Page 46 of Falling for the King

Needing to do something, anything other than give in to the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her he slowly scrolled through the remaining images. All of them, suggestive, damning, arousing.

‘The angle isn’t great,’ he said the understatement of the century.

‘No,’ she croaked.

‘I wanted you to know beforehand that they’re being released. And as much as I don’t want them published impeding the freedom of the press, even the bottom layer, isn’t an option. I’m sorry that I’ve put you in this position … these photos don’t represent what really happened. And I once again apologise for tripping, that I grabbed you,’ he said in a stiff and formal voice, their ease from earlier today evaporating. ‘That it looks …’ He cleared his throat and shut his mouth not trusting himself to go any further.

He still could feel his body pressed against hers, the way it had responded to her contact. The only small mercy was that the lens hadn’t captured that, that it couldn’t capture the images that flooded his mind as he’d been wrapped in her embrace. Although after seeing these photos you’d have to be blind not to notice the attraction, the last thing he wanted telegraphed around the globe. He’d worked his whole life towards avoiding this kind of headline, this level of scandal and it was going to be huge, not least because she was his sister-in-law but because he was notoriously careful with his public actions. He knew photographers had been there, of course, they were always there. He just hadn’t expected his feelings being so obviously transparent on the outside not when his whole life had been keeping such things private, not to mention avoiding them all together. ‘The fault here was mine. I’m truly sorry to put you in this position.’

‘You tripped, Xavier, you’re allowed to do that.’ She brushed a strand of hair from her face.

‘I never thanked you for catching me.’

‘You did.’ She looked over at him for the first time since he’d opened the laptop and he turned to meet her stare as something passed between them that he didn’t dare name.

‘I know the press were heinously intrusive in your marriage.’ She needed to know how important this was to him. How much he hated that he was the one who’d exposed her to this, that he would’ve never willingly done so. His loss of control was maddening, out of character and completely non-excusable. The sickening thought remained, she’d been through hell with Max’s wild antics and the press had lapped it up, he never wanted her to go through anything like that again.

She looked away at something he couldn’t see.

‘You don’t deserve any conjecture, any inuendo because of this,’ he continued.

‘And neither do you. I hate this element of the press, initially I thought I could win them around, that they’d like me, but it’s not the way it works. I try to ignore it but sometimes it’s easier said than done. And I’d never ever compare your actions with Max’s, nor should you.’ Huge eyes returned to his. ‘He played up to this element of the press and he didn’t care who his actions hurt, you’re nothing like that.’

‘The last thing I want is for you to be hurt, for anything to hurt you.’ Sitting here like this he could finally admit he’d never felt this way about anyone else. This constant ache for her, this burn.

‘I know.’

She reached out, his heart thudded in anticipation of her touch but instead she snapped closed the laptop and then put both hands in her lap. He battled back crushing disappointment; did he really think she was going to reach out to him? Had he imagined her look of passion in the photos, was the attraction all one-sided on his part? Would that be better … or worse?

‘I hate the thought of what’s going to be said, written, I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about what’s happening here.’ She fiddled with the tie of her robe. ‘We look …’

He tensed.

Like we’re about to ravage each other.

Like we’re about to head into bed for the next week.

Like we’re already very very familiar with each other.

She glanced away and bit her lip.

‘We look, how?’ he asked in a voice he didn’t recognise when he could stand it no longer. He who’d been negotiating with world leaders since his teens. Who knew every tactic to deal with issues of national importance, world-wide crises, every imaginable situation. None of that mattered now when compared to needing to know what was going through her head.

‘Like we’ve completely lost our senses and are about to kiss.’

Kiss. The word reverberated around him.

‘And that would be bad?’ He’d meant it to sound like a statement but it came out as a question as the last of his defences crumbled, all his senses tuned into her. The sound of her choppy breaths, the tilt of her voice calling him in a way no good could come from, the scent of her shampoo, her, the rush of her robe as she shifted in her seat and turned to face him.

‘Yes, of course it would … be so very … bad …’

The throaty murmur of the last word almost stopped his heart. He ached to touch, taste, see her, all of her instead he used every ounce of willpower to remain motionless.

She reached out to him and his heartbeat kicked into a gallop at the feather light touch to his cheek. Her eyelids lowered shielding her expression before slowly, torturously, brushing the pad of a finger along the contours of his face, across his brows, down his nose to press against his lips which he jammed together to prevent himself drawing it into his mouth and sucking. Instead, he clenched his teeth letting her set the pace. She bit down on her bottom lip, a flash of even white teeth in the darkened room and heat shot straight to his groin. Shifting, his chair creaked beneath him.

Finally, her unhurried exploration began once again over his jaw, the rasp of stubble a spine-tingling contrast to her softness. Moving her fingertips lower, slower she paused at his hammering pulse, its now frantic beat telegraphing what she was doing to him. He gulped, not sure how much longer he could stand this sweet torture before she continued her caress down his throat and v necked jumper and placed her palm flat against his heart. He jerked, like she’d pressed a bolt of desire straight into his core, and he gripped his seat so he wouldn’t grab her, crush her to him.

In an agony of suspended time, she looked up and light blue eyes shone straight into his, full of wonder and desire. Relief surged. It wasn’t one-sided, he wasn’t imagining this. It didn’t make it right, but for once he didn’t care. Tonight, he was being a man first, king second.