“Back at the chalet, I thought that moment in the living room would be our last kiss,” he said, his voice rough.
She swallowed. “So did I.”
“I don’t want it to be our last kiss.”
“I don’t either.” She didn’t want there to be a last kiss, she wanted there always to be another kiss on the horizon. To have years of them. To fall asleep to them and wake up to them. But no one ever asked what she wanted.
He tilted his head and brushed her lips with his. Every pore of her body sighed with relief. For now, there would be more kisses. Maybe too many to count. And she would take that. Happily.
He deepened the kiss and she met him, sliding her tongue against his, spreading her hands over his shoulders, down his back, holding him to her, as he tightened his hold on her.
A sob climbed her throat, but she suppressed it. She didn’t have time to cry. She couldn’t waste one moment of this time with him by being sad, or by regretting what wasn’t to be. She had to seize now. She had to live in it completely.
She loosened his tie and undid the top four buttons on his shirt, spreading it as wide as she could so she could reach her hand in and brush her fingers over his muscles, letting them follow the contours of his body, the gorgeous, defined lines that were so sexy they made her hands tremble.
He slid his hands down her waist, to her hips, gathering the gauzy fabric of her gown in his hands and bunching it into his hands, moving the hemline from the ground to her mid calf. She tilted her head and he kissed her neck, her shoulder, running his tongue along the edge of her gown’s neckline.
She shivered beneath the sensual friction and he brought the hem of her gown up higher, to her knees, before lowering one hand and sweeping it beneath the fabric. He moved his hand up her thigh, cupping her bare hip, finding her panties and drawing them down. She kicked them to the side and he moved his hand around to palm her butt.
“Please tell me you came prepared for this,” she said as he walked her backward toward the stone bench.
“I did. Though I’m not certain that’s something I should be proud of.”
“I’m happy about it,” she said, trying to lighten the moment, trying to move some of the heavy weight off of her chest.
“That’s a relief.”
She sat on the bench and he knelt before her, pushing her dress up past her hips, exposing her body to his gaze. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. She shivered, anticipation tightening her stomach. He’d done this quite a few times during their stay in Switzerland, and he never disappointed.
He zeroed in on her most sensitive spot, his tongue lavishing her with attention on that one place that sent waves rippling through her entire body. She could feel herself getting close to the edge, feel her orgasm building, like water contained by a splintering wall of glass. Slowly, slowly, building pressure.
He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, fishing a condom out of one of the sections.
“You’re a regular pro,” she said, trying not to sound, or feel, too bad.
“Necessity,” he said.
She reached for his belt buckle and undid it, her fingers shaking as she pushed it through the loops and opened his fly. She could see the outline of his erection pressing against his underwear. She pressed her palm over his hardened flesh, testing his weight.
His breath hissed through his teeth and he moved nearer to her. She pushed his underwear over his shaft, encircling him with her fingers, squeezing him. He handed her the packet, and she tore it open, rolling the condom down over his length.
The pause in full-on contact had helped some of the pressure ease, but the moment his body was back up against hers, his hardness pressing against her, it all crashed over her again.
She hooked her legs over his hips and he angled himself, pushing inside her slowly.
“Oh, Mak,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, hiding her face against his shoulder as a deep, overwhelming sense of satisfaction spread through her.
“Eva,” he ground out, his hand on her lower back, drawing her forward. She tilted her head back and looked at him, completely captured by the expression of dark sensuality etched into every line of his face.
He thrust into her, his eyes never leaving hers, unless he was leaning in to kiss her lips, to whisper hot, forbidden words in her ear.
Every thrust, every word, pushed her higher, put more cracks in her control, until it all burst, pleasure rushing through her. Uncontrollable, unstoppable. Mak’s pace increased, every movement forcing a small aftershock every time his body pressed against hers.
He froze against her, a harsh sound escaping his lips as he dropped his hand from her back, his palm braced hard on the bench as he embraced his own release.
She cupped his face in her hand, moving her fingers over his sweat-dampened skin, pushing her fingers through his thick hair. A tear slid down her cheek and she didn’t even try to stop it.
“How much time,” she whispered, her throat so tight it was almost impossible to speak.
He shifted, his focus drifting to his watch. “Twenty minutes.”
Her chest trembled, shaking as she held a sob at bay. “Okay.” She pushed gently on his shoulders.
He stood, turning and rounding a corner for a moment, returning a moment later with his clothes righted, the condom discarded.
She stood then, her knees unsteady, and brushed the front and back of her dress, trying to make sure everything was lying as it should. Checking to see if her hair was in place, her bodice tugged up where it should be.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his hand hover by her cheek for a moment before curling his fingers into a fist and dropping it at his side.
“I’ll escort you back.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
The walk back seemed so much shorter than the walk into the garden had been. They came out of the foliage and back into the light, the noise of the party.
She went through the same door they’d used to exit the palace. The corridor was strangely empty now. She looked at the door to the ballroom, partially opened. She could see impressions of people moving around inside. Waiting for the announcement. Waiting for her.
“Eva,” Mak said, his voice broken. “I’m sorry. That was …”
She pulled back from him, feeling a break between them, anger tightening her chest. “Don’t. Don’t apologize to me for what just happened. Don’t apologize for any of it. Ever.”
She walked away from him, toward the ballroom … closer. She stopped just outside the door. Her feet felt stuck to the spot. She turned and looked at Mak, a shiver racking her body, even though she felt no cold.
Bastian walked out of a side door, his fair good looks stirring nothing in her but the desire to run. To run toward Mak. She looked from her soon-to-be-fiancé, back to the man she loved, Mak, who was standing with hands at his sides, his expression one of barely suppressed violence.
“Evangelina, are you ready?” Bastian asked, his tone so polite, so detached, that not even the use of her name seemed personal.
She looked back at Mak, willing him to stop things. Willing him to ask her to stay. He didn’t. He only stood, frozen, watching her, his eyes cold. “Yes.”
She took his arm and headed into the ballroom with him, leaving her heart outside in the corridor, with a man she loved more than words could express.
She felt sick. She felt wrong. Her entire body felt branded by Mak, and now she had her arm looped through another man’s. Her body still ached, her lips were still swollen from kissing Mak. She felt as if what she had done, what she desired, was scrawled across her face for anyone to see.
She wanted to run. Away from Bastian. Away from everything.
But Mak was about honor. Mak lived it, he breathed it. Every line in his face spoke of the desire to go after her. But she knew he wouldn’t.
He had just broken every rule. For her. She knew he wouldn’t do it again. And she could never ask him to.
Because this was about more than one person. It was about the alliance of countries. It was about duty. And she knew that in Mak’s world, duty reigned. It was one of the things that made him so wonderful. One of the things that made him the man she loved.
She turned her back on love and turned toward duty. The pain coursing through her body protesting each step she took into the ballroom. Each step she took away from the life she desired, and into a life she would never have chosen. A life she would never be able to escape.
“The wedding will take place in just over three weeks.” King Stephanos made the announcement and the entire ballroom erupted into a collective sigh.
The prodigal princess, finally taking her place.
Mak watched from his position in the back of the room, his hand wrapped around one of the stone pillars, decorated with an intricate twining vine of bronze. A thing of beauty. And only one of the many things in the palace he would happily tear apart in that moment.
Eva looked waxen, her expression serene, guarded. He feared she might have learned that from him. He couldn’t spare a moment to look at the man standing at her side. He was unimportant. Mak wouldn’t waste one moment when Eva was in his sight.
Then Bastian Van Saant, began to speak and Mak tightened his hold on the pillar. So easy to imagine he was squeezing the other man’s neck. Far too easy. He talked about time-honored traditions, and uniting two powerful families. The unification of Komenia and Kyonos. He didn’t speak of love. Of why Eva was essential. Why she was special.