Royal Families Vs. Historicals

She danced and angled her hips, trying to capture him.

He shook with want, barely able to see straight, but made himself hold off and only kiss her. “What will you do for me?”

“Anything,” she gasped, but opened her eyes. They were shiny with helpless torture, a hint of resentment even. She knew what he was demanding. Her.

He cupped her head and slowly, slowly sank into her. Their breaths mingled as their bodies joined, both of them parting their lips to release jagged noises of intense pleasure.

How could she resent this? How?

He made love to her then, sending her over the edge, then keeping her aroused so they were damned near clawing each other when the next crest approached. He didn’t think he could wait for her, but he wanted her with him. Demanded it with the hard thrust of his hips against her. Needed it.

She locked herself around him and released a keening noise, shuddering beneath him. The greedy clasp of her sheath triggered his own climax and he shouted in triumph as he joined her in the paroxysm.

* * *

Angelique was a little stunned by what she’d just experienced. Not just the ferocity of Kasim’s lovemaking. She’d been so aroused, she had craved that intensity, but there’d been a loss of self in that joining. He had been the only thing important to her. It left her scrambling to recover her sense of autonomy, while he made it impossible by rolling back into her and running proprietary hands over her still-tingling skin.

The condom was gone along with his urgency. Now he was the tender man whose touch was soothing and reassuring. He almost lulled her back into thinking everything about him was safe, but it wasn’t. He imperiled the very heart of her.

She put up an instinctive hand against his chest, resisting his effort to pull her into a sprawl across his sweat-damp body.

“What’s wrong?” He picked up her hand and lightly bit her fingertip, then kissed the same spot. “I can’t make promises about Berlin, but I will try. Good enough?”

He sounded languid and satisfied while she was completely dismantled.

“Is it because we might be found out?” She had been trying to think how they could continue on the sly, but couldn’t see a way, not unless he wanted to go broke buying private flats. He hadn’t seemed particularly worried about exposure anyway. “Would it be complicated for you with Hasna if something wound up in the press?”

He snorted. “I don’t consult my sister on how I conduct my private life.”

There. That was the issue. He resented her sister. She stiffened and tried to pull away.

“That was a cheap shot,” he allowed, arms clamping like a straitjacket around her. “I take it back.”

“No!” She turned her face away. “You don’t get to kiss me into forgetting you said it.”

He sighed against her cheek.

“I’m spoiled,” he stated without compunction. “Never second fiddle to anyone except my father and that is a finite situation, not that I wish his life away. I only mean that I am his heir and aside from him, I am autonomous.”

“Yet I’m supposed to be content as a second fiddle in your life.”

A long pause that was so loaded, she had to glance warily at him, fearful she’d truly angered him.

Maybe she hadn’t angered him, but she’d scored a point. She could see echoes of his mood earlier when he’d talked about his mother’s brutal treatment of his father’s second wife and his half brother.

“I have meetings all next week,” he said in a cool tone. “Roundtable discussions with a dozen of our region’s most powerful leaders. You must have an idea of our political and economic landscape? The stakes are always high. I go so my father won’t or he’ll send us back to the Stone Age. The conference could easily go into next weekend. That is the only reason I am avoiding saying yes to Berlin.”

“Fine.” Now she felt like she’d pressured a concession of sorts from him, but it was a hollow victory. “It was just a thought.”

“What are you doing there?” His tone wasn’t patronizing, but she read his question as an attempt to mollify her and move past their conflict.

“A fashion awards night.” She glossed over it. “There’s a white tie and champagne thing after. I’m presenting so I can’t skip it. You’d probably find it boring anyway.”

“Do you do a lot of these things? Who do you usually go with?”

She would not kid herself that he sounded jealous.

“Colleagues. Sometimes one of my brothers. Honestly, it’s fine. I’m supposed to be at a thing tonight and—” She’d forgotten to cancel, she realized. She had decided not to go once she realized Trella would be in town, but had paid the plate fee because it was a charity she liked to support. It wasn’t a big deal that she was a no-show. She shouldn’t be experiencing this stab of guilt.

All part of Kasim’s magnifying effect on her emotions, she supposed. She frowned, aware of a cloud of traitorousness blanketing her too, along with a niggling desire to rebel. She put it all down to letting him extract that surrender to his seduction at the expense of thinking of—

She scrambled out of his arms to sit up. Trella.

“What—?” Kasim made a noise.

She kicked away the covers as she scooted off the bed. “I have to check in with Trella.”

“Why?”

“I just do,” she muttered and quickly shrugged into his robe, tying it tight then leaving to scour the lounge for her cell phone.

* * *

Angelique had put down the agitation in her belly to the sound of an invisible clock ticking down on her time with Kasim and all the things that she was doing that were out of character: engaging in an affair, leaving her sister, shunning work responsibilities.

But there was that other plane of awareness that her sister occupied in her unconscious…

Kasim came into the lounge, pants pulled on, but wearing nothing else, blanking her mind. Lord, he was beautiful, moving with economy, sculpted muscles rippling under smooth, swarthy skin. For a moment she forgot to breathe, she was so captivated.

He prowled to where the food had been received and abandoned on the dining table an hour ago. They had been too busy with each other when it arrived to do more than set it aside and get back to bed.

He opened the wicker basket and said, “We should eat before this is stone cold.”

When he glanced at her, he caught her ogling. A light smirk touched his gorgeous mouth. He hooked his thumbs in his waistband, so sexy her mouth watered.

“Unless you’re hungry for something else?”

She swallowed and ignored the fact her blood turned to lava. It was better that he wouldn’t be in Berlin. He had way too much power over her as it was.

“I could eat.” She hid her reaction by gathering their still-full wineglasses and bringing them across to the table under his watchful eye.

“Your sister?” he prompted.

“Fine.” She bit her lip, flashing him an uncertain look. “She told me not to hurry back.”

Take advantage of flying under the radar as long as you can, Trella had texted, but Angelique was still aware of her sister in that peripheral way. Trella wasn’t frightened precisely, but she was disturbed.

They had used their authentication codes, though. She knew it was definitely Trella telling her to stay in London, coming across like an adolescent pushing for independence, insisting she was completely fine.

Angelique hadn’t tried a video call, too embarrassed at how much she would betray, especially wearing Kasim’s robe.

“So you’ll stay the weekend.” Kasim looped his arm around her.

“Do I have a choice?” she challenged tartly.

He stroked the back of his bent finger along her jaw, perhaps looking apologetic, but all he said was “Not if I have anything to do with it, no.”

Then he kissed her until she was leaning into him, utterly spellbound.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ASIDE FROM THE odd time when she had become tipsy from having too little to eat before having a glass of wine, Angelique had never been drunk or stoned. Kasim, however, provoked a feeling in her that she imagined one felt when ingesting party pills.

She walked around in a fog of euphoria after London, mood swinging wildly. One minute she was lost in recalling how they had essentially spent two solid days in bed, rising only to eat and make love elsewhere in the flat: the sofa, the kitchen chair, the shower. It made her too blissed out to care about the lost shipment of linen or the hundreds of euros in hand-made bobbin lace that wound up attached to the wrong gown.

The next minute she plummeted into a withdrawal depression, certain she’d never hear from him again. With his hand buried in her hair, he had kissed her deeply late Sunday afternoon, both of them aware cars and planes were waiting for them. He had finally released her, saying, “You won’t hear from me. I’ll be tied up in meetings. I’ll try to meet you in Berlin. If I can’t, we’ll figure out something for the following week.”

Would they, though? She wished they’d made a clean break of it. She could have handled that. This veering between hope and despair was too much!

If Trella noticed Angelique’s distraction, she didn’t say anything. She was immersed in finishing Hasna’s wardrobe, almost obsessing over each piece, working late and rising early to ensure everything was perfect. She seemed really wound up about it when she was usually the coolheaded one about deadlines and never lacked confidence that their work would be received with great enthusiasm.

Angelique had a fleeting thought that her sister was burying herself in work to avoid her, but they were behind, thanks to Angelique staying in London an extra day. It was probably her own distraction making it seem like her sister was off. She was grateful to Trella for picking up the slack and tried to set her own nose to the grindstone so they could ship everything as planned.

Then, even though time passed at a glacial pace, she suddenly found herself rattling around her hotel room in Berlin, phone in hand as she compulsively checked her messages for word from Kasim, behaving exactly like an addict needing a fix. She had sent him her agenda yesterday, mildly panicked at the lack of word from him. She absolutely refused to let herself text again.

Tonight’s event was taking place here in this brand-new hotel. Her suite was airy and ultra-contemporary, run by a firm out of Dubai that understood the meaning of luxury. She promised herself a soak in the private whirlpool tub when she returned later. It was already filled and warmed. Tiny whorls of steam wisped from the edge of its rollback cover and candles were at hand, awaiting a match.

She would need to drown some sorrows since it looked like Kasim wouldn’t turn up. She was devastated.

That shouldn’t surprise her. Right from the beginning he had pulled a formidable response from her.

She fought tears as she set out her gown and did her hair, then her makeup, saying a private Thanks, Trella, as her sister’s face appeared in the mirror to bolster her.

She wished now she had brought one of Trella’s designs. Her sister’s confections tended to have a self-assured cheekiness whereas Angelique’s evoked more introspective moods. Hers tonight was wistful and damned if it wasn’t blue.

A powder blue in silk, sleeveless, but abundant enough in the skirt to move like quicksilver. The bodice was overlaid with mist-like lace that split apart at her naval and fell into a divided overskirt that became a small train. She pinned her hair back from her face, but let it fall in loose waves behind her naked shoulders and painted her lips a meditative pink.

Her earrings were simple drop crystals that caught the light. A velvet choker with a matching stone collared her throat. A panic switch was sewn on the underside. She and her sister often joked about starting their own line of high-end security wear, but they didn’t want to tip off anyone that they wore it themselves.

Just for a moment, as she took in her reflection, she wondered what it would be like to live without so much vigilance. In a prince’s harem, for instance.

This lipstick really emphasized the pout she couldn’t seem to shake. Ugh.

She gathered her composure before facing the masses. It was better that Kasim wasn’t with her, she consoled herself. Events like this, when her presence was advertised ahead of time, were always particularly rabid attention-wise. Maurice wore special sunglasses to deal with the glare off the flashbulbs it was so bad.

Maurice was reading something on his phone when she came out the door. He tucked it away promptly, but took it out again when they were in the elevator, since they were alone.

“Je m’excuse,” he said. “It’s a report about some photos that have surfaced. I’m sending instructions to question their authenticity.”

She dismissed his concern with a flick of her brows. “Of me with the prince?”

“It says ‘prince,’ yes, but—”

“I don’t care,” she insisted, even though she cared a great deal.

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and some models joined them. One was beyond thrilled to be sharing an elevator with One of The Sauveterre Twins. Maurice put his phone away and remained alert while Angelique exchanged a few remarks with the strangers and consented to a selfie.

Moments later, the doors opened onto the ballroom floor. The paparazzi went mad as soon as they saw she had arrived.

Maurice guided Angelique down the narrow pathway toward the VIP entrance where greeters would be waiting to check off her name on a tablet and handlers would hand her a swag bag that she invariably gave to her mother.

As she approached, a man in a tuxedo turned to look at her.

Kasim.

* * *

He was asking if she’d already entered the ballroom when the madness behind him made him turn.

She was stunning. Like an ethereal creature surrounded by fireflies as a million flashbulbs went off behind her.

Even more riveting than her beauty, however, was the way her composed features softened with surprise, then dawned into warm recognition. Her eyes sparkled and a joyous glow suffused her. Her breasts rose as he moved toward her.

He caught his own breath. Him. The man who had decided this affair was too inconsequential to mention to his father, merely stating he had, indeed, resolved the situation with Sadiq’s “friend.” While he’d been so far away from her, he’d been able to convince himself their time together had been merely a pleasant diversion.

Nevertheless, he’d found himself bulldozing his way through his meetings, working late to negotiate agreements and pushing hard for resolution, a mental clock urging him to leave on time to be here with her. He had worked nonstop on the plane, barely sparing a moment to put on his tuxedo before finalizing a few last details over the phone in his car, arriving at the perfect moment to watch her emerge from the gauntlet.

Bulbs were still flashing as she unconsciously posed, awaiting his approach with that beautiful, reverent look on her face. He wondered what his looked like. Irritated and possessive, he imagined, since he wanted to steal her away from this madhouse. Now.

Mindful of her flawless appearance, he held back on crushing her even though he ached to feel her against him. Instead, he took her hand and detoured past her lips to press a light kiss to her cheekbone.

Her lashes fluttered closed and she breathed, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He almost didn’t hear her, but the blush that stained her cheeks told him she’d said it and was adorably self-conscious for having revealed herself like that.

“Are you?” He straightened to bask in her look of adoration. “Because I think we’ve been found out.”

Behind her, the paparazzi had moved to completely block the passage. They had become a wall of strobing light and a din of clicks and whirs and shouts of her name.

“Is there anyone else here?” Angelique blinked her green, green eyes, mouth quirking with irony. “I only see you.”

“You’re stealing my lines.” Stealing something else if he wasn’t very careful. “Let’s get this evening over with so I can have you to myself.”

* * *

They created a huge stir and for once she didn’t care. She was proud, so delighted and proud, to stand beside this man. He was here. It wasn’t the most important occasion of her life, but it was important to her that he had made an effort.

He wanted to be with her.

Although, that could change if the attention didn’t lighten up. Kasim might not be as infamous as she was, but with those features, the camera had to love him. His air of detachment meant eyes followed him with a yearning for scraps of his notice.

“You weren’t exaggerating about the attention,” he said when she returned to her seat after her presentation and he rose to help her with her chair.

“No,” she agreed, then had to tease, “Scared?”

“Pah!” he dismissed.

They were an “it” couple before the final speeches had wrapped. “Kasimelique,” one of her colleagues teased her in a whisper as the trays of champagne began circulating and the networking portion of the evening began.

“I’m so glad to have that over with,” Angelique said to Kasim once they had the first rush of introductions over with and were able to move into a quieter corner for a moment alone. “Did I sound all right when I was onstage?”

“Perfect. You weren’t nervous, were you? You didn’t look it.”

“I told you, my trick is to pretend I’m Trella. Do you know that man?” She tried not to sound so keyed up as she flicked her glance to the right, but this crush of people was wearing on her. “The blond one with the sash,” she clarified.

The stranger was tall and quite handsome with a regal bearing. He wore the red satin as a bold streak across his chest beneath his jacket.

“He keeps looking this way. Maybe he’s related to a client, but I can’t place him. I’m going to be so embarrassed if he comes over and I don’t know his name.” The Champagne probably wasn’t a good idea, but she took a sip anyway. This was still her first glass.

“I don’t know who he is, but I recognize the look.” Kasim seemed to stand taller and more alert. He took a half step closer to her.

“What do you mean? Like, Nordic heritage? Or do you mean you know the sash?” She lowered her glass, smile fading as she read the suspicion in the way he looked down his nose at her.

“I mean possessive. He’s resentful of my place beside you. Jealous.”

“Are you serious?” She tried a laugh, but realized very quickly that Kasim was more than serious. He was trying to see inside her head.

“Kasim.” She was deeply offended. “I swear to you, I don’t know him.” But she could see the reel of her online exploits playing behind his eyes.

“Believe what you want,” she said frostily. Don’t you dare, she silently railed, heart clutched in a vise. He didn’t trust her? After all they’d shared?

Well, honestly, what had they shared? A weekend of sex and not even some long-distance afterplay via text.

She looked at him with new eyes, thinking of how much she had anticipated his meeting her here, but now she had to wonder if she wasn’t simply a convenient booty call. It was so lowering, she had to remind herself to breathe.

“Excuse me.” He walked away into the throng, leaving her staring at his disappearing back, confounded and trying not to panic. That was it? He had just broken off their affair because a stranger looked at her in a way he didn’t like?

Before she could fully absorb that and succumb to fury or despondency or both, the stark white of a truly beautiful tuxedo parked itself before her. It was cut by the slash of red and there was a star-shaped pin at his shoulder with a shield inside it.

The man could have come out of a fairy tale, he was so patrician and perfectly hewn.

She hated him on sight and wanted to throw her champagne in his face, but he spoke with an exotic accent and impeccable manners.

“Your lost item, Cinderella.” He offered her a cupped hand.

Inside it was a gold hoop earring with a line of diamonds down the front. It looked exactly like a pair she owned. They’d been a gift from her father for her fifteenth birthday—not something run-of-the-mill that showed up in every low-budget jewelry shop. Trella’s were similar, but that one was definitely the match to her own.

She took it to examine it more closely, trying to recall when she’d worn them last.

“Where—?”

“Caught under the pill—” he started to say in a tone that was very throaty with latent passion, but he cut himself off. Something in his expression grew sharp and arrested as he studied her face. Whatever lightness might have been in his mood became something accusatory as his gaze moved restlessly over her like he was searching for something he couldn’t find.

She knew that look, but refused to believe she was interpreting it correctly. It was far too outrageous to imagine—

“I knew if I walked away, he would approach you,” Kasim said, reappearing beside her.

Angelique startled, not exactly guilty, but defensive. No. She needed time to figure out what was going on with this stranger. She searched his blue eyes, now distinctly frosted with hostility toward Kasim. And her.

Kasim’s gaze cut to the earring in her hand, making her close her fist around it.

“Introduce us.” Kasim’s tone was lethal.

Angelique was distantly aware of people sidling by them, glancing their way.

Kasim’s expression was positively murderous and this stranger was shifting his gaze from her to Kasim, contempt curling his lip.

“I told you,” she insisted to Kasim in an undertone. “I don’t know him.”

Trella, you didn’t.

“My timing is inconvenient,” the stranger said, flicking a look to Kasim that was a silent warning. Be careful with this one.

It was so infuriatingly male, like they were lofty equals who came across tarts like her all the time, she instantly wanted to smack him. Both of them. How dare he show up and throw her under the bus this way. How dare he touch her sister! Her heart began to race, trying to assimilate how it could possibly have happened.

Was she crazy? Could he have been with Trella? How? When?

At the same time she was trying to work it out, she could see she was dropping like a free fall elevator in Kasim’s estimation. That hurt, damn it. How could he think this of her?

“If you’re going to accuse me of being a slut, at least tell me who you are,” she bit out.

“You picked that label,” the stranger shot back derisively. “And I don’t care that you’ve moved on, but those are real diamonds. I was going to send it by courier back to Paris, but I read that you were going to be here and I was in Berlin.” He shrugged a dismissal, looking distinctly bored as he glanced away. “My mistake. Carry on.”

But he stood there like he was waiting for Kasim to give up and leave, as if he wanted to continue talking to her.

“Back to Paris,” she repeated, reclaiming the stranger’s attention while hotly aware that Kasim was glancing away as though looking for an exit. “When exactly was I there with you? Wait. Let me guess,” she insisted, because it finally hit her. It was completely impossible, but she knew. “Last Friday night? The charity dinner for the Brighter Days Children’s Foundation?”

The stranger’s cheeks went hollow. “You know it was.”

“Kasim, where was I last weekend? All weekend?”

Finally she had his attention. His resentful, derisive attention.

“You are both aware I have a twin. Aren’t you?”

* * *

Kasim couldn’t say that he was relieved when Angelique cleared herself of cheating on him. He was still too gripped by residual possessiveness. Maybe his jealous rage had eased enough that he was capable of rational thought, maybe he’d ceased wanting to kill the other man acting so proprietarily toward Angelique, but he was still pulsing with adrenaline. The sheer force of emotion that had overtaken him as he identified a rival was paralyzing.