Chapter Six
The rest of the day was a nightmare. Tiberius threw himself back into the endless list of tasks he had to do, along with all the interminable meetings he had to attend. But it didn’t seem to matter how hard he tried to distract himself—and he tried very hard—all he could think about was her.
Her mouth. The sweet taste of her. The warmth and softness of her body against his. The unexpected fire in her eyes as she’d told him that she wanted him. That, should he want a lover, she was right there.
His wife. His lovely, lovely wife.
The devil on his shoulder whispered to him all day, giving him good reasons for why he should take her, indulge himself with her.
She wanted him. Everyone likely thought they were sleeping together already.
And besides, he’d need an heir at some point, and she would be a good candidate to give him one.
Also, his concentration was shot, so if he really wanted to put his country first he shouldn’t be hesitating.
They were already married, for God’s sake, and he wanted her…
He had to resist, though. Because if he could not control his own appetites, how could he put some distance between his rule and that of Renzo Accorsi? How could he do justice to what his father had taught him?
And then there was the way Guinevere had been traumatised by her brothers and by her father. The last thing she needed was a man like him forcing his desires on her.
Even now, he still couldn’t believe his behaviour in the orchard, when he hadn’t been able to control himself, letting go the leash and gripping her so tightly, holding him to her as if he wanted to cover himself with her softness and sweetness and warmth…
No, he shouldn’t be thinking about this. At all.
The meetings went on all day and he was surly to everyone, no matter how hard he tried to keep his temper under control.
He should have found himself a lover, of course, but that was impossible now.
He’d told her the truth—that he’d never intended to be celibate—and she’d made her wishes very plain.
Now, if he took a lover, not only would it be an admission of weakness he couldn’t allow, it would also hurt his new wife, and he didn’t want to do that.
How he was going to last until the time came for a divorce, he had no idea…
It was very, very late by the time his last meeting of the day ended and he finally let all his exhausted advisors retire to their beds.
Tiberius considered visiting the palace gym, to work off a little of his agitation, but he was tired too, and he’d be useless tomorrow if he didn’t get at least one full night of sleep.
He strode through the dark palace hallways to the royal apartments. His guards were the only people still awake. He wouldn’t encounter Guinevere, he was certain. She’d have long since gone back down the secret corridors to her little nest in the room where she slept every night.
Sure enough, when he entered the apartments and shut the doors behind him they were dark and silent. He could smell the lingering scent of her, though, all sweet femininity and delicate musk that made his body tighten with want.
Ridiculous to be pushed to the edge by one woman. He couldn’t understand it.
In his private bathroom, he pulled off his clothes and showered. Then he towelled himself dry before heading into the darkness of his bedroom.
Only to stop in the doorway, every one of his threat senses going into high alert.
Someone else was in the room, he knew it. And there was that scent again, sweet, feminine…
He stilled for a second, then reached out and hit the light switch.
Kneeling in the centre of his bed, wearing nothing at all, was his queen.
Guinevere.
Blonde curls cascaded over her pale shoulders, the ends caressing the most beautiful pair of rounded breasts he’d ever seen. Soft pink nipples, creamy skin, the delicious curve of her hip and the pale expanse of her thighs. And between them the sweetest little thatch of curls…
His body went instantly hard, every muscle drawn tight.
Her deep blue gaze met his and there was absolutely no fear in it, only sparks of the passionate fire he’d seen earlier that day when he’d kissed her.
‘Guinevere,’ he said roughly. ‘What are you doing? I told you nothing could happen between us.’
She lifted her sharp little chin. ‘I’ve been in the dark for a long time, Tiberius. Hiding in the walls. But I’ve decided I don’t want to do that any more. What I want is my husband. What I want is a wedding night.’
It had been a very long day, and he was tired, and all of a sudden it felt as if he’d been doing nothing but fighting. Fighting for his throne, his crown, his country. Fighting for years without a break. And fighting himself most of all.
He was weary of it.
She was his wife. No one would know if they slept together—in fact everyone would be surprised that they hadn’t already.
And he’d given her a taste of his own passion back there in the orchard and she hadn’t pulled away.
He’d told her that he wasn’t the man for a sheltered virgin and she hadn’t cared.
What was he trying to prove anyway? And who was he trying to prove it to?
Yes, he was supposed to be setting an example, to be better than Renzo Accorsi, but what went on in his bedroom had nothing to do with his country, and both his father and his mother were gone.
It was only sex. Sleeping with his wife wouldn’t destroy his throne.
Anyway, she’d made the decision to put herself in his way, naked and on her knees. She wanted him and had made no secret of it. So now she’d have to accept the consequences.
He kicked the door shut behind him and walked over to the bed. It was gratifying to see how her gaze roved over his naked form, as if she liked what she saw as much as he did when he looked at her.
‘You want me to be your husband, then?’ he asked, pinning her with his gaze. ‘In every way?’
She nodded, the pulse at the base of her pale throat beating frantically. ‘Yes.’
He let himself look at her finally. Taking his time as he scanned every inch of her lovely body. She was so very, very pretty.
She is yours. Claim her.
Perhaps he would. Perhaps he’d claim her completely, permanently. He needed a wife anyway, to provide heirs, and any children they had would be the ultimate union of Benedictus and Accorsi. So why not this woman he already knew he wanted?
Of course they might not suit sexually, but he didn’t think that would be the case. Even now he knew that one night wouldn’t be enough for him, and a king couldn’t be seen to be taking new lovers every couple of weeks. No, it was better to have one woman, and to have that woman be his wife.
‘If you want this,’ he said—because these would be his terms and she had to agree to them—‘then understand that if we sleep together I will not give you a divorce later. You will remain my queen and carry my heirs.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I—’
‘I will not have a parade of lovers going in and out of my bedroom. That won’t set the example I want for my rule or for my people.
Also…’ He paused so she would see his intention clearly in his face, so there would be no mistake.
‘Now I have the throne, I will not give it up. The same goes for my queen. I keep what is mine, Guinevere Accorsi. So if you want me to be a husband to you, that is what you’ll have to accept. ’
She stared at him for a long moment and he watched in fascination as goosebumps rose on her skin.
He wanted to touch her, stroke her, lick her all over like an ice cream.
It felt almost impossible to hold himself back.
But he wasn’t going to touch her unless she accepted this.
Because he had the feeling that if he did he wouldn’t be able to give her up.
Slowly Guinevere nodded, and he could see fire in her blue gaze now, building higher and hotter. Little lioness. She was brave—he’d already seen evidence of that—but now he knew it to be true. Brave and passionate.
‘I accept it,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘But I want something in return. For the duration of our marriage there will be no other women for you but me.’
As if he would want another woman. Looking at her, he couldn’t even remember what other women looked like, and it satisfied him that she was asking for fidelity.
He didn’t want a doormat for a wife. He wanted a woman who demanded the same things of him that he did of her.
A match for him. A meeting of equals. A queen had to be as strong as a king.
‘I accept,’ he said. ‘There will no other women but you.’
She nodded, then slowly held out her arms to him. ‘Then come to me, my king.’
My king…
The blood pumped hard in his veins at the husk in her voice, and at the way she held her arms out to him, welcoming him.
He came to the edge of the bed, looking down at her, kneeling before him, naked except for the veil of her hair.
His wife.
Lifting a hand, he threaded his fingers through her curls. Soft, like silk against his skin. ‘You are mine,’ he murmured. ‘You are my war prize, little Accorsi, and so you must do whatever I tell you.’
She was trembling now, but it wasn’t with fear—he could see that. No, there was nothing but hungry anticipation in her wide blue eyes.
‘I will,’ she whispered. ‘What do want you me to do?’
He tightened his grip in her hair and then bent, answering her by taking her mouth in a hot, deep kiss. She tasted of oranges and sunshine and something else sweet, a flavour that he found the more he tasted, the more he wanted.
He kissed her deeper, hotter, and she made a small sound of hunger in the back of her throat that went straight to his groin.
Before he knew what he was doing, he’d pushed her onto her back across the mattress and he was over her, tracking hot kisses down her neck and the delicate architecture of her throat, his hands tracing her curves as he went.