Romancing The Crown: Leila and Gage: Virgin Seduction / Royal Spy. Kathleen CreightonЧитать онлайн книгу.
her voice, cried out, Cade’s goose was as good as cooked. Even in this part of the world he doubted they still executed people for such transgressions, but at the very least, any hopes he had of doing a deal with the Tamari people would be out the window, and he might even be out—literally—himself. As in, given the bum’s rush. Bounced unceremoniously out the door on his butt. Right now, this minute, in the middle of the night.
Plus, Elena was never going to forgive him—never.
With icy dread crawling down his spine, he gave his face an absentminded mop with the towel, glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then silently pulled the door closed. He felt as if the door of a trap had just slammed shut behind him.
Leila moved as if through a wall of suffocating heat—holding her breath, feeling her cheeks burn and sweat bloom on her forehead. Knowing instinctively the source of the heat, she kept her face turned away from him—as if that would help!
She reached with her hand to touch the back of the sofa and leaned against it a little, testing it for support, then brushed her fingers over the fabric to hide the fact that she’d done so. She heard the door close behind her and silence fill the room. In it the thump and swish of her pulse sounded loud as the storm surf striking the rocks below the cliffs.
“Princess—” His voice was harsh.
And though she didn’t want to, she flinched. Still, as she turned she knew her smile would appear bright and determined. “I thought you were going to call me Leila.”
Breath gusted from him, as if he’d been holding it in too long. “For God’s sake, what are you doing here?”
But she could not answer. Suddenly she had no moisture in her mouth; she could not seem to move her tongue. Nor her eyes, either, for somehow they had become stuck to the naked masculine chest in front of her, and not even for her life could she tear them away. She did not understand—she had seen men’s chests and torsos before…hadn’t she? In pictures, at the very least. But if she had, it did not seem so. To her this felt like the first time she had ever laid eyes on such a sight…ever.
“Look…Leila—” He took a step toward her, face darkened, both hands upraised and fingers tensed, as though he wanted to grasp her with them.
Her breath caught and her heart gave a frightened leap. Even she could see that it was not a welcoming gesture. But not a violent one, either. She thought he seemed more distraught than angry, and her fear was not for her physical safety. He would not harm her, she was certain of that.
Just as she was certain now that she had made a terrible mistake in judgment. Somehow, because of the vast difference in their cultures, probably, she had misunderstood him. She knew that he had not meant what she had thought he meant. Not at all.
I shouldn’t have come.
All of that passed through Leila’s mind in the time it took her to utter a single dismayed gasp. In the next moment, memory—sensual, visceral, overwhelming—slammed her with the force of a physical blow. Hard lips, smooth and gentle lips…liquid warmth, breath smelling of tobacco, trembling pressure and pounding pulse…
Her body felt cold, and her legs as if they would not support her weight. She heard a rushing sound in her ears. But I had to come…I had to. What else could I do?
She took one step forward…and into a void.
Swearing vehemently, Cade caught her as her knees buckled. Then, since there didn’t seem to be anything else to do, he scooped her up in his arms. This is insane. Ludicrous.
While casting frantically about for a place to deposit his unconscious burden, he caught a glimpse of himself and her in the gilt-framed mirror above the tile and marble fireplace—heaving breasts in a filmy gown against the backdrop of his own naked, sweaty chest…her pale throat a taut and graceful curve…raven hair cascading over his arms like a waterfall…Damn, he thought with a snort that was part irony, part disgust and most of all dismay. I look like the cover of one of those romance novels women are always reading.
He’d about decided to lay his swooning princess on the sofa when he felt her arms come to twine around his neck. He barely had time to register that fact before her hair began to stir against his skin, an incredible, unimaginable softness.
He shivered involuntarily and felt his nipples harden. As if in response to that, she turned her face toward him and touched him just there in a series of tender and tiny kisses, rather like a kitten, he dimly thought, making tracks across his chest. His heart, already beating hard, gave a lurch.
“Princess…” His voice was faint and airless. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her lips were working their way across his collarbone and upward along the side of his neck. His jaw muscles felt so rigid he half expected to hear them creak when he added almost desperately, “Hey—cut that out.”
Poised to deposit her on the sofa, he halted, muscles quivering, beset by a new dilemma. If he put her down now, she would almost certainly pull him down with her, which would be nothing short of disastrous. If he went on holding her, with that unnerving weakness creeping through his body, he was afraid he might drop her. To head off that possibility, he brought one knee up under her bottom, braced his foot on the cushions, and tried to shift her to a more secure position in his arms.
Big mistake. Hadn’t this happened to him once before?
Yes, and once again as on the terrace, he felt her body mold itself to his as if it had been custom-made for that purpose…an all-over body glove, silky-soft, supple as finest kid. Tiny puffs of her breath brought his sweat-damp skin alive with goose bumps. Her spicy, exotic scent made his head swim. The weakness in his arms oozed into his legs, while in the center of his body his heart was banging like an energetic and enthusiastic bass drummer, sending joyful, giddy impulses and inviting—no, compelling—the rest of his body to follow along.
His body’s predictable response was, Oh, yeah. I’m there! And his heart chimed in with, Sure would like to…maybe it would be okay…don’t you think I could?
To which the rational part of his brain emphatically replied, No way, Jose!
“Princess—” he began, but the rest was muffled. Leila’s lovely and adventuresome mouth had reached its destination at last, and anything else he might have added was swallowed up in its sweet, intoxicating warmth.
For a moment…just a moment, it seemed to Cade he was fighting a losing battle. He thought how easy it would be…what a relief it would be…to just say the hell with it and give in. He thought it would be a little like drowning, to let himself go wherever this might take him, and damn the consequences.
He might have been able to do that—just maybe—if it hadn’t been for the strident and insistent clamor of his reason. Cade, you can’t! She’s a princess, most likely a virgin! You’re a guest in her father’s house! You have to stop this. Now!
He wasn’t sure how much longer he might have resisted the voices of sanity inside his head, or if in fact he’d ever have found the strength to end it. What saved him was anger. It came suddenly and unexpectedly, a bright and savage flare of resentment. Foolish woman—what the hell does she think she’s doing? Spoiled brat…she’s going to ruin me—ruin everything!
He let go of her abruptly, and felt her round and firm little bottom come to rest on his drawn-up knee.
“No,” he said hoarsely as, jerky and shell-shocked, he peeled her arms from around his neck and thrust her from him. The places where she’d touched him felt like fresh abrasions.
Little by little, in ungraceful adjustments, he managed to stand her on her own two feet, and himself as well. And all the while she said not a word, while her eyes gazed up at him, black as ink, glistening dangerously. Her lips, pink and soft and still glazed from his mouth, parted slowly. If she speaks, he thought…Or worse, if she cries…
He