Their Virgin Princess (Masters of Ménage #4)(8)

Her captors had ensured she would never have any of that.

She gently pulled her hand from his, hating that moment they were no longer connected palm to palm. "Thank you. I'm fine now."

"Talk to me, Alea. Tell me what just went through your head."

She couldn't. It didn't matter how much she wanted to. She was never going to talk about it, especially to the three men she very nearly idolized. She was never going to tell anyone about her shame. "That's 'princess' or 'Your Highness,' please. It isn't seemly for you to call me by my first name."

Alea needed distance before she crumbled. In that panicked second, she didn't know how else to get it.

But when she saw his face in the next moment, she cared very much. Her heart ached as Landon drew back, his shoulders squaring and his eyes icing over. "I apologize, Your Highness. Like I said, I'm just a dumb grunt. Sometimes I forget my place. Perhaps we should go back to the party."

The urge to apologize and tell him everything swamped her. The impulsive need to bring Dane and Cooper in and confess everything, release all her pain to them, tempted her. But the past was her private hell. They were not only protectors, but kind ones, and she couldn't take advantage of that, imagining that her own feelings for them in any way mirrored theirs for her.

She couldn't have them, and they wouldn't want her-even if she was brave enough to try.

Landon opened the door, and music spilled out into the night. Alea followed him back into the ballroom. Instantly, friends and family surrounded her, yet she still felt utterly alone.

 

* * * *



Dane Mitchell cursed under his breath as Alea walked into the ballroom followed by a sullen Landon. To an outsider, Lan's frown wouldn't look any different than normal, but Dane had been around the Texan long enough to know when he was in a real shit-kicker of a mood. Lan's shoulders were too square and tight, his movements lacking their normal grace, to be anything but pissed off. Dane had little doubt it was something the prickly princess had said.

"Dayum, what do you think happened out there?" Coop's voice came over Dane's earpiece. "Lan's doing his whole 'stony soldier' routine."

"No idea." But something had happened, and it had affected Alea, too. She'd pressed her mouth into a grim line and looked close to tears.

Stopping at the edge of the ballroom, she drew in a breath and collected herself. Oh, it looked to most as if she was merely smoothing her dress down and checking her hair in one of the ornate mirrors that lined the hallway, but Dane knew better. If she'd listen, he'd tell her that she looked stunning. He'd tried to tell her about a hundred times that she was the most gorgeous woman on the face of the fucking planet, but she always demurred. He would have comforted her, but she'd just shut him down and push him away. Same as always.

"You don't think Lan would have suggested that she find the rest of her bodice, do you? Because we all agreed that was likely a damn fine way to lose our balls," Coop joked.

When she'd first walked out of her room earlier in the evening, it had been right there on the tip of his tongue to order her back inside to find a dress that actually covered her breasts. Luckily Coop had known he was about to unleash his inner Dominant on a woman who wasn't ready to handle the demand. Coop had slapped him on the back, shooting him a glance that warned Dane he was about to make an idiot of himself. Into the silence, Coop had loudly proclaimed to Alea that she looked beautiful. She'd taken that to mean her dress, then explained that someone named Narciso had designed it. Dane didn't give a shit. Narciso needed to learn how to sew a proper top into his wretchedly expensive evening gowns.

Lan had just kind of drooled.

Alea had finally cracked a smile as she lifted her gown a fraction and showed off her ridiculously hot shoes. Then all Dane could think about was just how nice those stilettos would look wrapped around his neck as he drove his cock deep. And then she'd utterly shut down as though she'd realized she'd sought their opinions and enjoyed their attention. After that, she'd straightened her gown and dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

He was getting real damn tired of Alea always pushing them away. If he believed for a minute that she didn't want them, he would take a mental step back and protect her from afar. But he'd noticed the way she sometimes watched all three of them when she thought no one was looking.

Now, Lan stood a good ten feet behind her, watching her as she visibly calmed herself. She turned to him and said something, her hands coming up in a little plea.

"Oh, here we go. I've lived this scene before. Allow me. 'Don't follow me, Lan. Please, let me get my gorgeous self horribly murdered by the first psycho who comes along. It's my right.'" Coop sometimes provided offbeat dialogue when they were too far away to hear the object of their affection actually speak.