A Royal Without Rules

And afterward, he let her crawl over him and drive him wild with her sweet kisses, her delighted exploration of his body. He had her again in the shower, losing himself in the heat and the steam and the slick perfection of her skin beneath his hands. He picked her up and pressed her against the glass, her head tipped back and her mouth open in a kind of silent scream as he rode them both straight back into the heart of that shattering fire.

He wouldn’t let her dry herself. Succumbing to an urge he chose not to examine, he did it himself, drying every millimeter of her lovely skin with a soft towel, kissing those three distracting freckles below her breasts, then squeezing the water from her hair. He combed through it slowly, holding her captive between his legs as he sat on the bed in the adjoining bedroom. He noted the colors that sifted through his fingers, testing the heavy silk in his hands.

When he was finished he turned her around, and lost himself for a while in the heaven of her lush, hot mouth, its perfect fit against his, that taste of her that flooded into him and made him crazy, and the sheer poetry of her warm, naked curves beneath his hands.

Pato didn’t know how he was going to do what he had to do. He shouldn’t have indulged himself. He shouldn’t have let her distract him. And yet he didn’t regret a single moment of it.

Finally, he set her away from him, as hard again as if he’d never had her, and tempted almost past endurance by the soft invitation on her face, the flush he could see everywhere, from her cheeks to the rosy tips of her breasts.

He had never wanted anything more than this woman. He understood he never would.

And then he wrapped her in a cashmere throw that matched her beautiful eyes, sat her back on the sofa in the living room, where the bed didn’t tempt him, and broke the only vow he’d ever made.

“My mother died when I was eighteen,” he told her, because he didn’t know how else to begin.

Adriana’s blond hair was still damp and hung around her face in dark waves, making her look younger than she was. Innocent, despite all the ways he’d touched her, tasted her. He didn’t know why that pulled at him, why it made his chest feel tight.

“I know,” she said, sitting with her feet tucked beneath her and the cashmere throw wrapped all around her. She looked delicate. Perfect, he thought again, and he couldn’t have her. Why couldn’t he keep that in mind? “I remember.”

“Lenz was twenty-five.” Pato shoved his hands in the pockets of the jeans he’d yanked back on when they left the bedroom. He roamed the cottage’s small living space restlessly as he talked. “He had completed his military service and had taken his place at the king’s side. He’d trained his whole life for it, as befits the heir to the throne.” Adriana’s gaze tracked Pato as he moved, and he smiled slightly. “I was the spare, and had far fewer expectations placed on me. I’d just started university. I paid some attention to my studies, but I was more interested in the girls.”

“Shocking,” Adriana said drily, but she was smiling.

“I didn’t have to be serious,” Pato said darkly. “That was Lenz’s job. His duty. I always got to be the favorite, the happy disaster, but he was meant to be king.”

For a moment, Pato only gazed at her. He’d let her walk out of the palace today thinking he’d turned on her like all the others, like the people who had called her names and made her feel dirty. He’d seen the look on her face, the crushed betrayal she’d tried to hide, and he’d done it anyway.

He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t live with it.

And there was only one way to apologize: he had to explain. His life. His choices. Why he couldn’t have her no matter how much he wanted her. She’d cried in his arms and he’d meant what he’d said to her, and he didn’t have it in him to let her down. Not Adriana. Not this time. The whole world could think he was waste of space, as pointless as he was promiscuous, but he’d found he couldn’t handle it if she did, too. He simply couldn’t bear it.

“Pato.” She was frowning again, deeper this time, and she stood then, the throw draping around her like a cape. “You don’t have to tell me anything. You don’t have to do this, whatever this is.”

“I do,” he said, surprised to hear how rough his voice was. “I need you to understand.”

He didn’t tell her why. He wasn’t entirely sure he knew.

She shook her head, smiling slightly. “I don’t expect anything from you,” she said. “I know who you are and I know who I am. I’m at peace with it.”