“I can see why this is your place,” Eva said, wandering to the staircase and running her hand over the natural wood railing. “It’s special.” It said something about Mak that the opulent jet had not. Spoke of his desire, his need, for solitude. Of his enjoyment of a simpler, more stripped-back existence.
“It’s quiet,” Mak said.
“And you like quiet.”
“I do. And you don’t.”
“I’m thinking of changing my opinion on that after the trouble I got myself into.”
“You didn’t act without intent, Eva. Stand by it, or abandon it.”
The harshness of his words struck her like a blow. The only reason they carried so much weight was because they were true. Even so, the reality of it was crushing.
She looked at the fire, watched the flames snake around the logs. “It went further than I intended it to. I mean I wanted … I wanted. Not this.” She’d wanted her father to ask her, just once, what she wanted. That had been nothing more than a foolish fantasy.
“As often happens. People typically don’t mean any harm. And those who don’t mean to … they’re usually the ones who cause the most damage.” His tone was rough, heavy. Then he paused, his demeanor changing, his face setting into a smooth granite mask. Unmoving. Unemotional. “Your room is up the stairs.”
She bit back a tart reply, something to bring back the moment of reality that had just passed between them. He’d been real there, even if it had been painful. She’d felt connected to him, at least.
Which was a pretty stupid thing to want. They didn’t really have anything in common. In point of fact, they wanted very different things since Mak was working for her father, and her father wanted things for her that she didn’t want for herself.
But somewhere, somehow, Mak had stopped seeming like the enemy. He felt more like an ally. Although, at the moment, he felt more like a cold stranger than the man she’d danced with in the garden.
The memory suffused her body with heat. Dancing with Mak, having him hold her so close, had transcended anything she’d ever felt before. She’d danced with men before, but it hadn’t burned her from the inside out. It hadn’t made her feel reckless and shaky, achy with a need she’d only ever felt in the privacy of her own room, late at night, with a fantasy lover’s hands on her body. A man who could be perfect because she’d created him to be.
But Mak, and the way he made her feel, had been very real.
Mak started up the staircase and Eva followed behind him. Trying, and not succeeding, not to check him out. But he was hot, and his very tempting, muscular rear was right in prime view.
If only she were half as audacious as the news story had made her out to be. That Eva wouldn’t blush when she looked at his body, when she thought of having his hands on her skin. No, that Eva would take what she wanted, when she wanted it.
In response, and defiance, to the thought, her cheeks heated.
Mak paused at the end of the hall, in front of closed double doors. “This is it.”
He didn’t make a move to open the doors, and she wondered why. Not because she needed him to open the doors, just because he usually displayed impeccable chivalry, deference to her position as a member of the royal family.
Or maybe it was a matter of the power shift that had happened the moment they’d left Kyonosian soil. She’d certainly felt it. There was no way he was oblivious to it.
She reached out and put her hand on the doorknob. It put her very near Mak and her breath caught in her throat. It was hard to breath with him so close, and even when she did manage to take in a short burst of air it flooded her with the scent of him. So familiar. So uniquely Mak.
She pushed the handle down and the door opened. “So I’ll … go. Can you have my bags brought up?”
He nodded once, his eyes intent on hers, his face still inscrutable. She hated that. Hated that he could remain a complete mystery to her while she had the feeling that, to him, she was an open book. She wondered just how much he read with each glance. If he knew why her cheeks got pink when he was so close. Why she struggled to breathe.
“Of course,” he said.
“I’ll …” She fought to finish the thought and failed.
“Go?”
“Yes.” She stepped into the room, expansive and warm, a lit fireplace similar to the one downstairs on the back wall, across from a large four-poster bed with a plush quilt draped over the foot.
“I’m tired. It’s … I’ll probably lie down for a while. But if you want to have my … my bags …”
“You want your bags,” he said, finishing her thought again. Her stupid, repetitious, rambly thought that was betraying just how scrambled her brain was.
“Yes. That would be … great.”
He looked at her for a moment, his expression hardening, a strange glint in his gray eyes. She was tempted to touch his face, then trace the faint scar that ran along his cheek. Tempted to touch the heavy, dark shadow that covered his jaw.
“I’ll have them sent up.” He turned sharply and walked back down the hall, down the stairs.
She stood in the doorway, watching. She still couldn’t breathe.
It was foolishness to bring Eva’s suitcases to her. Foolish to desire temptation as he did. To long for that touch of illicit thrill, that siren’s call to sin. To invite forbidden fruit to come near his lips, to smell it, allow his mouth water with the desire to have it, with no real intention of taking a taste. It was some new form of masochism he’d discovered since meeting Eva.
He found himself continually chasing it. The jolt of desire he felt when he was near her. The electric rush of blood through his veins, south of his belt, that made him feel alive. Made him feel like a man.
He put one of the large cream-colored suitcases down and knocked on the door to Eva’s room.
There was no response, and the silence brought to mind the mental image of Eva rappelling out the second-floor window and dashing through the deep snow in those ridiculous boots of hers.
He pushed the door open and stopped when he saw her, lying flat on her back on the bed, her arm thrown over her face, her dark curls tumbled around her head in a wild, glossy mass. She was still wearing her boots.
There was nothing suggestive about her pose, and yet, she stopped him cold, his heart thundering heavily. The dull throb of arousal working its way through his veins.
Her boots looked like an uncomfortable addition to her nap. Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on her leather-covered calf. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his body aching instantly at the feel of her warmth beneath his palm. He let his fingertips drift upward, stopping at the edge of the boot.
He pulled his hand back. He had no right to touch her.
Unzipping the boots and pulling them off would be too close to a taste. Much too close.
He curled his hand into a fist and tried to ignore the burning in his chest that was reminding him to breathe. Breathing was a risk. Her scent only pushed the level of temptation up higher, only made it more difficult to stop himself from getting closer, from touching.
She sighed and arched her back, her breasts pushing against her sweater, round and full. He gritted his teeth against the rush of need that flooded him.
She pushed up, her hair spilling over her shoulders. “Mak?”
His name on her lips, her voice thick with sleep, was like a punch straight to his gut.
“I brought your bags. You were tired.”
“Yeah.” She arched and stretched, her movements smooth, feline. Sexy.
“Feeling better?”
“A little bit.” She got off of the bed and walked over to the window, her hips swaying as she walked, his control, already shaky, not up to the task of keeping his gaze from straying to the round curve of her butt. “It’s really beautiful here. Maybe I need some quiet. Maybe I need this.”
He was starting to think it had been a mistake. He should have found somewhere else. Somewhere busy. Somewhere she might not be as recognizable but could still get out, get to a public place with as many people between them as possible.
Anything was preferable to having her alone in a bedroom, with every freedom, physically, to do just as he pleased.
But that physical freedom, the ability to touch her, kiss her, meant nothing. Not when he was bound by honor, by his word, to protect her as her father wanted her protected.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“I can have my housekeeper make something.”
She frowned. “It’s easy to forget there are other people here. It feels like we’re the only two people on the planet.”
“There aren’t nearly as many people here as there are in the palace in Kyonos. And my staff don’t live on site. They live down in the village at the base of the mountain. I’m not here on a regular basis so I really just need a caretaker most of the time to ensure things don’t fall apart.”
“How many people are here when you’re here?”
“Just Liesel and her husband Jan. She cooks for me, and he does a lot of the general prep for the house. Makes sure the fires are going so that it’s warm by the time I arrive. Then they typically leave after dinner.”
“So … you end up here alone for a lot of the day?”
“Yes.”
A tiny crease marred her brow. “I don’t think I’ve ever really been alone. There’s a staff of hundreds at the palace in Kyonos. Discounting the guard, of course. A lot of them live there, someone is always up working.”