Queen's Winter Wedding Charade, page 9
She stared at the space he had vacated. Furious with herself now as well as him. Why had she behaved like such a ninny all day? Good grief, she’d even considered taking him up on his insulting offer. The last thing she needed was to allow him to demolish what was left of her self-control—simply because he had an itch he wanted to scratch.
She was still fuming when it occurred to her she had a far greater problem than her fake husband’s temper tantrum as she began trying to dismantle the elaborate chignon. Within minutes it had become a tangled mass that would put a bird’s nest to shame.
She wrestled with it, becoming increasingly frustrated and frantic—and only making the mess worse—when three sharp raps made her jump.
‘Time’s up, Your Majesty,’ came the low voice through the door to his bedroom.
‘I’m not finished,’ she said with as much authority as she could muster, while feeling flustered and upset. This was his fault. He’d dismissed her maid and now he was trying to bully her out of her bathroom time.
‘Tough. You’ve been in there over thirty minutes. It’s my turn now.’
What? How could she possibly have been in here half an hour? Surely, he was exaggerating.
But as she stared at her hair in the mirror, the blonde bird’s nest starting to list to one side, she was forced to admit defeat. She hadn’t been able to locate any pins for a while and her scalp was starting to ache. But how was she going to sleep with it like this? Because she needed her sleep, to deal with this infuriating man in the morning.
‘But I haven’t even bathed yet,’ she said, miserable now. Why had she let Elsa leave? When she needed her? It would be humiliating to call her back.
And how had he brought her so low, after only one night?
‘Why not?’ he asked through the door, the tone of arrogant superiority almost as unjust as the snap of self-righteousness and impatience. ‘What the hell have you been doing in there?’
Temper rose up to choke her, obliterating the misery until all she could see was her ruined hair through a red mist of fury.
She marched to the door, flicked the lock, and swung it open.
‘You arrogant bastard,’ she declared, not caring any more about the use of profanity. ‘This!’ She threw her hand up to indicate the mess on her head. ‘This is what I’ve been doing.’
But then the red mist cleared, and shock followed, as she realised he was leaning against the door frame practically naked.
Where were his trousers, and his shoes?
And why did his bare chest, visible through his unbuttoned dress shirt, have to look so magnificent? Was that a tattoo on his left pectoral muscle? Whose name was that scrawled across his heart under a dusting of chest hair? Her gaze trailed down, tracking the tantalising line of hair bisecting ripped abdominal muscles, and hip flexors that made her mouth water, only to land on a pair of stretchy black boxer briefs. The waistband hung low on his lean waist, the legs stretched tight over roped thigh muscles while leaving virtually nothing to the imagination at his crotch.
She swallowed heavily, before she choked. If she had thought that thick ridge was impressive before, it was making her abdomen turn into a lava flow now. Was he erect? Or just extremely well endowed?
‘What the hell happened to your hair?’
The gruff question had her gaze shooting back to his face so fast she almost got whiplash. Horrified heat seared her collarbone.
‘Y-y-you...’ She cleared her throat as the lava flow rose up to incinerate her cheeks—and dry her throat to dust. ‘You happened to it,’ she managed, beyond grateful to discover he had been focussed on her hair and was unaware of her checking out the contents of his boxers.
His gaze dropped to her flaming face. ‘Uh-huh? How exactly is the Leaning Tower of Hair my fault?’
The asinine comment had her anger surging back to cover her mortification. Especially when his gaze roamed over her cleavage again—with that arrogant entitlement that had derailed her common sense earlier in the evening.
Well, he wasn’t going to derail it again, she told herself staunchly. Despite the continuing lava flow from stretchy-boxer-briefs-gate.
She was now fully focussed on her main priority—which involved making this marriage work for the duration of the year they had agreed upon, and not risking torpedoing it for the reckless pursuit of temporary pleasure, which was clearly his priority.
She would have to be the adult here, because it was becoming increasingly obvious Travis Lord had never had to think about anything but himself and the pursuit of his own gratification.
Her spine stiffened with self-righteousness. Unfortunately, even standing tall, it didn’t do much to decrease his massive height advantage, especially when he levered himself off the door, and stared down at her from his full height.
She lifted her chin, so she could glare at him—and not his left pec.
‘It’s your fault because you were so rude and obnoxious to Elsa earlier, she was scared to stay in the same room with you,’ she said, upset all over again at the way he had spoken to her maid. ‘And I’ve never had to do this without her.’
To her utter astonishment though, instead of mocking her for being unable to handle dismantling her own chignon, flags of colour appeared on his tanned cheeks. ‘Yeah, you’re right, I screwed up,’ he murmured. ‘So I called her and apologised.’
‘You... You did?’ she asked, so surprised by the admission she wasn’t sure she could believe him.
But when he began to speak, his contrition was unmistakable, and disarmed her temper completely.
‘I lost my cool. I’m not great at being on show for eight hours straight,’ he said, the weary tone forcing her to admit she might have misjudged him. After all, she was used to official events, and today had been extremely taxing even for her.
‘But I behaved like a dick and there’s no excuse for that,’ he continued. ‘Plus my mom would have given me hell if she’d ever heard me talk to the help like that...’ He trailed off. The dark sincerity in his gaze—and the mention of his mother, who Isabelle recalled had been a cleaner—made her heart slow and guilt prickle at the back of her throat.
She had misjudged him.
She had assumed he was one of those rich, entitled men who treated the people who worked for them with contempt, and she had disliked him intensely for it—on very little evidence. Which forced her to question her own motivations.
She could see now, she had wanted to judge him because over the last two months—during all those silly texts—she had found his blunt sense of humour so enjoyable, his irreverence so exhilarating and the way he saw her—as a woman and not a queen—impossibly exciting. And it had scared her. Because wanting him to kiss her again, to make love to her even, wasn’t nearly as terrifying as acknowledging how much she had enjoyed his attention and approval.
It would be pathetic if it weren’t so cowardly.
‘I apologised to Arne the Stickler as well,’ he said. ‘Cos I was kind of a dick to him, too.’
‘Thank you, I appreciate that,’ she said, humbled by his honesty, and his willingness to admit his mistake not just to her staff but also to her.
He shrugged. ‘You’re welcome, Your Majesty,’ he said with the wry humour that she found incredibly beguiling. As well as annoying.
He stared at the bird’s nest on her head again. ‘How about I take a crack at it?’
The sharp tug under her breastbone at the bold request was complicated by the heat sinking deep into her abdomen.
‘Seems the least I can do after scaring off your maid.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ she managed, far too aware of his state of undress and the slow thunder of her heartbeat.
Admitting how much she had come to enjoy certain aspects of his character only made him more dangerous to her peace of mind... And her flagging boundaries.
‘You got a better idea?’ he said. ‘Cos it’s close to midnight now, so hauling Elsa out of bed to do it is only going to make us both look like dicks.’
She huffed out a laugh, despite the rising tension. Why did she find the familiar way he spoke to her so appealing?
She dismissed the sentimental thought. Or tried to. And pressed her palm against the mass of hair, hopelessly aware of his focussed stare as he awaited her answer...
‘It’s okay, I should probably just sleep on it and let Elsa deal with it in the morning. It’s a fairly major job and you’re probably tired too,’ she tried to reason.
‘I’m not that tired,’ he said, the sensual smile having a disturbing effect on her already erratic heartbeat. He captured her wrist—his touch as bold as it was sure—and drew her hand down. ‘Seems like a job I ought to learn, just in case,’ he added, his thumb rubbing casually against the pulse throbbing wildly in her wrist. ‘Even as your fake husband you never know when I might need the experience.’ The slow sensual smile spread. ‘Plus, I’ve been wanting to demolish that hairdo for hours.’
‘I... Really?’ she said as her sex clenched alarmingly.
‘Yeah. I should probably tell you,’ he said, lifting her hand and opening her fist as he continued to speak in that lazy, husky tone. ‘I’ve acquired a major hair fetish in the last couple months.’
‘You... You have?’ she said, inanely, but unable to think clearly.
‘Uh-huh.’ He pressed a kiss into the centre of her palm.
She jolted as sensation arrowed into her sex. She should object, should tug her hand free, but she appeared to be unable to do anything but inhale the enticing cedarwood scent that clung to him.
‘Kind of perverted, I know, but I think we should work with it.’ Letting go of her hand, he placed his palm on her waist and directed her back into the bathroom.
Stopping in front of the large marble vanity, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards the mirror. He stood behind her, his broad shoulders somehow filling the large bathroom.
‘So where do I start?’ he asked, his tone casual, but the fierce purpose in his gaze as it met hers in the glass staggering her.
She directed her gaze to the rigid tangle of curls and clips and pins—trying to focus on the question, and the task at hand... And not the sight of him—so large and overwhelming behind her.
‘If you could get the rest of the pins out, that would be a big help,’ she murmured, feeling both hopelessly self-conscious, but also strangely exhilarated.
‘Right, here goes. Tell me if it hurts, okay?’
She nodded, watching as he spent some time assessing the damage, then located a pin at her crown. He wiggled it then dragged it free, with infinite patience. Sensation sparked across her scalp, waking up nerve-endings that had been deadened hours ago.
His gaze met hers as he threw the pin on the vanity. ‘One down,’ he said. ‘Only ten thousand to go.’
She chuckled, releasing a little of the tension in her stomach.
‘Hey, don’t laugh, I take my work seriously.’
She smiled, trying not to fall for his charm... Or get too fixated on the muscular torso so close to her back.
True to his word he worked diligently, watching her reaction intently as he located and pulled out each pin, each clip and comb. She stood as still as she could under his care, but it became increasingly difficult with each slow brush of his fingertips, each gentle tug, the silence as he concentrated on freeing her hair only making the task seem more intimate—and arousing.
By the time he had wriggled the final clip loose, her entire scalp had become a riot of sensation, her heartbeat thundering in her chest and echoing in her sex.
How had he made her head an erogenous zone?
He thrust strong fingers into her hair and the heavy mass cascaded onto her shoulders. A moan escaped her as he kneaded her scalp, massaging away the soreness.
‘Better?’ he asked as he dropped his hands to her shoulders.
Their gazes collided in the mirror.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she murmured, aware of his nearness, knowing how much she had enjoyed his ministrations. ‘I should probably go to bed now.’
She went to step away from him, but he held her in place.
‘Hold up,’ he said. His hands skimmed down her bare arms to land on her waist. ‘How about I help you with the dress?’ he murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head.
The question sounded innocent, but the wicked light in his eyes as he awaited her answer was anything but.
The throbbing in her sex became unbearable.
‘And the corset?’ he added, with no pretence at all of innocence now. ‘Because I’ve been dreaming of getting you out of that all day.’
The husky comment reverberated through her torso.
Would it be so wrong? To admit how much she wanted to feel those strong hands on her again? A part of her knew this was leading somewhere she had already decided they could not go.
But her previous cowardice came back to taunt her now. The hot weight in her sex impossible to ignore. And all she could do was nod.
CHAPTER NINE
HUNGER TORE THROUGH Travis as Isabelle lowered her chin in the barest hint of a nod.
She was beyond beautiful, the cascade of curls like a golden cloud, her eyes dark with the desire she’d denied earlier.
Progress.
She’d never looked more like a queen in that moment—regal and proud. But also somehow fragile and untouched, the wary light in her eyes making her seem vulnerable.
The realisation he was going to have to work to earn her trust only captivated him more.
He inhaled her intoxicating fragrance—wild flowers and sin—then gathered the heavy locks, feeling her delicious shiver in response, and swept them over her shoulder.
He studied the fastenings of her gown. The tiny hooks were a problem, his hands weren’t exactly made for delicate work, but he’d managed to deal with her hair without hurting her. He just needed to take it slow.
Locating the hook at her nape, he released it—the hunger surging as she shuddered. He worked his way down her back, freeing her from the garment, as each delicious quiver ricocheted through her body and into his.
Did she know how responsive she was to him?
By the time he reached her waist, the gown was gaping open to reveal the corset. He eased the ornate silk off her shoulders and she released a deep breath as the fabric pooled at her feet.
Damn, but her cleavage was like a work of art, her slender curves displayed in nothing but the cream silk corset, and some lacy panties.
‘Thank you,’ she said again, in that studiously polite tone, which only made her livewire responses to him more of a turn-on.
‘Corset next?’ he murmured, shifting back so she didn’t become aware of the growing bulge in his shorts.
Again, she nodded. Triggering another surge of desire.
He needed to pace himself again so he took a moment to stare out of the bathroom window and slow his breathing. Snow drifted down in thick flakes from the canopy of stars in the night sky, blanketing the gorge below.
Mostly in control again, he assessed the corset’s intricate tapes, rubbing his thumb across the reddened skin where the panels had dug into her back.
She bucked against the slight touch.
‘Why did you need this thing anyway?’ he asked.
‘The stylist and the designer felt it would enhance my figure,’ she said.
‘Like it needs enhancing,’ he scoffed.
The flush on her face flared, and he wondered again if she knew how gorgeous she was.
He went to work on the corset. But her vicious shivers as he released each tape only turbo-charged the heat that had been building between them for hours, days, months even...
Peeling off the stiff silk contraption at last, he placed his mouth between her shoulder blades and kissed the dewy skin. A soft moan broke from her lips.
Desire flared as the corset landed on the floor and he took in the sight of all that flushed deliciously pink flesh in nothing but a pair of minuscule lace panties and silk stockings held up by a suspender belt. She had clasped her arms over her bare breasts. But her shyness was as captivating as the arousal darkening her green eyes to black.
‘Don’t cover yourself, Belle,’ he groaned. ‘You’re beautiful.’
He could see her surprise and pleasure at the compliment—which made no sense. Surely he couldn’t be the first guy to tell her that?
The streak of jealousy—and possessiveness—at the thought of all those other guys made even less sense. They might be married, but she wasn’t his.
Even so, he skimmed his thumb across her nape, delighted when her eyes flared with need.
Her arms remained folded over her breasts, but they weren’t hiding much.
He stroked her bare shoulders, causing more of those delicious shivers. Circling her waist, he flattened his palms against her belly, just above the lace of her panties, to draw her against him.
‘I want to kiss you again, Belle,’ he murmured against her neck, determined to make it a question, even though the hunger was crucifying him.
‘Where?’ she asked—in that puzzled, polite way she had that he was beginning to realise masked so much passion.
His lips quirked. How could she be so hot and yet so adorable?
‘Anywhere you’ll let me,’ he replied.
Her eyes glazed with arousal, but her teeth dug into her lip, the panic resurfacing. Grasping her shoulders, he turned her to face him—before she could get out the no he suspected might be coming.
‘How about we start with this mouth?’ he said, lifting her lips to his.
She blinked, then nodded.
Thank the Lord.
* * *
Isabelle’s breath guttered out as Travis’s lips captured hers.
But unlike the kiss she had obsessed about for weeks, this kiss wasn’t coaxing or careful, it was demanding and forceful. A groan she couldn’t control reverberated through her as she opened her mouth to welcome him in. Vicious sensation centred in her sex as his tongue thrust deep.
