, pulling her up to him, claiming her mouth as he eased her beneath him and settled himself against her, between her thighs, where he wanted, needed,
had
to be.

She opened for him, wrapping those smooth, slim legs around him, pulling him down to her, down to where she wanted him.

Which was exactly where he wanted, needed,
had
to be.

Her fingers found him again. She encircled him, guiding him, taking him into the fine, giving heat at the wet, slick heart of her womanhood.

He sank into her, drowning, surrounded, caressed. Completely lost. And only too happy to be so.

She lifted her body, enfolding him. Her soft arms held him and her sweet hips rocked him. There was no woman, ever, in the whole world like her. Not for him.

There never had been. He knew that now.

He groaned and he gave himself up to her, gave himself over to her, as he had that first time, to his everlasting shame. She was the promise he’d been running from since they were children, the hope he’d denied, the truth he’d turned away from, the road back he couldn’t yet allow himself to see.

She was more than he could deal with, more than he’d bargained for, more than he knew how to handle or control. Without hesitation, she claimed him and there was no part of him she didn’t own, didn’t hold so tenderly, didn’t rock into sweetest, hottest oblivion.

She gave him everything. More than he’d ever dared to imagine. More, much more, than he could ever hope to deserve.

For now, he gave in to her. He let her take him, let her sweep him away. Let her take him up, soaring. She was the finest, highest, truest wave. Way out on the open sea. She curved above him, tenderly, closing over him, crashing down upon him. She took him under, took him with her.

Gasping, ecstatic, he called her name.

* * *

“Alex?”

He opened his eyes to darkness. For a moment, he was in the ground, swallowed by it. In that hole they kept him in during the last year of his captivity. Panic clawed at him. Sweat bloomed on his skin.

“Alex?” Lili’s voice. Soft. Soothing, in the darkness. Her small hand in his, holding on. Holding
him
.

And he remembered. All of it. Devon was dead. And he had escaped. And there was Lili: his wife.

He remembered his cruelty to her—his many cruelties. And their honeymoon. And that night on the water. The storm.

The island, the little stone house...

And the two of them together.

For now.

He turned to her. How could he help himself? Even in the darkness, she brought light. Warmth.

The impossibility that was hope.

The hope he kept denying over and over. The hope she kept offering, like a cool drink of water in an endless desert, like a ray of light in the deepest, darkest place. Even in a room with no windows, it didn’t matter. Wherever she was, she brought light.

Her sweet breath across his cheek. A millimeter, two—yes. Contact. Her mouth melting into his, a perfect fit. He kissed her, slowly. Deeply. She made a small, tender sound. He drank in that sound.

And then her hands were there, touching him, brushing the sides of his throat, cradling his face, her fingers against his beard-scratchy cheeks, her palms under his chin. “Alex. I’m so glad. To be here with you. Like this.”

So am I
. The words were there, pushing to get out. He didn’t let them. He had no right to let them.

She whispered, “I know I shouldn’t be glad. It’s selfish to be so happy here, alone with you. Selfish when I know that the people who care for us are desperately searching, hoping against hope that we’re still among the living, that they will find us, somehow, and bring us home safe....”

His heart, that dark place he had for so long thought empty and cold—it ached. He couldn’t bear to hear more. “Shh.” He moved his head on the pillow, close again, so he could breathe the hushing sound against her parted lips. “Shh...”

She shook her head, her lips brushing his again, back and forth. “No, not yet. There’s more. I know that you don’t want to hear me, but you
will
hear me.”

“Don’t...”

She wouldn’t listen. “I know you, Alex. I know what you’re doing. I know you’re...allowing yourself this time with me. But that you will somehow make yourself pay.”

“Stop.”

She didn’t. “Don’t you see? It’s no good. You make yourself pay for every moment of happiness, every taste of pleasure—and that means
I
pay, too. And the baby. Oh, Alex. Think about her.”

He wanted to grab her close and kiss her senseless. He wanted to push her away, roll from the bed and run out the door. Somehow, he managed to do neither. “The baby will have
you,
” he said. “The baby will be fine.”

“The baby needs her father. And
I
need you, Alex. I need you beside me, not just for tonight, for all the nights. We can do so much in the world together. If only you will forgive yourself for whatever it is you feel you have to suffer for. If only you will see that forgiveness
is
waiting for you. You only have to reach out and claim it.”

“Lili, let it go.”

She made a sound that was something like a sob. “Let it go? How can you say that? This is your life we’re talking about. And my life. And the life of our child.”