Kathleen Creighton - Romancing The Crown - Leila and Gage

“Look…Leila—” He took a step toward her, face darkened, both hands upraised and fingers tensed, as though he wanted to grasp her with them.

Her breath caught and her heart gave a frightened leap. Even she could see that it was not a welcoming gesture. But not a violent one, either. She thought he seemed more distraught than angry, and her fear was not for her physical safety. He would not harm her, she was certain of that.

Just as she was certain now that she had made a terrible mistake in judgment. Somehow, because of the vast difference in their cultures, probably, she had misunderstood him. She knew that he had not meant what she had thought he meant. Not at all.

I shouldn’t have come .

All of that passed through Leila’s mind in the time it took her to utter a single dismayed gasp. In the next moment, memory—sensual, visceral, overwhelming—slammed her with the force of a physical blow. Hard lips, smooth and gentle lips…liquid warmth, breath smelling of tobacco, trembling pressure and pounding pulse…

Her body felt cold, and her legs as if they would not support her weight. She heard a rushing sound in her ears. But I had to come…I had to. What else could I do?

She took one step forward…and into a void.

Swearing vehemently, Cade caught her as her knees buckled. Then, since there didn’t seem to be anything else to do, he scooped her up in his arms. This is insane. Ludicrous .

While casting frantically about for a place to deposit his unconscious burden, he caught a glimpse of himself and her in the gilt-framed mirror above the tile and marble fireplace—heaving breasts in a filmy gown against the backdrop of his own naked, sweaty chest…her pale throat a taut and graceful curve…raven hair cascading over his arms like a waterfall…Damn, he thought with a snort that was part irony, part disgust and most of all dismay. I look like the cover of one of those romance novels women are always reading .

He’d about decided to lay his swooning princess on the sofa when he felt her arms come to twine around his neck. He barely had time to register that fact before her hair began to stir against his skin, an incredible, unimaginable softness.

He shivered involuntarily and felt his nipples harden. As if in response to that, she turned her face toward him and touched him just there in a series of tender and tiny kisses, rather like a kitten, he dimly thought, making tracks across his chest. His heart, already beating hard, gave a lurch.

“Princess…” His voice was faint and airless. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her lips were working their way across his collarbone and upward along the side of his neck. His jaw muscles felt so rigid he half expected to hear them creak when he added almost desperately, “Hey—cut that out.”

Poised to deposit her on the sofa, he halted, muscles quivering, beset by a new dilemma. If he put her down now, she would almost certainly pull him down with her, which would be nothing short of disastrous. If he went on holding her, with that unnerving weakness creeping through his body, he was afraid he might drop her. To head off that possibility, he brought one knee up under her bottom, braced his foot on the cushions, and tried to shift her to a more secure position in his arms.

Big mistake. Hadn’t this happened to him once before?

Yes, and once again as on the terrace, he felt her body mold itself to his as if it had been custom-made for that purpose…an all-over body glove, silky-soft, supple as finest kid. Tiny puffs of her breath brought his sweat-damp skin alive with goose bumps. Her spicy, exotic scent made his head swim. The weakness in his arms oozed into his legs, while in the center of his body his heart was banging like an energetic and enthusiastic bass drummer, sending joyful, giddy impulses and inviting—no, compelling —the rest of his body to follow along.

His body’s predictable response was, Oh, yeah. I’m there! And his heart chimed in with, Sure would like to…maybe it would be okay…don’t you think I could?

To which the rational part of his brain emphatically replied, No way, Jose!

“Princess—” he began, but the rest was muffled. Leila’s lovely and adventuresome mouth had reached its destination at last, and anything else he might have added was swallowed up in its sweet, intoxicating warmth.

For a moment…just a moment, it seemed to Cade he was fighting a losing battle. He thought how easy it would be…what a relief it would be…to just say the hell with it and give in. He thought it would be a little like drowning, to let himself go wherever this might take him, and damn the consequences.

He might have been able to do that—just maybe—if it hadn’t been for the strident and insistent clamor of his reason. Cade, you can’t! She’s a princess, most likely a virgin! You’re a guest in her father’s house! You have to stop this. Now!

He wasn’t sure how much longer he might have resisted the voices of sanity inside his head, or if in fact he’d ever have found the strength to end it. What saved him was anger. It came suddenly and unexpectedly, a bright and savage flare of resentment. Foolish woman—what the hell does she think she’s doing? Spoiled brat…she’s going to ruin me—ruin everything!

He let go of her abruptly, and felt her round and firm little bottom come to rest on his drawn-up knee.

“ No ,” he said hoarsely as, jerky and shell-shocked, he peeled her arms from around his neck and thrust her from him. The places where she’d touched him felt like fresh abrasions.

Little by little, in ungraceful adjustments, he managed to stand her on her own two feet, and himself as well. And all the while she said not a word, while her eyes gazed up at him, black as ink, glistening dangerously. Her lips, pink and soft and still glazed from his mouth, parted slowly. If she speaks, he thought…Or worse, if she cries…

He grasped at his anger like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver and spoke in a ragged and guttural voice. “I said no . Do you understand me?” He pulled himself away from her, raked a distraught hand through his hair and fought to get his breathing calmed down. “This isn’t going to happen, okay? Not tonight, not ever. I’m sorry—you have to go. Come on— out .”

Since she didn’t appear able or willing to move on her own, he took hold of her arm and gave it a tug. Just a small one. Then he watched in horror as her gown slipped down over one creamy-smooth shoulder. He let go of her arm in a hurry. “Ah, hell—Princess…” He closed his eyes and said it with a groan, almost pleading.

Then, through the pounding of his own pulses he heard a sharp, heartbroken sob…felt the rush and flurry of her passing…and at last, the click of an opening door.

Regret pierced his heart without warning, pierced it like an arrow and sent it plummeting into his belly. Belatedly he was aware of how young, how innocent Leila really was, and how grievously his rejection must have hurt her. He felt as if he’d kicked a puppy, or trampled a lovely blossom into the mud.

Hoping to explain, to soften it for her somehow, he lunged after her as she hurled herself through the doorway, out into the hallway—straight into the arms of her father, the sheik.

Sheik Ahmed Kamal had been feeling quite pleased with himself, and enormously satisfied with the way the weekend’s events had unfolded. The wedding ceremony had been as solemn and dignified as should be—in spite of the tendency on the part of young people nowadays to want to adopt certain deplorable Western customs instead of adhering faithfully to traditional ways. The groom’s banquet had been enjoyable for all in attendance, sumptuous and generous as was appropriate for a royal couple yet neither excessive nor ostentatious. The exhibition polo matches had been enjoyed by the many guests in attendance, and had resulted in gratifying wins for the Tamari team. Tonight’s state dinner and reception honoring the king and the crown prince of Montebello had been a grand success.