Marrying Her Royal Enemy (13 page)

“We should go to bed,” she said huskily.
Before he obliterated her again.

“Or not.” He covered her mouth with his and bit lightly into her lower lip. “It is our wedding night after all. Creating an heir is...necessary.”

Her head spun as his mouth hovered over hers, their breath mingling.
Waiting. Anticipating.
Her insides fisted tight with need. The urge to walk away, to extricate herself before he destroyed more of her defenses, dissolved in a sea of lust.

This
was
her wedding night. Rational thought could come tomorrow.

Gripping her hips, he lifted her, bringing her down so her knees straddled his lap. Eyes on hers, he settled her against his erection covered by the thin pajama bottoms he wore, no barrier to the thick heat that parted her most intimate flesh with possessive intent.

Her gasp split the air.
“Kostas—”

He rocked against her, sliding his staff against her. Every sensual movement stoked the inferno rising inside of her.

The whisper of his big hand sliding along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. A stroke of his fingertips against the crease where hip met leg. She squirmed against his touch, flesh on fire.

“Get on me,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to take you like this.”

Excitement pounding through her veins, she reached down, freed him from the silk that covered him and guided his rigid shaft to her slick flesh. Lowering herself on him, the wide tip of his body pressing against her, a harsh breath escaped her. She froze, absorbing the power of him inside her still tender flesh. Centimeter by centimeter she took him inside her until his big body stretched her muscles so tight she was at the very edge of how much pleasure she could take. Until he touched things that had never been touched before.

Never had she felt so full, so taken, so
possessed
.

“You have all of me now,” Kostas said huskily, his voice a hot burn in her ear. “Is that good,
yineka mou
?”

She nodded, past speech. Opening her eyes, she set her hands on the muscular bulk of his shoulders. There was emotion radiating from those fiery, dark eyes as he watched her. He felt
something
for her. But his caution rang in her ear, underlining her own promises to herself. He wasn’t ever going to let himself be his father, nor was she ever going to become her mother.

She closed her eyes and focused on the sea of pleasure washing over her. Kostas lifted her off him, then filled her with a delectably slow movement, his erection tantalizing every inch of her. He did it again and again until she dropped her head back and moaned with the pleasure of it.

Cupping her bottom tighter in his palms, he increased his pace, thrusting into her with a deep, intensely erotic focus that sent starbursts of blinding pleasure exploding behind her eyes. He was so big, so hard, he pushed her pleasure beyond anything she’d ever felt, winding her tighter and tighter with each controlled thrust.

“Kostas—”
Hot, white lightning radiated out from her center, stiffening her limbs, toes. Whispering hot, heated words in her ear, he pressed his thumb to the tight bundle of nerves at her center, drawing out her orgasm. Another wave of pleasure washed over her, shattering her. Taking her mouth with his, Kostas filled her with deep, deliberate strokes, a low growl escaping his throat as he came.

When the tremors in both of them had subsided, Kostas picked her up and carried her back to bed. This time, as the crisp night air flowed in through the windows, he slept. Head on his chest, she absorbed the tiny victory, then let unconsciousness take her, too.

CHAPTER TEN

A
LAVISH
WEDDING
breakfast had been laid out in the newly renovated dining room of the Marcariokastro for close friends and family leaving Carnelia that day. The warm, charismatic room was a feast for the eye, its recent renovations retaining the original frescos on the walls and ceiling as well as its large, cathedral windows and stunning, intricate dark woodwork.

A massive harvest banquet table ran down the center of the room, the focal point of the space. Dressed this morning with the finest Laskos crystal and china, it was full of fresh flowers and the animated discussion of its occupants, a lively, happy destination. Except for the preoccupation of the bride.

Sitting at one end of the table with Alex, Sofía and Jessie while her new husband was immersed in conversation with her brother at the other end, she had woken up alone in bed again at seven, full of so many conflicting emotions about the night before she could have painted the Akathinian Independence Day parade in about fifty colors of them.

Confusion about her feelings for Kostas. Concern about the pressure he was under. Worry she felt more for him than she’d ever let herself admit.

He had looked as preoccupied as he had the night before when he’d entered the dining room this morning, greeting her with a quick kiss before sitting down with Nik. She knew in her bones something was going on he wasn’t telling her.

“So,” Alex said archly as Sofía and Jessie went off to find more of the figs and fresh waffles, “how was last night?”

Stella eyed her. “Are you asking me to give you details about my wedding night?”

“Yes.” Alex looked unrepentant. “I want to know if that hunk of a man is as good as he looks.”

She took a sip of her coffee. Reined in her emotions. “Yes. He is.”

Alex’s mouth turned down. “That’s
all
you’re giving me?”

“Yes.”

Her sister did not need to know her night with Kostas had been mind-blowingly good. That it had exceeded her expectations in every way. That she was sore in places she’d never been sore before. Because he had also annihilated her defenses, stripped her bare, left her skin feeling too sensitive, her vulnerabilities wide-open.

Alex eyed her. “You okay?”

“Tired.”

Her sister chewed on her lip. “Can I say something brutally honest?”

“That depends on what it is.”

Alex took a sip of her coffee. Set it down. “Any fool could see you and Kostas have deep feelings for each other. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room last night. Try not,” she said quietly, eyes on hers, “to sabotage this relationship as you’ve done every other.”

Antagonism lanced through her. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

She put down her cup and shoved it away. “This is a partnership, Alex. I’m too far gone to ever find love. I don’t have it in me and neither does Kostas. In that, we are a perfect pair.”

Alex frowned. “Don’t you think you and Kostas can be different? That you can build on what you have? Aristos is different,
changed
, since us, you’ve seen that.”

“Aristos was crazy about you from the beginning.” She sat back in her chair, her gaze flitting over her husband. “Kostas has been molded with so much fear and discipline, taught to keep his emotions inside of him at all costs or he will pay the price. I’m not sure he’s ever going to let himself feel. I would be crazy to think I can be the one to change him.”

“You don’t think I felt the same about Aristos? The press were putting bets on how long our relationship would last, Stella—
bets
—and I was falling in love with him. It was like walking on quicksand.”

An apt analogy.
“It’s not the same,” she said with finality. “I believe Kostas cares about me. I believe we can do great things for this country. But that’s as far as it goes.”

She moved the conversation on to when they would all next get together as her sister-in-law and Jessie came back, plates laden. Better to keep her expectations where they should be and focus instead on what was making her husband so edgy.

The last guest left in the late afternoon. Her husband retreated to his office, murmuring something about a pressing phone call. Missing her family already, Stella sat in the conservatory reading a book.

Her mood disintegrated as the hours went by and her husband remained chained to his desk. She’d signed on to a
partnership
, not to be shunted off to the sidelines while Kostas looked ready to self-destruct.

By nine o’clock she decided enough was enough. Heading upstairs to his study, she knocked, then entered. Kostas looked up from the document he was reviewing, a dark shadow on his jaw, his eyes weary.

“Lypamai.” I’m sorry.
“I didn’t mean to be in here all night.”

She fixed her gaze on his. “What’s going on, Kostas? What can I help with?”

An unblinking dark stare back. “Election mechanics. Boring but necessary.”

“Bore me, then.”

“I have to take another call in a few minutes. I’ll join you after that.”

Heat streaked through her veins at being stonewalled yet again. She turned on her heel and left. In their suite, she undressed and slipped on a more modest ivory negligee than her armor of the night before. Standing in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair with jerky, violent strokes, sending a cloud of electricity up in the air.

Her husband walked in minutes later, tawny gaze fixed on her.

“I thought you had a call.”

“I made it quick.”

She kept brushing.

“Stella—”

She threw the brush on the dresser and turned to face him. “Talk to me, Kostas, or go back to work.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“I think it is. You’re distracted. Your conversation with Nik looked intense.”

A weighted silence. “It’s Houlis,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to say anything until I had something substantial. I’m receiving intelligence reports he is getting desperate, that he may act before the elections. That phone call was with my security chief putting contingency plans in place.”

Ice swept her veins. “He stood there and wished us well yesterday.”

“Civility for civility’s sake.”

She pressed her lips together, a chill chasing up her spine. “Do we have enough support to repel him if he does act?”

“I believe so, but we won’t know for sure until the time comes.”

Until the times comes. Thee mou.
“The pushback you’re receiving on your modernization plans... Is that giving Houlis an opening he can exploit?”

That cast-iron look of defiance he’d been wearing for weeks passed across his face. “Perhaps. But it’s the right thing to do. Backing down on my plans would only cast my leadership into question. Give Houlis an excuse to pounce.”

“Heading into the last weeks of the election with an unhappy public will also do that.”

“I am not negotiating this point.” Spoken with an iron core.

Diavole
, but he was impossible. She gave up. “What are the security plans if something does happen?”

“The plan is to have Houlis and his supporters in jail before a coup can take place. As for you, Nik and I have an extraction plan.”

“An
extraction plan
?” Her hands clenched by her sides. “I am the queen of this country, Kostas. I’m not going anywhere if something happens. We are a team. I knew this was a possibility when I signed on.”

His expression hardened. “If your life is in danger, you go.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“We agree to disagree.” She held his gaze, a belligerent tilt to her jaw. “I’m tough—as tough as you.”

“Yes,” he agreed, mouth curving. “You are.”

She rested her hands on the edge of the dresser. “You can’t carry this alone, Kostas.
You
aren’t alone anymore. I am here with you.”

Something flickered in his impassive gaze. “All right,” he said quietly. “I promise you will know everything I know. But there’s nothing more we can do at the moment. We’ve taken every precaution we can.”

She studied the stoic, unfazed look on his strong,
infinitely strong
face. He had a bounty on his head and yet he was unfazed. As if it was just one more obstacle he had to surmount. But this was the man, she reminded herself, whose own father had considered him a threat—to be managed or eliminated. She wondered what kind of an iron interior you would need to have to deal with that. Likely the one that made her husband close himself off when any kind of threat, emotional or physical, put his existence in peril.

She walked over to the bed and sat down. Understanding him, getting through to those locked-away places she needed to know, meant finding out more about how that iron interior had been shaped.

“What was your life like?” she asked. “Being your father’s protégé? I can’t even conceive of it.”

He blinked at the change in subject. “You want to make this relationship work,” she said quietly, “let me in, Kostas. I’m trying to understand
you
.”

He leaned back against the dresser, long legs splayed out in front of him. “I didn’t know any different a life. My studies came first, my grandmother insisted on that. When I wasn’t with her or my tutor, I was with my father, shadowing his steps. Which, in reality, meant I was in the care of his bodyguards and security team.”

“You didn’t have a nanny?”

“My father didn’t believe in them. He said they made you soft.”

Of course he had.
“What about friends? Were you allowed to have them?”

“The question was did they want to be friends with me. I was the dictator’s son, my father was the man who would throw one of their parents in jail one day, or exile another the next. I didn’t have a lot of friends as a result of it. Sometimes the children of the palace staff were ordered to play with me when no one else would.”

Christe mou.
Her heart contracted into a tight ball.

“When my father did spend time with me,” he continued, “he was focused on the propaganda—maintaining our legacy. I was his most important disciple. It was all about control and power—over the people and the military junta who backed us. We needed to be impenetrable, stronger than all the rest. Emotion was anathema, a weakness never to be shown.”

“Emotion is not a weakness,” she countered. “It’s a strength. It’s how you become a balanced ruler, how you connect with the people. Your grandmother knew that.”

“Yes, but she and my grandfather were the exception to the Laskos dynasty. The rest of my ancestors governed with the same fear and intimidation my father did, perhaps to a slightly more moderate degree.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, asking the question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to. “The physical and mental controls he used on you...what were they?”

“It depended on the mood he was in. When he was on a dark, depressive swing and I’d displeased him, he would ignore me for days, lock me in my room. Sometimes he’d have his henchmen administer whatever punishment they thought fit.

“When he was in his manic phases, he would teach me the skills he thought I needed to master. I was a good shot for my age, for instance, but he wanted me to be the expert marksman he was. If I didn’t hit all the targets the first day we went shooting, we’d go back the next until my hands were bruised, my shoulder and arm numb from holding the gun. By the end of that second day I would be hitting those targets. I was so good I rivaled the sniper’s shots in the military.”

Her insides recoiled. “But not worth the price you paid, surely. No child should have to live up to those unreasonable standards of perfection.”

“No,” he agreed, with a nod. “I’m merely telling you how I was conditioned. It’s not a
way
I choose to be, it’s who I am.”

She shook her head. “You
feel
, Kostas, just like you’ve never lost your sense of right and wrong. Just like you never let that monster claim your soul. The passion you have for your people, how overwhelmed with emotion you get every time you see those big crowds that show up for you, the pain you have felt over Athamos’s death...it speaks to the depth of feeling you are capable of experiencing. You may
choose
not to allow yourself to feel, but that is another thing entirely.”

His mouth twisted. “I feel, but only so far, Stella. Whether it’s because I’m not capable of it, or I don’t allow it, the end result is the same. Don’t expect miracles from me.”

“I’m not looking for miracles,” she said quietly, “I’m looking for
you
, Kostas. I know you are in there somewhere.”

His face transformed into a blank, unyielding canvas. “Be careful what you wish for. You might not like what you find. You have unrealistic views of me, Stella.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Perhaps I once did, but not now. Now I realize it was unfair of me to hold you to the standards I did. Unfair of
everyone
to do it. All of us have our human failings—I, more than anyone—but you need to forgive yourself for yours, truly forgive yourself so you can rule with a clear head.”

His cheekbones hardened into sharp blades. “I
have
forgiven myself.”

She studied the tense set of his big body; how everything seemed to be locked away behind metal bars. “Have you?”

A frozen silence passed. She watched him retreat back into that impenetrable facade of his. “I have more work to do,” he said, levering himself away from the dresser. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Her skin felt too tight and her chest knotted as he walked out of the room. He had needed to hear that, she told herself. He still wasn’t thinking clearly about the impact of his aggressive plans on his people and the irreparable harm he was doing himself in the process.

She crawled into bed, physically and mentally exhausted. Kostas’s words echoed in her head.
Be careful what you wish for. You might not like what you find. You have unrealistic views of me, Stella.

Frustration curled her toes. She did
not
have unrealistic expectations of him. Hadn’t she just told him that had been unfair of her? Or had Tassos been right? Had Kostas shut down just now because he felt he didn’t deserve to be forgiven? That the mistakes he’d made had been unforgivable? Or were there other demons plaguing her husband she would never be privy to?