Chapter 17
I can blame the drugs they gave me.
That’s the only excuse for acting so bold with Rodrick, but the truth is that flirting with him gives me this delicious flutter low in my stomach. It’s like playing with fire. I know it’s dangerous, but the heat it brings makes it worth it.
This time, while he drives me to that dinner, it’s just the two of us, not the swarm of bodyguards that always follow us, his and mine, and in my head, I pretend we’re on a date.
“Does Kaled know I’m in Scotland?”
“Yes, and that you’re grounded too, even if I didn’t tell him why.”
“And he didn’t complain? I mean, you and I . . . we’re both single and . . .”
I cannot believe those words left my mouth. Oh God, kill me now. I seriously need to learn to filter my thoughts.
He turns off the main road and looks at me, serious. “Your brother trusts me.”
The words hit my head like a brick.
Your brother trusts me.
It sounds like a warning, and I know why. He’s been more formal ever since I told him I liked when he touched me.
After I left him this afternoon, I kept thinking about how he makes me feel.
I let myself imagine, for one tiny, reckless moment, that Rodrick could be my first kiss, since he’s perfect in so many ways.
Mainly because coming from a different culture, he wouldn’t judge me or expect marriage just because of a kiss.
Add to that the fact that he’s gorgeous, sexy, and painfully masculine.
But what he just said threw me off a hundred-story building. I was going to test a few seduction tricks on him, but now that he’s stated his loyalty to Kaled, he won’t let himself lay a single finger on me.
Feeling guilty even for the thought of messing with his friendship with my brother, I change the subject to break the tension that’s returned.
“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?”
“You’ve probably noticed I’m not big on smiling.”
“It’s a figure of speech. I meant: promise you won’t think I’m an idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Jazmina.”
“Even after what I did yesterday?”
“Your mistake was sneaking away from the bodyguards and putting yourself at risk, but nothing that happened after you got to the party was your fault.”
Before I can think, I take his hand and squeeze it. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear that. I’ll probably mess up a lot before I start living the way I want.”
Again he veers slightly off the road to look at me and then at our joined hands. Embarrassed, I let go.
He says nothing, and assuming he doesn’t want to be involved in my plans, I fall quiet.
“Say what you were going to say but were afraid I’d laugh.”
“It’s nothing major. I just thought that when Scots go to social gatherings, they wear that skirt. A kilt, right?”
“Uh-huh. But nowadays they’re only used on special occasions—weddings, funerals, big celebrations. Today, specifically, even if we were going to a party, it wouldn’t be appropriate,” he says, cryptic.
I might be losing my mind, but I swear he’s hiding a smile, which in itself is a miracle.
“Why not?”
“I’m in the company of Her Royal Highness, Princess Jazmina Faheem of Rheadur.”
I get the distinct feeling I’m stepping into a trap, but I can’t resist. “And what does that have to do with anything?”
“Kilts are worn without underwear. I’d be naked under the skirt, princess.”
“Oh!” Heat floods me. “Can I ask why . . . um . . . you don’t wear anything underneath?”
“Mostly tradition. But I think the freedom of movement has something to do with it too.”
The heat spreads everywhere. “Okay, that’s enough.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“And you seem delighted watching me get embarrassed, Your Grace. Anyway, I’d like to see you in traditional Scottish clothing. Naked or not.”
He chokes so hard he coughs for almost a minute.
I turn to watch him and realize he has absolutely no idea what to say. Score one for me.
“The plaids on those outfits have meanings, right?” I change the subject before the thought of a naked Rodrick makes me combust.
“Yes. They’re called tartans, and each clan has their own pattern.”
“From afar, other than some being green, others red or blue, they all look the same.”
“But they’re not. Considering the clan wars in the past, it was important to show which family you belonged to. We’re proud of our origins.”
“That fits you. Pride. You look like a warrior even in a suit, my duke.”
“I’m Scottish in every sense of the word. A true Highlander,” he jokes, and I decide to remember this rare moment of good humor forever.
“I’d love to go to a traditional festival. What would I wear?”
“My colors,” he says, as if that’s obvious, and warmth blooms inside me.
“Any chance you’ll take me to one?”
He looks at me again. “In a few months, there will probably be a celebration.”
“For what?”
“A . . . commitment I have.”
He stays silent the rest of the drive, but when we arrive, he tells me not to get out because he’ll help me.
He’s full of contradictions: so blunt he borders on rude, but a gentleman in everything else that matters.
He opens the door, and again that silly feeling of being on a date makes me smile like an idiot. Here with Rodrick, in his homeland, I can pretend I didn’t make a fool of myself yesterday.
I trip getting out of the car, and to avoid falling, I grab onto him. He doesn’t hesitate to hold me. When I look up, he’s staring at me in a way that makes my knees weaken.
I can feel the warmth of his breath, smell the scent of his aftershave. The solid weight of his body against mine makes me tremble.
“Don’t let go yet,” I whisper, though I don’t fully understand why.
“Jazmina . . .”
“I just want to feel what it’s like to be in your arms.” My brain clearly evaporates around him. I’m pure jelly.
“It’s dangerous,” he says.
Embarrassed, I try stepping back. I must look desperate and needy.
But when I try to pull away, he tightens his arms around me, pulling me even closer. He lowers his face, and I sense, more than feel, his mouth at my neck. I shiver, my hands clutching his forearms. My body, acting on its own, molds to his.
Rodrick makes a deep, rough sound, a sort of growl that makes me moan back. One hand grips the small of my back, and the other cradles my face.
His thumb strokes my cheek in a hypnotic caress.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“But do you want to?”
Instead of answering, he bites my chin.
“Ahhhh . . .”
“You can’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Moan like that. Drives me insane. I’m not the right man for you, princess.”
His words pop my blissful bubble.
“Let me go. You’re laughing at me. I wanted my first kiss to be with you,” I admit, “but because I want you, not because you pity me. I’m not going to be someone’s joke and—”
I don’t even finish. His mouth crashes onto mine.
His lips are warm and soft. Unlike his usual roughness, he kisses me slowly, exploring. It feels so good I want to mimic him, so I test copying his movements.
He traps my bottom lip gently between his teeth and bites.
I moan harder, thrilled, and when his tongue traces the outline of my mouth, I lose all sense. I rise on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
“Open your mouth. I want to taste you with my tongue.”
I obey, eager to learn.
He enters me slowly, preparing me, wetting every inch. The caress sends heat straight between my thighs, and I squeeze my legs together, desperate for relief.
I bite his lips because I want more—harder, deeper, longer.
A cough and then voices jolt us out of the trance.
I take a step back, stunned by the intensity. I wanted a kiss, but Rodrick . . . He melted me in his arms.
“That was totally inappropriate,” he says, probably worried he scared me. But really, it was the intensity that shook me. “It won’t happen again.”
It’s not easy to make me speechless, but humiliation hits so hard I can only nod.