The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12. Кейт Хьюит
Finally he’d dismissed the memories as a boy’s romantic imagining, unfair to Christina, to be blocked out as fanciful and unreal.
Only it wasn’t. He knew it now, the moment he touched her.
For this was no kiss. It was the searing fusion of two bodies kept apart for too long, two bodies meant to be together as one.
Forged by fire… That was how it felt. The heat was not imagined—it was real—a flame consuming all, making his hold on her tighten so he was crushing her against him as his mouth devoured hers, taking as well as giving, demanding her response, needing her as he needed a part of himself.
Holly. His heart, his home. The words slashed into his consciousness. How could he have forgotten his desire for this woman? He’d pushed it into the dark recesses of his memory, yet here she was, exquisite, desirable—and free.
He was free as well. Fix it, Sebastian had ordered, and he could, simply by taking this woman as his wife.
Holly. His captive wife. He was tasting her, loving her, wanting her. She was all his, folded into him, with his body moulding against hers. His hands slipped to her hips, cupping the smooth rise of her thighs. He was tugging her closer, closer, but still she wasn’t close enough. Without breaking the kiss he lifted her, up into his arms, against his heart.
For one glorious moment he felt her submit. He felt her arms come round his neck, deepening the kiss, clinging, merging into him. She was his. His!
But then… He shifted slightly, to gain a better hold, and the movement broke the contact. Just a touch—a heartbeat. But it was enough. He felt her hands come between their breasts and she was pushing away.
No! He tugged her close, intensifying the kiss, but she was hauling away, breaking the contact.
‘Andreas, stop.’
And he knew what she was saying. For already he was turning towards the bedroom, intent, desperate, wanting only to be as close to this woman as he could possibly get.
He could take her. This was his woman.
But this was Holly, and somewhere beneath the smouldering desire of a royal prince was a boy who’d been in love. Instinctively, involuntarily, he hesitated and looked down at the woman in his arms. Her eyes were dark with passion but there was something else. He expected anger but the anger was gone. In its place…
Trouble. Doubt.
‘Agapi mou…’ he said softly. ‘My heart, what is it?’
‘I don’t want this.’
‘You don’t want me?’
‘That’s not what I said,’ she whispered. ‘I think I want you as much as life itself—I always have—but, Andreas, you have to give me time to think.’ It seemed as much as she could do to get the words out.
‘If you think then you’ll refuse me,’ he said simply.
‘Then maybe I have to refuse you,’ she managed. ‘Please, Andreas, put me down.’
‘And if I don’t?’ He didn’t want to release her. Damn his scruples. He was prince here after all, and this was his woman. This was how he felt about her. She was the mother of his child and he wanted her so much his thighs burned.
‘If you’re the man I think you are then you won’t take me against my will,’ she whispered and it was said with such assurance that he groaned inwardly. But he set her to her feet. It felt like cutting his heart out. To lose her…
‘You want me as much as I want you,’ he growled. ‘Admit it.’
‘My body wants you,’ she said, and suddenly her voice was even; sure. ‘But my head’s saying we’re crazy. My head’s saying we ended up pregnant before when precautions didn’t work. Will I risk ending up with another baby—maybe even another loss and grief—because of one night’s passion?’
Her words were enough to sober him. It was enough to look into her eyes and see the truth written there—a pain he hadn’t shared, which had torn her in two.
So he released her. She staggered as he set her away from him, and it was as much as he could do not to react, to watch her gravely as conflicting emotions flitted over her face, as she stepped away from him—as sense won over raw desire.
‘I… need space,’ she said unsteadily and backed toward her room.
‘But you’ll think of what I’ve said?’
‘Yes, I’ll think,’ she whispered. ‘And, Andreas?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ll think because you did set me down,’ she said. ‘I’ll think because you showed honour. Despite all that’s gone before, I trust you. If you say you need to marry me for your country’s sake, then I believe you. But that doesn’t mean I agree. I need to get it right in my own head first. You have to give me time.’
‘I—’
‘Don’t say any more. I can’t afford to listen.’
‘Holly—’
‘No.’ She blocked her ears and she tried for a smile—a smile of a child in mischief. It almost came off. With her ears firmly blocked she turned away from him. ‘Lalalalalalalalala,’ she sang at the top of her voice. ‘Lalalalalalala.’
And, still singing, she fled.
He turned and Sophia was watching. She was holding a tray as if she was about to clear things from the table, but he knew she’d been standing there, listening.
‘Were you about to hit me with a wine bottle?’ he asked ruefully, and she smiled at him, but her smile held sympathy.
‘I know you, my Andreas. You would not hurt her more.’
‘I would never hurt her.’
‘You already did.’
‘Did she tell you that?’
‘Rumours,’ she said simply. ‘They’ve reached even here. I heard you fathered a child with this woman?’
‘And…’
‘And this one has lost a baby. I know this. I talked to her about my sons and I saw her pain. And now you stand back with honour. So what will you do?’
He stared down at her, his old nurse, a lady in her sixties, bossy, matriarchal. His servant.
His brothers might raise their brows in supercilious disdain and walk away. He could not.
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.
‘You want her.’
‘I’d forgotten how much.’
‘Then you need to woo her,’ Sophia said wisely. ‘You have to be gentle. Give her time.’
‘There is no time. I have to get this sorted.’
‘You rush this and you’ll end up with nothing.’
‘She must—’
‘There is no must about it. She’s a smart lady and she will not take kindly to musts.’ Her wise eyes creased into a smile. ‘She will make you a woman in a million. You and Christina… no and no and no. But you and this Holly…’
‘Sophia, leave it.’
‘I leave it,’ she said, and to his astonishment she reached up and kissed him, something she hadn’t done for twenty years. ‘I leave it to you. To your good sense. To your brains, hey, and not to your balls. That’s what got you into this mess. You and your brothers and your father, messes all round. Now your brains have to get you out.’
She thumped him on the chest and chuckled, then carried her tray serenely out to the pool to clear the table.
Holly