CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER NINE
T HE WOMAN HAS destroyed me again.
Rene pressed his face into Melody’s hair, inhaling the sweet scent of sex and woman and roses in greedy gulps of air. Then groaned, aware of the vicious heat still pulsing in his groin, despite the titanic climax.
How the hell could he want her so much?
He dislodged himself and then flopped onto his back beside her before he collapsed on top of her—or worse, got hard again.
He needed to pace himself.
They had all night. And by the end of it he wanted to have this wild hunger for her sated, so they could make good on their truce and part, if not friends, at least not enemies.
He rolled his head towards her, to find her staring back at him, her eyes as dazed as he felt.
He grinned. She looked as shattered as he did.
Finally, I’ve bested her, too.
He lifted a heavy hand to brush one unruly curl back from her face and hook it behind her ear.
‘Now we’ve taken the edge off, we should probably take a break before round two.’
Her brow arched speculatively, and a wave of affection for her blindsided him. Why had he never realised her snarky attitude was one of the things which had attracted him to her in the first place?
‘Round two?’ she asked. ‘Who said there’s going to be a round two?’
‘Isn’t there?’ he asked lazily, not rising to the bait for once, the afterglow like a drug.
Her complexion went the same interesting shade of vermillion he had noticed the day before. ‘I’m really not sure…’
‘Hey…’ He skimmed his thumb across her lips to silence the refusal he thought might be coming—and really did not want to hear. ‘Surely, we owe it to ourselves to take one night? To explore this…’ his gaze drifted down to the pert nipples he had every intention of feasting on next—once he’d got his breath back ‘…connection,’ he murmured. ‘We were too drunk to do it more than once four years ago. And after surviving that storm… We deserve it.’
He propped himself onto his elbow to stare down at her—the surge of longing unprecedented. But then, he had always been supremely confident about his ability to seduce any and every woman he desired… Except Melody Taylor, apparently. And after that first time he had lost the urge to seduce any woman but her.
Was that why he found her so tempting? So compelling. So irresistible. So unique. Because she had always presented a challenge he couldn’t be sure of winning. Had always made him work for her approval.
He frowned. Wow, that would make him incredibly shallow, wouldn’t it? That he could be so captivated by the thrill of the chase. But so be it. Now he’d finally caught her, he didn’t plan to let her go too easily.
‘We nearly died, Melody,’ he said, laying it on a little thick.
‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit of a drama queen?’ she offered, throwing his own words back at him.
‘Maybe.’ He kissed the tip of her breast, rewarded when she gasped, and the rosy peak tightened. ‘But I still think we’d be nuts not to enjoy each other for the rest of the time we’re stuck here together. Before we go our separate ways.’
No point in pretending this could be more than a port in a storm… A very hot port in a surprisingly fortuitous storm, as it turned out.
They had been heading here all along, he realised. The bitching and bickering and endless arguments hadn’t just been about the way their one night had ended, but also about this insane spark that had tormented them both for four years.
He’d hurt her by running out on her that morning like a damn coward. But thankfully she would never know how much of a coward he’d really been. That his decision to propose to Isabelle a few weeks later had been a direct result of his inability to forget Isabelle’s best friend the way he’d wanted to.
It occurred to him she was no longer that innocent girl—the thought of other men enjoying her sent an uncomfortable spike of jealousy into his chest.
He forced himself to ignore it when she snorted.
‘Prince Egomaniac strikes again.’ She wiggled out from under his arm and scooted across the bed, then dragged the sheet up to cover all those delectable curves.
Shame . The vague feeling of regret sharpened—that he’d been her first lover but all he’d really taught her was how to be cynical about sex.
‘Are you saying you don’t want to have your way with me again?’ he teased to cover the surge of longing—and the spurt of jealousy and regret.
If she knew how much he wanted her, she would use it against him—she had always been contrary. But, to his surprise, her gaze skated over him, the naked longing unmistakable—and undisguised.
She pushed her hand into her hair, which was a glorious mess of curls. ‘I’m saying I need to use the bathroom.’
He chuckled at her pragmatism, relief flowing through him. Mel might enjoy mocking him, but she had never been coy. It was one of the things he had always adored about her…
He rolled onto his back and stacked his hands behind his head, aware his erection was already perking up again, but not bothered any more by the insistent need. Or the fact she could see it.
‘Fine. I’ll be waiting to seduce you when you get back then,’ he said.
The lazy feeling of satisfaction and arousal was a heady combination which had to explain the constant yearning. And the unfamiliar desire to go back and correct the mistakes of that night.
Just a physical urge. That was all. Which they could now indulge with one hot night of wild, adventurous and unapologetic sex. He yawned and watched her shuffle to the master bathroom in her sheet, feeling utterly content for the first time in…a very long time.
‘Hurry back,’ he called after her. ‘You don’t want to leave your prince waiting.’
She stuck a middle finger up at him, over her shoulder. ‘Go to hell, Gaultiere,’ she said, but the familiar insult only made the brutal hunger surge. And perked the erection up even more.
He barked out another laugh.
Down, boy.
* * *
‘Please, Rene… Stop torturing me. I need… More…’ Mel groaned, the vicious heat pummelling her from all sides as his devious mouth worked her into a frenzy.
‘I do love the way you beg,’ he answered, glancing up from his position between her thighs.
‘You bastard,’ she moaned.
Then she arched up, tortured, as his finger thrust into her—first one, then two, stretching her, caressing her—while his tongue continued to tantalise and torment her clitoris.
They’d done hard and fast first last night, then slow and devastating, before she’d fallen asleep in his arms.
She’d been in the grip of dreams, of him, always him, when he’d woken her, and asked if she could take him again…
A part of her had wanted to say no, her mind still hazy with sleep, a weird pressure on her chest. But then she’d seen the morning light peeking through the storm clouds and the urge to make the night last just a little longer had made it impossible to do anything but drape her arms around him and offer him everything.
But she’d been trapped in this maelstrom for what felt like hours, his lips, his mouth, his teeth nipping and licking every part of her. And tearing down all her defences. She felt raw, exposed and so needy it hurt.
She’d gone over not once but twice, each orgasm more brutal, more searing than the last. But now he was just toying with her, and she couldn’t stand it any longer.
She fisted her fingers in his hair, yanked hard. His sharp grunt of protest was satisfying. Almost.
His head rose and he stared up at her, his eyes bright with the fierce desire that matched her own.
‘Try that again, Melody…and you’ll get no satisfaction at all,’ he murmured, but then he buried his head between her legs again and, holding her hips, captured the tight nub of her clitoris between his lips and suckled harder at last.
She cried out, the orgasm tantalisingly close, but then he retreated again, leaving her wanting.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he scooped her up and flipped her over onto her stomach before lifting her hips.
He impaled her to the hilt in one devastating thrust. The orgasm barrelled towards her, shocking in its intensity. His hands captured her breasts to thrust harder, to take more. The cries choked off in her lungs, the moans vibrating through her chest, the raw pleasure too much as the thick length lodged so deep it felt as if he were a part of her now.
The wave hit at last, sweeping her over the edge into glorious oblivion, his thrusts becoming harder and more frantic.
The delirious afterglow washed over her as he grew even larger then shouted out his own release.
They both collapsed onto the bed, his big body covering hers. His ragged pants shuddered out against her ear, the huge erection still there inside her.
Did he feel it too? This all-consuming pleasure. This brutal connection.
But then he whispered against her ear, his voice husky with desire, ‘You see how much better it is if you wait… Miss Impatient.’
She choked out a laugh, trying to dismiss the frantic beating of her heart, the emotion like a boulder on her chest now.
‘You always have to have the last word, don’t you, Prince Egomaniac,’ she murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow.
Rolling off her, he gathered her in his arms. She could hear the thundering beat of his heart as she laid her head against his shoulder. He stroked the sweaty hair back from her brow and tucked a finger under her chin to lift her gaze to his.
With the three-day beard he looked more like a pirate now than a prince, but so gorgeous it made her heart skip several beats. And the doubts returned.
Had she made a terrible mistake agreeing to spend the night with him? Because their first night together—and the snatched sex of their first night here—paled in comparison to what they’d shared in the last twelve hours…
For all his faults, Rene was—and always had been—a generous and inventive lover. Why was she even surprised that being the focus of his skills for a whole night was even more addictive now than it had been four years ago?
‘Teasing you has always been irresistible,’ he murmured, the approval in his gaze making her heart hurt even more. He cupped her cheek, then leant down to press a kiss to her lips, which felt more intimate than the mind-blowing climax they had just shared.
What would it be like to be the focus of his attention for ever?
The question whispered across her consciousness, foolish and desperate and reminiscent of that insecure girl, the yearning terrifying in its intensity.
She blinked, struggling to contain the idiotic emotion, the desperate longing to be his for more than one night, which she knew was an impossible dream.
He would never commit to one woman, and she had no desire to waste any more of her precious confidence on hoping he would commit to her.
This is about sex, and chemistry. You don’t love him, Mel. You just want him. And he wants you. There’s a difference.
She sat up, trying to create distance, and control the endorphin rush caused by spending a night in his arms. His gaze drifted down to her nipples as the sheet slipped to her waist.
‘Those breasts really are a work of art,’ he said, running his thumb under one tender peak. ‘I could actually feast on them for hours.’
‘You already have,’ she said and forced herself to smile, even as the thought that their time was nearly up made her heart stutter in her chest.
She turned to discover the spectacular view of the gorge below them, which the chalet perched on the edge of, was ow clearly visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass.
The storm had passed. Their time was up.
‘We should get out of bed and see if the phone lines are working,’ she said, trying to be firm and practical. And ignore the massive weight now threatening to crush her ribs—at the thought of never being with him like this again.
This too shall pass, Mel. You’ve just reanimated an old crush, that’s all.
But as she sat up, suddenly desperate for some alone time to sort out her wayward emotions, he grabbed her arm.
‘Wait…’ he said, his gaze directed past her shoulder, his eyes narrowing. ‘What the hell is that?’
She turned and saw it, too. A small flying object, hovering above the gorge about ten feet from the picture window.
‘I have no idea…’ she began.
She stared at it, confused, as a red light blinked and then a white light flashed.
He swore viciously and dragged her back, flinging the sheet up to cover her bare breasts.
‘It’s a drone,’ he said, his eyes dark with fury. ‘And it’s taking pictures.’
Leaning past her, he slammed his fist on the button next to the bed to lower the shutter. But as the metal shield came down, protecting them from the drone, she could hear banging on the main entrance downstairs—and a muffled voice booming from a speaker.
‘Your Majesty, are you in there? Are you safe? This is the mountain rescue team.’
Rene framed her face. ‘It seems we’ve been found.’ Was that regret she could hear in his voice, or just another figment of her crush? ‘Stay here while I get dressed and let them in.’
She nodded, the emotion so thick in her throat she couldn’t speak.
He left her sitting in the darkness. She heard the search-and-rescue team entering the house, could hear the muffled voices and the crackle of radios as they informed the outside world that the two of them had been found safe and well.
But as she showered, washing away his scent, then got dressed, she became far too aware of all the tender spots, the soreness, where her body had been well used during the night, and yet still yearned for his touch.
When she ventured downstairs half an hour later, the house, their house, was full of people, including the commander of the mountain rescue team, the rest of whom were outside with a parade of snowmobiles, a couple of paramedics—who insisted on giving her a thorough medical check—a police chief, three officers and several Palace officials from Androvia, who explained that as soon as she was cleared, Isabelle was frantic to speak to her.
But she couldn’t find Rene anyway. When she finally worked up the courage to ask where he was, one of the police officers told her he was already on his way back to Saltzaland.
But he didn’t say goodbye.
The foolish thought pierced the daze of unreality gripping her as she was bundled into a large black SUV. She got another jolt when they passed the Jeep they had abandoned four nights ago, now being hooked up to a snowmobile to be towed back to Gaultiere Castle.
As soon as the SUV hit the mountain road to Androvia, the Palace official handed her a satellite phone and Isabelle’s voice came over the line, clearly distraught and trying not to show it. Mel reassured her friend she was well and gave her a heavily edited version of events, then had to repeat the same story to her mother, who had arrived in Androvia from London two days before to wait for news.
The relief when the calls were over was short-lived though, because as the car travelled through a phalanx of people and reporters and photographers camped out at the gates of the White Palace she realised how selfish she had been in the past four days. She hadn’t given a thought to Isabelle or her mum or all the other people who had been drawn into the frantic search to find them. All she had really thought about was Rene and herself and what it had meant to be with him again.
The White Palace staff welcomed her back as soon as the car stopped in the courtyard and she climbed out. Then Isabelle appeared on the Palace steps and rushed down them to wrap her in a fierce hug, tears of relief streaming down her face. She held her friend, aware of the Queen’s new fake husband Travis Lord standing behind Isabelle and looking surprisingly concerned and relieved for someone who wasn’t supposed to have any real skin in this game.
Mel tried to be happy, tried to smile, tried to feel comfortable with the outpouring of love and concern from Isabelle and then her mum and her work colleagues and friends and even Travis Lord, as the day wore on.
But the truth was, she didn’t feel found. She felt lost again. The way she had when Rene had disappeared once before without a word.
But as she lay in her own bed again that night, and tried to fall asleep without him beside her, she knew she only had herself to blame—for her aching empty heart and the cruel feeling of rejection, of loneliness, of never being good enough, that reminded her of her childhood.
Because she’d let herself fall down the rabbit hole again. Despite all her best intentions.
This isn’t love, it’s infatuation. Don’t be melodramatic , she told herself staunchly.
But if that was true, a small voice whispered from the darkness, why did it hurt even more this time?