Olivia Gates - Best of Desire

They’d dated. They’d had sex. But she only just realized how much of their relationship had been superficial as they both dodged discussing deeper, darker parts of their past.

Still, she wasn’t ready to plunge into the murkiest of waters that made up her life with Nolan. She wasn’t even sure right now if Tony would want to hear.

But regardless of how things turned out between them, she needed him to understand the real her. “I didn’t grow up with all those trappings of Nolan’s world. My dad was a high school science teacher and a coach. My mom was the elementary school secretary. We had enough money, but we were by no means wealthy.” She hesitated, realizing…“You probably already know all of that.”

“Why would you think so?” he asked, although he hadn’t denied what she said.

“If you’ve had to be so worried about security and your identity, it makes sense you or your lawyer or some security team you’ve hired would vet people in your life.”

“That would be the wise thing to do.”

“And you’re a smart man.”

“I haven’t always acted wisely around you.”

“You’ve been a perfect gentleman this week and you know it,” she said, as close as she could come to hinting that she ached for his touch, his mouth on her body, the familiar rise of pleasure and release he could bring.

Tony shrugged and tore into his sandwich again, a grandfather clock tolling once in the background.

“Kolby thinks we’re on vacation.”

“Good.” He finished chewing, tendons in his strong neck flexing. “That’s how he should remember this time in his life.”

“It’s unreal how you and your father have shielded him from the tension in your relationship.”

“Obviously not well enough to fool you.” His boldly handsome face gave nothing away.

“I know some about your history, and it’s tough to miss how little the two of you talk. Your father’s an interesting man.” She’d enjoyed after-dinner discussions with Enrique and Eloisa about current events and the latest book they’d read.

The old king may have isolated himself from the world, but he’d certainly stayed abreast with the latest news. The discussions had been enlightening on a number of levels, such as how the old king wasn’t as clipped and curt with his daughter as he was with Tony.

Tony stared at the last half of his snack, tucking a straggly piece of lettuce back inside. “What did you make for Kolby?”

His question surprised her, but if it kept him talking…

“French toast. It’s one of his favorite comfort foods. He likes for me to cut the toast into slices so he can dip it into the syrup. Independence means a lot, even to a three-year-old.” It meant a lot to adults. She reached for her bowl to scrape the final taste of custard and licked the spoon clean. The caramel taste exploded into her starving senses like music in her mouth.

Pupils widening with awareness until they nearly pushed away his brown irises, Tony stared back at her across the table, intense, aroused. Her body recognized the signs in him well even if he didn’t move so much as an inch closer.

She set the spoon down, the tiny clink echoing in the empty kitchen. “Tony, why are you still awake?”

“I’m a night owl. Some might call me an insomniac.”

“An insomniac? I didn’t know that.” She laughed darkly. “Although how could I since we’ve never spent an entire night together? Have you had the problem long?”

“I’ve always been this way.” He turned the plate around on the table. “My mother tried everything from warm milk to a ‘magic’ blanket before just letting me stay up. She used to cook for me too, late at night.”

“Your mother, the queen, cooked?” She inched to the edge of her chair, leaning on her elbows, hoping to hold his attention and keep him talking.

“She may have been royalty even before she married my father, but there are plenty in Europe with blue blood and little money.” Shadows chased each other across his eyes. “My mother grew up learning the basics of managing her own house. She insisted we boys have run of the kitchen. There were so many everyday places that were off-limits to us for safety reasons, she wanted us to have the normalcy of popping in and out of the kitchen for snacks.”

Like any other child. A child who happened to live in a sixteenth-century castle. She liked his mother, a woman she would never meet but felt so very close to at the moment. “What did she cook for you?”

“A Cyclops.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a fried egg with a buttered piece of bread on top.” He swirled his hand over his plate as if he could spin an image into reality. “The bread has a hole pinched out of the middle so the egg yolk peeks out like a—”

“Like a Cyclops. I see. My mom called it a Popeye.” And with the memory of a simple egg dish, she felt the connection to Tony spin and gain strength again.

He glanced up, a half smile kicking into his one cheek. “Cyclops appealed to the bloodthirsty little boy in me. Just like Kolby and the caterpillar and snake pasta.”

To hell with distance and waiting for him to reach out, she covered his hand with hers. “Your mother sounds wonderful.”

He nodded briefly. “I believe she was.”

“Believe?”

“I have very few memories of her before she…died.” He turned his hand over and stroked hers with his thumb. “The beach. A blanket. Food.”

“Scents do tend to anchor our memories more firmly.”

More shadows drifted through his eyes, darker this time, like storm clouds. Died seemed such a benign word to describe the assassination of a young mother, killed because she’d married a king. A vein pulsed visibly in Tony’s temple, faster by the second. He’d dealt with such devastating circumstances in life honorably, while her husband had turned to stealing and finally, to taking the ultimate coward’s way out.

She held herself very still, unthreatening. Her heart ached for him on a whole new and intense level. “What do you remember about when she died? About leaving San Rinaldo?”

“Not much really.” He stayed focused on their connected hands, tracing the veins on her wrist with exaggerated concentration. “I was only five.”

So he’d told her before. But she wasn’t buying his nonchalance. “Traumatic events seem to stick more firmly in our memory. I recall a car accident when I couldn’t have been more than two.” She wouldn’t back down now, not when she was so close to understanding the man behind the smiles and bold gestures. “I still remember the bright red of the Volkswagen bug.”

“You probably saw pictures of the car later,” he said dismissively, then looked up sharply, aggressively full of bravado. The storm clouds churned faster with each throb of the vein on his temple. He stroked up her arm with unmistakable sensual intent. “How much longer are you going to wait before you ask me to kiss you again? Because right now, I’m so on fire for you, I want to test out the sturdiness of that table.”

“Tony, can you even hear yourself?” she asked, frustrated and even a bit insulted by the way he was jerking her around. “One minute you’re Prince Romance and Restraint, the next you’re ignoring me over dinner. Then you’re spilling your guts. Now, you proposition me—and not too suavely, I might add. Quite frankly, you’re giving me emotional whiplash.”

His arms twitched, thick roped muscles bulging against his sleeves with restrained power. “Make no mistake, I have wanted you every second of every day. It’s all I can do not to haul you against me right now and to hell with the dozens of people that might walk in. But today on the water and tonight here, I’m just not sure this crazy life of mine is good enough for you.”